Caferati Bombay April ,'09 readmeet.

A credit card for free.

“ This is for you ma’am, compliments of the store”. The attendant at the cash counter handed me a credit card. I pushed it away as if it was on fire.
“ No thanks. I don’t use them much. And I have one already.”
The attendant looked at me pityingly. I always have this horrid suspicion that attendant kids always pity me.
Next twenty minutes were spent explaining to me, how , with the shop’s own ‘Privileged customer’ card and the additional credit card I was going to save thousands of rupees, not to mention earn brownie points and win free gifts like diamond earrings, DVD players, and a free trip to Goa.
“ And ma’am, it’s free!” That clinched the matter. A free card can’t hurt me much, can it?

After reaching home I pushed the unwanted card at the back of my desk drawer, and forgot about it. One year was over. And I started receiving bills for the never used card. I questioned the shop, and reminded them that they had said – Free card, no service charges.
“ Only for one year ma’am! Now you will have to pay the basic service charges even when you are not using it.”
“Alright! In that case I will cancel the card. I didn’t need it anyway.” Easier said than done as I soon found out. The question was, how does one cancel a credit card. I visited the bank to which the card belonged. I was told, as it was the shop’s promotional scheme, I must get the shop to cancel it. That made sense. The next stop was the shop which had gifted it to me.
“I would like to cancel this card please. I was told I must approach you”.
The attendant looked pained at my ingratitude.
“Ma’am, we can’t cancel it! You will have to send it to the bank which issued it.”
I marched back to the bank. I explained to the lady whose job it was to listen to people like me, that all I wanted was to have the card cancelled and no, it’s nothing personal.
The lady after consulting with a few others gave me a number in Chennai and asked me to talk to one Mr. Muthuswami.
“You see, the card was issued from there, therefore it has to cancelled from there.”
Fair enough, I thought as I dialed the Chennai number. It took me some time to locate Mr. Muthuswami, who when I expressed a desire to cancel my card, took it hard.
“If you have any complaints Ma’am, I will guide you to our complaints department. But please don’t cancel the card!”
After I talked to him for five minutes in a soothing voice, he was mollified.
“Cancellation is a very simple process. Just cut your card in two and mail both the pieces to us in Chennai.”

Finally! I was going to rid myself of the bothersome card.
I cut the card neatly in two pieces, and couriered both the pieces on the address provided by Mr. Muthuswami. Exactly a month later I received a replacement card. Reason? My old one got damaged when I cut it in two pieces!
One more call to Chennai and Mr. Muthuswami. This time I was rather sharp and Mr. Muthuswami was forced to accept the reality of the situation.
“ Ok ma’am, I will file the cancellation papers and do the needful. But are you sure you want to cancel the card?” I banged the receiver down.

In due course I got the intimation that the card was now null and void and I felt like I had stepped out of a long and traumatic relationship. A couple of weeks later I once again got a call, from the same bank, asking me-
“ Ma’am, you are being given a complimentary gold card as an Add on to your old credit card.”

Goa .

I was in Goa two weeks ago. I had promised myself all sort of things. In reality, I just lazed.
I had carried four books with me for a five day vacation.

When actually there, I lazed in the room, by the pool, in the lobby, in my balcony. My friend was there on business and was on call most of the time, and I would lie on the beach on the deck chair all day long, and couldn't be roused to take any photographs, except this one. Getting the camera out of the case. sitting up on my deck chair, and shooting was just too much trouble. I allowed the sound of sea to fill my ears, the blue of sea in my eyes. No phone calls, except from my friend asking me where I was, and if I would be back for breakfast/ lunch/ tea/ dinner.

This idyllic state was short lived though. On day three the chair boy asked me, in what I considered a rather familiar fashion, if I needed sun lotion rubbed on me. I packed my book, hat, big bag and returned to the resort, and didn't go that way again. So I am a coward. Shoot me!

