the conspiracy.

I need atleast a couple of days to recuperate when I get back from India.

It's not that I get jet-lagged. India is just 2.5 hours ahead of Kuwait for Heaven's sake. But the Kuwait Airways flight departs from Chatrapati Shivaji Airport at 6:10 am, and the entire night prior is spent trying to stuff forgotten bits and bobs in the suitcases and then at the tedious check-in and immigration at the airport, in a lousy mood throughout.

But besides that, I don't get much sleep in Bombay. Unless I'm on an adrenaline rush, I'm in a constant state of exhaustion.

I stay at my aunt's house wherein every single inhabitant is a raging insomniac. We spend half the night talking, convulsed with laughter, and then sleep by 3 or 4 am. I settle into bed, setting the alarm for 11 am on my iPhone, forgetting in my naivety that I was in India.

My cousin begins his morning karaoke session at about 8 or 9 am, i.e. he cranks up the volume on his speakers and sings along in his room, shattering my sweet slumber. I wake up groggy and tousle-headed to him blasting LMFAO's Shots while playing Guild Wars 2, and close the door to the room I'm sharing with his sister (who continues sleeping peacefully). The door is mysteriously ajar despite my having shut it before turning in. I then settle back to sleep, my eyes wincing in the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

An hour of very disturbed sleep later, the doorbell peals incessantly, penetrating into my dreams. I wake with a start. The house and everyone in it, including my sister beside me, is still, except for my lunatic brother who is now passionately singing Coldplay's The Scientist at the top of his voice, oblivious to what's unfurling outside his lair. Shaking my head in disbelief, I take in a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to walk to the hall and open the front door. It's the milkman asking for his dues. I politely ask him to come back later in the afternoon. I bring in the paper and nariyal pani* left on the doorstep and then struggle to go back to sleep.

Barely thirty minutes later, the doorbell unfailingly rings yet again. Nobody in the house has stirred. No sound of music from my brother's room; I assume he's finally turned in. Disgusted, I open the door with a ferocious scowl. It's a delivery from Flipkart, a few books I'd ordered online have arrived. Only slightly mollified, I make arrangements for the payment, dump the package on my suitcase and head back to bed, falling asleep.

The doorbell rings once more.

I swing open the door with murderous intent. It's the servant. I let her in while singing praises of the Lord, now she could open the door for the next disturber of the peace! I climb back into bed and collapse, dead to the world.

Ten minutes later, my 11 am alarm rings.

*nariyal pani: coconut water

(Bombay, Feb '13)

bombay, how do i love thee...

Gateway of India, lit up in all its splendour.

Bombay may fail to appeal to one for a multitude of reasons. The traffic is loud, never-ending, and stops for no one. The beggars and eunuchs that haunt certain streets leave no vehicle unmarked with their grubby hand prints, whether it's a Bajaj scooter, an auto rickshaw or a Mercedes. It's almost always terribly humid—you could wring out your clothes at the end of the day and fill two buckets to the brim with your sweat. There are slums in perhaps every area, accompanied by filth and squalor. Too many of the residents are shallow and conscious about impressing an equally shallow society. I'm not sure I could ever live there.

Worst of all, in my opinion, the locals are completely contemptuous of the gods of English grammar and scorn the staunch and unyielding faith of the grammarians, repeatedly disrespecting and ridiculing it, trying to inveigle them into joining the Dark Side, as evidenced by this ad from Sony India (October 2012):

The copywriter wasn't too...bright.

Nevertheless, I love Bombay. It's the only city that I've been to (so far) where the branches of trees on either side of the road often meet in the middle, their leaves whispering and cajoling, paying no attention to the noisy traffic that drives by below them. There isn't much sunlight allowed into the side streets; the dense foliage of the many trees stand guard to prevent too much from creeping in.

Bandra.

somewhere in the suburban side of the city

And then of course, the family I adore lives there.

I made a quick trip to Bombay last week, the primary reason for which was to complete my dental work (three crowns on root canals, one cap on implant). To the dimwitted (who unfailingly inquire, "don't you have dentists in Kuwait?"), the cost of getting all that done with a good dentist in Bombay, plus the airfare, was about a third of what it would cost me here. Thankfully, it wasn't humid at all.

When I wasn't getting crowned, I spent my time with friends or family, usually at home or in a restaurant. My cousins have told me only too often of the 'awesome' food in this restaurant in Bandra or that one in Juhu. I love trying new things (not necessarily food), so I decided it was time to try a variety of food in as many unexplored places possible, with relatives or friends in the short time I had (nine days). The result was that I often had to have lunch twice with different people to ensure I spent adequate time with all I cared about.

