Things
done changed. Notorious B.I.G. was right all along.
A few
days ago, I found myself floating gently down a bursting stream of flooded
waters somewhere near Johnson Market. The Nano, an amphibious mass of flimsy
metal and cheap plastic, buoyant enough to make it till Masjid-e-Askari,
wheezed its last by the side of the curb, and I, much like the rest of this
drenched city did that day, made a long list of the choicest cuss words and
sang them to myself in a loud hoarse voice. It was not unlike any other day in
this city.
Shanks
and I spent several afternoons in Panchsoek discussing the rains in Bangalore
as opposed to the ones in Mumbai. There was something celebratory about Mumbai
monsoons. While deep down inside, everyone was quite frustrated by the longer
traffic lines near Mahim – Bandra, there was a general sense of relief. Relief
and sweat. And fungified joy. The air-conditioning made humidity a non-issue
and getting wet in the rain was somewhat like taking a warm shower after a busy
day. The droplets, big and tempratured to geyser perfection, felt ok rolling
down the inside of your shirt.
Here,
April Showers coincided with Mango Showers at the Catholic Club, and after that
one single day of revelry, things went pretty much downhill. The rains were
cold. Icy and freezing. Of a glacial nature, moving slowly, encompassing every
last bit of happiness you possessed. Into November. Into fucking December.
Pouring. Soaking the very innards of your soul. And sometimes your underpants
too, right near the scrotal region, when you’ve been riding too long in the “It’s
just drizzling!” mist. The droplets, maintained at just below freezing by the
guy with the sense of humour in the sky or some stupid low pressure build-up
off the east coast, dribbling from your fogged up helmet directly into your
belly button. I fucking hate this low-pressure build-up bullshit.
But on
this particular day, I found shelter near Mecca Tea Stall with a little less
than a hundred rupees in my wallet. I knew that I had found shelter in the
right place. If there was any area in Bangalore that I could have a feast for
less than a hundred bucks, it was in Johnson Market and surrounding munch
zones. But things have changed. Khazana Biryani costs a hefty 65 rupees and
fanoos have upped their prices too. Now, you’d barely get a Sheek Mumbo for
that price and forget about your Coke or chai. They do have some interesting
additions though, ala Sheek Butter Masala Roll and the Chilli Sheek Roll. But
it’s all premium pricing. Where are the cheap eats, folks?
As I
chomped on a couple of plates of delectable veal kebab at Fazal’s, I
contemplated an interesting proposition.
It wasn’t too long ago that one could
really slam a massive meal for under 80 bucks. This then is a good way to look
at things. Good non-veg eats for under 80 bucks and good veg eats for less than
50 bucks.
This must
be done.
As Chiru
would say, “It’s a challenge! Cha..cha..cha..cha…Challenge!”
Kapil, being born and brought up in Dharwad, had many of the Savji friends.. The Kabadi's, the Ladwa's and so on who are into Liquor, Junkyard businesses predominantly. The Kamripet area of Hubli is majorly owned by these Pattegar's. Yes, I agree, kheema balls and liquor run in their blood as in broth of the Chinese peeps.. you go to any occasions of the Pattegar family, from a happy occasion of a Birth of a newborn to grievance of death or just go parched to their place, on a sunny day, quenching for water, for your surprise you'll obviously get liquor, other than water.. and that to in water jug quantities.. Now coming to the gundu palav, last weekend we decided and went in late.. reached around 1.30 p.m and missed the chicken but savoured the taste of the yum palav.. with influence of one of a regular patrons, we got the privilege to sit and eat in one of a dungeons just after the kitchen and a opportunity to sneak in the kitchen where the palav preparing "handi's" and the state of art "oven's" are there. Digesting the palav and smelling the aroma repeatedly, of a "washing soap" washed hand in the backyard under the mango tree near the stairs that leads to their residence, reminded of "Home" before we left with a vow to visit back again for the "kshatriya kebab" and visit to the "Gobi Corner" for the evening snack..
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