It's interesting, don't you think, to know what goes through a persons mind (I mean people in general) the very first time they see you. Because sometimes an act of a stranger makes you wonder if you've got yourself pictured all wrong.

Consider this: I'm travelling in a inter-city bus. Seat next to me is not taken. Across the aisle is another guy (grumpy looking bugger); seat next to him is also empty. We are both sitting two rows from the back. Two college girls enter. Obviously they would like to sit together so they can yap till their mouths start to pain. But the bus is full except for the seats right at the back, which in our buses and with our kind of roads, especially in the monsoons, you'd have to be very brave to risk occupying. So the girls have a choice -- either request Grumpy to come sit next to me, or request me to go sit with Grumpy.

They decide to ask Grumpy. "No, sorry. I don't want to move", he says in a gruff voice. Disappointed, the little ladies trudge to the back, where I'm sure they got a full-body workout, the effects of which won't leave them in a hurry.

But I'm like- HELLO, I'm not bludy dead! ... Ask me, dammit! I would have been happy to sit with Grumpy ... and I'm sure your non-stop chatter would have provided ample onboard entertainment. And even if he refused, what was it about me that automatically made you conclude it was no good even trying? Do I look dangerous or something? Hell, I even took the trouble of shaving this morning! So why - why - was Grumpy more approachable than I was?

This may seem trivial to you folks, but it's something quite worrying for me. Bludy shit, what's going to happen to the world if nice guys like me get misread like this :(

***

So Portugal lost. They did try hard though, didn't they - Figo & Co. Yeah, they sure did ... Damn those snail-eaters!

I guess we Goans will always be loyal Portugal supporters ... because considering the fact that most of us will be dead by the time India qualifies for the finals, Portugal is the closest we can get to having a country to root for. But can anybody tell me why the Bengali's are such big Brazil fans? ... Not B for Bengal, B for Brazil is it? You never know.

But I happened to see this news bit the other day where they showed some youth in Goa celebrating the win against England, and one of them shouted, "We are happy because we have Portuguese blood in us!". Hmm... looking at him that sure didn't appear to be the case. In fact if he'd said he had Negro blood, it would have been more believable. But that's not to say some of us don't ... my brother tells me many people in Rhode Island mistook him for being Portuguese :) ... yes, yes, O.K.

But you know, I think it would be great if Portuguese is included as a third language in all Goan schools (people in Goa hate talking Hindi anyway) ... it would help us identify better with all that we've inherited from our colonial masters.

.... Also it would help in pataoing them gorgeous Brazilian dames on Orkut!

Paz, amor, e dois pássaros com uma pedra.

The concept of giving people their moneys worth is still very much non-existent in our country, particularly in the food & drink business. In fact if you ask me the only place you really get paisa-vasool is at those bludy roadside joints.

To give you an example, my cousin NBZ and I had gone to this pub the other day to watch the football and we ordered a beer along with some roasted peanuts and French fries. The peanuts turned out to be soft and the fries were soggy. So I summoned the waiter and told him to take it back or replace it with good stuff. Now instead of doing as he was told, he proceeded to give me a lecture on how the peanuts and the potatoes get soft in the rainy season.

Oh is that so, I said. Fine ... then I expect you will be charging me rainy-season rates too, right? ... like half the normal price?

Errr... no Sir.

Then shut your mouth and take this shit away!

That seemed to do the trick. But the unbelievable part was that the folks at the other tables were quietly eating the same crap fries. ... I guess the boys didn't want to make a scene in front of the ladies. Wussies!

***

I don't know if you guys are aware of the amount of cheating that goes on in these pubs when it comes to hard liquor. I once knew a guy who used to get cases of cheap brands of booze from Goa by bus and supply them to pub owners in Bombay and Pune on a regular basis.

The problem is that most people simply cannot tell the difference between brands. Say you go to a pub and ask for Old Monk ... what you'll get is some rubbish called Negro rum that costs 60 bucks a bottle in Goa, whereas you're paying 45 pucks a peg for what you think is Old Monk - nine out of ten people cannot tell the difference. Same goes for whisky and vodka, the Indian brands especially. In fact anything that gets topped-up with Cola (there are even some idiots who drink whisky with Coke) or Sprite will in all probability not be the real stuff. And the waiters know exactly whom to target, who the bakra's are. A big group of guys and girls (ITwala's and college kids in particular) out to have a good time is easy pickings ... and then the poor sods wonder why they puke after two drinks.