It was worth it. Mouth-watering appetizers, dumplings and sushi (the range of veg sushi included mango sushi and olive sushi. That was a bit...strange) with my aunt at Global Fusion. Mocktails and a very forgettable dessert with close friends from MBA at TGI Friday's. Pizza with cousins at Alfredo's. Churros sprinkled with icing sugar and dipped in white and milk chocolate (YUM YUM YUM!) with a friend I met online at Chocolateria San Churro. Nachos and pizza with cousins at Bombay Blue two hours later. Ginormous crabs with half the family at Gondola where I appeared to have no knowledge of table manners. Chicken rolls, tarts and eclairs with another friend I met online at Candies. Portuguese Chicken with my aunt and cousin at Gaylord.

Damn that's quite a list. A couple of days I felt I would explode. It's weird; I lost weight despite the gluttony!

When it comes to interiors, a restaurant and a cafe completely floored me—Global Fusion and quite surprisingly, Starbucks.

Global Fusion has a lovely ambiance. The plentiful lunch buffet is served all around the restaurant, so you work up a bit of an appetite walking to inspect the buffet tables. It was busy; every table was occupied. A single table stood on a wooden platform above a pool of water. There were a couple of large toads (not real ones silly), with water jutting out their mouths, between tables in another, long pool of water. I didn't look around too much as the restaurant was closing and I wanted to eat more sushi, but it was very appealing.

A glimpse of Global Fusion.
Image source: http://mumbai.burrp.com

Shockingly enough, Starbucks in Fort takes the grand prize.

My cousin was immensely excited about Starbucks finally coming to India (in October 2012) and had made me promise we'd go there together, even though she'd been before. Having lived in Kuwait most of my life, where a Starbucks branch lies on every street corner, I wasn't particularly enthusiastic. I also despise beverages. My choice of drink is water (iced tea or nariyal pani* in India). If I'm in a cafe to catch up with a friend, I order hot chocolate. My aunt however, said it was a beautiful place so off we went.

Oh Lord. It was beautiful.

This branch of Starbucks was the epitome of the 'East meets West' concept, merging the American brand with European architecture and Indian culture, as my aunt put it. The Fort branch is in the Elphinstone Building, which is built in the Neo-Gothic style of architecture courtesy of the British. The quaint interiors of the coffee shop are reminiscent of places in North India, with wooden rafters, trunks for some of the tables, old-fashioned suitcases stacked in corners, carved wooden arches, high back armchairs, some antique furniture...very unlike the Westernized outlets in Kuwait and elsewhere around the world. The rustic look worked very well. I was smitten.

Don't miss the carved wooden
partition beneath the arch

                                                       

Another carved wooden arch

A closer look at the fine carving...can't seem
to get enough 

Note the milk containers and the print on the quaint
little suitcases!

Wooden rafters. I love them wooden rafters. 

A cozy corner :) I couldn't get closer for a better pic 

The drinks and cakes weren't a hit with me, but that's probably because I wasn't in the mood for hot chocolate, hate coffee and dislike cake.

It's always hard to leave Bombay. This time it was almost unbearable (in other words, I went emo). It's been a little more than a day since I got back but it seems like a distant memory now, as it usually does when I leave a country, even if it's Kuwait. I suspect I will post more to immortalize how I felt there so I don't forget. I forget too much too soon. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm developing Alzheimer's...

*nariyal pani: coconut water

(Bombay, March '13)

just me and the road.

A zephyr blows tirelessly, accompanied by a drizzle. The light rain patters down on my hair forming an effect of early morning dew on a spider's web. Toes clutching onto my cousin's chappal* two sizes too big for me, every step I take is accompanied by a risk of the abysmally large footwear flying off and exposing my feet to the dirt, grime and muck that lie in plenitude on the streets of Bombay.

Damp hair hurriedly pulled into a wild bun with a side ponytail while they're still manageable, make for a bizarre 'do. Having forgotten my scarves in Pune in the last minute rush to leave, I had to make do with a peach chiffon scarf my nani** lent me to mismatch on a light grey tee which on account of its stretchable cotton material, had grown a size.

Completing my ensemble with a nonchalant scowl, I walk fearlessly like I own the road, enjoying the gorgeous weather that is so hard to come by in this city. People go by unconcerned; everybody's minding their own business. It's just me and the road.

I think that's what I miss most.

*chappal: flip-flop.
**nani: maternal grandmother.

