RAHUL BABA KO GUSSA KYUN AATA HAI?

Like Superman making an appearance at the SuperBowl, or Bane turning the stadium into a cereal bowl, Rahul Baba made an impromptu appearance at a Press Conference today. He took the media persons by surprise, and even made Arnab Goswami to start the bashing from afternoon.
Here in Mysore, temperature's were already soaring, when i switched on the news and saw Rahul declaring the Ordinance to be nonsense. He added that it should be torn and thrown. WOOHOO! finally someone spoke to the point and used language which the youth understand.
I liked the fact that Rahul showed up with a beard, and finally, he bit Manmohan Singh's pinky finger. Its about time 'the angry young man' brand is launched again. Can't expect that from Abhishek Bachhan's Dhoom. But that is another matter.
Ah! the Ordinance. This enables our politicians to win elections from his air conditioned jail cell. Instead of raping women in his home, he can have his own brothel at this cell, and then pass a bill on Child Safety the next day. We thought the Congress government was all about women, money, Swiss banks and Audi.
Sushma Swaraj might be mighty pleased. The scion of Congress has actually supported BJP's stand, though Modi (the Gujrati guy, with a beard too) might run his hands through his hair in dismay and dropped the theplas to the ground. Rahul Baba has captured the nation's attention in five, that's right, FIVE minutes! He came, he saw, he spoke, he conquered and he went away.
That a young party president has spoken in rebellion against the Prime Minister of a nuclear empowered democracy, in his absence, has sent tongues wagging and sent tails behind legs. The young brigade of the Congress has risen in rebellion, along with a nation tired of paying more for onions. Rahul has got the pulse of the nation, and is all set to cure its illness.
So, for today, and for a few more days to come, the IPL Modi has to wait for his chance on the News Hour. For now, its the spokesperson of various parties, and pretty young news anchors, and of course, Arnab clueless on getting caught off guard.
Finally, i'm glad that Rahul Baba ko gussa aaya!

LEFTOVERS CSI

Sitting in a restaurant, waiting for my Idlis to be delivered at Indra's Sweet and Spice, i noticed the empty table opposite to me. The two customers, judging by the number of plates, had left. The waiter was busy taking orders, and the plates were not cleaned up. It had the leftovers of Masala dosa on them. I found it absolutely fascinating, more than the actual dish in fact.
The same dosa had been ordered and devoured by both the parties, but the leftovers were different. One consisted of potatoes, and the other, just crumbs and sambhar. Each plate of leftovers narrated the personality of their patrons.
I'm no expert in reading left overs and predicting the future, like a lady does from coffee cups. But being in the restaurant business for quite some time, i can speak with some authority.
The health conscious eater, trying to reduce the beer belly, did not dare touch the potatoes, but just had a mouthful of them. He devoured the sambhar though, as was evident from the empty cups. He probably ate the dosa starting from the edges, as the crisp crumbs were missing. He was probably a guy, guessing from the stains of sambhar in the chutney cup, which was half empty. He drank his coffee and took his time at that.
The person opposite to him was probably a lady. She must have eaten her dosa starting from the middle, as the crumbs were there on the plate and the table. The chutney was empty, but the sambhar was still there, and they were not mixed. There was hardly any trace of the potatoes. She had her coffee in a hurry, and must be a housewife. Her empty coffee cup was placed right next to the plate, and was neatly arranged. The mouth fresheners with the bill was probably pushed by her towards the man. I'm guessing that they were husband and wife. The bill had some stains of sambhar on it, which proves the husband, as always, footed it.
I enquired with the waiter and found that my wild guess was true. Satisfied that i was one step closer to becoming a Zen Master of Crime solving, i paid the bill, tipped the waiter and moved out with my head held high. The waiter called me. I could not resist to sign my autograph. I was famous.
Or so i thought. I had forgotten to take my parcel.

