Hot cup of tea after lots of Johnnie Black. Very nice. Best sleep I've had in three days. Jetlag can be quit a bummer. Trust good ol' scotch to fix it.

JC surprised me with a big chocolate cake. The boys turned up as well ... more for Johnnie than for me I reckon, but that's ok. I wouldn't have been happy drinking alone anyway.

Thanks for all the wishes. I'll try to reply to as many as I can (because there were so many) but if I miss anybody know it wasn't intentional.

And there was this one email sitting quietly in my inbox that I was almost missed among all the crowd which I was very happy to see. From someone whose birthday it was just a day before mine. This song for her ... keep spreading the joy! (bet she gets that a lot)

More Allman Brothers ... Midnight Rider.

forever to wander
forever to roam
no place
no heart
to call home

She thinks I'm staring at her breasts, which anybody will agree are mighty fine, but I'm not. I'm looking at her face ... so pretty, so delicate. And wondering how much it says about what's going on in her life.

How much does a face tell really? Does it give you a complete picture or simply an outline that you paint yourself?

Airport departure lounges can be interesting places, and painting pictures from peoples faces even more so. Even if it's not a picture you get to keep. Or do you?

***

In my last day in America I watched a movie that made me cry. About a love so sweet, so innocent, so consuming, so faithful; a love that each of us at some time or the other has wished we had. In which a very young Mandy Moore plays to perfection an ordinary girl with many desires - some ordinary, some far-fetched. Desires that threatened to remain unfulfilled because of her battle with leukemia. But then she unexpectedly lands up with someone who quite magically helps fulfill many of those desires in the short time that she has left to live.

On the flight back home I watched the Sex and the City movie (more out of curiosity than any real interest), the search for love/happiness/fulfillment being the central theme. And the difference between the two I think is that Jamie Sullivan (Mandy Moore's character) wasn't searching. Which is a very big difference.

So what am I - a Sex and the City character or a Jamie Sullivan? I used to be a Carrie Bradshaw, but now with age I'm a Jamie Sullivan (Freak I sound like a girl!).

But how long must one wait for love? ... Or rather, how long can one wait for love? They say you often bump into things after you've stopped looking. We'll see.

***

Back home after two weeks in the USA. Two weeks which for some reason feels like two months. Guess I needed a break real bad. Took lots of fotos which I will share with you here and on shutterbug blues/facebook. Interesting to me were the Indian girls in America. In many ways so different from their sisters back home in that there's a certain freedom on their faces that's not usual to see here. I took this one in downtown Boston. (Yes I know I'm going to get in trouble for these one day ... in fact I'm pretty sure she saw me!)

The Allman Brothers Band ... Sweet Melissa. For Cynic and Yashita. Thanks for the awards.

Greetings from the beautiful city of Boston!

Everything in this country is so BIG - The buildings, the streets, the malls (God you can get lost in there!), the wide open spaces, the pizza even! If only they had better public transportation. In Switzerland you could get from anywhere to anywhere at anytime. Here not so. If you don't have four wheels under you you're pretty much paralysed.

Flight in to JFK was not bad. Desi junglees even did well to keep the toilets usable for longer than I had expected. And Delta's in-flight entertainment was pretty good. Though the most fun I had was when I saw this Southie chap in the seat behind craning his neck to get a glimpse of the steamy love scene from the movie I was watching. LOL! Which left me no choice but to tilt the screen to an angle that made it frustratingly difficult for him to see, until finally he gave up. Arre dude, hokie-pokie dekhna hai toh dekh na ... sharmata kyoon hai!

.... But how many of you would watch the good sexuss in full view of you co-passengers? And I had my mom sitting next to me.

That's about all the update for now. This weekend I got my cousins from Joisey coming over, so a family reunion of sorts.

***

I would dedicate a song to our girl Cynic who, in spite of being told not to, has handed me an award (sweet of her though), but for some reason the Radioblogclub page won't load here on my brothers laptop. Anyway Cynic, I get you a T-Shirt or something.