So you can imagine how much money these buggers are making. And even the people who do suspect something prefer not to make a noise about it for fear of being asked to leave. Either that or they're worried about what their guests or the other patrons will think of them. Sometimes the waiters/manager will even have the gall to accuse you of being drunk and causing a nuisance.

Moral of the story: Next time you go to a pub, drink only beer. Unless of course you happen to be a hardcore bevda like yours truly.

BFN.

you may have got
the win

... but you will never
have the victory

Well - our beloved Bollywood seems to have done it again. Krrish has krrashed ... unfortunately even that extra 'r' couldn't do much to keep it airborne. Someone who saw it first day-first show said it should come with a warning - not suitable for children above the age of 5!

My policy is never to see a Hindi movie until you've read all the reviews (the negative ones especially). Because I'd hate to end up like this particular gentleman who seems to have come away scarred for life. Yeah, I know how it feels - like being pelted with shit every three minutes for two and a half hours.

Y'know, I'm pretty sure the day is not far when the only thing that will draw audiences to Hindi cinema is the heroines taking their clothes off. And the sooner that happens the better. Yeah, I reckon a nice pair of norks will sell a lot better than some lame-ass creep of a superhero.

***

Our man Clint Westwood has landed himself in a major spot of trouble with his girlfriend Pudding. So bad that something tells me this could turn out to be an unfixable situation for the poor guy.

Dude I can't take it any more. Lets just go to Club IX and get sloshed!

Why, what's wrong?

Pudding, man ... she keeps telling me that honesty is important in a relationship, and then when I'm honest, she kicks my ass!

What is it this time?

Stretch marks, dude!

What??

Ya we went to Shoppers yesterday and she was trying out some low-rise jeans, and when she asked me how it looks I told her it's nice ... only thing she should do something about those stretch marks on her hips. Now what was wrong with that? It's the truth! But she went ballistic and started screaming in front of everybody ... and you know what she said to me - she told me to FO and marry my mother!

Oh my God, that's bad.

I know man. Lekin ab bahut go gaya ... I've had enough of her bullshit. I'm telling you dude, I wish we could go back to being like those bleddy wild animals they show on Animal Planet - the male sees a female he likes, takes two or three chakkar's around her, sniffs her backside, and if everything is ok, they do it right there and then - fast and furious, and then he just gets up and leaves - kaam khattam! The rest is her problem. Here we have relationships and commitment and what not bleddy rubbish to put up with.

Yeah, we are often the victims of our own evolution.

Shit bleddy evolution ... hasn't helped us in any way; just made life more difficult. Anyway, lets go and get drunk. Saala daaru kabhi dhoka nahin deta!

Okay, we'll go to Club IX ... but just make sure you don't go around asking any women if you can sniff their backsides!

And what if some dame actually agrees ... tumko nanga naachna padenga.

Sure ... if you don't mind seeing my stretch marks! :)

When I was a kid my favourite pastime was playing with Lego. You could say Lego was to me then what Blues Over Troubled Waters is to me now. It took up a lot of my free time. In Bahrain in those days all the shops would have their sale in the months of May and October. I remember waiting with eager anticipation for these two months of the year only because the Lego would be cheaper and it wouldn't pinch my dads pocket as much. And that is how I would get a new Lego set twice a year. This went on till my Lego occupied half the room if I took all of it out. A time came when I was building huge things like airports and military bases and even aircraft carriers. But there was a problem. The new bricks were nice and shiny and sharp around the edges, whereas the old ones would invariably be dull and worn out with so much use. And the problem really was that I could not build something big unless I used both the old and the new pieces. But the old bricks made whatever I was building look shabby, so I would try to use as many of the new ones as possible and put the old ones in places where they were not so conspicuous. But there was no way I could avoid using them altogether ... not if I wanted to build something grand.

I had just finished reading AB's post on friendship when it occurred to me that the people in our lives - the ones we take for granted - are like old Lego. A person is always going to meet new people and make new friends, but like Lego, just the new is usually not enough. It will keep you happy for a while, but soon a time will come when you'll feel the need for some of the older bricks ... which you won't have if you've gone and thrown them away.

