Indian Samurai इंडियन सामुराई

What do you do when the glass shelf of your fridge breaks and you live in India??

Like anywhere else in the world, you replace it!!

To start with, you might wonder how you can break such a shelf?? It’s pretty easy actually: you just put a flan / custard tart right from the oven onto the shelf!! Yeah, I know, it’s completely stupid but it was late when the damn thing finished cooking and waiting for it to cool down when it’s 30°C outside, good luck! The other option was to leave it outside and by the time I would get up I would have no flan and I would be invaded by ants. So… I took the chance to blow up my fridge and luckily ended up with only a broken shelf…

Yes, but what to do now?

What do you do when your cat decide to jump through the window in India ??

I entered the living room the other day and heard Norman meowing for help. It was coming from the window but I could not believe it. I live on the 5^th floor and if he were to fall, he would not survive…

But he was there, on the cornice, 2 meters down below.

Do not panic…

What do you do in such situation? Firelighters? I don’t have the number and my neighbour hates me guts. On top of that firefighters most probably don’t have a ladder high enough.

Take a picture??

Of course no! It is a montage!!

First thing: to put on some clothes. I am in my bedclothes (tee-shirt & panties) and I need a short and sweater. I have been living in India for too long… Who cares about getting dressed when your cat is on a cornice on the 5^th floor??

Second thing: fight with the lock of the window grid – it had the time to get rusted with the never-ending monsoon we just had…

And then what? Call the watchman? He is probably scared of cats anyways… I have watched the AC guy going down on the cornice so I assume I can do it too! And here I am, climbing down… Under the amazed gaze of my neighbour…

No damage, only a big scare. But what a scare!!!

Last Friday (Eid), I decided to enjoy the first sunrays of the end of the monsoon by lazing on a bench on the Bandra promenade (Carter Road).

And here I was. My (recently washed) hair in the wind, my aviator sunglasses on my nose, Sweet Things by U2 playing at maximum volume in my cask. I open my eyes, the sea, nothing else. And then, a head pops up. Then a bare ass. Then two hands pulling up a pair of trousers. Then a second head, a second ass, a second pair of hands.

Fuck man.

What about poetry??