Statue of Puberty

0130 hours
April 15, 2006
Chakala, Andheri (E)

The night was brighter than usual. The moon played its share of governing the streets, waxing ahead into time. The breeze was never there like always, with the still air subtly breathing down warmth and heavy drums of moisture. Mannu and I got off the rick next to the Petrol Pump. I met him and Baangd at OnToes, Juhu a little earlier where I also came across two of Baangda’s weirdo stoned dudes (ettes?), who apparently heard about Iyer’s grinds with Security guards (No, this breed don’t ask for Blog/MSN accounts. They’re more the ’striking that dreary conversation with the sleepy souls’ breed).

Back to ground reality (or Chakala), we notice this crowd gathered around our famous Navik, LP chain. Part of the junta seemed stoned and were ambling towards transport, while a few others seemed to not know if they already stamped into one of the bars or survived the hair of a pompous blimp (they just goddamn stood there). We stretched out to seek why there was this confusion and found our Pandus (Mumbai Police) banked outside Navik, trying to woo the crowds out of the bars.

Navik, LP and the chain that exists, have been known to stay open 24/7. I recollect this incident which had me and Mannu come out of Navik at 09:30 AM one day after hitching in at 2 AM. The ‘we did this for the first time ever’ part included in this act was coming out of a bar with the sun beating down on you (and also, sleeping for 18 hours thereafter – everybody home thought I died – response to stimuli of any kind was next to nothing).

Yes, coming back to the night at Chakala … we saw Navik, LP and all it’s brother’s and sisters shuttering down (with people still inside) just so the cops get bored and go home. But the cops apparently had other ideas. We stood on the other side of the road with traffic beaming around us alongside a few dozen men, waiting for the cops to clear the shine. But it never came to be!! The pandus stood their ground like brave honest men (or maybe they ordered to-gos).

Waiting for Tullee’s never a good idea and so we hitched upon the idea of making a back door entry. We recollected one of the nites when we were escorted out of Navik (again pandu attack from the front and shutters down) from the back doors. We niftily made our way to the back road (pitch dark – not that it made a difference to me) to the exact same place where we came off that fine night and voila!! found the back door throwing light at us. We scampered in, made our way through the kitchen (still not sure which of the lined restaurants we were going to) and into the main passage area. And there we lay. We had made it in. Something told us the night was yet to begin (not figuratively).

We went upstairs en route to our favorite sitting area and were flabbed to see a pleth of lukka public standing in the aisle area waiting to be seated. Both, Mannu and me sighed Fugggg mann!! in unison. We desperately tried to scope our way to a seat and luckily (God wanted us to have good booze quick, one would think) found a couple (two gudwa gujarati’s) holding hands and sitting on the same side of a parallel four seater table. We didnt think it to be fair to pass judgement on masculinity or gender then (we were starved for drip) and so we considered sitting there. Sharing tables is common practice in Indian bars BTW and so we politely asked them if they could sit face to face, so that Mannu and me also don’t look like two Gudwa’s (Konkani and Manglorean) holdiing hands. But the love between them seemed somewhat insatiable and they refused to budge. We complied (for lack of experience in dealing with the Gujju kind under influence and in love with the same gender, with that same gender seated adjacent, bah!). Now both these guds were wearing red t’s and their faces seemed like someone’s dog gave birth to them (face only). They spoke very little but somehow we did feel the action was happening somewhere else.

So we were sitting in front of the two GGs sipping onto the spirits that called us in, when outta the blue Bobby Darling’s colonial cousin (BDCC) decides to step in. That prompted both Mannu and me to scamper for the menu and check the name of the Bar. Where the hell were we? But hell no … it was the very same Navik we raised our spirits to I would think for a better part of our teens. What in the world is happening here man? Where have all the straight boys gone? These thoughts were running down our cells when BDCC decides to come towards our two GGs (who I’m sure wanted to lap dance in turns) and asks them if they were done. Mannu and Me blast out of turn to say “We’re just getting started …” but the two items (GGs) flash their credit cards indicating 1) that we’re further doomed, 2) that BDCC has two hunks to comply with for the night, and also 3) that the GGs ought to seek a room (finally!!).

