The Night that was...

UV lights, and a strange atmosphere around…How come I don’t see any women……

My cousin and dear friend Rajat was performing last night at this place called ‘Corks’ on Oxford Street. As I mentioned in my last post, I never miss Rajat’s performances and I was there, yet again!

I hardly venture out of the vicinity of my home sweet home and sort of ‘make friends’. Going for Rajat’s performances is always an experience as I meet a lot of different people from various backgrounds, this is indeed refreshing, due to my line of work and because of the amount of time it consumes, I mostly only interact with people that are related to food industry in some way. It is always fun and exciting to meet people on a more casual, social scenario and make a connection with them.

I was quietly perched on the ‘not so comfortable’ bar stool and was enjoying one of Rajat’s songs, when David approached me. David is an aspiring chef who infact has a passion for Indian cuisine! Normally I am always a little weary telling people that I own a restaurant, but this time around the conversation was so engrossing and interesting that it just slipped out, we spent the entire time engaged in a passionate discussion about cuisines from around the globe and I was so absorbed in my chit-chat that I totally forgot to applaud Rajat! David was fair and was well built. He spoke with a British accent and was very friendly. I told him all about my restaurant and how it was always my dream to run the best Indian food joint in London. David and I exchanged numbers before Rajat and I left.

While driving back home, Rajat told me that it was a Gay bar that we were at…..sweat trickled down my face as I wished for that statement to not be true. I dropped Rajat home and just waited in the car thinking about David.

I know I’m straight…but I’m still thinking about David….I would love to meet him soon…is that so wrong?

Goodness Gracious Me no more

I happened to chance upon a back issue of the Guardian and was shocked to see that Sharat Sardana had passed away. He was only 40 and an extremely witty writer. I absolutely loved Goodness Gracious me and Kumars at no. 42. Humor never came easy to me. I’ve always struggled to tell a joke, more often than not I mess up the punch line. I’m no good at making fun of myself either. I watch other people do it all the time. It seems entertaining and those listening are always in peals of laughter.

I’ve only seen one stand up comedian in my entire life and his name was Papa CJ. It was a slow Saturday night so I left the restaurant for a bit and headed to Corks which is this comedy club bang opposite Bond Street station. That night was stand-up comedian night. So we were all entertained by Papa CJ. I kept thinking to myself ‘Thank God I don’t have the dorkiest name.’ I also wondered how many kids this Papa CJ had.

Anyway onto his set. All he did was make obvious jokes about the Indian accent and our weird sounding names. I could do that. It didn’t seem so difficult but the next day when I tried to retell some of Papa’s joke I could barely recite a single one. Guess I was born without the funny bone.

25 things you didn't know about me!

1. My extended family immigrated from India in the 1920s and settled all over the world including Nairobi, Amsterdam, Kuala Lumpur and finally London!

2. I was born in India, however moved to UK when I was three years old with my uncle and aunt after my parents died in a plane crash!

3. My passion is food, i worked as a chef for several years before starting my own restaurant!

4. As my aunt puts it, My dad was a mathematician who was amazed by 'pi' and my mother was a physicist who specialized in studying frequency of waves which were measured in 'nu'.....That's how I was named PINU!!

5. I'm very shy and introverted and find it very difficult to express my interest and affection towards woman, eve those I'm attracted to!!

6. Although i have lived in London most of my life, i haven't seen much as i always secretly fantansized about visiting sites with my true love!

7.Although I have had a few intimate encounters with women, I am still inexperienced!

8. My closest friend is my cousin Rajat, who is my confidante.

9. One day I rescued a beautiful woman from the grasp of some thugs on the tube but later couldnt muster the courage to ask her name!

10.Although Chicken Tikka Masala is the house speciality of my restaurant and we are profiecient in cooking non-veg food, I am a vegetarian!

11. Pretty Woman is my favourite film of all times!

12.My aunt has been trying to set me up with good Gujarati girls for a very long time, but I've always been a bit reluctant, as I've been busy with my career.

13. I'm a connoisseur of wine...and I can never resist a glass of red wine!

14. I hate Beer....now don't judge me on that!

15. I'm old fashioned in mroe ways that one even though I grew up in London.

16. I'm stubborn and conventional and usually resist charge.

17. My favourite music is soft rock and old bollywood classics!

18. Every week I go to see my cousin Rajat perform at various venues across London...btw he has a band!!

20. I was an overweight child which made me a laughing stock in school!

21.After my parents died, my uncle aunt raised me like their own son...and today I consider them my parents.

22.Sometimes I get extremely disgusted and cynical or the western views of dating and wish to go to India and marry a good Indian girl!

23. My favourite meal is Dhokla and chilled Coke!

24. My aunt has created serveral profiles for me on various matrimonial sites in hopes of getting me a bride...I'm quite embarrased about it but can't go against her wishes.

25. I refuse to live without love!! :-)

The line between friendship and professionalism

As previously mentioned I am the owner of an Indian Restaurant in London. Which means I am ‘Boss man’. I often wonder would any of my staff be this nice to me if I wasn’t their employer.

