Part The First
My friend Sarnath who recently broke many hearts by getting married is releasing his book on Wednesday, January 24th at the British Council, New Delhi. It should be a fun launch and it makes me most homesick and heartsick to think that I will miss it, but c'est la vie I suppose. Anyway, for the rest of you lucky Delhizens, The Barn Owl's Wondrous Capers is being launched with The Barn Owl's Abandoned Opera, with live performances and audio visual presentations and oh dear God I do not think I can go on any more without impaling myself on something. It's 8 pm on Wednesday, to get in you need to print out a copy of the invite, which is on his website. (I've been trying for a while to get images to appear here, but something's up with Blogger). He will, thanks to dire threats from me, be launching it in Bombay too, I think, but I don't know the deets on that yet. Still, there will be pretty people and cheap wine and canapes and BC launches are always my favourite. (The Habitat launches aren't so much fun because they never serve alcohol). I've seen bits and pieces of the graphic novel because Sarnath's other great redeeming quality is that if you're nearabouts his neighbourhood and he's home, he will give you (well, me, at any rate) a glass of wine or Old Monk and Coke and a pile of comic books and jazz in the background and work on his stuff while you happily read, curled up into a chair, stopping only when the two of you are rather buzzed to make high, philosophical statements. So, it's a good book. And go, do. The more the merrier.
Part The Second
Going out in Bombay is similar to going out in Delhi. Except even Tuesday nights have crowded places. And the roads when you spill out alcohol full and last-ordered are still busy and bustling. Which is nice, especially when you're going against your essential Delhi girl reflexes and climbing into an auto past dark--past midnight. Maybe that's the reason women in Bombay look so much more confident, they walk differently too, arms swinging, chests out, hips sashaying, as opposed to me, who still walks with my arms crossed over my chest, ready to swing around and slap anyone who tries to get fresh. But, I think defensively, as I pass these creatures, they wouldn't last a week in Delhi.
I've lost track though, of the things I've been doing, since I have been going out practically every single night. Let's see, if I go backwards, maybe that would be easier. So last night, me and my friend Sameer decided to go out for dinner. He called just as I was awakening from my second nap of the day, thanks to being up till five the previous morning. Sick and hungover-y, I still managed to crawl into a cab and crawl out into his house, but the pizza place we were aiming for had like an hour waiting time and so we walked (he walked, I hobbled, somewhere between Saturday night and Sunday evening I seem to have dislocated my hip) to look for some place that didn't have any waiting, but yeah, Sundays. So we went to very nice (but VERY expensive) place called Indigo, where we sat in the longue upstairs, and listened to the very animated man across from us, giving his friend the details on the last time he saw his lover Charlie, before he died. Sameer and I were too busy eating the carrot and cucumber sticks that were on the table to talk to each other, so by the end of it, I knew all about Charlie. Including that his sister was lesbian, making me wonder whether it was like a genetic trait or something.
It wasn't my only run-in with gay men this weekend though. The night before, me and the Boys (because my new friends in Bombay with one notable exception who I will come to in a bit) are all male. Which is nice, because I enjoy being the token girl, but it also means I now know faaaaar more about how men think than I really wanted to. Some amounts of mystery should be preserved, don't you think? We were at Zenzi, sitting by the bar, twirling on the bar stools (okay, just me) and getting happily minding-our-own-business drunk. And this bunch of men behind us were trying to get the attention of the bartender. (And this may have been said before about Zenzi, in fact, I'm almost certain it has, but the service SUCKS. I had to stand on my stool to get attention and even then, our drinks were very hard to hunt down. Maybe they're understaffed? Also, it seems to be the firang hangout in that neighbourhood. True?) Anyway, they ordered a bottle of Rose and took a look at the Boys. "I hate straight men," said one, "They drink beer!" "True," said another, "But we're richer than they are." Then one leaned across to Sameer who was trying to pretend like he wasn't listening, and said, "You're far too handsome to be hanging out with them." I, of course, found this entire thing most amusing, because in typical heterosexual male fashion the three men I was with looked like they were going to run screaming, "Cooooooties!" out of the place any second.
