Of boredom, beliefs and biryani
My thoughts joined my body in the astral plane. The noises in the ‘bored’ room droned on like torture equipment running on low battery, at best tickling me and eliciting a chuckle at my own misfortune. I couldn’t help but notice I was the only member in the room not to sprout ...and may I add, proudly sport, ear hair. Enough said, as my thoughts leave the room behind and retrace their path to spring of last year.
Cut to April 2008. The rose tint rushes back to my lenses. Yeah baby, I’m going to the land of the Nizams, the land of Biryanis...those long-grained beauties, pampered by a dose of magical spices, seduced by a low flame...geez, lady Biryani - the femme fatale of foodies! The greater mission of donning a mortarboard in a b-school took a backseat, or in this case, the backburner. The biryani diet washed down with the finest brew from Bangalore was the highlight of every week. Our field agents brought in pieces of intelligence – “I promise you, just eat there once and you’ll never smack your lips at any other,” “Man, the biryani there is worth waiting till midnight,” “That is the food of Gods, my friend. If you don’t like it there, I’ll pick up the tab.” Every lead was duly followed and my waistline cooperated, unlike my wardrobe. It would be unfair to say that the experience was not enjoyable. We had our fair share of “Dude, that was the best damn biryani!” and also an unfair share of “What on earth was that? Does ‘slow’ cooking mean a dufus trying to whip up something?” Little by little, my romance with lady Biryani lost its lustre. Of course, I’d be lying if I said I don’t give in to her charm and engage in a tryst once in a while ;-)
Moving on, there’s a thing or two I have to say about the local practices and beliefs. Jaywalking! In this town, it is a sport, a hobby, a religion, a ritual, a way of life!! There’s something to be said about their staunch belief that if they turned their back on you and crossed the street, a powerful invisible shield would be generated instantaneously around their inconsiderate rears. Nothing can hurt, cos I put my best part backward. This they believe in strongly. So strongly that I feel tempted to peek into their schools and see if it is taught in there. The second and stronger belief is that the city is a huge sink and/or commode. You can’t drive half a kilometre without spotting someone relieving themselves or exercising their right to spit with no regard to oncoming traffic – on wheel/foot. Before I cry holier than thou, I have this to say to the folks in question – “At least get off the frikkin’ black top and get closer to the bushes, you cavemen!” I wish the traffic woes ended there, but it would be like wishing for Salman to keep his shirt on. I recently encountered this – four guys on a bike, from three glorious generations I think, going by their spectrum of hairlines and dressing styles. Four fully grown men – some more fuller than the others, of course all references are to the physical side of things. It was a couple of minutes past sundown. Just about the time sensible drivers turned on their headlights, but our quartet don’t fit the description. The bike comes hurtling downhill, no lights...and on the wrong side of the road! C’mon guys, give fate a fighting chance, you morons!! Here’s the kicker – they do all this with a cop as witness. Top that, I say!
Phew! There, venting done. Sadly, my daily dose of exhilaration is yelling expletives at these ‘believers.’ I promise myself that I need to relax, ‘cos yelling ain’t the solution. So, I’m starting my campaign by making a flyer that says “Try. Your headlights can operate in low beam as well. See, I told you!” Followed by “I know you have to go that bad, just move into the bushes a tad!”
Bored room calling M3: "Come back here you lil fella. Listen to what I'm sayin'. I know it all. See my wisdom hair? Got any? No? I didn't think so. Run along."