There was an assortment of guests as always. On day one, as I was celebrating my return to Goa after 4 years, I noticed two very young couples, newly weds of course, from Surat.The boys were posing in front of the bar, trying to look ubercool. I offered the boy my glass of wine. He was shocked and assured me that he didn't drink. But when I suggested, he can just pose with it, whats the point of posing in front of the bar otherwise? He was much struck by the logic of it and borrowed my glass, and later even the bottle. I sort of managed the photo session. By the time all four of them ( yes even the girls) had finished posing with my glass and the bottle, the wine had lost it's chill.

There was a group of mallu men in the hotel. Their interest in all the unattached females as very obvious. My friend, a somewhat conservative mallu babe, observed that, feeling that no one here would understand them, these guys were rather free with their observations and opinions.
With a Mona Lisa like smile on her face she continued to listen in to their conversation. Time and again she would tell me what they were arguing about.
" They are wondering who we are....
They want to ask us to join them for coffee".
" NO WAY !!!"
At one point she giggled, but suddenly sat up as her eyes popped open.
" What ???" I had to know.
" Lets go." she rushed me out of there, and after we reached our room, and she burst out laughing.
" What!" There was a limit to my patience. I was being left out of all the fun.
" These guys are really randy!" my friend announced,
" so ?" I mean guys on a vacation..... one understands.
" They were talking about taking a full body massage. One of the guys had one last night, he was telling the others how good it was. Please don't ask me to translate it."
Later when I came across the group again in the dining hall, I was tempted to ask them if it had been good for them......

Bum bhole!

( By - Bachi Karkaria )

Indra can keep his corner office. The penthouse of the pantheon belongs to Shiva. Its decor bears the imprimatur of a Fortune-favoured designer, and yet, it's unmistakably bohemian. Shiva knows the rules to break them; he's awesome at shifting the goal posts.

He's comfortable with it;if you've got it, flaunt it; he can swim with the sharks, and still find place in his heart for the littlest minnow. He wears the suit of divinity lightly. Yes, Mahadev is a maha-dude.

We've gone through a mind-churning manthan, through asceticism and socialism which have been sucked to the bottom of the centrifuge, and up has surged the cologned freedom to live life on our own terms. In our new consumerist avatar, Ganesha is invoked to bless the triumphal entry of the Indian Elephant carrying the world in its howdah. We've shed our hypocrisy. Who other then to iconize than the patron saint of iconoclasts? Lord Shiva.

Hinduism's original persona of rinam kritva ghritam pivet loosely translated as 'Njoy'! had for long been suppressed by our pretensions of being an otherworldly, spiritual people who abjured the materialist high rise for the moral high ground.

It cost us dearly on several counts, from delaying the economic miracle to delaying AIDS control. But we've woken up and not only smelled the coffee, but learnt to make a Frappuccino.

Shiva is the original free radical.

Today's zeitgeist is unshackled creativity, thundering-hooves materialism, aggressive hedonism. Unlike the 60's version, it's not confined to the elite. Boley to, Middle India, even Mofussil India has abandoned itself to the multiplex of experience. Shiva is the god who segues most seamlessly into this spirit of our times.

He demands no rigid ritual of his bhaktas. He is propitiated even if you make a funny sound or face.

He lives life to the full. The Skanda Purana tells us of his rampant libido, not thinking twice before seducing even the wives of the rishis, and with no great subtlety either.

Yet, he is the paragon of conjugal devotion. When he went to make love to Parvati, the clinch lasted so long that time and the world came to a standstill. Witness his grief when Sati jumped into the yagna vedi; the entire earth trembled in the paroxysm of his rage.

Before the advent of sexist Manu-ists, Hinduism celebrated gender equality. Consider the deep symbolism of Ardhanarishwara, the fusion of Purush (Shiva) and Prakriti (Parvati). They cannot exist without each other, and together they create the most beautiful dance in the cosmos.

If todays liberalism presupposes a tolerance for the other, Shiva is the original free radical. Shivji ki baaraat is a rainbow coalition of the otherwise marginalized, an all-inclusive procession with the groom dressed in next-to-nothing, to the mortification of his would be mother-in-law. Shivratri is the celebration the wedding day of Shiva who defied convention every which way; look at his fondness for bhang and ganja. But it's really his attitude to boundaries which makes him the ultimate post-millennial god.