Reason I'm writing is because a friend very dear to me gives me the feeling I no longer fit into the life he is trying to make for himself. I am an old Lego brick that doesn't gel with the new. But he forgets he would not have elolved into the person he is today if it wasn't for the role I and many others like me have played in his life over the past so many years. He forgets the people who lent him money when they had very little of it themselves; he forgets the people who went out of their way to visit him in that hell-hole he was living in only because they didn't want him to feel left out. And surely enough it was those very people who helped him shift to more comfortable lodgings. I can go on, but there is no use.

The parable of the Prodigal Son comes to mind. When someone wants to go, let them.

***

All this talk about Lego got me thinking about how much I wanted to be an architect when I was growing up. I remember reading articles in the Readers Digest about the great Walter Gropius and Bauhaus, and about I.M. Pei (who designed the glass pyramid at the entrance to the Louvre in Paris). I wanted to be like them; I would study at the Harvard School of Design and build the worlds greatest structures. But it never happened.

They call it makhtub - what is written is written.

.... What do they know?

Peace, love and invisible ink.

You know the way many Indian girlie names end up getting shortened with an 's' - like how Divya becomes Divs and Raveena becomes Ravs ... well, if you have a daughter you better make sure you don't name her Tithi, because the poor thing will in all probability end up being called- you know what! And if she happens to have genes that turn her into a big-bazoomed Punjabi woman, she will never forgive you.

***

I've been looking at the Navy SEALs workout. Mel says we can do it. I know that the push up - pull up - sit up combination is very effective .... and if you get yourself two sets of dumbbells - one light, one heavy - you'll never have to shell out big bucks at the gym again. They also throw in a lot of running and swimming to build stamina. Yeah, it looks like pretty deadly stuff - you'll be ready to take on those damned Iraqi insurgents in no time.

The swimming might be a problem though. I normally avoid swimming in pools because of all the sumo's splashing about. It's hard even to complete one full lap without colliding into someone's bum. But they say you can substitute the swimming with cycling ... can't remember the last time I rode a bicycle. Not a bad idea though, considering the price of petrol and all.

***

Isn't that Rakhi Sawant episode bludy hilarious? I was watching one of the Hindi news channels today and they kept playing out the footage in a loop which made it even more funny. What the hell was Mika thinking? This is Bombay shahar ... not some hamlet in bludy Punjab where you can get away with this kind of misbehaviour. But something tells me Rakhi's item-girl days are over.

So, our Bollywood brats are having a ball at the IIFA in Dubai. And not surprisingly the movie Black (which to me was crap) has once again walked away with all the awards. Our man Ally tells me that some big Dubai-based Sindhi businessman has decided to give Sanjay Leela Bhansali free guthka for life because he was so touched by the film. In return Bhansali has promised to call his next film Red.

Also I hear a new Rakesh Roshan movie is going to be out soon, one that has beta Duggu (yeah that's Rhithik's pet name ... sounds like a drunkard parrot) doing something on the lines of Superman .... I can hardly wait! But if you ask me, Duggu should seriously consider becoming a full-time item-boy and leave the Superman stuff to someone else. He might hurt himself.

BFN.

sometimes all you can do is wait
and wonder:

am I the kill
... or am I the bait?

Trane's Blues by the great John Coltrane. This is one mind-blowing CD, and needless to say one of my all-time favourites. Read the reviews on the Amazon page (click on image).

I went to this Jazz Nite at the Willingdon Gym last Friday. The drummer was good, and not far behind were the guitarist and the saxophonist; though I couldn't help wondering how people are not sick to death of listening to stuff like Take-5, Autumn Leaves, Besame Mucho and Louis Armstrong's What A Wonderful World ... yeah, in Bombay even that passes off for jazz. Anyway, it was nice to be treated to some awesome drumming (solo on Take-5 especially). I forget the guys name but they tell me he does studio sessions for - get ready for this - Sonu Nigam! .... yeah if you're a jazz musician in India I guess that's what you gotta do to keep the wolf from the door.

***

Somehow I've always thought of Bombay as being a city without a soul. Each for himself, God for all ... and in Bombay even the Almighty will have his work cut out. Money is what it's all about; money is who you are. And that is why the first thing everybody wants to know is what you're doing. There is a certain uneasiness in the air till that vital piece of information is out in the open. And if what you're doing is not at par with what they do, it makes their evening just a little more enjoyable. Hence there's nothing I like more than having some fun with these all work-no life types you meet practically everywhere; like I did with this investment banker chap I was introduced to last Friday.

