You know those weekends, when you feel good because you are doing something ‘cool’, but secretly, you wish you could just sit at home and watch Comedy Central? Well, every once in a while I go through such ‘happening’ weekends, where we go to the newest and ‘happening’ places in town/Bandra, and come back home at some godforsaken hour, poorer, fatigued and drenched in the rain.
So yes, we went to this new place called “The Big Nasty” in Carter Road, where we had been trying to go for the last three weeks. But no self-respecting new place in Bandra will let you in if you aren’t some page 3 regular/know some page 3 regular, so each time we had been turned away unceremoniously, which only made us more determined. Remember being in Class III, when your parents wouldn’t let you watch Swabhimaan, and that would make you even more curious about what was so mysterious about it! Finally, this resourceful friend of mine managed to use her connections and get us a table at one corner, where we sat for a couple of hours, literally cornered. No waiter, worth his while would serve us; half the food we ordered just never came; and god forbid, if you dare to ask for ice-cubes, water or tissue paper. As for the ambience, it was a garage pub, with minimal décor. Not too many places live up to its name; but this one sure did, which reminds me, if I mess up my place a little more, I could start my own Small Nasty in Hiranandani.
If that wasn’t enough torture, I let myself be persuaded for my very first Hindi play, Humsafar (make that Hum Suffer) in Prithivi Theatre. While I simply love the old-world charm of Janki Kutir, which houses the theatre, a quaint old café and a bookshop, an emotionally draining, serious diatribe on a divorced couple’s dysfunctional life is so not my cup of tea for a Sunday evening. Yes, the performances by Harsh Chhaya (remember Swabhimaan? Why do I keep thinking of that serial so much?) and Lubna Salim were powerful, yes Gulazaar’s lyrics moved the crowd to tears (not me, because I am not intellectual enough to appreciate Urdu shayari) and yes, apparently it portrayed the intricacies of a troubled marriage very effectively. But dude, give me a break. A smooth talking cheating husband, a loudmouth bitter wife and a couple of badly brought up kids may be the middle-class reality, but I prefer to live in my own Fool’s Paradise, which is located diametrically opposite to Realityville.
When life throws a lemon at you, you can of course make lemonade out of it; but isn’t it much easier to just order home delivery of alcohol?