Cheta, Oru Plate Appam...

It's funny how one article can get you thinking and writing more in the same vein...Well; this author has gone into the same mode…and hold on, let me warn you, this may not be the only one of the same genre. If David Dhawan and Priyadarshan can get off making silly movies by the dozen passing them off as humor and if Ridley Scott can keep making war epics, why can’t this poor self write another one of his attempts at humor...or whatever you’d like to call it.

Well, it so happened that yours truly and his best friend decided to go out for a dinner. Well, very little of a choice for both actually, since the only thing we knew to do well was hogg (that’s hog with a double g… just for the impact). The place was also the very usual ‘Southern Spice’ a supposedly authentic Keralite joint. The restaurant can be passed on as genuine, since the waiters do speak Malayalam (That’s a good enough certificate, especially considering the trouble, your author has spent just trying to understand the language, well more about the language later) and they don’t gawk at your eating capabilities, a talent that only mallus have, and something only mallus appreciate. Well since your author and his friend turned out to have mallu origins this was pretty much a natural place to go.

Entering the restaurant, we were greeted with huge smiles. The owner having served us before realized the huge check that awaited him, had a couple of good words to say. Southern Spice is truly decorated in the traditional Keralite mould, of course I must say, pretty scarcely decorated, considering the Kerala touch was limited to a small replica of the famous snake boat and a few paintings of ‘Kathakali’ and the backwaters. Oh yes, there was the fishing net hooked to the ceiling, though I have always wondered how it could ever remind anyone of Kerala. The fishing net always gave me the creeps, as it gave me the feeling of being the poor fish the restaurant was desperately trying to catch. Anyways deftly avoiding the net we made our way to the nearest table, table meant actually for six but which very comfortably could accommodate us, we were very soon politely reminded of our numbers and quickly moved to a more appropriate table.

The restaurant was surprisingly full of Mallus; another weird or call it interesting observation on Mallus or even we Indians for that matter. How many of us would notice an Italian in an Italian Restaurant, or a Thai in a Thai restaurant; but the moment we visit a dhaba, we are inevitably likely to see it filled with north Indian or to be more specific, Punjabis. Same is with an Udupi restaurant that is bound to be filled up with Mangloreans, right from the owner, to the waiters, to the customers and even to the beggars waiting outside, all mouthing the choicest local language and slurping the various delicacies offered. Hence, it was no surprise to see the place full of Malayalees. There were atleast two couples, one obviously in love and the other bored of it, one group of college going girls (considering they were mallus, the college had to be a nursing institute), yours truly and his friend and last but not the least was a rather large family of 6 (i.e. 5 +0.5 +0.5; the two halves standing for the two little brats who did little of eating but more of a nuisance; both to their folks as well as to all around them). This is another interesting observation yours truly has come across; you take any restaurant, say with a capacity of 10 tables; fill it up with people of all walks and you are sure to come across one table consisting of a family with atleast two little kids, who do all the running and playing around like it was a park they were taken to. The statistic holds for any seating capacity and any type of restaurant; just increase all the numbers by the same proportion. Southern spice was no exception and let me leave it at that.

We quickly got down to business and ordered a range of Malayalee cuisine, the waiter who by now was familiar with our capacities, quickly jotted down and dashed off to the kitchen. I guess the kitchen must have been warned in advance of our coming, since they seemed pretty brisk about their business. The food quickly arrived and the quantity was enough to draw glares from the adjoining tables. Someone once said, you put two mallus together and they are an amiable bunch, put five together and they form a union, however, you put ten together in two groups of five each, and both the groups will soon start commenting on each other and deriding the other. The same was in our case, we drew mixed responses actually, some glares and some were appreciative nods. It isn’t too tough to make out which group was passing which comments. While the group of girls was passing on the glares, commenting on our palate and passing sympathies to our family, the men from the other tables were quick to appreciate our talent and looked on in envy. A mallu eating multiple helpings and rounding it off with a huge burp is considered a hero, akin to Clint Eastwood firing off a one shot kill and blowing off the smoke from the gun or coming closer home; Rajnikant killing two villains with one shot, by just putting a blade in the path thus slicing the bullets.

