The damn song is everywhere. Everywhere. And if its not this then its “dost” from Yuvraaj. So its been almost a month I have been around here and I see that am not the only one who has deserted this blog. You my dear reader have done the disappearing act as well. (Well no comments pleading for a post. Hmph!! Yes I know am not Sidin Vadukut. Ya not Amit Varma either!)
In case you were wondering if I have yet been sent to another wilderness to sell soaps, fear not I am in a wilderness called Mumbai for the past many days.
So yes we landed in Mumbai sometime last month and promptly got ourselves cheated by the taxiwallah at airport. Having lived in the suburbs last two years, and going by the autos where you pay 1 rupee less than the meter I would often fondly remember Mumbai when the autos in Chennai and Bangalore would ask me take a loan to pay for my fare.
So I think it was in a shock induced state to find such unscrupulous taxi wallah in Mumbai that resulted me not giving a lecture on unsool and imaan and instead hand over 300 for a 120 bucks distance.
The new guest house is brilliant, compared to the moldy, decaying place I put up in Bangalore. I have my own washing machine, fridge etc. It took me two days to figure out the washing machine and am yet to figure out the microwave but hey its not because lack of effort but rather fear for life.
Then of course brings me to my favorite topic-the Mumbai public transport comprising veritable artillery of taxis, autos, locals and buses and more often than not one will use all forms to reach from source to destination. The locals-the great leveler before death, where you could be seated next to a consultant (in good old days I would have said Ibanker but hush..hush..) or a safai karamchari. You can read my experiences during my summer internship when local travel took my elbowing skills to a different level.
Now the challenge is tougher as I get on and off at Dadar. And despite all advice on the contrary I use the fast locals. But its days I go to the suburbs that my experience gets elevated beyond reality. Like last week, when a friend and I decided to go to Inorbit mall at Malad. There I was with a backpack in II class. After 2-3 hatti katti aunties had salsa-ed on my toes I found a corner to snuck in. I really do not understand why if you have to get off at Kandivili you need to stand and block the way from Bandra onwards. After being subjected to considerable pushing and shoving where my backpack seemingly having a life of its own was at various stages hanging on my back, my front, on top of my head and around my legs, the train reached Andheri-2 stations before my destination. Nice girl next to me who had earlier inquired my destination asked me to start making my way if I planned to get down at Goregaon. So I began to move but there was no place to move. We were packed like sardines and the way was blocked by the people who had gotten on the train at Andheri. Then this imp of a girl stood behind me, frail and carrying a baby I almost felt pity for her. Almost felt… because as soon as she got up she gave a mighty pinch to my abdomen and asked me get moving. Jogeshwari came and went. The imp-lady was furious by now. I do not know how so much lung power could have emanated from such a frail body. Soundly abusing me for blocking the way she somehow gave me a push of such mammoth proportions that I actually had an out of body experience. I saw me with the huge backpack stuck between the seats and the crowd before me parting (believe me, now I know what Moses would have seen, the water splitting and the clear way ahead) and somehow almost leaping, flying through the air and landing on the platform. I quickly turned around to thank my abuser-pusher but the train had begun to move and I have a strong suspicion the lady in question couldn’t get down herself. I cant even imagine the glorious epitaphs she must have wished for me. I met my friend who happened to get a window seat and had slept through the way!!In men’s compartment!!
Looking at me he said “ you look err..bruised” . Hmph, what would you know!
The BF made a quick stop visit over the weekend where we watched the brainless riot called Dostana. There was the threat that I may drown in my own pool of saliva as Johnny boy pranced around in itsy-bitsy nothings and flashed the dimples. Well aimed nudges at BFs circular abs when the 8 packs where being flashed were met with stoic ignorance ( and succeeded by another cheese-ful lunch). But we laughed quite a bit, so it seemed quite worth it.We (as in the BF) also refused to use any form of local transport and we cruised around in Meru cab and would have contributed in whole number percentage to their turnover this month.
On the health front the new guest house has a gym which one had excitedly visited on the second day as one had always justified the flab to not having the right place to work out.Did a bit of cardio at what one thought was very challenging pace till we glanced at the cool cucumber on the treadmill next to ours and saw they were running at twice our speed without breaking into a sweat. Oh well am a beginner, we justified. 8 weeks have passed am still at my challenging pace. Of course 5 days a week has reduced to 2 days. I blame my job squarely of course and the Mumbai traffic. No time yaar!The gym of course has been a source of constant merriment to those who happen to be working out the same time as me. But that’s fodder for another post.
Have I lost weight? Oh I did. And then the great Indian culture struck back with a vengeance through the festival season. The dabbas of mithai which were everywhere. There is only so many times one can say no. And then whats wrong in sampling 1 from each dabba. Well the human body my friends doesn’t lie. So I have given up on the healthy eating bit and as you read this I can feel the mystical calling of the chocolate box lying in the fridge. One bite hasn’t killed anyone, has it now?
So till then, haule haule we will loose the weight too.