- Computer table and the stuff thereon
- Blood Alcohol levels
Well, life has been going on as usual, the humdrum routine of the big city, livened by the occasional acrimonious discussion in the family. The most recent one was over Amitabh Bachchan, aka the Big B, and his son, who may not be, on the pain of injury, be referred to as "Son of the B" in our house.
I think it was sparked off by what I thought was the incessant infestation of the TV screen by both these worthies. Sometimes jointly, at other times severally, but always, goddamn always, there, and I said words to that effect.
You see, the missus finds the Big B handsome. I don't.
"You men, you are just pot-bellied lumps of jealousy" she observed.
"That's not fair. The B might have screen presence in a hammy, condescending kind of way but even his own parents wouldn't have claimed that he was beautiful"
The missus fell silent at this stage. I thought I had won her over with argument but actually she was fiddling with the toaster. I continued anyway.
"His father, the late Harivanshrai, is reported to have uttered the words "Ugly Putz! Ugly Putz! Ugly Putz!" upon seeing his newborn child before calming down and accepting reality. He subsequently pretended he was working on a poem, ingeniously titled "Agneepath! Agneepath! Agneepath!", but everyone knew the truth. Ask them in Bareili".
"I have never heard such drivel! Amitabh Bachchan is the most dignified, suave and handsome guy, on screen and off. Abhishek is number two. And you, prince of my dreams, are number 5 billion and seventy thousand"
Well, that was one argument settled anyway.
Ok, find of the week. This Mexican eatery at Oshiwara, near Andheri W, Mumbai. It is called Sammy Sossa and it stocks a wide range of international beer at roughly 200 rupees a pint. Not cheap, perhaps, but then, you got choice, don't you?
I was feeling rich that PM and had, in quick succession, a pint each of Asahi, Hoegaarden, Stella Artois, Leffe and a Belgian beer whose name I've forgotten. Chinmay or something. No wait, Chinmay is a swami's name. This was... no, it's gone.
If I may be permitted a digression - speaking of Chinmay reminded me -` the brood and I went to the Renaissance Hotel in Powai, Mumbai last week. We had to pass by the Chinmaya mission and the elder son, who is normally meek as a dormouse and would make the Dalai Lama sound like a WWE wrestler, piped up.
"Annie, what would you call Chinmaya if he put on weight?"
I gave up, as usual. When I'm driving, I find it best to keep the old bean uncluttered.
"What? You tell me"
Younger one chipped in.
"Simple, Annie. Overweight Chinmaya would be Double Chin Maya, no?"
Overcoming a strong urge to clout both of them on the side of the head, I kept my cool. And I never have the missus' support in these matters anyway. She finds these interludes amusing and interjects with that silvery laugh of hers, which merely fuels these two comedians.
Anyway, coming back to the res, I had all that beer in Chez Sammy Sossa with gay abandon, secure in my knowledge that the missus was present, with driving license in hand.
The missus, very sportingly, I must say, decided not to lecture me on the evils of beer- I think she has given up - and a jolly good time was had by all. The food, if the brood is to be trusted, was excellent, though I have no recollection of having eaten anything at all.
Thus did my week pass. Not overwhelmed with brotherly love for all humanity perhaps but several beers on the right side of the balance sheet.