The observance of Shivratri says it all. Right up to the present, marriage has remained an alliance of families, not a matter of self-choice.

Unmarried women fast and visit Shiv temples on this night, praying for His intervention to fulfill their dreams even within the circumscribed boundary of parental choice. He is the only deity they can invoke to Thodi si lift kara de.

And married women appeal to Him for a bliss-filled conjugal life. Shiva doesn't subvert the boundary, he just elasticizes what you can do within it. Metaphorical poisons can be contained.

He drank the cosmic poison to save the world, but he did not swallow it and jeopardize himself. He may have been the untrammeled, even indiscriminate, lover, but he destroyed Kamdev who tried to break his samadhi.

His respect for the boundary is also there in the legend of the Ganga, whose hubris he trapped in his matted locks.

No deity offers quite as much with quite as much attitude. Shiva is cool. Linga over him.



p.s. - no wonder no man comes even remotely close to my Mahadude...

Tito and the spirit of Satsang

Tito and the spirit of satsang.

“You want me to do WHAT?” I asked in a calm voice. Those familiar with that voice, recognize is as the Early Tsunami warning signal. Tito ignored the warning and blithely carried on.
“Why not! After all you claim to be a poet, so I thought, maybe it is more Your cup of tea than mine. I want it by this evening by the way, if you can manage it please.” That ‘Please’ was an after thought I could see.
“There is a difference between writing poetry and writing a Hindi bhajan to the tune of a film song you know! H-how could you even ASK me to do such a thing!” I sputtered. “And anyway, what do you need a bhajan for? If your mom having a satsang, My dad has loads of bhajan cds. Take any one of them. “
Tito looked mulish. His heart was set on a filmy bhajan.
“Ok, so take any bhajan from movies. Like Alla tero naam. That is a good one.
I have the CD right here.” I started to rummage thru my collection.
“ Nooo. That is a boring old bhajan. Everyone has heard it for hundreds of years.
I will look like a beggar singing that. Next, you will ask me to sing that beggar song from Dus Lakh. No way!”
I was a little mortified because that was the next song on my list. I decided to investigate a little. I had not noticed any spiritual leanings in Tito before.

“Tell me a little about it. I am not saying I will help, but call me curious.”

As I had suspected, it involved a girl. Her mom was known to hold a satsang every Friday night. Tito had attended last week and was planning to be there again this week. Realizing it will not be an easy task to dissuade Tito I asked him, what kind of bhajan he was looking for.
“It’s very simple! Do you remember the song from Jab We Met? Yeh ishk Hai, baithe bithaye.” All that might be simple enough, but a bhajan to the tune of Yeh ishk? Mind boggled.
“See, it goes this way, you hum the tune and start adding appropriate words to it. Like- maiyya hamari, sabse nirali, darshan dikha de maa! O rama !!!” Tito crooned the line repeatedly for my benefit.
“See how simple it is? I would have written the whole thing myself but got stuck after the first line, so thought that you, a poet can do it better. Will you? Please?”
“NO I won’t! This is no poetry! I do not know what to call this! Bastardization of poetry perhaps. But not something I would like to do!” I tried to slide out of the whole predicament.
“So what! What is a good song ? Good music and good words. When the good words are devotional, we call it bhajan. It is Your job as a poetess, to give good words. That is how most music Directors work anyway! So... write!. Please write this for me !”
“Oh Well! I will do it just this once. I do not want to see your face next Friday and you better find a girl friend with better taste than this, like Lit circle chicks or someone like them. I will be most happy to write a love sonnet for you.”
I had finally caved in. Tito had won and I was rewarded by a loud WHOOOOPIE! and a bear hug.
Completely ignoring my woebegone expressions, he took his leave,
“ Will come by around 8-ish. Keep it ready. I will need a little time to practice.”
“ Remember- you owe me one!” I shouted to his back.