The night before that, I had a DATE. Okay, perhaps not so much a date-date than two single people of the opposite sex going out for a drink, but isn't it so much easier to just say date? Yes? I just joined a book club, and my first ever meeting was Friday night and it was immense fun, only I didn't have anything to do after, which on a Friday night and in my world is unforgivable. So, after some texting back and forth the night before, the Date and I decided to meet up the next day and go to this newish place called Aurrus (single r? Double r?) for dinner and drinks. It's a really nice restaurant, with a porch like area outside right on the beach, which you can go look at and admire the moonlight and the planes passing over your head and so on. We talked for quite a bit, avoided looking at the hypnotic wallpaper inside (because if you look at it out of the corner of your eye it looks as if the wall is coming straight at you, which makes you think you've drunk more than you actually have), and yes, Friday night date night went well.
On to Thursday. Thursday, me and the previously mentioned Gal Pal, X, did a girl's night out, which we had been promising each other for quite a bit. We went to another place looking over the sea, one of X's most favourite places in this city-- Vie (which looks like it should be pronounced 'vy' as in to vie with each other, but is, in actuality pronounced vee, like the letter. Both names make not much sense as the title for a nightclub, but hey, what do I know about these things.) where all the waiters knew her and it was nice having everyone stop by and say hello and drinking our LIITs and bitching about boys and talking about our past relationships and oh, women are the best. We realised how spookily similar we are (read: we both discovered the inner psycho in the other person) and did the ultimate gal pal accolade, that if one or the other of us was a boy, we'd totally date.
Wednesday, Wednesday, did I go out Wednesday? Oh, of course I did. Shark Tooth and I did flatmate bonding and went out for dinner and drinks (the number of times I am writing "and drinks" in this post is beginning to frighten me a little) where we discussed the pros (mainly) and cons (hardly) of living together. It's going well, the two of us, even though we barely see each other, seeing as he's up before I wake up and I'm home after he goes to sleep. In fact, the last time I saw him was Saturday. Hmmm.
Tuesday, Sameer and I went out again (or since I'm going backwards, it shouldn't be again, right?) to Not Just Jazz By The Bay, after spending a hectic evening bookshopping. We went to Strand, which is a lovely bookstore, and where I found this set of books I've been searching for for nine years--the Bharati Vidya Bhawan publication of Krishna Avatara--a set of seven, very easily written and if you find it and you're into Hindu mythology you should totally pick it up. He works quite close to where I do, so we rendezvoused.
Ah, finally Monday. Monday was most exciting, because it was my first brush with Bollywood Glitz when we went karaoke singing. And there in the crowded little restaurant was Malaika Arora Khan and Arbaaz Khan and Amrita Arora and they played Chaiyya Chaiyya and Malaika Arora Khan got up on the table and danced and it was so cool! I felt most touristy. Oh, and we sang Bohemian Rhapsody and I nailed it, holding the mic, singing like a pro and people gave me thumbs up from across the room and I felt like a star. Lalalalala. (I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me, he's just a poor boy, from a poor family, mama mia, mama mia, mama mia figarooooooooo)
So, that's been my week. And this week, I relax and detox. And maybe, just maybe (fingers crossed etc) I get to go home for the upcoming long weekend.
THE OUTRAGED UPDATE: We wuz robbed! No really, look at this! I insIST you examine it closely. Here's the link again. Looks familar? Of course it does! IT'S BLOODY ME. What am I doing on Dusk Diary, whatever the fuck that is? Does no one believe in someone's own property anymore? More importantly, how can I bring this bitch DOWN? Any suggestions? Reader, I turn to you in my moment of angst.
I feel so... used. *covers up with towel and scurries indoors*