MUMBAI BLUES

I got back to my home after about a month. Sister and my brother-in-law had arrived earlier. They were surprised to see me at the door with my heavy baggage and all. A small light joke on them, coming from my mother.

The dinner was, as usual, spot on. The delicacies cooked by my Mother T were Waran-bhat-aamti-bhaaji-poli-koshimbir. And to add some spunk to the already smashing treat was the serving of a huge bowl of   refrigerated aamras made from the home made palp of the Devgad hapus mangoes. To hell with the possibility of loss in nutrients and all, due to storage of foodstuff for long. Anything that is served on my plate by my mother and then that which goes in my Brobdingnagian and equally insatiable stomach cannot be ill-nutrient.

So all was well by then. My mother T had just finished asking me, the 928933th time, if my roomies smoked or fuddled. My father discussed with me about the Djokovic-Nadal final. He is a Federer fan. So, like most of the Federer fans, he had turned into a Djokovic fan, by default, that Sunday. My brother-in-law and I had a brief but pertinent discussion on the sex ratio of my MBA class. We also discussed films. I told them that Bal Gandharva was the only meaningful and worthy film I had been to, since in Nasik.

And my sister, construing that  the topic diverted to films, out of sheer and characteristic enthusiasm, told me about the death of notable actor Rasika Joshi. It shocks you, such news, at least for a second, especially when  the dead person seems real fit and fine the last time you saw the person on a chat show or in a movie. A few are destined to die young. Few achieve a lot in their small time period on earth, as if they almost tacitly know they have a short period. Example in such case is not restricted to Rasika Joshi. Dewang Mehta, Malcolm Marshall, Divya Bharati, all belong to that category.

Whoever out of those Junoon guys wrote these below two lines was spot on..

Kya bashar ki bisat  

Aaj hai kal nahin.

(Mortal's presence is so fickle

 Here one moment and gone the next.)

While I mention this, I know a part of me is sad for the death of some respected person. 

While I wonder if i should ever blog about it even. And in turn, spread the sadness. I intent not to, though. 

Chod meri khata 

Tu to pagal nahin

(Leave my follies 

 as you are not mad like me.)  

And I don't even want to talk about those fucksome blasts. 

LATER.