Cheers!

Never thought it would be so interesting just standing there at one spot on Main Street watching the people pass by. Which is what I ended up doing this morning waiting for bludy Q to turn up. Lots of pretty wimmen, and wimmen are generally more interesting passers-by than men, their conversations especially. What happens is you end up catching little snippets of things they say which at times can be quite funny. 'I don't think we should go in here ... they sell all shit yaar,' says one of the girls in a group of three. They go in anyway.

Only thing missing was my camera. But I wonder how people would react to some fellow randomly clicking away at them. The wimmen for sure would be freaked out ... probably think I'd do some digital masti and post pictures of them on the internet with their tops missing.

But I tell you it's quite wonderful. And with every photo-op that presented itself popped into my head a little caption to go along. Like the teeny-bopper college couple - Lanky boy walking awkwardly beside her looking slightly nervous about the impression he was making; she on the other hand had this lovely carefree look about her ... loose black skirt, slippers and a black tee with the Google logo printed on the front. 'I'm NOT Feeling Lucky' is the caption that popped up. And I laughed. Because he had just asked her what her favourite ice-cream flavour was. And she goes- guess, guess!" And I'm like- Google it, dude! You can find your mothers first boyfriend on Google if you're persistent enough.

Then there was the fatso chick with the layers and layers of lard doing a little jiggy dance under that huge sack of a T-shirt she was wearing. And for her the caption: VLCC ... Very Large Crude Carrier! Mean, I know.

And what's with these chicks getting the tattoos? Saw so many of then, on the shoulder mostly. And they walk around flashing them like they're making a statement or something. Bullshit! You wanna make a statement get your tongue pierced, like this girl Jeannine I know back in Zuerich. First time I went out with her and saw that tongue with the shiny metal stud sticking out right in the middle, I almost jumped. How do you eat with that bludy thing, I asked her. 'Well - for eating it's a pain, but for a lot of other things...'. Ooh she was naughty. And then she goes, 'I got two more of them but I can't show you ... here!' :)

So yeah. I'm gonna do it again. All I need is to find a discrete enough location where I can get the good shots without some dames chappal landing on my face. Wimmen can be quite vicious when they're freaked out you know.

***

This time next week I'll be at Chattrapati Shivaji waiting to take the flight to JFK. Which invariably will be packed full with Gujjus and other assorted desis. Who invariably will render the toilets unusable within one hour or take-off. And one of them will invariably ask the stewardess to confirm that the breakfast is indeed not non-vegetarian. And if she happens to be like the girl on that Austrian Airlines flight I took to Vienna last year will curtly go: Sir, our fruits are not made of beef!

Our Indians are such messy travellers I tell you, such messy travellers. It's like we don't know the difference between one of Lalloo's cattle-carriers (aka the Indian Railways) and a jet airliner. Either that or we don't care. The shit does not fall onto the tracks here Uncle, you gotta flush the toilet!

And we have this horrible habit where if something is free, we must - and there can be now two ways here - we must try it. Have you seen how they will open everything in the food tray, even if they know they're not going to eat it. You have no clue what the hell that is, so leave it alone dude. But no, free hai toh taste toh karenge! And then you see the bugger go bwaaak! Whats he just eaten? Pâté ... or some shit that looks like pâté.

And what do you do when you got a fidgety Joe sitting next to you? Don't tell him to stop. No, never do that. Fight fire with fire - you start fidgeting. He'll get the message soon enough. But if you got a farter, then you're done for. Unless you can beat him at his own game. Now how much fun would that be! Cuz if there's one thing that annoys a farter more than anything it's someone who leaves him blue in the face. Blue in the base actually.