I’m not saying that they kiss ass, but they are all extremely friendly. Now even this friendship confuses me. Is it just for formality sake that they all invite me over to their homes or do they actually want to be friends?

Over the past decade my staff has been very supportive with my quest to find a wife. They’ve exhausted their resources. I’ve dated everyone right fom the bus boys single masi to my head waiters estranged ex-wife.

I try to be supportive to my staff and encourage them to open up to me but while everyone knows of my ttrials and errors they all seem a mystery to me. I recently sanctioned leave to one of the sous chefs. He has returned with a wife in tow. I don’t believe that he never even invited me to the wedding and everyone knows an Indian wedding is a great place to meet single women.

Where is the line between professionalism and friendship? Is it hanging out afterward for a drink maybe meeting up on days off for a game of cricket? Or is it sticking to pleasantries with the occasional invite of birthdays or festival celebrations?

My personal hell

The question is not whether there is life after death, but whether I’ll still get a Mc Donald’s burger when I get to the other side. The journey there could work up quite a hunger.

Hunger, that’s one thing that consumes my senses in their entirety. The lust for food makes me delirious, until I get some. That’s another thing I don’t get ’some’, just like that tabooed four letter word meaning intercourse - talk.

I find it hard to converse about normal everyday things with complete strangers. It’s intellectually insulting to constantly state the obvious in a bid to be more sociable. “Isn’t it hot today?” Well with the sun shining, it will be pretty damn hard to feel cold. Cold. They are the kind of people I get.

Public displays of affection make me cringe, which is why I don’t get some’, just like that four-letter word eaning defecation. I am surprised Oxford dictionary carries all its variation, just like that of the previously mentioned four-letter word. But it doesn’t bother me because ‘I don’t give a crap’.

Constipation it’s a wonderful thing. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to concentrate on that one thing, hard enough and long enough till you finally get it.

Concentration for me, that’s a bit of a problem. Anterograde Amnesia, I forget what it means. I forget quite often. I jump from one topic to another quite often and I choose to believe otherwise quite often. I choose to believe in people and don’t mind getting disappointed again and again. I choose to believe and that is my hell. My hell is a place where I know there are no monochromatic hues; it’s a place where I know deep undercurrents of reality and phantasm exist.

Where I know all is not as gleeful as it seems to be, but I still choose to stay.

I choose to stay for I believe in my hell, I shall find my heaven

The date that was

Sunday night was a bust. I've finally warmed up enough to talk about it. My friends set me up on a blind date. Leaving my expectations at home I set out with four layers of clothes on and decided to take the tube to the restaurant my date had chosen. I followed the directions to the T when I walked out of the tube station I was a little perturbed to find Dirty Dicks on my left and Bad Ass on my right.

Now this couldn't be right. My sweet Indian blind date couldn't have selected such a shady sounding restopub for our first meeting. Imagine telling our kids i met their mother at Dirty Dicks. To my extreme bad luck Dirty Dicks was her choice of dining last night. She swears by their fish and chips.

Well I'd like to talk more about Sonal(that was the name of my date) but she had to leave early due to her irrational fear of hypothermia. Since the snowfall didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down and she'd brought her car to the restaurant while I'd smartly left mine at home in the garage. After her hurried early exit I finished my food then hers picked up the check and then I headed to the bus stop.

I waited in the freakin' snow for 2 hrs before the news of the bus termination got to me. By now I could have seriously developed hypothermia. Did my date care? No! I'm sure she was home tucked in her cozy duvet enjoying some hot cocoa while my nether regions froze.

Now I was left two options stand there and freeze or walk home. I figured walking would boost my circulation and heighten my chances of bearing children in the future. After a good 3 hours of ploughing through the snow I finally reached home and who should be waiting me for me on my door step other than Perry the cat in his woolies. Perry is my neighbours cat. He usually stays indoors.Talk about added insult to injury even the cat was more prepared for the blizzard than I was. And he seemed completely comfortable in his fur, hat and scarf. But the sight was so cute I forgot about my horrid night poured Perry and myself some warm milk and headed to sleepy land.

One good deed deserves a scratch

I hate female drivers. I absolutely hate them. The only thing worse is Indian female drivers. Being an Indian myself it has taken years of discipline to develop my decent driving and parking skills and you must give me props for keeping to lanes.

Today I helped this old Indian woman in a dirty beat up Camry back out of a tight parking spot and how does she repay me? By scratching my precious Carolina (that’s what I call my Mercedes.)

I didn’t even realise it at the time but the old bat’s gigantic side view mirror dug a deep gash into my Carolina on her way out. Despite my excellent directions she somehow managed to destroy my car. Did I mention it’s a black car? Every imperfection shows….I am feeling really Depressed…..!

It’s the weekend and I was hoping to go for a joy ride tonight that’s the only reason I brought Carolina out in this haze and now this. It really has put a dampener on my weekend plans. If anybody sees an old lady driving a dirty old car with black paint on the left side view mirror please notify me.