My mama always says that I can never do things the right way. The reason she promulgates is my breach-incoming to the world. Nothing more complicated than the fact that i was pulled from toe to head from the fetus against the norms of head-first-push deliveries. Why i say is because I land at the liquor belly of the country on a dry weekend. Unknowingly of course. But the idea of Bangalore on a dry weekend is plain shockingly absurd. How do I possibly describe my reaction to the "close till sunday due to election" board? Frown-face with twisted eye-brow? The I-will-smash your balls so what if 17 and a half-year old who is denied entry to an Adult film look.
At that point, It only helped to think that I am not a dipsomaniac. But my motive-supremo was to expose my auditory faculty to some hard-rock and comfortable-metal(if it does exist)as pubs it Bangalore are held as the mecca of music-lovers.
I then pursued the mood-enhancing thought of the auto-rickshaws that play Metallica. Courtesy- a friend's first-hand experience of the rocking auto-ride. Needless to say, I didn't find one. But what i found was a megalomaniac display of books. From roof to ceiling, in multiples of hundred hurled in one stack. The Mahakumbh of papyrus, in L, XL and XXL denominations.
Arthur Miller's plays at Rs. 50 can shock anyone's wit right? The charcoal-folds of epistolatory gave me a cerebral seizure. Wondrously, there was no place to collapse or even squat to scurry the desired tome for that matter. The literary fest sprawls across the three floors; compartmentalized into: Philosophy and fiction on the ground floor. Literary fiction on the first and science fiction on the second. The depraved looking store-employees bowl you out with the speedy quest of the title you desire. The modestly dull staff carries Foucault on their sleeves. Yes they spell it accurately too.
Four-hours well short for the book-mall, along with the booty. i pensively picked up my annual reading list of twelve while rejecting a stack of meaty ten. Blossoms- my singular honey-moon destination, if i marry a millionaire.
Bangalore other than booze and blossoms is unabashedly cool. Be it the local weather or the local intellect. Whiz passig the crowd of drab techies, one effortlessly spots uncouthly men in curly beards like the interface of Greek god of music. Suave and uncanny, they become piping eye-candies. The girls are loud like any other Maybelline-applying chicks.
The libertine use of material reflects in all architectural archetypes. Malls, office complex, residency or even shady restaurants. The spirit of mankind is rendered aesthetically in tall structures that stand for modernity. The Randian panorama of architecture can be scaled in the cloudy fields of Bengaluru sky.
Like any other metro, the speed of life is expressed in mbps. Work-hard but party-harder syndrome seems to infect everyone. Rat-race should be declared the official sport of the state. Technology becomes religion and heterogeneity defines culture.
If booze and blossom compete for the potential b of Bengaluu, Brigade road braces victory. The c.p of Bangalore, brigade road is one-stop destination for shoppers, party-goers, readers and gluttons and even angora-lovers. The road dons a shop that rears nine angora-cats only for recreational purpose.
As days passed, I saw my trip turning into a pilgrimage. I couldn't have asked for more. The independent train and bus-rides were beyond good. The 3 am premier of DDLJ in hindi (played in the volvo) was way too beguiling in a predominantly Tamil and Kannad speaking passenger majority.