It SOMETIMES is rainbows and butterflies

(this picture courtesy BB, the others are off my cellphone)

So.. any guesses about how I spent my weekend?




Went to the Queer Azadi Parade on Sunday, right after a brilliant lunch at Jimmy Boy's. (Haven't yet tried Brittania, but it's right up there on my Places To Eat That I Have Been Too Lazy To Check Out Yet.) Every time my friends and I go to town, we start looking around at Haji Ali, going, "This is nice, we should do it more often." And then, of course, we get lazy and stay in Bandra forever.



We were going oestensibly to support Vik, who is awesome, but then we got into the spirit of things and BB, Ira and I wound up being photographed by many people.



We didn't really claim our sexuality, one person asked what cause we were supporting and after a lot of erm-ing and uh-ing, I finally managed to say brightly, "Human rights!" And then we all grinned at each other, very pleased with ourselves.



BB and I somehow found ourselves marching together, after charging ahead to get more photographs and we felt all part of the spirit and oh look here I am with my girl friend, and all the women independent, throw your hands up at me etc. I ran into some people I know and said hello, very happily, only to get very politely put aside and I retreated, feeling like a sham.

"I'm going to have a straight parade," I said to BB, grumpily, "And our slogan will be "We're straight, it's great!" But then our lovely Vik rejoined us and I felt less like I was faking it and more like what we had come to do, offer support to friends and all that and my bruised ego was assauged. Because, clearly, this was all about me.

The parade was AWESOME though. I never knew marching in the hot sun could be so much fun. There were colours everywhere, and people dressed up and we all got feathery masks, and I scored a rainbow flag which I waved to the time of the drums. Because there were drums and dancers and it was so, so cool. Everyone should march at least once in their lives and this had a carnival feel to it. There were people handing out water bottles too, and a rainbow flag which many people helped hold up and whirling dervish type dancers and Celina Jaitley with butterfly wings, bouncers and a parasol over her head. (Why Celina Jaitley? I have no clue.)

The eunuchs were totally rocking it, in very bright saris and loud voices as they marched with their banner. A lot of people had really cool banners, but everything moved too fast for me to take pictures.

We marched from August Kranti Maidan on Grant Road to the Chowpatty beach and then everyone dispersed. Our little group decided to go to Sports Bar in Phoenix Mills, where the whole world was forming a triple lined queue to get into Big Bazaar that was having a rather large sale.


I drank a margarita and a vanilla vodka with Coke and then my energy just all of a sudden ran out. So, we returned to Bandra, complete with paraphenalia.


It was a really good weekend--on Friday, Ira, BB, Bulbul and I went to Global Fusion for lunch and then Bonobo for drinks with shopping in the middle. I got one Zara kurta/smock thing from Cotton On (right next to the Reclaimation Barista, designer labels, GREAT prices, only you can't try anything on or return, except for sizes. They do have a great collection though, in their tiny shop.), one back tie up sleeveless kurta from Cottons, next door (BB and I rushed straight for the bargain bin and wound up with matching clothes), three t-shirts from this great little stall I know on Hill Road and one t-shirt for JC (because I like buying him presents when I'm shopping, mostly.)


Bonobo was crowded and noisy, but lots of fun. Then one house party and one adjourning to my house later, we called it quits at 4 am.


Tonight, I'm planning on going for the Bombay Elektrik Project thing at Cafe Goa. They have slam nights every Monday and today's event is called Wince, where people read from old journals. It sounds suspiciously familiar, but hey, it should still be a laugh. Reviews of everywhere I've been will, of course, be on the other blog.


But, fun weekend, no? Some weeks I really love this city.

Chasing the monsoon in Goa*

*post title taken from the book Chasing The Monsoon by Alexander Frater. It's a somewhat dry read (heh), but if you perservere, you should be able to get quite a lot of information from this travellogue.

Goa in off season time is a weird anamoly. It's a ghost town, closed for siesta pretty permanently. The cigarettes are stale, the locals lecherous, the shacks only distant memories. And yet, there are people, serious travellers or just Indians who avoid/can't afford this beach town at any other time of the year who descend during the monsoon. Men in short Speedos surrounded by posses rolling about in the shallows of the waves like beached whales, families with small children, ordering veg chow mein and watching fondly over their kids as they build sandcastles with cigarette butts embedded in them. And Bombay expats, any excuse to flee the city when the last months of the monsoon grow dreary and the smell of mould makes you sneeze all morning and houses are never as fresh as they were and everywhere, the all prevading monsoon aroma--three day old monsoon aroma at that--dead fish and sewage and too many people's wet socks.

