Skip to main content

Kissingate and pornucopia

When C, my best friend and husband, and I were just another 'couple' people in office gossiped about, we'd walk and walk and walk -- down Cubbon road to that place in Manipal Centre which used to make decent dosas (it isn't there anymore), to M Gs, to sit inside Lakeview where C would grandly offer me a rose from one of the tables (much to the ire of the waiters there!) and down Infantry road, past Chandrika, to my PG. It used to be so much fun.

Now, we walk around Ulsoor Lake, with our four and a half month old. One day, we went towards the pier. Did you know it's Ulsoor's unofficial 'kissingate' area? Couples flock there (there's no other word for it), to stand and tongue each other. Walking past two rows of men and women (guys shielding the girls, as usual, with some men even holding helmets in one hand!), all I could think was, "how unromantic". It's dark as hell, the water stinks and besides, is full of garbage, anyway. Plus, there are mosquitos all around. Open your mouth and you'll probably get a buzzful of mosquito!

Quite a few of the couples actually look up to see if you're watching and then go at it, again. Can life get any wierder?
---------------------------------------------------

Near our little flat, in one of those tiny roads that dots the Cox Town-Cooke Town area, there is (or was, depends on how you look at it), an A movie theatre. You know, one of those places that is always all shuttered up and displays posters of dubiously pornographic movies with titles such as 'Man and Woman', 'Teesri Aurat', and such like stuff.

I always checked out the posters eagerly, for the movies used to look so, well, interesting! Anyway, the other day, I realised things had changed. The theatre is called something or the other AC now. And shows everything from 'Ghajini' and the latest Telugu horror blockbuster 'Arundathi', to '8x10 Tasveer'. And there's a big painted notice that middle class costs Rs 75 and balcony class Rs 50.

That got me wondering. Why did the theatre owner want to become 'respectable'? He was doing perfectly good business with shady movies. And he had a steady clientele, men who were so poor that they could only afford to pay Rs 10. Where will they go now for that dose of cinematic sex that cheered up their desperate lives?

After all, respectable, middle class types anyway watch porn at home. They don't need another respectable-looking theatre. Showing respectably 'U' movies.

------------------------------------------------




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hooked

I think I'm hooked. Totally and absolutely Booked. I've got it real bad And that's kinda sad. Shopping was never my thing It didn't give me a zing. Problem is, this is so easy Sounds darn cheesy. But when I spot a deal Half-price, what a steal! It's like I'm manic Some kind of panic. No time to ponder, or reflect Here goes nothing, what the heck! First I click on buy Then I go, oh my! For I've done it again Seen a sale, felt the pain Of being afflicted Totally addicted To shopping online Come rain or shine. So yeah, I'm hooked, Absolutely booked. I don't know what to do. How about you? ______________________

My other uterus

Read the other day about an American woman who had twins. Nothing exceptional in that, except that she has a condition called uterus didelphys, a rare congenital phenomenon where the uterus comprises not one, but two cavities or two separate uteruses. Basically, the babies grew in the two uterii. Okay so what, you think. Well, I have two uteruses (or uterii, or whatever), too. And I just had a baby. My baby grew in my right uterus, so the left one was empty. But it kinda made way as the right one expanded over a period of nine months. So did my stomach stick out on one side? Nope. It looked like every other pregnant woman's tummy. It was only different on the inside. This uterus didelphys is a tricky thing. Doctors will tell you that conception is well nigh impossible with this condition. That you need fertility treatment, IVF, pill-popping, all the very best medical science can offer. And of course, if you also have poly cystic ovaries like I do, things look even worse. But gues

Salted Cashews (my short story from the Elle-Tranquebar Book of Short Stories published in May 2013)

“ Maalu, Maalu”, where are you? Come quickly, the cashews are nearly done.” In my house, someone is always telling me what to do. But this is different. I love watching cashews go “pop”. I run down the stairs towards our soot-encrusted cheriya adukala . Chechi straightens up. She’d been stirring a bubbling aluminium vessal of rice. There’s a wood-fired stove next to the rice. It’s filled with slow-burning coconut husk and what looks like little black smoking pieces of coal. She takes a stick and turns the ‘coals’ over. There’s a slight spice in the air, wonderfully fragrant nut oil. “Oh chechi , why didn’t you call me earlier, the cashew nuts are already roasted fully,” I wail. Chechi smiles. My little spurt of anger melts away and I take the stick from her. I give the nuts an extra ‘poke’. The cashews are coarsely blackened. She digs them out for me and carefully peels away the crusty skin. Steaming or no, who cares. I crunch on them happily. Chechi is not really