Then there's the nosy aunty. Oh I gotta tell you this - Indian girl at Vienna airport travelling alone to Bombay. You know the type - tall, nice figure, tight blue jeans, American accent, too much make-up, early-thirties Gujju from Joisey with only one problem in life - goddamned relatives doing everything they can to get her hitched. So there she is sitting a few places away from me at the departure lounge reading a novel when this Indian aunty pops out of nowhere. Now I freak out ... Stay the hell away from me bitch! And Praise Jesus, she goes and plonks herself next to Gujju chick. Your ass is grass babe, is what I wanted to say to her. And didn't she know it. It was so hilarious I cannot tell you, the look on her face, because obviously she's been through this before. Hello, I am Mrs. Desai from Chembur. Are you travelling alone? No, No ... say NO!!!, I'm screaming at her in my head. My boyfriend's just gone to the toilet!

But you know what the stupid girl does? She goes and says yes. And that's all Mrs. Desai needs.

To cut a long story short, every aspect of the girls life is queried - her family, her career, her single status (yes that most of all), even her love life. Aunty actually has the audacity to ask if she is seeing someone. Finally we board the aircraft and Gujju girl is in the seat in front of me. Relieved, I can tell. Then the most unbelievable thing happens. Mrs. Desai pops up again from behind somewhere and goes, 'Hellooo, I asked the air-hostess to change my seat so I can sit next to you!' Hahahaha, you should have seen the look on that girls face ... Priceless!

She suffered ... all the way to Bombay. Moral here again: Never say yes when you want to say no.

Goan boy next to me (he was a pilot with Air Deccan btw ... Bandra bugger men!) was complaining to the stewardess that the in-flight entertainment wasn't working too good. You won't be needing that mate, I said to him. We got all the in-flight entertainment we need right here in the seat in front of us. He understood later what I was talking about.

As for me I have the perfect fuck-off line. I was in the train from Luzern to Zuerich when this desi bugger sitting across the aisle, after some of that typical looking me up and down thing we Indians are renowned for, decides to come over and get pally.

... Are you from India?

Karachi.

Not a word from him after that.

***

A long post this has turned out to be. Thank you everyone for not giving me that Brillante Weblog shit that's being passed around. I can think of nothing more ridiculous.

Nice weekend and all. Scorpions. Always Somewhere.

The week started with a visit to the company doctor. After I had spent a good twenty minutes scurrying through various medical websites looking specifically for 'symptoms of heart attack'. Now it's not funny how different websites have so many different symptoms listed down. It's like you go to one and they say this, this and this. You're happy - great so I have nothing to worry about. But then you decide to get a second opinion, which on the internet can only serve to heighten your confusion, if not your fears. Because the second website will have this, this, this and THIS! Bludy hell! Start worrying again. Shit, I'm gonna kick the bucket if I don't rush to a doctor NOW! So that's what I did. Dropped everything and rushed, like my damn life depended on it. And who knows, maybe it did.

Stupid lady doc doesn't seem to take me seriously. I've been having this pain in the left side of my chest since last evening, and I'm not sure what it might be. Do you have indigestion, she asks coolly. Arre indigestion ko maaro goli, my heart may be on it's last few beats here, do something dammit!! No no, I think it might be my heart, I say nervously. She starts laughing. And I mean really a hearty laugh. Which is when I begin suspecting she might be one of them quack doctors from Jalgaon. After all why would any medical professional worth his/her salt sit in a room in an IT company handing out Disprins and Crocin to people ... Nope, doesn't make sense.

Anyway she decides, and I can sense the disinterest, to examine me more thoroughly. Or so I thought. Because all she does is make me lie down and wraps that electronic pressure gauge around my arm. Which is quite a cool little device compared to the old hand-held one that went puchh-puchh-puchh-puchh and felt like it would blow up anytime. Pressure is normal, she says, nothing to worry. Hey hang on - what about pulse, breathing etc. Don't you need to check that? No, not required. OMG she is a quack from bludy Jalgaon!

