Bangalore baby ! She’s all the same. The city pesters you with the dust and heat through the day and at night the cool wind gods descend. The ‘cafe day’ and Barista on MG Road still cater to our “Brainstorming” needs – “namma Metro” is taking shape across the road. AC Volvos roam the streets, the ticket rates pretty cheap. The crowd is good, the wine formidable, Bangalore rocks round the clock!
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The problem with company guest houses is that some guys think its their dad’s property and get into big big trouble. I wish that guy wasn’t me.
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There is this “bong” proprietor of the company guest house *which my dad seems to not own*, who knows no english language. He asks me where my “gaav” is. I wanted to say “gaav nahi, thirontharam carparation area”. But then I didn’t. We all belong to some village don’t we, somewhere in the hills, near the sea.
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The Sidekick and me enter the company’s own guest house.
the Bong with wide grin “sir aaj aap JHOLDI aaya” *today you are early*
the Sidekick to me “JHOLDI avante amma” *his mother is fast*
me to the Sidekick “that was not needed”
the Sidekick to me “its JALDI not JHOLDI”
me to the Sidekick “how many words do you know in hindi?”
the Sidekick to me “who wants to know hindi”
Diamond jubilee huh !
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Its seems like the season of marriages. I gotta attend two this weekend and twenty three in the next two months. Ask anyone on the street where they are going, they’ll say “I’m going to get married”. Well fine ! I thought. Then there was this cool sparrow outside the translucent glass pane in that frickin guest house which the company alone owns. It was alone. I called out to him “thats the spirit dude, ottathadi paramasukham, humble, nimble and single”. Two days back, he too has got someone and I’m like some greek tragedy gaping through the translucent glass at their shadows. I instantly took a picture with my mobile phone which has no other use as nobody calls. I’ve made it my mobile’s wallpaper since then, just to remind me everytime I look at it of the great betrayal. Again to no use, as nobody calls. But I know his species now – the Great Betrayer Sparrow. And I’ve learned my lesson – never to trust sparrows in Bangalore.

Great B e t r a y al !

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Mallya annan’s (Malayannan is another species) new airlane – they don’t serve beer – Delhi based bloggers kindly note. My old comrade sits across the aisle, never seen a more jovial guy before or after.
He : “Aliya nammude pazhaya charakkinte kalyanam kazhinju” *someone got married*
Me : “nammude pazhaya charakka ?” *who ?*
He : “alla ente pazhaya charakku” *my old flame*
Me : “ha I heard ! some guy from her school days huh”
He : “nammalu kore mandanmaru veruthe porake nadannu” *I never knew*
Me : “surprise hmm”
He : “Ya but I’m happy. It feels good to know these things are possible”
Me : “ mean love is still possible in this world…that still remains the party line”
He : “lal salaam thanne….charakku air hostess alle”
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Does anyone remember the fifty foot woman – Attack of the. Has anyone wondered how lonely she would be up there – poor thing. This cute new girl in office wants to change everything around here; she is our twentieth century fox. I often wonder how lonely she might be, no one seem to like change. I don’t see anyone talking to her, does she go for lunch alone. Neways, one of these days I’ll buy her a lollipop, she deserves something better than the leadership to suck up to – on. Oh fine! You guessed it; I too like her – Not.
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Night shift construction workers on the high rise. Even by my nocturnal standards the hour is pretty late. The structure looks dangerous in the dim orange light with all that dust and protruding steel. I wonder what happens after the building is complete. These migrant workers will never be able to get inside our magnificant places; the security guy will stop them or some electronic identification device. The way things are going not even their future generations will make it into our high rises. Maybe their children would stand across the road, opposite our magnificent places and say his father built this building or his father slipped from the top floor and fell to his death at the place where they park the big cars. And I, with my insensitive stupidity would correct them saying it was Shahjahan who built the place to show his everlasting love towards his concubine. The constructor, his concubine and me – the pimp.
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Re-energized after a short trip home, I query the “bong proprietor” on why he doesn’t work in Calcutta. He sets up the DVD player and tells me that in Kolkata he would get just “Pandhra sou rupees”, in Bangalore he gets at least double that. I was not quite sure whether it was three thousand or thirty thousand rupees. Must have been a hard day’s night, the Alfred Hitchcock movie didn’t make sense to me for some time. He got up and left – it didn’t make any sense to him either I guess. After he walked away, I was pretty sure that the other half lives, though not quite on how side.
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May 27. After a seven hundred kilometer drive with the state’s best drunkards, we are greeted at the city gates by flash floods on and off the National Highway. The Gods arrived an hour before us, not just any other rain – its the monsoon entering the sub-continent. Happy Monsoon footprints!