A Theist! I'm A Theist!

Really, I am one now.

And you would be one too, if you got to hear about this.

Kulkarni has always maintained - and loyal readers and dear friends will be well aware of this - that drinking beer is a religious experience.

It elevates and it enlightens. It educates and it ennobles.

That it also makes you happy is a positive side effect that proves the benevolence of the Almighty One above.

But above all, the act of drinking beer is a holy, spiritual experience.

And what brings the beatific smile to the face is that fact that there are people on this planet who think making beer is a holy spiritual experience as well.

Talk about symbiosis.

To all you Belgian monks with vows of silence and mugs of ale - a reverent round of cheers.
:)

Back where I belong

The blog's back in Bangalore, ladies and ledas, and both the blog and the blogger are bhaery pleased about it.
A warm welcome to bhaisaab - brother's blogging, and he be here. Also, to reiterate: he be.
Gentle prods to other brothers who have become the lazy slugs they are - yes, I mean you, and I mean you.
Not that self is particularly active at the best of times, but it feels nice to be pointing fingers.
Haan, so anyways - Bangalore.
Which will mean more tales of Pecos, more tales of bike rides, and more tales in general.
Promise.
Home sweet home.
:)

:)

Pune

Heaven

I don't know if I've mentioned this before on these pages - I get the sneaky suspicion that I might have - but I happen to love my home town.
Pune.
And of the six billion nut-cases currently inhabiting the third rock from the sun, I happen to be of the blessed minority that has finished college in Pune.
Which, apart from Good Luck, Durga, Burger King and college itself, has meant one other thing.

:)

Ungaal. Tell, tell?

Down Fergusson College Road, a little ahead of Vaishali, a little before Fergusson Main Gate.
Loud music and air-conditioners that refuse to work.
A TV that plays nothing in particular.
Waiters dressed up in red shirts and black trousers.
Tall chairs, blue table tops and the Last Supper - Hollywood ishtyle.
Beer.
The clinking of the glassses and cheers.


Pearl Jam and Metallica. Radiohead and Iron Maiden. Headbanging and potato chips that we wish would have been cheaper.

Pink Floyd and Aerosmith. Du Hast and Nirvana. Another Barman's pitcher and to hell with the month end.

Crowded tables and crowded chairs. Waiting lists. Friday nights and metal.

Chicken fingers and another pitcher. Friends at adjoining tables and raised glasses. Smiles and nods. High fives and more beer.

Head banging. Beer. More head banging. More beer.
Saturday night.
College.
Apache.

And I may have a job today, and I may not be in Pune.
But Fergusson College road, a little ahead of Vaishali and a little before Fergusson College Main Gate.
Apache.

We'll be back, brothers. With raised glasses and Pink Floyd for company, starting at 7 p.m. sharp.

Apache.
Cheers.

Blogging Boston - 10

Summing up time. :)
Hah.
That alone calls for a party.

No, but seriously. There were some good points as well.
Going for long walks along Boston's roads was fun. You get to spot some really good cars and bikes, the roads are emptier, the gardens are gardens, and the skyline looks prettier.
But what's my point?

The steaks are awesome. A thick juicy Angus steak, juices oozing out, fries on the side and a side salad. With Caesar dressing. Umm, umm.
But what's my point?

The babes. Long legs, pretty faces, hourglass figures and ready smiles. Unapproachable as ever, but brilliant to look at.
I wish I had a point.

Corona beer is too cool. Get down a couple of bottles with a wedge of lime for company and life is so good.
I have pints.

The Boston Public Library. I don't care if that makes me a nerd. I wish that was in Bangalore. Actually, if I'm wishing, I wish the library and I were in Pune.
That's my point.

So yeah, all that goes under the asset column.

Liabilities?
It ain't home.

So listening to: Sloop John B

Jai Hind!

Blogging Boston - 9

It's raining - a lot.
It's cold - like you wouldn't believe.
It's windy - Boston is at the very outer fringe of Hurricane Noel (hee hee hee. I thought that happened a couple of weekends back.)
So Kulkarni is at home today.
Ergo, expect to see quite a few posts up.

The first one of which is about air hostesses.

Now, this is the first time fledgling Kulkarni has left the shores of his native country and gone to strange and foreign lands.
So in his experience, air hostesses are limited to the domestic variety.
You know, those unbelievable bombshells who look thoroughly unapproachable on ground?
Long legs that make lamp posts look like twigs, derrières whose sculpting was outsourced to Michaelangelo, busts that you can't take your eyes off, and faces that can launch a thousand airplanes.
Yeah, those ones. Go on, take a couple of seconds to close your eyes and do the visualizing.
Done? OK.

And so the one time that Kulkarni did fly out of his home territory, he was practically salivating at the prospect. 14 hours in an airplane with foreign maal. What's to not like?

But. Arre but.

News flash to all my brethren who are living in India and flying in the domestic version of paradise. If you think that all things phoren are better than all things domestic, and if you think that clones of Claudia Schiffer are going to be at your beck and call on international flights.
Then think again.

Because, most likely, Claudia's granny will be on that damn flight, smiling at you in a matronly manner, clucking away about what she's going to serve you for dinner.

But. Arre but.
Why would you do that? Why would you recruit your air hostesses, and that too for the long haul flights, from the Bagalwaali Aunty Aviation School? Why not from the Check That Chick Out! Aviation School?

More experience? Screw that. I don't care if my food is cold and I get the red wine with the fish.
No hot chicks abroad? Balls. Who're the people on all those videos we download from the internet then. Huh?
Cost cutting? Hmmm.

Yeah, most probably. Makes sense. The head honcho probably recruits one hottie for his office, and sends over the members of the Paleozoic Union to staff the airplanes. That's how I'd do it too.

But worry not, all you desi techies of currently morose disposition. Kulkarni the Genius has a solution.

Why not outsource desi air hostesses? Hain, hain?
I and a couple of friends I know are so willing to take on the onerous task of running that business. Interested VC's may please approach us any time of the day or night.
We're waiting.

Mallya Uncle. Listen no. Think about it. Pliss.

Blogging Boston - 8

As dawn meets darkness over the cusp of the mountain top, a car shall fly over dull grey tarmac.
Slowly, one by one, kilometers will be eaten up and Bombay shall recede. The ghats will be climbed, and Lonavala will be thrown behind.
The air will get cooler, and MH-12 number plates will appear.
And then the Expressway will get over, and I will be on NH-4. Hoardings advertising flats will spring up and fall back in the rear-view mirror.
Pot-bellied cops in white and brown (with jhatang goggles) will be spotted at important junctions, and I might step out and hug them.
And out in the distance, far to my left, resplendent in the early morning light, will come into view the city of Pune.
Not long after, I will meet family, and eat breakfast at Roopali.
Soon, ladies and gentlemen, I will blog Boston no more.
Soon.