My mind is racing. Maybe I should take the next transport out and rush to family doctor. But I should call home first. Damn, they'll just start on again about the exercise and the diet and the drinking. No, I'll just rush to the doc - a real doc, not like this quack-ass female.

She gives me two green gel capsules. To thin the blood, or clear the arteries, I'm not sure. So I ask her. Pudin Hara, she replies, cool as a cucumber again. Take two now, two later. But you only gave me two! The rest you'll have to buy, she says bluntly.

I have a good mind to send an email to Chairman & MD. Bastard if you can't give your employees one full strip of Pudin Hara, you you... YOU SUCK!

So that's what it turned out to be. Pressure around the chest region as a result of indigestion (she didn't say that, my own inference). Which, now that I think about it explains why she was so cool. In a company where the gastronomical delights served up in the canteen everyday could easily be converted into low-grade biological weapons, I'm sure every second person is a sufferer.

***

Two weeks and I'll be in the US of A. I really do need to start exercising again. I hate this lifestyle I have now. Work, eat, drink, sleep, shit and blog. Nope, not good. On the diet front I've been eating salads all week, so that's a start. Which is not so bad you know. In fact I quite like it.

I was watching Obama speak at the Democratic Convention last night. Dude is quite an orator, isn't he. And whoever writes his speeches is doing a damn good job.

It's all in the marketing ultimately. Which is something I was thinking about yesterday. So much of life's successes depends on how we market ourselves -- the jobs we land, the women we sleep with. Actually it's just those two.

Natalie and the Chicks. Landslide.

Guy in the office has a perspiration problem. Nothing he's tried seems to have had any effect. Result is huge - and I mean HUGE, like he bludy pisses from his armpits - sweat patches. So we gave him a solution: Sanitary pads. Right there under the arms. Held in place with rubberbands. For some reason he got extremely annoyed.

***

AXE Dark Temptation. One they claim is as irresistible (to the wimmen presumably) as chocolate. We've all seen the ad on TV. Tried it yesterday and I safely can say that the only 'effect' this one's gonna have is to drive the flies away. Aforementioned guy bought himself one yesterday (if he can't control the perspiration, at least he tries not to stink) and I did a little test spray on my wrist, and God it's awful! Ain't no dame on the bus gonna be wanting to bite into your backside if you got that on.

***

Bigg Boss 2. How they managed to get such an obnoxious bunch of people together (Monica Bedi being perhaps the only exception) is something that beats me. Like last season they had our dame Carol and Anupama and others you wouldn't mind watching for a bit. But these folk this time are like characters straight out of a no-budget desi horror flick. One look at them and you want to go for the remote.

***

The Bongs must surely be a worried lot. No, not because Ratan has threatened to pull out. That they will handle - Momta will be given a few roshogollas and told to shut up. It's something much more serious. Read about it today in the latest Outlook. Apparently the Hilsa (or their beloved Ilish) which is to them what donkey penis is to the Chinese, is on the brink of extinction in the once bountiful rivers of Bengal. Whch is what happens when you have no variety in your cuisine, for whatever reason. And now in true socialist style there's talk of rationing -- One Ilish per family per month, not exceeding 800 grams in weight. Anything more than 800 grams will be confiscated by the Politburo and served to prospective foreign and domestic investors at State hosted banquets.

So the next time you visit a Bong household better not ask for Ilish, for your request will be met with much displeasure. They might even just ask you to leave.

***

Thought we'd catch some live music today, but now it doesn't look like that's gonna happen. Thankfully for us there is still not a ban on live music in pubs and other such places where liquor is served. Unlike in Bangalore. There it seems, and I don't know how far it's true, they have even banned dancing. Apparently there was a fear in some quarters that the women on the dance floors could be mistaken for prostitutes.

Collective Soul. The World I know. Happy weekend.

If I were an Olympic swimmer right now I'd be cursing my bludy luck. And he's not done. Now he's talking 2012! All the others out there better think of moving into something else. I'd say 4 years is enough time to make the transition to water-polo.