As we sat there disgruntled, God throws in a quarter of hope. BDCC’s boyfriend (or something) calls in and asks him/her to come down just as we see the GG’s bill being paid. A glimer of hope? Yes indeed!! BDCC goes down, GGs follow suit, Mannu pushes me to quickly grab the end of the table and make it our own … Voilaaa we have it all for us now!!!

We sat there … kept shooing a few standies (told em we were expecting more dudes at our table and could not lend em out .. IOW .. buz off) and drank to someone’s glory .. told each other tales from the wise man’s oak tree (the barn below the tree) and made vague funny conversation. Just as we were assuming our presence in our seats (shifting asses for support), two hefty goonies made way to our seats, sat down and tried to be polite with “I hope you don’t mind”. We did but darn it, we decided to play good samaritans and have the weary travellers sip their methods.

To describe them, the guy next to Mannu had a deep and hoarse voice (you could almost hear his lower intestines vibrate) and looked like a management guru in the Bhai world; the guy next to me, mannu says, looked like Prabhu Deva. Hell yea, and these men were the kinds who would slip out the odd Browning 9 mm and shoot someone’s head off this planet.

They were quiet most of the time, PD was pretty much into his drink while MGB was into our conversation (which neither me nor Mannu remember). After a few more rounds of drinks, we came across the most stunning of scenes to ever pass our numb skilled minds on a drowny evening. MGB and PD after a brief murmur start pointing at the waiters moving around as if to target them for a crowning glory. They then pull out a restless face and look at us. We smile thinking that the pleasing personas that Mannu and Me exhibited more than matched/countered the dark side that lay in front of us.

MGB suddenly started raising that shrill voice outta his gut. The conversation went like …

MGB: B****od apna chakna kidar mara rah hai? (where the f*** is our snack?)
PD: hmm
MGB: (looking at PD) M***od, tere G**d mein dum hai tho tod ke dikha
PD: kya bhai?
MGB: Saale dum hai kya … aata hai saala! (do you have the balls to do this?)
PD: …
MGB: abey dum hai tho fek neeche plate ko, tod de plate B***od {bloody hell, show what you’ve got, throw and break that plate}
PD: …
Mannu and Me: (looking at whiskey glass and each other)

Repeat above instance about 10-15 times ….

PD: (finally picks the plate and throws it on the floor)

(The plate bounces and falls face down)
(PD and MGB look at each other while mannu and me do the same…)

MGB: B****od glass fek (throw the damn glass, f*****)
PD: (Picks the empty glass and throws it down)
(crash bam)
(broken glass pieces all over)
(moment of silence)
..
..
(waiters scamper to the accident scene and clean the floor)
MGB: abey c*****, apney aap ko hero samajta hai kya (f*****, u think you’re some kind of a champ)
PD: ??
MGB: yeh sab c*******, apun bachpan mein kiya malum (we used to do these crazy acts when we were kids, f****)
PD: ???
MGB: Andrew ko phone karu, b******* … saala aata hai (you wasted gut, should I call Andrew?)
PD: nahi bhai, Andrew ko phone nahi karo bhai (no brother, don’t call Andrew)

This conversation went on (second loop) for about 30 minutes with the management guru bhai shouting at the top of his voice and scolding prabhu deva, while mannu and me sipped on in confused terror. All this while Mannu was on the lookout for Prabhu Deva to snap out of his gut and pour a brawn of bullets down MGB’s numb skulled blab output area. But we called in for our bill and left the action for the rest of the gang to fulfill.

Incidentally as we left, MGB came forward with the most unexpected of apologies as if to say he was out of his emotional mambo out there and wishes forgiveness from the fine men that heard his story out.

… me thinks they wanted the table for themselves …

PS: The latest on Navik, LP tells us that it is being brought down with the Mumbai Road Widening Initiatives going into gear. There goes one more memorious adda. But hell wait … was there a basement entry door?

Thailee tullee (booze “retailed” in plastic bags) is common practice in rural India (and yes, cities too). A major concoction of breweries mixed to form one potent tipple. One of the known “brands” in the large and scaling thailee tullee market is Poonam (a girl’s name), which is available quite freely in the suburbs of Mumbai (not the girl, pervs).

I’m not too sure if any of us has tried their hands (feet, or maybe some opening, makes more sense) on these thailee blinkers (other than Bird), but trust me you, these drips sure have the power to throw one’s suspenders off.

