Here I am, on an absolutely gorgeous monsoon afternoon, back in my spotlessly clean flat (my maid, I think, only gets down to “proper” cleaning when I’m out of town). It is a lovely day for being indoors with a cup of coffee, thinking about absolutely nothing, your new favourite song on repeat. It’s a funny thing about new favourite songs, you never know what trigger they press in your brain, but all of a sudden you’re obsessed, you can’t stop humming it, or thinking about it, or playing it or singing it.
It was quite a whirlwind of socialising for me over the last ten days, and coming back has been nice, but you know end of holiday feelings. My friends are all in the same city at the same time, so I had some people over last night, we drank a bottle of wine, ordered Masala Craft and duly caught up. It’s funny how many things can happen in ten days, and how little.
I DID go shopping after all, Sarojini was not as plentiful as it usually is, but I did manage to come away with what will now become my new favourite outfit—the Gothic ball dress. It’s got a top made of jersey, the bottom is lots of flouncy black ruffles, and it reaches all the way till my ankles. I’m planning to team them with my new four inch high heels from Zara (marked down, down, down, gotta love the recession for some things, eh?) and feel like a giantess. It’s a lengthening sort of dress, which maxi dresses usually aren’t on short people, but this adds a WAIST and HEIGHT and makes you look like some kind of skinny Amazon. My designer friend informs me that this style is actually called the “parachute” dress, but I find my description a lot more, well, descriptive.
Bombay, besides being full of people I really like at the moment, has also decided to ease up on the Bandra Nazi-ing and bring back one of my old favourite haunts—Bonobo. (A quick recap for people who don’t actually live in or around Bandra: So, recently a bunch of old people with sticks up their asses decided to shut down EVERY SINGLE fun place in Bandra. Zenzi’s gone, Escobar is gone, Bonobo was gone and they were planning on targetting the others. They claimed sound pollution or drunk driving, and I thought that was STUPID. Drunk driving can be fixed simply by adding a couple of police checkpoints on the road outside the bar and COME ON. If you live off Linking Road, THERE WILL ALWAYS BE SOUND. It’s a noisy city. I am kept awake by traffic every single night, even though there’s no nightclub near me, just by kids vrooming past, blasting music so loud it vibrates through my walls and startles the cat. Luckily, the bar owners are keeping their chins up and trying to work around it, and they have my full support.) Anyway, the good news is I don’t have to go back to Elbo Room each time I want something trendy to do in Bandra, because Bonobo is MUCH cooler.
Oh, Hyderabad! You never told me how much fun your nightlife was! I was on a mission this time to find something else to do in that city that didn’t involve just eating large meals and sitting around talking about people I barely know. So, when a blog reader and her ADORABLE baby and husband came up to me after the launch, I begged them to take me far, far away. (Er, this is also the bit where I eat my words about the things I might have said earlier about babies in bars. Because we tried to go to Dublin and weren’t allowed in because of the little person and I was all, “But he’s quiet! And cute! And fun! And he won’t even drink!” But no go.) So we trundled on over to a place called Coco’s, a three floored place, with, I believe, a different thing to do on each floor. Rio, the club, was right under our feet and began to throb with music around 9.30. But we were at Shikar, the terrace place, where parents and I chatted and baby had a good time playing with my scrunchie, a cocktail stirrer and the stones on the ground.
And then, when he got fussy and they had to take him home, my super cool cousin and his friend (who is also my friend’s sister) came to get me. “Where shall we go?” I asked. “How about Syn?” he asked. “Sin sounds shady,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “It’s not! It’s Syn! With a ‘Y’!” (Note to self: Ys add trendiness.) But first we went to 'N. What is N, you ask? It’s short for Nagarjuna. And this made me both crack up and expect a B-list Tollywood background for the whole place. But it was actually quite nice (if a little crowded) and the only B-list Tollywood background were some actors who milled around.
Sadly, the next day, being the anniversary of our independence was a dry day. (Which just bugs me, because instead of it being an historic occasion, it turns into a bunch of people unable to celebrate a long weekend and just bitching about the lack of alcohol. I think people would be a lot more likely to feel patriotic or whatever if you let them do what they wanted and not shove a passing, puritan message down their throats.) Svennyway, we didn’t get to go to the famous Syn-With-A-Y, and I was taken home.
All in all, I think it was a trip about seeing new things in old places. A nice little bar/coffee shop called Indian Accent in a new boutique hotel in Delhi, Defence Colony getting quite a cool new bar (Red Monkey), chilling in one of Saket’s many new malls, getting a cup of coffee and a snack at Latitude in Khan Market. Same faces, different stomping grounds, I guess. Life goes on.