THE CHAI WARS-THE MALLU VS THE SETHU

As the world debates whether the United States of Obama should strike Syria or not, another war is gaining momentum in the streets of Mysore. It is the tea, or chai wars as we shall call it, between the makers of the same.
No longer is the tea stall the sole property of Annavru fans. The days when Shankar Nag, Vishnuvardhan and Dr Rajkumar used to look over the steaming tea brewing over the kerosene stoves are coming to an end. So is the background music of Akashvani radio, a quintessential at these places. College beedi has made way to Light, Flake and King.
The Mallu and the Sethu are vying with each other to be crowned the Emperor. In Mysore's markets, be it KT street or KR market, the tension is steaming and your slurp can be heard breaking it.
Not every Mallu ends up in Gulf, or has a passport.  In Mysore, he has adopted the trouser and adapted to its people. Without the constant need to adjust his mundu, his productivity has doubled. He brings with him the secrets of a perfect brew. His black coffee and black tea are perfect for a cold evening or a lazy morning. The tea leaves, to my knowledge, are not reused. He sticks to his business mantra of not giving credit, and is coconut hair oil soaked brain is crafty to find new customers.
Now to the Sethus (Bhaiyyas). Migrated from Bihar and UP, they bring with them the bitter tea experience. Their hardships have taught them the importance of conservation and recycling. Mysore City Corporation water and Nandini milk are mixed, and the tea leaves reused, which gives you a bitter taste. This is just perfect for smokers, and they flock to his shop. Plus, the man gives credit, on tea and cigarettes. He strategically places his business on busy streets, near colleges, banks and anything which has people crouching over computers. Cigarette butts, to cesspools of spit and sometimes Rajasthani folk songs playing in the background characterize this adda. Case in point: the shop in front of ICICI bank on Kalidasa road.
It is said that a Mallu tea shop is located on moon, and it'll be said that a Sethu's tea was sipped before takeoff. As for the people of Mysore, we are thankful to both of them for their contributions. They have contributed to the passing of college goers, where notes and worldly knowledge are exchanged. They have helped the office staff to let off steam by puffing up and sipping in tea, and letting go of the anger on the boss, the chick who refused the offer, and the aunty who decided to screw someone else.
As for who's the best, the verdict is for Mysorean's to decide.

RESTAURANT REVIEW-MALGUDI

One more hotel is drawing in Mysoreans. Located on the road named after the poet Kalidasa, its walls pay a tribute to a great writer, R K Narayan and his classic, Malgudi days.
You feel lost in time when you observe the murals. The touch of Shankar Nag, Ananth Nag and the cast of yonder-show place you in  nostalgia. Everything is hand painted, just like the old times. The food served on the ground floor does take you back to good old Mysore. Bisibelebath, Filter coffee, Dosa and Idli, with a dash of sambhar, as you go back to the days when life was simple, and the telegraph was still there.
The drawings on the first floor put you right in the middle of Malgudi. You join R K Laxman's "Common Man" in the streets of Malgudi, taking you through the lanes and by lanes of a non existent village, asking for directions which go nowhere.
You could spend an entire evening just admiring the walls, and not having a morsel pass through those smiling lips.
But that is not what the restaurant wants you to have. It means business. So you get an inexperienced staff wearing the same apron as the table cloth, and you get the idea of how the previous group on your table feasted, with stains on the napkins and towels. Thankfully, the dish is not leftovers. The second floor is for family and meals, and if you order the North Karnataka special, you have to take the stairs to the third floor. This odd reason, more of a nuisance, and the stairs which seemed to lead to the North Star, made us to opt for the second floor.
The starters were presented well with some creative vegetable carving and salivating spices on the Paneer and Spring roles. It was crisp and crackled to the T. The Kashmiri parotha with its fruits and stuffing was bang on the money. The curries were average, and did not have much to chomp on. And then we ordered Jola roti, which Malgudi prides itself.
Thankfully, Dad had eaten the best Jola rotis when he was a boy from the hands of an aunt who is a legendary cook in the family. I had friends from North Karnataka in college, and they just gave me Jola rotis by the kilo. Malguid gave us three, shaped like mini papads.
They had some weird powder on them, and loads of butter on top. Looks like they forgot that ghee is the key ingredient, and spicy hand ground chilli powder with spices, one of the secrets for the North Kannadigas abusive dialect, go in an authentic jola roti.
I struggled to finish this non-Malgudi, non-Karnataka dish while perched on an uncomfortable lounge sofa (this annoys me; hotels put this for fancy corners, but it puts us off and most of us never return, not to mention the dirt on it). The desert which said Malgudi special and Toasted ice-cream, existed only on paper. Well, some things are better left in the past.
Malgudi, three floors of it, seems to be offering an open threat to the basement Green Leaf in being "King of Kali-dasa road" in the vegetarian category. Will it drive Green Leaf to dust, or will it wither like an old novel as we have seen other hotels on Kalidasa road remains to be seen.

