175th Oktoberfest: Munich (September 20 - October 05, 2008)

With best guy friend having touched Munich this month, and that too during the time when all ‘spirited’ roads lead to Munich, I can hardly be faulted for going green.

And not a very becoming color it is on my face, let me add.

After all Oktoberfest comes only once a year. Nonetheless, the 14 day long extravaganza leaves all hic-hic-happy people a lot to talk about for the rest of the year.

And ohhh, did I mention – it is the largest fair in the world.

And not all people go there to see racks of beer mugs balanced on well-structured women’s erm…racks, as you may think. Or only to try their luck at being able to find a sloshed girl and drink beer off her…you get the gist.

You have the serious drinkers who are only concerned with glugging all the beer they can manage to get their hands on. After all, that is what they were there for, weren’t there? There are those who liven it up by getting into traditional gear (read lederhosen [leather knee-breeches] for men and dirndls [bodice, blouse, full skirt and apron] for women). You have those who wear goofy hats, offset by goofy grins plastered all over their flushed faces. Then there the ones who do away with tons of traditional grub on display – cheese noodles, potato pancakes, sausages, pretzels etc.

The twleve-gun salute and the tapping ot the first keg of Oktoberfest beer at 12 noon by the Mayor of Munich, in accompaniment to hoarse cries, is the opening stroke. Colorful tents dot the area, music streaming out of them.

Getting back the customary Oktoberfest souvenir mug is di-rigeur.

As is getting back stories of revelry that will be begged for as encores by your granchildren.

Beer ahoy!

Hic!

Aaaaaaaaargh, I so wanna go.....

A scratchy affair

There are those people who wrinkle their noses when they take their petrol-guzzling pair of wheels to the gas station.

And then there are those like me who can scarcely wipe the delight writ large on her face when it is time for the trip to the one of ‘em gas stations.

This blog post, lest you may think is about gas (pun unintended), is not in the least about it. So before I go off into one of my favourite rambling sessions, let me launch into what this is all about.

Last week, on a Monday morning, while on my way to work, I chanced to see a car without scratches.

What’s the huge deal about it, you may ask.

Well, in a place like Delhi, where all cars, and I mean ALL cars, have at least half a dozen nicks, scrapes, and scratches, on their otherwise metallic frames, coming by a car without the proverbial graze is nothing short of a rarity.

Now, people do love their cars. In fact, some people love theirs more than they do their respective spouses. After all, there is nothing as liberating as getting behind the wheel, upping the surround system, rolling up the windows (depending on whether it is drizzling or not. In case of the former, the windows are rolled down), and settling out for a spin about town, the highway, the suburban mall, or what you will. Add to that, the car, not just a means of conveyance, has a striking personality of its own too.

So you have macho men who become gooey-eyed when they scrub their beauties on wheels, and stand back to look at their piece of art, covered with suds (the car I mean. Duh!). You also have the busy executive, who before settling down into his cushy sedan with his copy of the Economic Times, decides to take a step back and see the beauty he rides, caresses it lovingly, and then takes a step in.

You also have the girl who takes a look at herself in the rear-view mirror of the car she is paying EMIs for from her current job. Satisfied, she smiles, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the ability to drive down, come rain or shine, to any place that takes her fancy (read the mall, the salon, the grocery mart, the NGO for children etc).

Despite people guarding their cars with their life, the inevitable, ugly scratch rears its head, leaving behind distressed sighs from the owners.

And some exasperated / pained looks from the fathers who have shelled-out money from their pockets for these wheels.

If only….

The Big-Bang recreated

With the ‘Big Bang’ experiment having begun about 4 hours back, the world and all its brother is crying over how it will could earthquakes and tsunamis, bringing us closer to Judgment Day, our Maker, apocalypse, the day of reckoning, what you will etc.

Which is why the scientists working on the experiment have been snowed under by threatening calls and visits by outraged and anxious people, who believe the entire world is jeopardised by the research.