My buddy Ally is equally pissed off by this phenomenon called Michael Phelps. Talking to him today after what seems like ages, he had this to say:

Dude I'm telling you they should have given the bugger a platinum medal first only and sent him home.

LOL It was 8 golds that he was after, not one platinum.

But what about the Olympic spirit dude. Hogging all the bleddy medals is fair or what?

It's not about what's fair man, it's about who wins.

I'm just waiting for some bugger to come and kick his ass. Best would be if he gets beaten in every event by a different bugger. Then he'll learn his lesson.

Yeah well, that won't happen anytime soon.

We don't mind if he wins the gold again and again in one event, like your pole vault chick Isinbayeva ... man, what a body she has! But this is bullshit dude. This should not be allowed. I feel one athlete should not be allowed to compete in more than two events.

Hmmm, now that they could do. Yeah, that's actually not a bad idea - a cap on how many events you can compete in.

Then what ... bleddy bullshit! People also are getting bored watching the same bugger winning again and again and grinning like a vampire!

***

So what do you say - a cap on the number of events per individual? You gotta feel for the others. Four years is a long time to slog it out for Olympic glory only to get wiped away by a tsumani called Phelps.

And speaking of Yelena, wasn't she just awesome! My Russian sweetheart. Another world record, another gold medal. And she does have a helluva bod, doesn't she? Check out those abs ... I always dreamed of having abs like those.

Back to work tomorrow. Four days at home has left me seriously bored. Went out to town for a bit, popped in at Landmark with the specific intention of flipping through our girl eM's book but would you believe it, they don't have it yet.

ABBA. The winner takes it all. Good week.

Mahesh Lunch Home was a disappointment. Yes, we could not afford to eat the lobster. No, not the tiger prawns either. All we ate was squid for starters, humble fish-curry rice and clams. No dessert, thank you. But if they couldn't get that right, I don't see myself paying big money for anything else they got on the menu. Start with the squid. I want to meet the cook - dude you do not know the first f'ing thing about how to cook squid. Learn from my Aunty Leena, since my mother ain't that good at it herself. It's all in the marination. Leave it there couple hours and then slow cook it. Don't just get it out of the fridge, toss it into a batter, deep fry and serve. I might as well eat French fries. Fish curry - here again, you gotta use fresh coconut, not the canned variety which makes the curry look like a new shade of Asian Paints. My mother can make better fish curry in her sleep. Two miserable slices of surmai in curry that had no damn taste.

You see that's the difference between the Mangaloreans and the Goans. The Mangaloreans being the clever buggers they are can take a humble eatery and turn it into a household name through some slick marketing. And the last people they are catering to are the Mangaloreans themselves. So you will find folk from other communities (who don't/can't cook fish at home) coming away licking their lips and spreading the word to all and sundry. Before you know it Mahesh is THE place to go for seafood.

With the Goans on the other hand, a humble eatery will remain a humble eatery for generations. Case in point is the City Kitchen at Ballard Estate. Speaking from the last time I went there, which was years ago, you will find so many flies in the vicinity of your table that you just want to gobble up your food (which they say is still quite good) and make a dash for it before one of them decides to end it's life in your curry. They just don't care - the owners, not the flies. To hell with the whole dining experience. I'm sure the decor (actually there isn't any) hasn't changed since the day it opened and the waiters could do with a crash course or two. But most importantly, it never seemed to have occurred to them that there were a whole bunch of people besides the Goans (rich wealthy types there for the taking) who'd fancy a bit of fish-curry and other seafood now and then and are willing to pay good money for it, provided it is served in clean comfortable surroundings. And that is where the Mangies cast their nets - literally. End result is places like Mahesh.