We were quick in our work and in a jiffy and finished off a couple of plates of appams, parothas, idiappams each. After the hugely sumptuous meal, as we moved off, we could hear the girls heaving a sigh of relief, the men trying to audaciously match us and the kids, well, trying to be kids. The restaurant manager, delighted as he saw our bill was quick to pass on his compliments and beckoned us to visit again, while we a little less enthusiastic on paying it and made another vow like the countless others we’d made already on controlling our diet and getting back into shape.

Well, round is a shape too, isn’t it?

- AspenRocks!!!

Blind Man's Qwest

Blind man, Blind man
Where are you heading?
I’m heading into the sunset
Thru a path of thorns and some clearing

Blind man, Blind man
What are you searching?
I’m searching for the fruit
That bears joy for all fearing

Blind man, Blind man
How far will you go?
I’ll move till the feet allow
I’ll move till the spirits forego

Blind man, Blind man
Has the fruit been found?
I’ve sought a thing and the spirits agree
It is sweet, though there’s no mirth around

Blind man, Blind man
That seems a fake you’re holding
The fruit is sweet and the spirit is dead
Too weary am I, for joy a damn I care

Cos all in all, I’m just a Blind man!!

An Evening to Remember...

Stage1: Two happy guys, searching for bliss…

There are times when a monotonous life suddenly takes a turn. A tune unknown till it suddenly hurtles towards a roadblock. One such even took place not sometime back. From the daily rigors of work towards trying something more adventurous, to feel the thrill in trying the unknown; so thought the two characters in this story. After years of destitute and loneliness, that was born from the seeds of rejection, the two decided to finally try something different, actually start ‘hanging around’ ;-).
Though they were eons away from actually having socialized with anyone, they were still confident of making a good start. So for the weekend, both Mark and Altaf headed towards a new pub. Filled with hope and confidence, that only got higher after reaching the place ‘Apache’. Apache was a new pub they’d discovered, a discovery that again arose from their need to ‘explore’ new territories. Their old hangout was being of no use, since most of the crowd were already well aware of them and preferred to stay away.
Both headed off on their old n worn out Hero Honda Chroma, a bike long extinguished, that it was hard to explain that such a model was ever in existence. After a couple of good hard kicks, it finally came to life and huffed and puffed towards Apache. The journey is better not described here in this text, as it would only expose the limited knowledge/ common sense of the protagonists here. Parking the vehicle next to an imported Suzuki and a Bajaj off roader, the bike seemed to be hiding away in shame. Looking back, Altaf remarked, “Maybe its time we bought a new bike”; to which Mark retorted “yeah rite, we might get a bicycle for the money we get from selling the bike”. The two classy bikes did make their vehicle look puny, but they were still proud of their bike, having saved them from multiple blushes in past, they could just not forego their dearest. Especially since all the other dears in their lives had already settled for the Hondas and Suzuki they got hold of.

Stage2: Two lusty guys and two happy girls, checking each other out…

Apache certainly seems to have met their expectations. A rock-themed pub, it seemed to be a much more convenient option, closer home, it offered a much more comfortable ambience. The pub walled with tinted glasses and lighted supremely to enhance the effects of the wall designs that ranged from the myriad cultures of the north to caricatures of all-time rock greats. The mixture provided a mix of both lounging around as well as a near head banging experience for the rock enthusiast. Being hardcore rock enthusiasts, the place certainly seemed to offer that and much more. However, in their eagerness to explore, they had reached the place much before time and found the place desolate. A few couples lazed around in some corners and a age-old soccer match was playing in the background. Visibly disappointed, both headed off to the bar counter, enquiring about the DJ. To their dismay, they were told to wait for another half an hour to listen to some semblance of rock. Looking around, they decided to head for the sofas; one for their need to give their well sized bellies some sort of comfort and second and more importantly; it gave them enough view to check the place for new guests.
After a wait of another 10 minutes or so, Mark caught note of someone entering and immediately craned his neck to get a better view. Being an eternal optimist, he expected a svelte damsel, and to his amazement, it indeed was not one but two petite girls heading their way. Having nudged Altaf, both suddenly had put on a look of busy but interested ‘single’ guys. Altaf immediately adjusted his leather jacket so as to show off his blue shiny party wear as well. The girls smiled and went onto the next table. Years of wilderness had made them hungry savages in search of food. The smile immediately tickled off all their senses and they looked on. The girls themselves intent of some fun for the evening, gave them plenty of encouragement to carry on. The stealing glances continued for a while, with both unsure of what to do next…

