Of the door to my country, bow-tied mosquitoes and women.

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20th August: I was starting to end a beautiful Sunday on the 20th of August, sitting at the Rishi Restaurant outside the Dadar railway station, looking nervously at some massively overcooked prices of Paneer Tawa Masala and Veg Makkhanwala. It was quite some time since I’ve had sat in a relatively expensive place.
Well, a relatively expensive place is something which sits before you with both legs spread wide open trying it’s best to make one feel like an imbicle if one doesnt go in. After being inside, a wise guy can either come out straight away with a foolish smile on his face or decide to sit it out, fighting off the waiter’s judging gaze. A lot of culinary establishments pertaining to such a class, would have left us all far better off had these bow tied entities even made some pretentious attempt to project themselves as being slightly oblivious to our personal spaces. Seriously speaking.

Guys thinking about buying two mild Buds to get one pint free.

Defining ‘personal space’ and beyond: It has been somewhat agreed upon that area of one ft. radius around us actually measures up to be one’s exclusive personal space, to be scientifically correct. So a mosquito crossing into this border accidently or with an odious intent to slander our sovereignty can be rightly squashed. We would thus be accountable to neither any form of murder nor blasphemy against any fourth-dimensional divine law, animal right or passersby Jains in practice. No offense please. However, unlike for the midget mosquitoes of Maharashtra, there is not even the faintest hope of arriving at any prospective win-win situation if the valiant attempt to “squash” the face of these bow tied vigilantes hovering over my head, trying to figure out if I would order a Chicken Tikka or a Paneer Jalfrezi, is made. Man! Even the concept of a bar brawl has become ancient. Lucky mosquitoes. At least they die in action.

Defining ‘relative’:
The reason I’ve not forgotten to mention the adjective “relatively expensive” to a restaurant I had no need of adding into the backpack of my already perverse perspective is my acquaintance with the Taj Hotel. Landmark: The Gateway of India. I think it is the epitome to an “expensive” that I respect. Everything else till now is only relative.

The last British soldiers to leave India following it’s independence, the First Battalion of the Somerset light infantry passed through the gateway on their way out in a ceremony on 28th February, 1948 signalling the end of British rule”- as written in a plaque beneath the gate.

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The Taj from a ferry.

22nd August: I believe this is my last day at Vikhroli and I also believe it’s quite difficult to sit with folded legs following the prescription of our soft-skill trainer, the vivacious Susheela Bahl. Speaking of her, I just saw a beautiful girl with crossed legs which reminded me how it was to be done, as taught by Miss Bahl. I’m trying it but its impossible to keep them from slipping. I don’t think it will ever be learnt. Damn.

23rd August: I’m still here. They just informed me that its OK to be unsure of where my life would lead me to, in the following spanning days as it is perfectly sensible to be absolutely clueless about this ball game  from time to time. Well thats what I’m doing, and actually loving it too. Srustik and Diptiman are off to Bangalore and Guwahati respectively. I am obviously unsure of my place of posting. Before going, Diptiman told me to help him adjust in Guwahati. I know I will not be able to do much of anything he asks of me, specially not the boozing. I have to stop that.

25th August: I’m still not getting the hang of relishing the company of girls as an insider. Its more suitable for me to look at them from a distance and appreciate their bountiness. We have at least three beautiful girls in our recently rejuvenated batch of otherwise some morosely happy kindered spirits waiting for their places of postings to be disclosed as soon as possible. The things we know come in installments. We are all living our lives as our last days together which is going quite fine. I love looking at Pragya and Ishwari. Pragya, who is pretty well endowed physically, likes to sleep or pretend to when a topic doesn’t relate to interior-designing.

The batch.

Ishwari is strikingly similar to Rodasee. Similar glasses, clothing, artistically oriented, intellectually self-portrayed and very pretty. They are currently pre-occupied by the incoherent ramblings and pretentious idiosyncrasies imposed upon them, as most women in my perception are, from the set of relatively unspectacular individuals high on hormones. Well maybe I’m not too sure who actually is unspectacular, me or these guys, but they all do seem to be so childishly sloppy sometimes. I may be jealous.

Literature conjured to feed the awe for women will surely end in doom. I’m stopping it here now.

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