Plus, I had been ill with a regular old cough and cold which turned into the chills and sweating and ominous mumbles of swine flu and I had been on a course of antibiotics which are not fun at any time, so moping around in my track pants and t-shirt I felt grubby and full of fluids (TMI ALERT: Also, the red flag decided to wave at precisely that moment. Trust my ovaries to choose a vulnerable spot), much like the city. Small is visiting and randomly, I mentioned how I wanted to go to Goa some time this month and she said, "Well, how about next weekend?" and through fever bright eyes I gazed at her, struck by that idea. We got JC on board fairly quickly, and I mentioned it to my other friends, out of whom Bulbul decided to do the last minute Goa thing as well.

Besides booking the train at the very last minute (and for this, kudos, as always to Ira's travel agent, who we have relied on before. This man always comes through, even when you think there is no hope, always comes through and gets the job done. I heart you, Mr Travel Agent Man!) we had done nothing else. The only thing I had managed to retain was that Baga was mostly fun off season and through a veil of drunken memory I also recalled that the resort we stayed at last time--Cavala--was quite pretty and if we had managed to live last year down (God, the smell of tequila is still eeeeeeeeeeevil) it might be a good place to stay at. We did get the taxi driver to show us some other spots first (because no one listens to me) but when we got to Cavala, my travel companions were just like, "THIS is the PLACE." And I was all like, "I told you so." (People really should listen to me.)

Cavala has the nicest pool, which was closed for renovation last time we were there and JC, Small and I hit that as soon as we showered and ate. That was pretty much our next three days. It was Bulbul's first time in Goa (plus she flew in and joined us a little later) so she did the sightseeing stuff, but in the mornings, our eyes signalled one thing to each other. Where shall we go? To the pool. We made it down to breakfast, bikinis/swim trunks on under our clothes, there was no question. Pool potatoes were born.

The sun was still sharp so by Day 2 we had all sorts of crisping. JC turned a vivid colour--one remniscent of some of my favourite clothes--and Small and I found our noses burnt and the areas under our bikinis as pale as if we had painted something on. I still have semi-white breasts. Sexy, right?

As for himself and herself, I'm glad to say they took to each other quite like siblings. They're kinda similar--JC and Small--so when it wasn't annoying for me to watch them squabble and then agree on something I never would've, it was most amusing. Bulbul and I spent much of the trip eye rolling at each other over the other two.

We did wander around Baga at night to see if anything else was "happening" but it turned out nothing was. One evening at a very dead Kamaki, which is usually hot and happening in December and half an hour spent at Mambo's and we decided there was no place like home. Or, in other words, resort, sweet resort.

I met some friends on Saturday night, an old, old friend who I haven't seen in ages, who along with her English (hey, there's an epidemic!) husband has moved to Goa (hello, and it was lovely to see you two!). Their life sounds so lovely and inspiring, I also want to move to Goa and live by the beach and write to the sounds of the waves. Sigh. I really should, no?

We went onwards and upwards to the same shack we visited last time--St Anthony's--and did the same thing; sing bad karaoke. JC and I did some terrible Kamikaze shots that nearly made us gag, and the bar ran out of Red Bull. Awesomeness.

The nice thing about going to Goa as often as I have been--twice a year now for close to three years--is that it's taking on a sort of familiarity for me. I know things, places are familiar. Routes are familiar, the air feels like you're back in a much loved spot. Plus this time, for the first time in years, I was with someone in Goa, which is possibly one of my most favourite places in the world. Most favourite place plus most favourite person? It was brilliant. We actually did get very cheesy and walk hand in hand on the beach and snuggled in the pool (there wasn't anyone else there, so no one to gross out) and it was Paradise.

We carried some of our lovin' back to Bombay too, and so we're still being sappy, although, I suspect Mr Love Of My Life is also over the moon to return to his laptop and internet connection and Star Trek stream. Sigh. (In his defence though, since I too am Geek Number One, I did a happy dance for my internet connection too. I did go to a cyber cafe in Goa which had three very pretty kitties wailing for their afternoon fish being cooked right there, and though I went to write my column, I got my Facebook and Twitter stuff done too.) (TC was being looked after by the most gracious and wonderous BB and looks quite well and even slightly put out at our return and not having the house to himself).

Think of this as a NOTE not an actual POST

* I'm going to Goa tomorrow!

* I've been ill with the flu and it's been NASTY, but on the plus side, even my maid says I've lost weight. Hurrah for the wasting illnesses!

* I've started a new blog, over here, which I'm very excited about.

* I'm up for a Golden Quill award--please go vote for me. I've never won anything *sad face*

*Did I mention I'm going to Goa tomorrow? With JC and Small and another friend, Bulbul? I love Goa in the monsoons. Sigh. This should be a fun recuperation.