Stage3: Two desperate guys, two happy ones and two overjoyed girls, all checking each other out…

Altaf then got a call on his eighteen century cell. Trying hard to place the number, to his dismay it turned out to be his roommates, Arjun and Samrat, enquiring his whereabouts. All looks of hope and happiness seemed to drain away from his face had he told Mark about them. One of the main reasons for Altaf’s frustration, being the two couples he had living with him in his flat. Both roommates, gifted with looks to kill always piped Altaf when it came to girls, leaving him with his self to please. Call it coincidence or just plain luck, the two of them had ended up fighting with their respective girlfriends and wanted to join them. Mark could figure out his vibes with the adjacent girls fading away and forced Altaf to create some imaginary excuses to shoo them off, to no avail. Both of them appeared in no time, a time too early for both Altaf and Mark to make any headway with the girls nearby. Immediately the two ordered a round of pitchers and started oogling away. The girls knew their joy no bounds, seeing two gorgeous guys along with the existing folks, now staring away in glory.

Stage4: Two happy guys, two downtrodden and four furious girls…

By this time the DJ had arrived and had started playing some of their favorite songs. Taking this as a minor compromise, Mark and Altaf started enjoying the place after all. The four of them started grooving away to the tunes of Greenday, Metallica, Nirvana, and so on. The scene appeared close to that of a battle, with the four of them taking turns in wooing the girls, and the girls taking their time and putting their price. Samrat then got a call from his fiancé and now it was his turn to lose his energy and mirth. Both their girlfriends were on their way to meet them, having left no choice Samrat decided to call them to Apache. Both Arjun and Samrat, awaiting their impending doom, quickly gulped down their beers, so as to provide some relief from the incoming pain. Mark could see his fortune swinging away to his side and could not contain his glee. It wasn’t long, before Arpita and Divya joined them. The scene turned quickly from a battleground full of fearsome warriors to a refugee camp. Arjun and Samrat, bravely facing the brunt of all blows from their respective better halves, were whimpering in pain. The girls first overjoyed now in dismay at the arrival of two new competitors for their attention.
The video had changed from the soccer game to the live telecast of the last F1 race. Never before had the four of them ever paid so much attention to an F1 race as they did today. Never before did the cars look so good, the tracks so clean and the race so interesting. Arjun and Samrat finding a way to run from their woes, Mark and Altaf with nothing better to do, since all girls just decided to ignore them. The girls noticing their interests in disarray decided to give up for good and soon left the pub. Mark and Altaf, seeing their wishes fade away, decided on the F1. The combination of the F1 and some classic rock continued for a good one hour, before all decided it was time to wind up a rather good evening that ended up in mess.
Arjun and Samrat, repairing their broken egos and desperately trying to keep their girlfriends decided on the next best course of action, something to keep all busy and content – some good north Indian food. The food story would be a repetition since the events were pretty much the same, with Mark, Altaf looking around and Arjun Samrat combo doing the patchwork. With timing wiling away, evening drawing to a close, they finally seemed to have won their girlfriends back, albeit at a cost of over 2000 bucks on wasted booze and rubbery parathas. Turning their bike back home, it was again just Mark and Altaf. Two who had set on a mission just to watch some crucifixion and blood now seemed pretty content with the way things had turned out. Looking back, Mark exclaimed, “Maybe it’s not too bad to be without any girls, ain’t worth the effort.” And the two souls headed back with shattered dreams and a smile on their faces.

KAVERI - PURE VEG!!!

It has been over a year in Pune now, and a city that I once thought I would never be able to live in, has now become a home. My initial days were pretty filled with boredom, a conscious choice of avoiding roommates from either the company or the college. An apparent crave for solitude, a space my own. Over the days and months, I slowly got used to the crowd here. From a dingy in Baner, that leaked in the rains and melted in summers to a much more livable flat at Sus Road. Though the place was so much better than me, the monthly rent was killing and compelled me to make numerous sacrifices.