The core essence is the formulation of a belligerent type of ethanol (ethyl alcohol and not methyl alcohol – which kills or gives a lifetime of free 24/7 loose motions … choose the better of the two options), commonly found in most other spirits (not the scary/funny ones … this one, most of us see and most importantly smell and consume). So alcohol (yes, Johnny, Old Monk, Bacardi, Smirnoff and our other exotic brothers) essentially combines ethanol and fruit fluids (and sometimes industry essence or ‘look and feel’ alikes). This Ethyl alcohol formation is further assisted by our fermenting kings & queens (fungi viz. yeast, but not quite), which makes what we so tetchily consume [somehow da booze doesn't quite seem all that interesting now, don't it?].

Alright now, we have this park called Lallubhai Park (some say Linkin Park branded their band on it, LP said no when I asked them though) close to where we stay, which has this bhatti (recap the famous Mithun dialog “yeh bhatti meri maa hai, aaish”). Ok, so this bhatti recently underwent trauma (no, Iyer and Bangd were not making out here … actually I’m not sure), but the reason was that our pandus (Mumbai Police) came all guns (or lame sticks) blazing at these thailee outlets. The funny part was that the raid was an accident.

Yes, two police constables went there at 11 PM for their bi-weekly dose. Now, the bhatti is designed to hold 6-8 people in an L-shaped drag (bar like). Our two heroes are seated on either side of the L (like lovers holding hands – but let’s not imagine this part). Anyhoo, one of the pandus suddenly catches a glimpse of his Inspector’s bike outside the bhatti. He immediately gets up without telling the other pandu and panics to the extent of stamping up on the immediate next dude. Glasses fall, panic spreads, pandu 2 still clueless thinks he did something wrong and pleads in front of pandu 1 to ask him what he did wrong. Pandu 1 still in deep panic decides to do the best thing that came to his jalopy mind. He pretends that it’s a raid and that he is the raid officer (four glasses already down). He starts smashing everything around him and shouts at the top of his voice. Pandu 2 oblivious to the pretence tries to hold pandu 1 (assessing by now that the ethanol has turned somewhat methanol inside pandu 2). He slaps him, which prompts pandu 1 to bellow the fact that their boss is outside. Pandu 2 evidently unable to make head or tail of what pandu 1 is yelling with the shoddier commotion inside the 5 square feet bhatti. And to add to the hubbub, in comes our Inspector (again for his periodic dose, unaware of his two associate’s hara-kiri as for that matter even their presence in there). Pandu 2 looks up at his boss and the tube strikes him (”ok, so the ethyl is still ethyl”, he thinks). And alongside pandu 1 starts smashing glasses and whatever’s visible within smashing range. The inspector looking at his two poptoos smashing around, comes in a does the same.

Now all three were there for the same reason but ended up doing something totally chaotic. The bhatti owner (and Poonam) lost out big time. They were taken in, beaten up and then released. The inspector too, I suppose lost out, sure he did … he didn’t get a single drop of that nectorous awe, that’s really badddd.

Little did the two hapless pandus know that their boss would also be coming in to chill his gut. I think there’s a lesson to be learnt here (no it’s not the corporate/management thingy, we’re so used to. This one’s just straightforward and simply put).

“When you’re committed to a questionable act and your boss shows up, don’t strike the booze. Booze is innocent man. Do not beat the booze. Write this one hundred times on ruled paper”

Ah now, where’s my Long Island. I wonder how long island would come about in a thailee!! Brillianto … Bird get me a pen n paper … lets have our business plan laid out for this exotic cocktail bhatti. Bird? Wee art thou? Bird? abey bha…

Very few posts on blogs actually go to the extent of describing your dear buddies. This unfortunately is one such post. I hate to admit it, but Baangd (OR “The Baangd”) often marks himself as the star-crossed court jester who knowingly goes to all extents of humane sacrifices to submit himself to the appeasement of his fellow beings (i.e. we, the underminers)

The Baangd, Vital Stats:
Height: 5′6” (approx … we think)
Weight: unmeasureable
Shape: Generally round (all over)
Distinctive appeal: looks like a Stuffed teddy/toy, sometimes sports a rose over his left ear

After the rains, we came across this hidious conversation on gmail … a mail titled “Alive……………………………..i had to do this………OTS”, after which you will find a factual fiction(al) tale of a typical nite at CT (Coastal Treat), so here goes …