(Bombay, July '11)

a flashback, a social media success story and a craving for doughnuts.

I was never too fond of doughnuts. A little doughnut franchise in Bombay changed that.

Mad Over Donuts. (M.O.D.)

Their doughnuts (I can't bring myself to spell it as donuts) redefine delicious. They are unbelievably and irresistibly scrumptious. My cousins introduced me to M.O.D. during my stay in Bombay at my aunt's place. We'd go to the Juhu branch at midnight (funnily enough I've never been there earlier) with my Khalu (mom's sister's husband) and spend about twenty minutes debating on the flavours and delectable appearance of the batch displayed and finally select two each. In a couple of minutes there would be no trace left of them except for the melted chocolate smeared around our (my) mouths and this too would miraculously vanish as our tongues were stretched out to the limit to get every speck of frosting that had escaped, back into those salivary glands.

The bff and I, about to dig in.
My flavour? 'Color Me Bad' - sprinkles on melted hazelnut chocolate. Deeelish.

Then, heaving huge contented sighs, we'd select another dozen or so doughnuts for the rest of the family at home. The family at home receive their wares joyfully, and hurriedly call dibs on their favourite flavours and put the box in the fridge for the next day (as it is now past 2 am). Unfortunately they never get to sink their teeth into the ones of their choice (or at all) as by morning, there are just a couple of doughnuts left from the dozen, the rest having been devoured up in the dead of night. The perpetrators are blameless of course. It is not their fault. You cannot leave a boxful of the world's most heavenly goodies unguarded and expect it to remain untouched, lying in wait for you.

If I'm not wrong, this is the first and only Indian brand of doughnuts. And oh boy, their lil hole 'n ones are the best in the whole friggin' world.

What makes them the best?

1) Great service and fresh stock even at 1 am (which is when they close for the day).

2) Home delivery till midnight.

3) They have awesome promotions - buy 2 for Rs. 99 and get a cappuccino free, buy 9 get 3 free.. We'd never leave with less than a dozen.

4) THE VARIETY.
5) No one makes doughnuts like them. NO ONE. Not Dunkin', not Krispy Kreme.. Do you dig? NO ONE! Formidable competition to say the least.

Besides that?

The marketing is bloody brilliant.
Never having lived in Bombay, I can only comment on the internet marketing. Being a marketing graduate, I am in awe. The website kicks traditional out on the street. M.O.D. has positioned itself as fun and extremely lovable and that's the secret behind its mass appeal (the vision statement will tell you all you need to know). From cute graphics to an extensive and intelligent play on words (employees are called M.O.D. Partners-in-Crumbs), the offbeat site is pretty darn neat.

I haven't even started on their Facebook page. It has GOT to be my favourite company fanpage. Judging from the escalating fanbase, it's a significant contributor to building their brand equity.
What's so special about it? The entire page brims with creativity. It's fun. It's interactive. There are promotions and contests specifically targeted towards Facebook fans, pictures just for the page (this one being my personal favourite), endearing status messages that encourage fans to partake and express their ardent love for doughnuts while M.O.D reciprocates the love.

Their recent status message inspired me to blog about them.
"We like the 'likes' of you!"

That dear readers, is how a brand should use social media.

Now, I languish for a Color Me Bad.
M.O.D. needs to expand to the Gulf. Starting with Kuwait.


Picture courtesy: Logo 'borrowed' from M.O.D.'s Facebook page. I'm sure they won't mind :)

So far, it's been a pretty good week. Minus the two days in the middle where I was plagued by a cold.

Sunday was the khandaan party at Vie lounge (located right by Juhu Beach). Bloody awesome. After the dancing and before we were thrown out at at about 2 am or earlier, it got a little quiet and one could hear the waves softly hitting the shore.

Last night, the cousins planned to go for a movie (Golmaal 3) which I was not keen on (a Bollywood comedy? I think not) but went anyway. The cousin bought the tickets and we walked into an English movie. Turned out the tickets were bought for M. Night Shyamalan's Devil and I heaved a huge sigh of relief at the thought of having got out of suffering through an obnoxious movie making pathetic stabs at humour, almost 3 hours long. I settled down.

So it wasn't really scary. One of the genres the film is listed under on imdb.com is Mystery. FYI to whoever did that, the name of the film kinda obliterated any chance of suspense or mystery.

Devil is about five people who get stuck in an elevator which is equipped with a camera and speaker, so security can watch the passengers and communicate with them, but for some reason cannot hear what the trapped people are saying.