The flat I lived in was a pretty new one. The building itself wasn’t yet complete and there was always a hammer or tong going off, to make one realize the incomplete construction. It was one of those days that KAVERI PURE VEG was started. The place itself was discovered during one of our sojourns to find some ‘Chakna’ – a key ingredient in any drink session. The inauguration was supposedly a low-key affair and was given a miss. Checking the place immediately, we realized the cook was yet to arrive and as such, nothing was available. However, contrary to our normal and natural behavior, we persisted and reached again the very next morning. To our delight, our patience was answered with some crispy Dosas, steaming Idlis and ended with Tea. Now, Pune has multitude of restaurants, Dhabas, Thelas, u name it. However, there is yet a place to be discovered that serves decent tea, till Kaveri was started i.e. The Hotel seemed like a manna from up above, especially for a lazy bachelor, to find such good food in one’s basement is nothing short of a miracle.

It wasn’t until a few days that we noticed the Hotel owner, at first we took him to be another customer, an elderly person, sitting alone in a corner table, munching some Idlis. It was only when the time to pay came up that we realized he was the owner himself. And so our tryst with Kaveri had started, and developed over time. From an initial group of just two to a group of over half a dozen lazy laggards would descend upon Kaveri at any time of the day. Being the first and most valuable customers, we were always treated differently and to be frank a little bit pampered as well. Uncle was always at his joyous best, always delighting us with the day’s top news and his in-depth analysis and views.

It was during one such visit, that I got to see a different side of Uncle. He was as usual his cheerful self, however, a bit more restrained than other days. Looking at Uncle always amazed me, with his energy and the constant smile on him. Even as the day wearied on, he remained the same. But what was a 70 year old man doing, running a restaurant; while, he should have been playing with his grand children. Today I was determined to get this puzzle solved. Uncle too seemed to be in a loquacious mood, and relatively free from work.

Mr. Naik, was from a marine background having worked for a shipping company for over 30 years. Having seen the fight for independence at a very young age; he like all other Indians of the period had seen some of the worst of times from Partition, to communal riots to the struggle for food. Having been the only educated son from his family, he ended up where most of India, strives to reach and some actually do, the financial capital “Mumbai”. Guess it was fate or the call of the sea, but the Konkan born Naik ended up in an Italy-based Marine company. Coming from an age where job hopping was not predominant, he spent his entire career in the same company. From a small time clerk to retiring as a consultant, he had seen various ups and downs during his illustrious career. From his accounts I gathered that he was big time into drinking and playing with his friends. It was only once late in his life, when his son-in-law saw him in an unrecognizable condition, that he decided to stay away from liquor and has been that ways ever since.

He never believes in saving too much money and enjoys living the good life. Money according to him is to be enjoyed to saved and left to rot till ones death. He had seen instances of the rags-to-riches-rags story and enjoys recounting those phases. I couldn’t help asking him, as to why he was working even now; risking all the savings he had to start this restaurant. His only answer was, “I love to work, that keeps me alive and I couldn’t possibly stay dead.”

During the various interactions with him, I was led to believe, that its not his age or monetary condition that makes him wake up early in the morning and keep working till the wee hours of the day, but the need for action and staying independent. As he once said, “Its not important to ensure that your work gets recognized or praised, but, to self realize and bask in the glory of having done something, something different is what a person can cherish and relive those moments for the rest of his life.”

Even today, while the Dosas and Idlis are devoured, it is the daily interactions with him that really add the spice to our daily breakfast. Breakfast at KAVERI PURE VEG!!



- AspenRocks!!!

How I Wish

How I wish...
I had a stressfree day
With no job and all time to play
All wants fulfilled and wild imaginations come true
Like, A Limo and a house at the bay

How I wish...
There was no one to report to
No desk and no one reporting to
A day full of nothingness & devoid of deadlines
No race and no catching up to...
All in all, lots of time;to while away...

But then sometime back
I wished...
A great desk with lots of pay
Fine suits and opportunity to sway
People calling on and money at call
do my own thing, create my own way...

The wish has changed, so has the wisher
the horse still rides
albeit, with a different beggar

AspenRocks!!!