End of March Bakchodi

[29 March]

I'm sitting alone in Khan Chacha and smoking after a haircut (Ma: "Hai! No more haircuts for you! Ladka type lag rahi hai"), an unsatisfying quest to make use of my gift card in Full circle (though I did come out of there with 2 books and a candle I was forced to buy) and an always satisfying chicken seekh roll. I'm playing one of my favourite characters of "perennially broken up with girl". I enjoy the pseudo-sympathetic sad glances people throw my way. I assume this character most often in Big Chill; whether with my cousin, bitching about mutual acquaintances, pretending that 'bitch stole my man' and faux-sniffling over penne with mushroom and white sauce or alone with a book over Baileys Irish chesecake, pausing for pensive and forlorn gazes into nothingness.
In Khan Chacha, the man with the glasses who is like a distant relative to me, always supplying good food and indulgent smiles even when I stagger in drunk with a belt around my neck, watches over me. (What laborious sentences, what never ending parentheses).As I lit my cigarette, this came on and reminded me of something....
Today before I launch into pointless stories of debauchery (I've been writing this gmail draft for a long time) I want to shout out to my brother DJ whose 21st (?) Birthday it is. I love you dearly, DJ. I never really would have thought during those days of polarizing waterpolo cold war in Goa and the 'why do you hate me' days, that we'd be bros fo lyfe. If you were not in Caneydda with the Shahs and Patels, we'd be surely embarking on new hedonistic voyages into the depths of barbaadi. Some of my best moments of the past year have involved you, Shanno and a hotboxed car in the eastern part of our grand and wonderful NCR. I think brodom was prophesized that one time when Tandon called me arrogant and irreverent in the 11th and you said 'don't be upset, it doesn't matter' with your stoned Lhasa Apso smile. And here we are now with the senti emails, exchanging tales of utmost despair. So there's my deceleration of love and other such gay shit. Here's something absolutely stupid to make you happy:

(interlude: A lady on the metro was feeling faint so we all got down to tending to her. I fished a Coffy Bite I got as change from Nescafe out of my bag to give her, someone gave her water and we all calmed her down with 'ghabraiye mat aunty, kahan utarna hai apko? Apki beti wait kar rahi hai station pe' etc.)

[28 March]

I'm eating chicken satay and trying to read Byron's Manfred, why the fuck am I reading Byron? Because I found this online and thought I might as well. Angel and Spike, Byron ki ma ki ankh.

[27 March and today]

So tonight we hit the farm boys...I haven't written in a while because aaj kal I'm not feelin it. I've just found the desire to read again, like actually just lay in bed for and read instead of passing out in front of the TV, or read on the metro again.Yesterday I got a message from one of my moronic friends saying 'so tonight we hit the farm boys!' Which meant we were going to his farmhouse on the outskirts of Gurgaon. Farmhouses are the Delhiite's dacha. So after college and being dead to the world for a few hours in my bed, passing out while reading after eating hot Sunday khichdi, I was getting late as usual. Reached my Dev D's house. Calls were made to acquire numbers of the closest but not the best dealers, half the money spent on getting "eh" maal from said dealers, waiting for 2 hours for Dickie. We finally left at 11 pm. 5 abusive kids in a car listening to Eminem and talking about how 'he has the flow man' with a constant cloud of smoke and AbbeDalleBhenchodRandiRonaBandKarSiddh. (Ps it's fucking Sunday afternoon why is the metro so crowded?). We go an hour to Gurgaon, then an hour on the wrong way of the road to the farm amidst the headlights of trucks. Then there's the bhootiya road, typical horror movie setup, a bunch of degenerate kids in a car going to party in a soonsaan ilaka. 'Dude imagine if a boob pops out...wait...I meant bhoot'.