MS LOBO'S SANDAL SCANDAL-BASED ON REAL A LIFE INCIDENT

On the afternoon of Independence Day, i came to the Mysore Railway Station to drop my mum. Little did i know that this would be my day of significant importance.
A kid who looked like Chucky (from the horror series Child's Play) and his mum (who should have been on the goods' train for her bulk) were following me. They were to board the same train as my mum. In the chaos which signifies every unreserved compartment in Indian railways, the kid stepped on my sandal and as i yanked it out, it fell below on the rails.
One look at where my beautiful sandal was made me realize that we were better off when Laloo was the Railway's Big Daddy. It had landed between a can of Mountain Dew and Baskin Robbins look alike shit.. I decided against "Doing the Dew". Instead, i remembered a childhood game of throwing stones on cow dung and seeing who splashed the farthest. But this was not of something, but of someone's. I flung the other sandal in disgust and never looked back. I proceeded to send off my mother.
Lo and behold! that very mother-son pair were sitting right next to my mum. I kept my silence, but gave them Ghajini looks and once the train had left, i realized that the vehicle keys and wallet were with my mum. Too late. Here i was, bare feet in brown hoodies and jeans, at a railway station. Going in circles on the platform did not help, and once i had figured out the exit, i made a dash, faster than the British did in 1947.
With no money, and in an extremely foul mood, i made my own Dandi march to my house in Vijayanagar, 6 km away. My cell phone was a post paid one, but in those moments, i decided to "Boycott" my contacts. Throughout the way, i got leering looks from motorists and passersby alike. Hippie? Revolutionary? Lost? or just plain Crazy? i kept walking. Instead of Gandhi, my mind went back to Forest Gump.
45 minutes later, i was washing my feet under cool tap water. It was a huge relief, when i saw my creepy neighbor staring at me from his window. I decided to make the best use of this and signaled for help. After a brief explanation, he came back with tools, some of which i thought had been lost from our tool box. Two and half hours later, we had broken into my home. YES! I HAD BROKEN INTO MY OWN HOME! The neighbors who had conjured their opinion of me just gave a sigh and mumbled "That poor disturbed child".
Still in hoodies and bare feet, we entered through a window and even invited a carpenter to join us. We were not breaking into the British Treasury.
Whatever cash was available at home went to the carpenter and new locks, and whatever snacks and goodies i had went to the neighbor. I thanked him profusely, and he gave a broad buck tooth smile. Well fed, he dropped me to the railway station, where i punched in the spare key, started the vehicle and was at a friends place for emergency cash.
 Smelling of sweat and with bathroom slippers, my friend gave me a suspicious look. Just like SIMON GO BACK, the words 'Lobo go back' were shot at me. I pleaded for support to my Rupee Revolution. Once i had the moolah, i went back, take away food in hand, gulped down the Desi brand and plonked on the bed.
66 years of Independence, and my ordeal felt like all of those years combined into one day. Walking bare feet and  breaking into my own house, that's something i would never want to go through again. I love my Independence.