I sat at my desk feeling mighty sorry for myself. I rued the day I wrote my first poem. Nay- I rued the day I learnt my alphabets! Why did I have to boast about my poems, and all that talk about my writer’s circle! In addition, just see where it had landed me! I strove to forget every word of every poem I had ever read as I kept humming “ Maiyya hamari” to myself, waiting for the spirit to come to me.
It was mortifying to see that this was not a difficult task at all! Within half an hour, my bhajan was ready. I tried humming it and found the words, which fitted perfectly in the tune. With grim satisfaction I messaged Tito” The Deed is done”. He messaged back- “Thankee thankee O bardess.”


Tito turned up around 8-ish as promised. Never before having seen him in a spiritual mode, it took me a few moments to recognize him. I do not remember if I have mentioned it before, but Tito is a good-looking dude and a natty dresser. Today he was his spiritual best. In long kurta and chudidar, he could be modeling for Fabindia.
He walked in, giving me a slow benevolent otherworldly smile. For a second thought I saw a halo around his head. It turned out to be the lamp behind him.
He sat on the sofa and asked me gently, ” Where is it?” In a trance, I walked to my room and got the paper with the lyrics. His mood was rubbing on me. I wondered if he was on some substance. His smile has stared to look eerie by now. He was by this time sitting with his eyes closed, his face serene.

With a slight nod of his head, he took the paper, scanning it started humming the words. The old Tito had emerged again. Sitting up straight, he said-
“WOW! This is GOOD! I never realized just how good a poetess you are! This will knock their socks off!”

“Maiyya maine saare jamaane ko thukra diya,
dekho mai chala aayaa!
Chhode maine moh- maya ke bandhan sabhi,
Hai tuney jo bulaayaa

Dekho na dekho mujhe kya mila hai teri chhayaa mein aakar.
Poochho na poocho mujhe kya hua hai tere charnon ko chhookar

Maiyya hamari, sabse nirali darshan dikha de Maa.
O Ramaa!”

He continued to hum as he put the paper safely in his pocket.


“My advice to you is, that you must start doing this professionally. Forget about the sonnets and stuff. There is a big market for this thing. Every auto and cab will be playing your songs. You will mint money!”
And before I could throw a book at him, he walked off.

Next week I wrote one more bhajan. Tito had become a star of his satsang. The girl and her mom are now his adoring fans. Like a tiger who had tasted blood, Tito kept coming back for more and I kept delivering a new bhajan every Friday evening.

Currently I am working on a little song, which I am sure will become a chartbuster.

“Maa tere charan, hum nahin chhodenge...
Chhodenge dum magar teri bhakti naa chhodenge!!”

Kala Ghoda is here...finally!

After waiting for years...or so it seems, the Black Horse is back, and how !



I will keep changing the slide shows here as the events unfold.

Tito, Bipasha and a perfect cup of Tea.

Of all the animals in the kingdom, Tito bought a cow. Go figure!
I have never met a guy more citified than Tito. Cows for him were the black and brown menace that obstructs the traffic.
He has a factory in a remote area which sounded like the outer regions of Heaven if one believed Tito. The only thing missing was a cup of tea because of the non-availability of milk. You and I would buy a carton of milk on our way to work. Tito is not you or I. He bought a cow.

“Tito, be reasonable, you are a Bombay boy. You weren’t even aware that cows had anything to do with that liquid you poured over your cornflakes. And then you finally did, you freaked out for a week. I admit that you can drive around a cow with great skill, but Keeping one? Be real.”
Tito considers my overall dumbness a nice foil for his razor sharp mind.
“ Arre baba, there will be a groom to do all the work. Think of it as milk for free! There is lush grass on our acres all year long, so the fodder won’t be any problem. Just open the gate and let the cow out. She grazes around for a while and comes home happy. Anyway, Narpat is taking care of everything.”
“ Who is Narpat?”
“ My right hand guy. He is a local, and very competent. He has helped me a great deal setting up this plant. I always leave him in charge when I am not there. It was His idea that we keep a cow. In fact, it’s HIS cow that I am buying. Mind you, he didn’t want to sell. These farmers get very attached to their cattle, treat them almost like their children. Very senti I find them. But I made him an offer he couldn’t resist. Now he takes care of her along with the factory.”
Narpat sounded like a smart man.