The clams were ok. I reckon they were priced so cheap cuz most people either don't know what they are or don't now how to eat them. In Konkani we call them tisrio - the poor man's seafood. And as far as I know there's only one way to eat them. With your tongue. Yeah you gotta hold that shell up straight with two fingers near the entrance to your mouth and scoop out the flesh with your tongue, going from the bottom up (obviously!). For some reason the dame at the next table was looking at me kinda weird when I was demonstrating this technique to my friend. Maybe it reminded her of something else, I don't know.

Show-offs sitting some tables away asked to see the days catch. So out came the tiger prawns on a platter, and lobsters that looked like they'd been dead for days, and a big fat pomfret that looked like it had another pomfret in it's belly. All in all a waste of money. I'll give it one star out of five. Punju dames sitting right behind us were bludy hot!

***

Old lady Madonna turns 50 today. And being not that young myself I remember what a phenomenon she was mid-late 80's. She and Wacko Jacko ruled the roost then. Which again had more to do with slick marketing than anything else. Today's also the day the King left us ... if he did actually leave us.

So which is your fav Elvis number? Always on my mind is the one I like the most, sung here by the great Willie Nelson. For Sonz ... hope you're doin' ok. Sorry I haven't emailed or called.

Hahahahahahaha ... Look what I just found. Isn't Blogsville wonderful!

And boy is she pissed off. To me it's a mystery as confounding as who killed Aarushi - why would anyone, unless they were stark-ravin bludy mad, pay 160 United States Dollars to see the Bachchans on stage. I wouldn't go to see Amitabh Bachchan if I knew he was making an appearance at the Ganesh mandal down the road.

As for Little Turd and Chicken Lollipop, well - they'll do whatever Big B(ollocks) tells them to do.

So Nethra's the winner on KKK. Wasn't a lot of fun watching Rajiv Hari Om Bhatia (aka Khiladi Kumar, who in some episodes looked like a coolie at Bombay Central) making them delicate darlings do all those dangerous, not to mention icky, things. What if they got hurt, or worse - chipped their nails! But I love Nethra, because she's lovely but ain't fair. Just like I love Sheetal and Nandita. Dusky women are so damn gorgeous.

Speaking of dusky, new dame at work - oh my Lord Jesus! You know there are some women you just want to sleep with. No seriously. And she be one of them. Dumb as a doornail, bet she never heard of Robin Ferrari or Paolo Coelho, but who friggin' cares ... the whole damn universe conspires to get into her knickers!

In case you're wondering, no I didn't get me any new clothes. Looked around a bit and got bored. Then went house hunting with an ex-colleague. Which was eventful in itself. You know how they have these flats with balconies (or sit-outs as they're called) that share a common half-wall with the sit-out of the next flat ... well the flat was nice and all, but the owner was quoting too much. When asked to show us the balcony he hesitated a bit saying it wasn't clean, but we insisted on seeing it anyway. Hardly had we stepped outside when this huge beast from the neighbouring flat that sounded like a cross between one of them hounds of Baskerville and Godzilla almost leaped over the wall at us. Bludy hell, I'm not staying here, said my friend. Goddamn beast may eat my kid alive! At which point the owner says in Hindi- Nahin nahin, woh jyada aawaz nahin karta ... woh abhi shayad thoda bookha hai! LOL No wonder no one's ever stayed there more than six months.

But imagine if you bought a place, took a loan that bled you dry, only to be living next to Godzilla. I know what I'd do, but let's not upset the animal lovers.

***

Just caught Ranbir and Deepika on Dus ka Dum with Dressed Chicken. Deepika to me looks kinda out of place playing the filmi girlfriend. Badminton would have been more her thing. Wonder why Ranbir was calling Dressed Chicken Sir?

Anyway, it seems 43% of Indian women go for money rather than good looks (...then they wonder why men only think about sex). And, which is a coincidence that had me laughing, 80 odd % believe in Coelho's universe conspiracy thing. What a nation of saps!

James Hetfield and Metallica. The Unforgiven. Luvvit!