Losing luck

It’s been a known fact for sometime. From the seedy card tables of backroom clubs in Pune, to the casinos of Monaco. Always call this guy’s hand. He’s lucky in love and so, terribly unlucky in cards. I love playing cards. To the extent that I have to stay away from card games for fear of allowing the addict in me free reign.
Having won so little in gambling I have begun to explore the concept of being addicted to losing. I will update this after my next card game, which should be before the end of the year.

Feni stuff

Speaking of gifts, my cousin guaranteed me a few evenings of bliss by presenting me with two bottles of feni.
An ode to the brew is long overdue, however, under its influence, one never fails to hear the waves and a mando.
The amazing thing is that the Gen-X Goans, those who have grown up in Goa, stop short of abhorring the brew as a social drink of choice. Reason? They grew up with it as a medicine and hence, the taste always reminds them of the antidote to a tummy ache. One man’s medicine, another man’s poison.

Present-ation

End November is the beginning of the festive season. Here in the Gulf, Eid holidays and then again, Christmas.
The one aspect that unites different festivals for me is gift giving. Much more than the revelry, the food and the pious gaiety, it is the sheer joy that comes with the giving and receiving of presents that floats my boat down the river of life that without fail, gushes through these festivals year after year.
Some people go to the Himalayas to experience sublime bliss. Me, I just wait for someone to give me a gift. Bring it on.

Crazy Arabs

If you had loads of surplus money, where would you put it? In a passion, hobby, charity or maybe all of these. It would probably say something about you and reflect the socio-cultural milieu you live in. In the UAE, nationals who have the money don’t put it in art or collectibles. Once they are done buying cars and yachts, camels and horses, they put it in number plates. The craze here, believe it or not, is number plates. Auctions are held and the bidding is fierce. Last week the number plate 59 went for 2.4 million dirhams. Crazy!

Jucilicious!

If you’re a juice drinker, the UAE, and most Gulf countries I suspect, is your oasis. Every type of edible fruit, vegetable, root and grain has been bottled and canned into a fresh-for-your-palette juice. Then, obviously running out of juice options, producers began mixing different types of fruits and veggies to come out with even more options to slake the concoction-fuelled consumer thirst.
A rare trip to a hypermarket always finds me just staring in wonderment at the juice section, looking for the more bizarre parings (pear and pomegranate) and the you-simply-have-to-try-this variety (mango and passion fruit). Truly jucilicious!

No head

First draft with your heart, second with your head, thundered Sean Connery, playing a reclusive award-winning author mentoring a young black writer in the film Finding Forrester. Now that line is a script-writer’s dream. You just know it’s going to be a quotable quote as soon as it’s on paper.
And if you’re trying to Find the Forrester within, like me, it sticks in your craw and nags you. Basically, I’m a lazy writer. I only do one draft. Whether it’s 99 words or 1,000, the first time it is out, it's done. No head. All heart. No good.

Male type

They’ve finally named an aircraft after me. It’s called Male, short for Medium altitude, long endurance.
Which kind of typically depicts me. I’ve always stayed away from macho or stud as an adjective in my more indulgent expressions of myself. My ego is quite happy with Male, and the US air force has finally recognized the importance of having these medium altitude, long endurance type of men on the planet. The first Male version of the plane most definitely sits in my persona backyard. Called the Mq-1 Predator, it is used for reconnaissance missions, but can fire hellfire missiles.

Time call

I’ve made it a habit of being involved in launching and/or relaunching newspapers. The last six years of my nine-year career, have been spent doing exactly that. Some of them continue to thrive, some have been not-so-successful experiments, some have closed. The failures have rarely been editorially related, which is been my domain expertise. The one thing about being involved in a (re)launch is that it hogs up your time. The month before, it’s all you do, almost 24/7. My present paper is going to relaunch this month. I doubt I’m going to have time to ninety9 every day.

Macho politics

At the heart of world affairs are heads of state who are all basically studs. Never has machoism been more on display than with these big boys parading their power in a show of male bravado unparalleled since World War 2.
Meet the men: George W Bush, cowboy to the world. Will shoot you down and then go camping. Vladimir Putin, martial arts lover and avid hunter. Often pictured bare-chested with a gun in his hand. Nicholas Sarkozy, French hardball with a passion for beautiful woman. Even Ahmedinejad, has that look of a smiling assassin about him.

Well-wishers

While the fabric of our lives is held fast by the threads of love woven by our families and friends, it is equally embellished by the many, for lack of a better word, well-wishers, who make pretty our memories and colour with hope our dreams.
My hometown of Pune specialises in producing this breed of social beings – well-wishers. Not close enough to be a friend, not distant enough to be an acquaintance, well-wishers are peculiar to small cities, especially those that have an old-town heritage. They add a warm glow to one’s life. Big cities don’t have them.