I didn’t meet Tito for a few weeks. One evening I got a call from him
“Hey! Whatcha doing tomorrow? Want to introduce you to Bipasha.”
“ Bipasha?? Don’t tell me you are getting married!”
Bipasha turned out to be Tito’s brand new cow.

We were at the factory next day. Bipasha greeted Tito with a delicate moo and flirty flutter of her lashes. He grinned like an idiot as he stroked her head. Bipasha very obligingly mooed some more and nudged him playfully. I could see that Tito had named her aptly.
Bipasha was a sexy cow if you like cows. Big soulful eyes, delicate pink nostrils, a cocoa brown coat. I was amused to see a tikka on her forehead, and a red bow on her tail.
I asked trying to pet her from a safe distance“ Have you ever tried milking her yourself ?”
Tito shook like jelly.
“ Milk Bipasha ! Of course NOT!”
Words seem to fail him at the enormity of my suggestion.
“Bipasha is very sensitive. Narpat’s wife is the only one who can touch her and She has known her since a baby”.
Ah! Narpat again, that meek man who had been following Tito around.
“And you pay her a salary for milking her own cow no doubt”. Tito looked uncomfortable at my sarcastic tone.
“err… yes, but she is My cow now. So I am paying her for milking MY cow. After all, the milk is the reason why Bipasha is here. ” He tried to sound reasonable.

Later, from where I sat in his cabin, I could hear him crooning “groovy kind of love” as he went around the factory.
I idly opened a muster in from of me. The words- ‘Bipasha Accounts’ caught my attention. The various items listed there proved interesting.
Red ribbon- Rs 10,
Cow bell Rs 50.
Rs.101 for the Pandit?
“We did Bipasha’s pooja..” spoke the former atheist.

Shaking my head in disbelief I read on - Vitamins, a new blanket, fresh fodder ???
“Wasn’t she supposed to just walk out and graze on your vast acres?”
“That grass may be good enough for other cows, but Bipasha needs a special diet. She gives 15 Liters of milk every day!” By now Tito had started to sound like the proud owner of the Empress of Blandings.
“ 15 Liters !! So what happens to all that milk?”
Tito looked puzzled.
“ What happens? Nothing! I give it to Narpat’s wife! Poor thing has three little ones at home! ”
“ And what is this ? 1000 for Entertainment ?? Don’t tell me you take her to the local disco! This is getting crazier and crazier!” I exploded.
“ Of course not! What do you take me for!” Tito said somewhat huffily.
“You see.. . Bipasha has …ummm.. needs”. He had turned an interesting shade of pink.
“ we.. ummm.. INVITE our neighbor’s bull for.... errr…”
“To boink her you mean !” I added trying to help.
He looked pained. “Don’t be vulgar. Besides, I didn’t know what else to write in the accounts!”
“ I hope she found him entertaining enough. Did you play the violin outside her shed while they were ...ummm…entertaining?” I quipped as I laughed my ass off!!
Tito maintained a dignified silence.
It was time for some straight talk now. Making my voice as gentle as I could I said-
“ Look dear, don’t you see what’s happening here ? You are being taken for a royal ride! That guy Narpat sells you his cow for a fat profit! Then his wife comes to milk it twice a day for a fat salary, and takes home all the milk for her fat children! What do YOU get out of it?!”
Tito looked pityingly at me and said slowly- as if talking to a retard-
“I get a perfect cup of tea.”



Photo Curtsy- www.wizardforyou.com.
----------------------------

An earlier Tito adventure can be found here-

'Tito and the call girls.'

http://soney-2.blogspot.com/2005/07/tito-and-call-girls.html

----------------------------