Baangd: Inspite of many buffoloes dying in the floods, I managed to excape and live my life.
Paro: sud we consider this as ur good look or our bad luck?
Baangd: good look?
(long pause … 2 days … no net)
Alap: wat a fundoo conversation
(short pause … 1 day … lazy oafs)
Baangd: people, inputs pls
Iyer: i think rains have washed off the original text from the mails of both baangdu and paras…
the original mail still lies in the safe vaults of their sent items
Abhi: Are we meeting @ CT tonite?
Bird: Yes
Iyer: tumlog kyu karte ho yaar aisa (IOW, wimps & cries) mujhe kal belapur jaana hai
Paro: I won’t eat, it’s Saturday
Baangd: I like aunties …… OTS
Alap: wat a fundoo conversation
Abhi: Define “fundoo”
Iyer: (wimps & cries)
Bird: I hate my boss
Paro: Lets go for a drive
Alap: I have to go do tatti
Bird: Prawns pepper garlic kidar hai?
Alap: I’m alergic to prawns
Iyer: (Imitates Sanjeev Kumar) Yeh jo chaand hai na …. …. …. woh din mein …
Alap: hahaaa
Abhi: hahaaa
Paro: teheehe
Bird: (smirk)
Baangd: (burps) ….. tehehee OTS

(Mannu & Andy enter)

Mannu: Bhaiyalog .. kaisa hai … (hugs all around)
Mannu: Ahhh food!!!
Andy: Chal, lets go to boat club
Iyer: kya yaar tumlog kyu karte ho aisa (wimps)
Alap: Mujhe tatti aa rah hai
Bird: These prawns are stale
Baangd: I like chemical brothers … teheeh OTS
Fat Uncle on the side (pointing at abhi and/or bird): I know you
Bird: I hate my boss
Abhi: (to waiter … hand signalling a repeat)
Iyer: I want port wine
Andy: Aee humlog Goa jaate hai yaar
Baangd: teheehe OTS
Iyer: (wimps & cries)
Alap: be back after tatti
Mannu: (to waiter) … do plate tangdi kabab
Fat Uncle on the side: I hate my boss too (… and Bird and uncle hit off)
Paro: Lets go for a drive
Andy: Aee humlog Singapore jaate hai yaar
Baangd: I was fooled to buy unbranded orange sanitary napkins in a plastic bag for 200 bucks … OTS
Paro: Arey tuney woh Ad dekha … kya fundoo tha woh
Bird: (why don’t I have a screen guard for my PDA yet?)
Alap: (after tatti … to waiter) do plate bombil fry
Iyer: Ae mein ghar jaa rah hoon yaar
Alap: chup bait biatch … sit ..
Abhi: (slaps iyer)
Mannu: Ae NT Rama Rao
Iyer: abey Nishiganda Waad
Mannu: Ae Prabhu Deva
Iyer abey Suresh Wadkar
Krupal: Aee Maaunt Everaist (naah … krupal wasn’t there … but i had to put this man …)
Baangd: OTS
Alap: (to waiter) … do aur bombil fry aur ek chicken manchow soup, one by two
Baangd: I’m not having soup
Alap: Biatch, the quantity is more when we order one-by-two
Baangd: Oh oki … OTS .. tehehee … sorry (burp)
Mannu: Chal beach jaate hai
Abhi: Chal
Iyer: Tumlog kyu karte ho yaar aisa (wimps)
Alap: Lemme finish this man
Andy: Chal Ontoes jaate hai
Baangd: (burp) .. OTS
Paro: Mein ghar jaa rah hoon
Bird: (on phone) Aayi Mee yeto, Khalits Aai, Abhijeet Barobar
Bird: (on phone) Khalits hai Aayi
Baangd: tehehee
Abhi: Ae bird chal re beach jaate hai
Bird: Nahi re late ho gaya
Iyer: Mujhe bhi ..
Alap: Shut up biatch
Baand: tehehee
Alap: oki i need to go do tatti
Abhi: (to waiter) Bill
Baangd: (burp) … OTS

Glossary of terms used:
CT: Coastal Treat (our hub)
OTS: One toight slap
(burp): burp
biatch: bitch
tatti: shit
krupal: guest appearance (no other description available)