Hello SwB, nice to meet you. So what do you do?

Oh nothing much ... I just laze around all day listening to jazz and surfing the internet.

After a pause to see if I was joking or serious -- So who's your favourite jazz star?

Hmm... my jazz stars, let see - Brad Mehldau Trio, George Benson, the Marsalis brothers... so many.

Never heard of them. Do you like Dave Bru-back?

Oh yeah, Bru-back (actually it's Brubeck) ... he's pretty good. Take-6 is my favourite.

Hmm... I've only heard Take-5 (that's because there is no Take-6, buddhu!)

But I actually felt sorry for those guys up there on stage giving it their all, because they were playing for an audience that knows as much about jazz as your maid-servant knows about the ballet. But they have the bucks so all is forgiven.

***

Number of friends on Orkut is increasing - 5 now; and I know there are lots of people quietly popping in to view my profile -- sneaky little buggers! :) Some of you asked why I choose to remain anon. Well, anon. is always better I think. Read in the papers couple of days back that employers are now doing Google searches on prospective employees. Bludy dangerous stuff, that - imagine losing out on a job opportunity just because someone doesn't quite like what he finds out about you online. Those overpaid HR scoundrels must be rubbing their hands in glee ... nothing like getting paid for digging up dirt on people!

O.K. Listen to the title track on Trane's Blues; I guarantee you'll love it. It may sound familiar because some idiot DJ did a remix version of it some time ago ... given a chance they'll remix the bludy national anthem.

Peace, love, and a slow train to ecstasy.

World Cup 2006 is here. I don't know why but these days big sporting events like the World Cup and the Olympic Games seem to come up at intervals that seem a lot shorter than 4 years. I remember how it was when we were in school - one World Cup the Blues was a little baccha in Class IV and by the time the next one had arrived he had grown facial hair and was running after this girl called Shabnam in Class VIII - a very big jump, that.

Anyway, being Goan one feels kind of obligated to root for Portugal ... or at the least Brazil because they speaka-da-same language. I think I'd prefer Brazil, because like I say: the only thing the Portuguese did in Goa was build hundreds of Churches and change every second persons name to D'Souza.

***

My buddy Ally called up last night sounding mighty jolly and all that.

What's up bro, you seem to be in good spirits.

Yes dude, after I read about Orkut on your blog, I made a profile and... kya bolneka yaar, jindagi badal gaya!

Oh, what happened?

Chicks, dude - CHICKS! There are bleddy thousands of them just waiting to be contacted ... and Bombay girls toh, don't talk - too many!

But how'd you manage to make so many friends so soon? I still have just a couple.

Boss, the chicks won't come to you - you have to go to them. And guess what is my nickname? ... Clint Westwood!

LOL ... Clint Westwood??

Damn cool, no? Because everyone says I look like him ... and bleddy Aloysius Lobo sounds so boring.

But these girls, they're probably only interested in online friendships, right ... they can't be wanting to get serious and all that?

Dude which world are you living in? Girls are bleddy desperate these days - there are very few good guys; that's why this Orkut is such a goldmine. And by now you should know that females never say what they really want -- friendship-friendship bolte rehte but actually they want to have your babies!

Hmm… I wonder what Pudding will say when she finds out you've been looking at greener pastures?

Arre Pudding ko maro goli! You think she is not looking for greener pastures? I'm telling you she must have already grazed and come back.

Well, good luck to you then. Hope you find your true soulmate.

I'm telling you, this Orkut is your last chance .... If you don't do something now you will end up bleddy kuvara.

But approaching girls in this way seems kinda cheap, doesn't it?

Dude why don't you understand - they want you to approach them!! And what bleddy cheap you're talking about? Your pop hasn’t left you millions that the babes are going to throw themselves on you!

Yeah, but I'm sure there are hundreds of guys better qualified, better looking than me.

Arre aisa nahin sochneka bhai - just think you're a banana! You've heard that joke, no? ... What did the banana say to the vibrator?

What?

... What are you shaking for? She's gonna eat me!

for Dee

those days
when we were young and free
a distant memory
for you and me

these days
it's all the same
they won't let us play
if it's not their game