Waiting, Waiting

2014:
The Captive Prince 3
JR Ward's The King, although I shall skip every mention of Trez, aka The Big Bore
A definitive black leather jacket a la Rick Owens
Paris & Italy
That risky career change
The latest from Stacia Kane,
Oh, and Terrible in real life.....

One night in Bangalore

Yes, that massive

Never go to a restaurant where a shuffling, badly-dressed man turns out to be the maitre d'. He is Satan ushering you into a hellish experience. The outdoor space is so dark you can't read the menus, so dark that you can easily fall into the wide gaps between slabs on the floor that cover a dank water body. Against your better judgement, you sit and order a starter and a main course. The waiter brings the wrong order. 

When the right main finally arrives, described as a "massive roast chicken" on the menu, it turns out to be a couple of pieces stuck on a skewer. If you ask the waiter what he means by it, the immortal answer is, "There's another piece under the potato, madam." 

Don't, whatever you do, then make the mistake of sampling the piece either over or under anything: It will turn out to be bland, chewy and unidentifiable. Escape before dessert does you in. And pay for the bill with a sinking heart because they wouldn't even have had the decency to either replace your order, or cancel it. C'est la vie. 

At least I'll never go to Indiranagar again.

An Indian story

Dude returns to the Motherland after many years in Amrika, buys a flat, wants to get his driving licence. Goes to the RTO where he's told he needs a doctor's certificate. He asks which is the nearest hospital and everything, life as he knows it even, screeches to a halt.

The silence is pregnant.

He is then slowly told, as though he is a child with special needs, “What do you mean 'Hospital'. There's a man in the building next door who is, of course, a certified physician and he will sign what you need.”

So Dude goes next door. Said physician answers dripping wet from a disturbed shower, towel wrapped around his waist, and waves Dude in. When asked if he can do the needful, physician says Certainly.

“Now tell me, what colour is this pen I'm holding?”

“Red,” Dude says.

“And what colour is the lawn outside?”

“Green,” Dude replies.

“OK, here's the signature. Rs 100.”

Now that he can differentiate between the traffic lights, and how First World and Third World functions, Dude leaves a wiser man; he also knows now why people here drive the way they do.