The physicists initiated this most ambitious atom-smashing research today at 1300 hours IST at European Center for Nuclear Research (CERN). Similarities to a virtual time machine are glaringly obvious, what with the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), a $10 billion and a 17-mile long particle accelerator lying in a circular tunnel, attempting to reveal how the universe came into existence 1.4 billion years ago.

While the entire world monitors the progress of this trial with growing panic and / or anxiety, there are yet others who believe that this will part the clouds for the one of the biggest mysteries for us.

The world is divided into two clear sects again.

To be continued…

The Sale Story

Sale.

A four letter word, guaranteed to send most people of my gender into a tizzy, and their male counterparts into a paroxysm of utter gloom, their grimaces barely concealed by the watery smiles they manage to write on their faces.

But you can hardly blame them.

The women, I mean.

After all, why wouldn’t they? That alluring lime-colored dress that had been making them go weak in the knees for months, and which was almost as addictive as looking at dishy Clooney in the Omega full-page advert, with genuine avarice in the eyes, is up for grabs.

At an unbeatable price slash.

One would be a fool to let go of such an alluring offer.

So why wouldn’t that make them put on their trainers, and make a beeline to the morning queue outside the store, where a number of other like-minded women had decided to make a mad sprint to, too?

Inside, the scene is nothing short of a war, where women of all shapes and sizes sweat it out to get that last wine-colored bolero jacket, the tan waistcoat, those charcoal-grey flannel trousers…

There is no time to waste over phone calls – so any calls received are done so in under thirty seconds – a record of sorts. Unless of course the caller in question has called with news of another discount in the vicinity, in which case the phone call is attended to with the utmost reverence…

Amid jostling, cussing, eyebrow-raising, and the odd stepping on one another’s toes, when one emerges with the garment / object of contention, it is nothing short of a victory.

And the look upon your colleague / acquaintance when you smugly show her the winning article – priceless, to say the least….

Yakkety-yak people and their instruments of mass annoyance

If aliens from a planet yonder spend a good amount of time peering at mortals, and if one of them right at this moment is penciling a sketch of one of us, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an outline of a person with a hand to his ear, holding that much (mis)used gadget – the mobile phone.

Cellphones – ahh. Where do I even start from?

Everyone seems to have one these days.

Which is perfectly fine by me.

Except when it starts grating on your senses, making you want to snatch it.

Like off the ear of the person sitting with you at the restaurant where it has been doggedly perched for the last ten minutes. Instead of enjoying his meal, and using the cutlery neatly arrenged in front of him, the bloke with you is more intent on keeping one of his arms leaning on the teak table, to support the darned thing that is glued to his ear.

It’s only that you have sworn off violence altogether that you are able to keep those murderous intentions at bay, and instead smile sweetly through your second glass of bubbly.

Any other time, and the bubbly would have fizzled out of your chute glass into the surprised face of your companion.

You have many who swear by their cells, probably carrying them to their washrooms too, lest a call / message escape their ever-vigilant eyes.

And if they forget to was their hands after doing their ermm..business, cos they are going yakkety-yak on their phones, what’s a little unhygiene after all. Righto?

Sheesh!

Yesterday, while watching a movie, there were quite a few samples who obviously espoused the have-cellphone-and-my-ringtone-is-by-far-the-loudest-and-don’t-you-forget-that-in-a-hurry syndrome. So right in the middle of a lachrymose dialogue being spouted by the leading lady on the silver screen, an ear-splitting, nasal song announced its esteemed presence.

Several tut-tuts from the people around, and the owner of the offending instrument silenced it. Several minutes passed, and once again the audience settled into some peaceful movie-watching.

Not for too long though.

An old Bollywood number, warning a babu to walk slowly and cautiously on the path to love, ridden with treachery, trilled its tune for all to listen. Gasps of annoyance escaped from the audience.

Oh hell!

Haven’t these people heard of vibrate / silent modes?

And to those insolent people who stare sullenly at me when I stick out my tongue and ball my fist menacingly at them upon hearing their shrieking ringtones, here’s what I have to say…

Bite me!