Italian Night Out

K finally got to meet Shobi. Ooops, sorry. We finally got to meet her. At our usual hangout at Haldiram’s, Exide. Well, we waited a good 30 mins for her. All the more noteworthy an occasion since I actually reached 10 mins before the appointed time (thank you for the applause, I hereby take a virtual bow). But Ma’am had the misfortune to fall asleep while reading and turned up uncharacteristically late. Anyway, we as usual ended up wistfully recollecting our good old days at school (in the dual capacities of teacher and student) and boring the hell out of poor K. Who had the decency to let us catch up while he went and got something in the nature of beverage to revitalize us. And chivalrously chose to overlook the fact that none of us was courteous enough to go help him fetch the tray containing the three glasses of thandai. The good part was that they seemed to like each other. Which is natural, considering that every one likes both K and Shobi. (Can’t say the same for myself, though.) Shobi looks great. She has a glow on her face. She dismisses my admiring glances by attributing it to her beauty sleep. I don’t care what it is. I just love the fact that my friend looks so beautiful and cheerful.

Well then, we went to meet AG. K is growing increasingly lethargic. He actually took a taxi from Exide to AG’s place, a mere 5 mins by bus ! I’m ashamed of his lack of activity, which is seemingly turning into a habit. (Although I secretly adore every move that he makes.) I was extremely indignant at his anticipating with sadistic relish the spectacle of a T-shirt & jeans clad me touching the feet of AG’s old-fashioned (?) parents. I was secretly hoping they’d be taking a prolonged nap in the midst of the delightful afternoon drizzle. Well, his mother wasn’t. AG was tickled by my confusion at the spectacle of a parent who looked more like a married elder sister than the clichéd mother figure.

Sush was as usual late. First, it appears that he had been buying slippers for Namita (whose were en route to Kol via the Packers' and Movers’ stuff).And then, he was taking a bath. Namita was ready and raring to go. While K, AG and I watched the new set of ads on TV (including the arresting Radio City ones), Aunty treated us to tea and samosas. A few practical suggestions that they be packed and carried to the flat for the sake of the presently un-hungry few were not taken seriously and the food was promptly disposed of.

Everyone seemed to take to our flat. Particularly, Bapi’s new device that aims to electrocute offending mosquitoes. It started raining soon after and we were soon on our way to CC. Nam declared that she was not going to settle for anything less than continental cuisine on the occasion of this great get-together and we meekly gave in.

At CC, considerable time was invested in locating a secure niche for AG’s beloved. The Red Swift, I mean. Then, we sent the boys on ‘Mission Italian Cuisine’ while we ladies sought Nam’s immediate and specific object of desire, an asymmetrical kurta. As usual, we wasted a lot of time at Shoppers’ Stop and were not done when the boys abbreviated our sortie by giving us extremely obscure directions to the Italian restaurant they had managed to unearth.

Much of the humour that night centred in the guys having ordered drinks for us, which I was unaware, contained a strong dash of white rum. My suspicions were aroused by the fact that Nam seemed to be growing increasingly ‘high’ while my natural sense of orientation seemed to be slightly in disarray. The tiramisu was an anticlimax although the main courses had not been very disappointing, on the whole. My penne, however, was simply dripping with cheese, which seemed to repel everyone except a very stolid me. K was slightly bewildered as to why I insisted on eating all the fried potatoes off his plate, despite my having sufficient undisposed of food left on my own. Then there were numerous unresolved questions. Why the waiters were garbed in a funereal black garb from head-to-toe. Why K was guzzling down all that extremely bitter beer despite being fetishistically attached to sweet dishes. Why AG thought that every time Namita and I started laughing merrily after a bout of desperate whispering, we might be badmouthing him. Why K refused to let me kiss him in the unpopulated washroom corridor although he had formerly stood up solidly to the challenge of allowing me to kiss him in public view (ok, ok, I do concede it was just a cursory peck on the cheek). Why he finally decided to do away with social decorum and hold my hand tightly in full view of all of his friends, overlooking their cheers or chuckles. And so much more.

But then, did I really want the answers? In retrospect, I think, I had been in too euphoric a state of mind to care.