Going into the khet and tripping on the stars, the planes and the jungli ganja growing. Pramod bhaiyya comes after Dick honks half the tune to a Gnarls Barkley's Crazy and is fumbling to put on his pants, caught in the headlight. He sets up a fire for us, the boys try to play basketball by the headlight while Dev and I drink are perched up on a chajja, drinking rum, eat chips and take trippy pictures of like the stars and shit. The Old Monks and Smugglers and DSP Whiskey is brought out. "Pramod Bhaiyya, aap rum loge?" "Nahi main ek peg laga chuka hoon" "Toh ek aur laga lo." P bhaiyya leaves after making us comfortable. "Abbe jotta banao yaar". Plans for life, trips and epic parties are made, most of which remain just dreams we comfort ourselves by.
Stats:

Number of cigarettes smoked: 4 packs (approx)
Number of boozes drank: दो पाऊआ (I didn't know how to write that in English) Old Smuggler rum, an Old Monk, half a DSP Black (approx)

Number of times Siddh's maa-bhen were invoked: 5x number of times the word "fuck" was used in The "Departed, exactly and approximately"
I'm the firebreathing kumaoni elf who stokes the fire till her smoker's lungs collapse with exaustion. Ek phoonk se aag jal jaye (I'm not going to translate that in English). Siddh of course knocks over the entire fire, then tries to douse the coals with water before we tell him "CHUTIIIIIYEEEE WAPAS DAAL USSE" then he shovels them back into the अंगीठी and I start the fire from scratch and sustain emo looking cuts on my wrists while breaking wood.

 

Whatay stud.

 

Nautch boy and Atankwadi

Bhaicharya

 

Chunni aur Dev

It's cold out here and after the fire dies out, the मछारs ravage us and Bonobo makes the boys sleepy, we head into the vine covered house. We try to shake them awake with Lamb of God, but these are some धीट fucks who just wanted to cuddle with each other, so Dev and Chunni step outside to the moonlit balcony, wrapped in sheets like chaukidaars with DSP doing the usual "hum kitne sahi/barbaad hain" shit for a while before we head for bed as the moon set.
Next morning the two of us spring out of bed for some reason, really wired at 10 am. We sit outside and Pramod Bhaiyya's pretty wife brings us chai and their 3 little kids play with the basketball. The annoying as fuck herd (yes, herd because they act like one) of geese waddled along aimlessly, braying and craning their necks in one direction, then being distracted and going the opposite way, chasing Dev around, but Pramod B walked into the scene and they fled "Arre ruk, ruk na". There was also the tharki rabbit that alternated between striking nonchalant aristocratic poses and going all "surprise buttsecks!" to this other smaller bunny. The lovebirds, unlike the rabbits got very conscious when we were around so they decided not to make out in our presence. The boys awoke, Dikra crawled into our bed and maroing Mamta Kulkarni style अंगडाइयां, Siddh the janwar surfaced, grunting and asking in his crude janwar sign language for a cigarette after a while. We ate ber and gajar and shehtoot, Dicks spilled chai on Siddh while playing football inside the house. I tried juggling the football outside and did it 5 times. :) Dikra - "Main har kissi ki maa chodh sakta hoon", traumatizing the lovebirds by repeatedly kicking the ball at their cage while passing it around. We leave after omlettes and many cups of chai, leaving P Bhaiyya with a baatli, the wife and kids waving to us. Dicks "Nothing is beautiful in the daytime", which is true because the bhootiya town is now a dusty highway town with men scratching their balls and reeking of tharra in the afternoon. Shanno's repeated attempts at giving directions are ignored even though they are right, lots of screaming and confusion, we're all melting and snapping. We reach home somehow despite the pitiful, talli, toothless autowallah whose eyes kept closing while driving us to Mayur Vihar. Listening to Dev D as usual. Dev once said to me "I love this city the most when I'm in the auto with you listening to this song", it may not have applied to this situation in particular, but it's almost always true, and we are also almost always drunk when this ritual takes place. At home we're greeted by my flowerpetalsweetiebumbabychild nephew Max (Dev's beagle) and chole chawal and Roadies, best shit ever.