Blue bottles

A stunning promo video.  Everytime I watch it I feel the way I do when I’m in Bombay at Marine Drive watching the sun set after work.

A lot of people don’t like this song. But I do. Very much, in fact.

I detest writing long posts. Nothing bores me more. Maybe some things but whatever. But I love Bombay so much that I’m prepared to write a long one.

I’ve gushed about Bombay before. Yes, I adore the city.  Almost everything. The only thing that doesn’t interest me about Bombay is its utterly vapid so called aristocrats. They dull.

Coming back to class (because I’m so goddamn politically correct), I’m leading a low class student/hostel lifestyle. You know fill water in the office because I can’t afford to buy water, eat vada pao instead of some nice Chinese, stay in a rat infested place  etc. I love it.  Except for the rats. They gross.

As a result of this, I’m now travelling one hour each way by II Class local. Where the spit is more obvious. And the vomit stains don’t bother you anymore as you watch a kid rest his hands on the sill.

I love the local. I’ve said this before, I know. But wait. The story gets interesting. If not, you love me too much to berate me so I win both ways.  Like I was saying, the local’s awesome. I love watching people and apparently they love me also. They include me in intimate conversations and smile encouragingly when I trip over the right words in hindi.  I feel awfully light-hearted and young when I get off the train.  Then of course I get mauled, but we’ll save that story for later.

So today was no different. I had a small headache before I got on the train and I was hugely irritable because the tea tasted watery. (Yeah. So?).  And the stupid train was crowded and I didn’t get any place to rest my ass. So I stood and read my book with a frown I could feel, my face scrunched up like a chubby walnut.

And then I heard loud claps. Which usually means someone is getting married. Or there was a eunuch on board.

She came clapping loudly, waring a yellow saree and a bright green blouse. For effect. And then she stood in the middle of the little corridor singing.

She stopped.

And touched someone’s cheek.

‘Paisa de, re. ‘

The lady who looked violated stayed still not moving a muscle.

I looked on, mildly interested.

She repeated what she said before; this time with a tiny chuck on the chin. No response. This time she shoved at the woman who swayed slightly her arm flexing at the effort.  

‘Paisa re, baba.’

By this time everyone was looking at the two women. The sudden silence grew.

And then the train jerked to a halt.

At which the eunuch screeched. With her hand to her heart. Literally. ‘Aaaaaah’. Like a man playing a woman in theatre. Like a man being hugely ridiculous.

For a second we stood there dumbstruck. And then we began laughing. Every single woman there. Loud laughs mingled with little ones till the laughter reverberated around us in a satisfying sense of companionship.

The eunuch  smiled. A nice smile. Not like her previous bullying one. We smiled back at her. Purse strings loosened. Money was pressed into palm.

The train moved again. Chugging along. She sang and moved her bony hip. ‘Dhadak Dhadak dhua udaaye re’. Each Dhadak syncing perfectly with each chug of the train.

How lovely to feel quiet joy sometimes. I love Bombay. And its beautiful people.

 I love it.

And in unrelated news, a very nice picture from here.

And lyrics of one of my favorite songs here.  Exspecially the Evaa avaa?

I always wonder how a person who blogs would be in real life. Would he be confident? Would she be as dreamy? Would he like dogs as much? Is her life as dark as she blogs? Is he cute? Is she? Is it a guy or a girl?

It turns out people are nothing like their blogs. I should know. I spout endlessly about how my blog is only a fraction of me. A bit of my life I like to share.  

But it is great fun to discover these people and break preconceived notions. A delicious thrill just before you come face to face with the person who knows your most intimate dreams and loves without knowing your real name.

A sort of comfortable companionship exists even though you have never met that person before. Because the first-time awkwardness, judgment, curiosity, nervousness and am-I-looking-fat?-thoughts has been dealt with the first time you verified the word verification.

It’s amazing how comfortable things are. Maybe it’s because that person already knows you. Even if it is only a little bit of you.

I like blog meets. So there.

P.S. Crapper, you were right. I was going to blog about this.  :)