Close Encounters of the AG Kind....

I finally got to meet AG. After several ISD/STD conversations, one glaring missed opportunity and a few resigned sms-s later, we met and boy, did the sparks fly! Yes, there were no anticlimactic moments at the first audiovisual encounter. In fact, I must confess that on my part, it was a pleasant surprise as he had lost considerable weight and looked much more fit and fine than his un-photogenic features (he said it, not me) had made him out to be. And the best part is that he did like me. Now if only I could improve on ‘liked’ without sounding copiously conceited. Of course, I like all K’s friends. But AG was a ‘great expectation’. Actually I didn’t have too many expectations since, to put it mildly and euphemistically, I had received mixed reviews (for lack of a more apt term). So I had been keen on getting to meet him in person and putting my own perception to test.

So what did I gather from the first encounter? Well, let me sort out my opinions by putting them down pointwise….

1) He’s diffident ….always wants to know what the others are whispering about and particularly, if it concerns him.
2) He’s gallant….calls me M’Lady, stretches out a hand to help me to my feet, opens the car doors for yours truly.
3) Loves his car like hell…I found it very endearing that he should be so concerned that she should be parked in a no-problem zone, away from even the most remote contact with predator-like rash parkers.
4) Has an aesthetic aspect….his alter ego happens to be a wannabe pastry chef. And the desire is much more intense than I make it sound.
5) He’s a boy at heart…not in the clichéd sense of petty, peevish and pampered, rather with the hope of being popular, universally preferred and sought after. Which most of us would secretly identify with.
6) He loves to garner knowledge…not just to show off, but with the serious intention of putting it all to practical use some day.
7) He would love to get hitched… but only to that special someone who wouldn’t want him to give up all that he has cultivated so carefully over the years.

For all those judgemental of my inferences, I have one observation. I am not interested in feedback on my personal opinions. I would like to believe I have a copyright on them. You are welcome to a discensus, but kindly do not expect to bring me around to your own limited points of view. Unlike Bridget Jones, I do have a mind of my own.

1,2,3.....Connecting...

It is raining again. And no, this time, we are not going to complain. It’s been terribly hot for the past two days. To put it very mildly, the heat has been sweltering and we are going to maintain 2 minutes of reverential silence for the inventor of the AC, who’s done us the biggest favour ever.

Bong Connection was worth the money. Not that Rashi and I know much about the latter, considering that it was K’s treat. But we did spend the 2 hours in the hall quite happily. Which is quite natural actually, since Priya usually manages to instinctively identify all the potential hits and monopolise the enthusiastic elite much before the other stand-alones have even started to draw them in. Which is fine with us. We, for one, are not going anywhere in any case. Priya’s our addiction.

To come to the point. Bong Connection left us with the following impressions:

Sayan Munshi was a revelation. (Yes, he DID make me cry.)
Raima looked gorgeous. (But slightly artificial, especially when she was gingerly balancing her face on her hands at Someplace Else.)
Paramabrata has amazing comic timing. (Please refer to the drunken scene.)
Peeya is born to act. (Yes, as in “Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline’).
Mir deserved a meatier role. (Don’t ask me what role. I’m not a scriptwriter.)
June Maliah actually acted in a film which did not have a bedroom scene. (And she got beaten up, for a change.)
Neel Dutt has an amazing sense of music. (We actually enjoyed and even worse, tapped our feet to the remixed Rabindrasangeet versions.)
Saswata Chattopadhyay could have safely been left out. (We would have preferred his late father, instead.)
Soumitra is really being underutilized nowadays. (He gets to play a potential corpse. I’m afraid to even contemplate what will happen if he is promoted after this.)
Hasan’s character lost its purpose somewhere down the line( or film, if you prefer.)
Kolkata looks great on screen. We don’t mind staying on in the city after the Bong Connection experience.

N.B. Do not wear low-rise jeans to a film show. The lower half of your back will be anaesthesized by the cold if you repeat my fatal mistake. At least the darkness helped obscure the extremely unexciting revelation that I do not have Shilpa Shetty’s great figure. And don’t ask me to elaborate on that. I won’t.