Every 20 minutes or so, the lights go out and the elevator starts shaking, there's a lot of noise of scuffling and struggling, and then the lights are back, welcomed with screams and gasps as the camera focuses on the body of a murdered victim.

Atleast there's consistency. Apparently it's a remake of a Japanese horror 'Helevator' (tee hee!). Maybe the original is better?

Dinner at Dynasty followed and then the most heavenly milk chocolate doughnut at M.O.D.

Wayy too much chocolate. So when we got home, I wanted to take the stairs, NOT because I was traumatized of elevators, but I felt.. oh so full (I blame that doughnut). So I walked upto the 10th floor(15 to my aunt's), but the 11th floor onwards was plunged in darkness. That's where my heart failed. I took the lift for the next five floors. And my heart nearly gave out on me again. Nearly!

Had a FABULOUS shrimp cocktail at TGIF.. the shrimps were nothing to write home about but the 'cocktail' whipped up was utterly delectable. So was the bbq chicken salad.. and the sizzling chicken fajita..

This blog is beginning to sound like the Times Food Guide o_O

The past four nights (minus the two in between) have been all about uncontrollable laughter and really, REALLY good food.

Guess what? No really guess guess?

My bff's flight should arrive within the next 10 minutes! I'm so friggin' excited I just can't hold it in. Her flight was delayed by over two hours which means nobody slept the entire night and they're all snoozing now when it's time to leave for the airport. She's gonna text/call me when she's in immigration and I can't find my damn cell. I think my cousin is sleeping on it. Well we'll know soon enough when it starts ringing.. I hope it's not anywhere near her auditory receptors; that's not a pretty song to be rudely awakened to.

Update: SHE'S HERE!!

And my cell was under the sofa where my cousin kicked it.

a new beginning.

So.. here it is.

The First.

Finally.

After months of facing a crippling writer's block just coming up with the name. The NAME! and even then what made it wasn't my idea. Oh, woe is me!

As of now, I have no clear idea what I would like this blog to be about. I intend to go with the flow. To put you at ease, I swear never to use that taboo word, 'random'. *shudders and prays that her cognitive process never gets that debilitated*

I love watching trailers. LOVE. I enjoy that almost as much as reading Oscar Wilde witticisms, while marvelling at his ingenuity. I think that particular genre (if you may) of men is extinct. The thought, however, of meeting a man like that is quite intimidating.

I absolutely abhor the television. Or, to be more precise the incessant noise that MUST occur in every single household in three different rooms, simultaneously. Don't get me wrong I love movies. I like ads. But I loathe the absurd Indian ones though with the doting mother/wife preparing dishes or ready to eat meals for her wise mouth kids/seemingly devoted husband. And there is a desperate need for a synonym for the heavily overused word 'kitaano'. And don't get me started on the serials. How do those screenwriters get away so damn easily with their lack of inspiration by covering it with 10 shots of every conceivable actor of every single actor in the serial, zooming in of course, complete with dramatic music. and then there's the close allowing the writer more time to come up with another ridiculous plot. dhadham dhadham dhadham..

I don't understand why people can't function without that cursed box blaring in the background even if they're not watching it or have guests over. Get your eyes off the screen already! It's like their lives depend on it. I prefer choosing what I want to watch, when I want to watch it at my leisure. Which is why I have a TV but no cable. Most people's first reaction is eyes widening coupled with 'How do you survive?' I can't believe how starved people are for entertainment. People generally spend more time flipping channels than watching one!

But enough about that.

In Bombay!! *continues typing gleefully*

One of my favourite sounds is that of a vacuum sucking up crumbs. There's something immensely satisfying about the way they clatter against the inside of the metal pipe post suck-up.

This has been in drafts for days now. I was on a roll when I started. After wondering for days what on earth I was going to begin with, the creative juices were finally flowing. I wish I had started this a couple of years back at the brink of my master's. Like Betty tells Mark *all happy happy*, 'I started a blog!' and Mark replies, 'Oh great, welcome to fifty years ago!'

I love being in Bombay. *satisfied sigh* The only impediment on my path to absolute contentment is the skies turning out. Need fresh air! *gasp*

It's so rare to meet genial people especially in the material city that this is and so heartening when you do. I can hardly count the few that I've had the good fortune to cross paths with.

Roald Dahl, in The Twits, wrote something I'll never forget - that a plain person will look appealing if he/she has pleasant thoughts but even beautiful people will look ugly if their thoughts are horrid. Your face reflects what you think.

So peeps, think happy, look pretty. How flippin' gay o_O

On that note, I bid you, adieu.