Wednesday 18 December 2013

Year-end Nostalgia

As we come to the end end of another year, I just  cannot help reminiscing about the good times - old friends (in every sense of the word), old booze, hearty food, comfort zone in general, although I must confess all of us were a little cranky at times! Go ahead and read about old geezers trying to recapture  their youth!

GOA SOJOURN

As dawn broke on the orange horizon east,
The Magnificent Seven set out to the feast.
Jack Daniels waited and summed up eight,
To the Candolim shore, they must not be late!

On the expressway they pressed on to glory,
Each mile told another tale, another story.
Down the road, for tea or coffee, no call,
O! What the hell, ‘tis time for alcohol!

At the roadside, JD made a welcome entry,
Regardless of curious stares of rural gentry,
Improvised mixing in JD’s decorative can,
Over here, on drinking, there is no ban!

Touchdown four forty five at Mafia Cocktail
Owner Tony from live socket, he got mail!
Cooked up a seafood storm with sister cook,
Dig in, eat hearty and no second look!

Raucous evensong on Ave Maria balcony,
Some, in audience below, contemplated felony,
Irish couple wanted tune to dance a jig,
They did not oblige, they did not give a fig!

Dinner at Florentine was lost in translation
In the soft twilight, an American proclamation
I am original Goan, he cried, sounding surreal
For a man who knows not his xacuti from cafreal!

Lunch again at Sinquerim riverside, Tropicana Bar,
Fish cutlets, sorpotel, Canadian pay, back to car.
Monday night brought two more from big bad city,
They could have lost one, did not, more is the pity!

The mad search for sausage commenced,
To Village Agacaim the intrepid few went.
Baboi placed intestines stuffed with porcine girth,
The American got money’s worth, added to the mirth!

Then one Anglo went to dentist, the other to field,
One with toothache, the other with mooli urge,
Using Goan hospitality as defensive shield
For services, all payments they did gently purge!

That night found them at Stone House blues
Yet no one kicked off their fancy shoes
For beyond their understanding and ken
The argument rallied around excise men!

The singing was good, the guitar was better,
This was music, pure, unalloyed, without fetter.
As they listened, it struck a chord, it did ring,
The gracious sultan for the bill, he did swing!

The route swung from scenic countryside to spiritual,
Venerable cathedrals, sacred relics, car ineffectual,
Mechanics worked, leaders watched homely philomenas,
And for driving out, speculated the offer of nine novenas!

Time to leave, thanks above, it went without any major hitch,
Time to pay Sharon and, for a discount, make feverish pitch,
Two hirsute seadogs, long-haired and bearded, laid the charm,
As all drove into ensuing sunset with quiet and pacific calm!


Monday 9 December 2013

FORT WALKS

These days one encounters a lot of folks conducting walks in South Mumbai's heritage precincts. My advice  - no package tours, do your own thing, find your own song to sing. It is a lot more enjoyable.


FORT WALKS


Woodward & Bernstein, with hearty collective soul,
Met with Deep Throat, their old and faithful mole.
Alas! Not a delectable, lovely Linda Lovelace clone!
Just another leery geriatric with a handy cellphone!

From Charni Road, their legs walked, away they went
The straight and narrow was their natural bent.
Fit-as-fiddle joggers did not create undue desolation,
In fat and unfit 15-year projects, they found consolation!

The horizon was lined with love, on the deadly rocks,
The trio marched on and ran off their lively socks!
At last! Time to put the calorie-burner on slow sim,
For unhealthy breakfast they exercised life and lim’

At Stadium Restaurant, kheema and scrambled eggs
Washed down by coffee, past weak knees, into tired legs.
Thought they’d catch culture at the Museum of Modern Art
But the doors were closed for this brand of Old Fart!

Their next move was the Museum, artefacts and antiquities,
Natural History, World History, Indian History, mummies,
Woodward was afraid they’d arrest him for past inequities,
And exhibit him in hall celebrating world’s biggest tummies!

Feet and hunger led them to Cafe Military’s expansive doors,
The streets of Mumbai were not exactly like Irish moors,
For spiritual rejuvenation, Parsee akoori and caramel custard
Left the threesome resembling stuffed great indian bustard!

Churchgate train, upto Mumbai Central in second-class can,
Just keeping company with that strange third-class man!
Onward journey in style, comfort and first-class luxury,
But no news from Deep Throat was not the morning’s strategy!

Antonio

Monday 2 December 2013

MY LIFE AND OLD FRIENDS

 To old friends, far away maybe but always close to the heart.

THE ZEN OF THEIR WAY
(to Ronnie & Margaret, the Lords of the Dance)

He pondered the sound of one hand clapping,
As the distant sea, to his feet, brought waves lapping,
Would his arduous journey be futile and energy sapping,
In this new, enchanted course he was mapping!

As deep as his memory serves, she was by his side,
Dancing to glorious rhyme and rhythm, they would abide,
In step forever, not a moment lost by stooping to chide.
From that joyous suspended movement they could not hide!

Again, in the uncertain gray clouds of unknowing
Where fear and doubt make flight more compelling
And raucous voices rise above the gentle cattle lowing
O! Hopeful chime and toll, the twilight, thus, dispelling!

The surreal music of the spheres this life transcend
No looking back at the tenuous past to depend
This, dear friends, is no passing fancy or fantasy
This is the brilliant light, the future of ecstasy!


Antonio