A get away at Courtallam

It was that time of the year when the chain of mails begin to pour in, trying to stir the hornet’s nest, asking for interesting holidays spots that the batch “Navis” can bless to press the signet of fond memories upon. As usual it was Jaggu and Bali who took the max initiative. The choices varied from hill stations to seasides, to thick unseen jungles. Anywhere, where the weather would be delightful and the escape from routine life refreshing. After an ignited span of hot debating and Bali’s determination, it was “unanimously” decided upon that the paradise on earth that we would grace would be “Kuttrallam”.

Kuttrallam is a huge water falls that has gained exceeding popularity down south in India for reasons more than one. To begin with, rumors fly saying that the waters of this falls bear a therapeutic value, that when it lands crashing and lashing on our bear backs, as long as we choose to stand like buffalos in the rain and then walk out numb, we’re supposed to feel exhilarated, well massaged and completely rejuvenated. Of course, side effects vary from a prolonged distant siren-like whining in the far depths of our dark, waxy inner ears; a distant feeling of disconnected reality where we begin to wonder whether we’re still alive or half way up to hell and a couple of other symptoms which vary on a case to case basis depending on how much of a mash mellow one is.

The second most significant reason for this falls popularity is the number of incidental deaths of scrawny jelly legged people who come here annually to have bath, but miss that most needed foot hold over some slippery stone or boulder and choose to dive deeper into the unexplored depths of the gargantum falls, unfortunately never to return back to civilization. May the souls rest in peace, I mean them no ill will.

And to such a place we went, young and brave at heart. Three of us from Chennai and four from Bangalore. It was the peak season. Tourists from all over India, rather people who strongly believed that they should have their annual bath only at Kuttrallam, flocked and flooded the place. We looked up for a hotel on the internet and booked it over the phone. Take my word, not every hotel in Tamil Nadu that advertises on the net is tech savvy or decent. As things would have it, this one was a pathetic cramped hole for which we were robbed blind. One look at the room and it took me a great amount of self consolation and rigorous auto suggestion to calm myself down. It was only the joy of meeting the others from Bangalore that helped me turn a blind eye to the room’s aesthetic settings.

After all the hearty back slappings and leg pullings, we got ready to go to spot A, Shenbhaga Devi falls. This is a smaller falls which is approximately an hour’s trek through thick dark jungle. The reason why we didn’t go for the main falls was the frenzied clamor of a huge swarm of annual bathers pushing and dashing and standing in a long snaking queue just to get a chance to wet their scalps under the ragging thunder of the falls. We didn’t come all that way for just getting wet. We came for fun, fun that would last longer, at least longer than what the life guards at the main falls thought was permissible. After a quick coffee at the small stall in front of our danky lodge, we set of with our backpacks and polythene bags stuffed with towels and change of clothes and our cameras dangling from our necks, wrists and shoulders. I guess it was the trek that was more interesting than the falls themselves. Stopping over at every spot that presented a promising vantage point that would draw the ooohhhhs and aaaahhhhs of the people who would get to see the pictures we took, we posed and clicked away to glory. Every now and then, like the omnipresent monkeys that followed us, we would get drawn to wayside vendors selling spiced up pieces of mango, pineapple and gooseberries. Reddy and myself would keep munching and eating non-stop, while our official junk food sponsorer Deepu, would keep bailing out Rs10 notes at everyone of our stop overs.

Roughly about an hour and a half later we were at the falls. It was by no mean secluded or less crowded or anything that we imagined it to be. It was swarming, but … it wasn’t as bad as the main falls; there were no queues. Quickly splitting up the group into two, we got into the water while the other took care of our belongings. It was a small but fierce falls, falling over huge rugged mountainous boulders into a huge cup shaped basin at the foot of it. We had to walk over the rim of the basin, clutching a flimsy railing to keep our shaky balance; to get to the side where the men took their dips and showers.

Carefully scrambling on all fours we climbed half way up the boulders to stand in niche spots to enjoy the roaring and lashing of the falls. The water was cold and refreshing. Some how, standing half naked on slippery rocks under a treacherous falls seems more dramatic than taking a normal routine morning shower. (Oh! By the way, we in India take a shower every single day of the year, but of course with in the humble confines of our tiled bathrooms.)

After an hour or so, when we had enough of that tango-drums-played-on-your-head effect, we began climbing down to get into the basin at the bottom of the falls. None of us who got into the waters knew swimming, so we planed to stand waist deep at safe quarters on the rim of the basin. Reddy, Sara and myself stood as a group; when Sara and myself out of some sudden found spirit of discovery-kind-of-adventure decided to get deeper into the water. And so we began, hand in hand, gently drifting into the grey-green waters like some dreamy lovers!!!(Oh! For heaven’s sake!) All of a sudden in the same gentleness, the sure footed athlete that Sara is, began loosing his foot hold on the algae ridden pebbles that formed the bed of the basin. Like a slow motion scene out of Manoj Night Shaymalan’s movie, Sara started getting pulled deeper into the basin, purely due to the effect of serendipitous gravity and a pair of desperately thrashing arms. And all through we continued holding hands!

Before I realized anything I was getting pulled in, and began loosing my foot hold as well. Within seconds I was splattering with water getting into my nose and mouth. Sara, who turned all the more desperate, did what any hell-scared drowning guy with no idea of how to swim would do. He clung to my neck like a pallid squid trying to keep afloat. God! I knew he thought of me as a rubber head, but this proved it all!

Wage little bits and pieces of swimming class lessons from some long forgotten childhood memories splintered into my now racing mind. I tried some form of “Zambian” underwater cycling striving hard to keep afloat. But you get the picture, right? Its all too hard when someone is trying to hold you down under water like a rubber tube. So we eventually went down faster than we thought we would. All that panicking added to the soreness of our limbs.

But surprisingly amidst all that craziness, a clarity of thought dawned on me, like a clearing in the jungle. Boy! That felt as if I was standing on the other side of the door of death, just waiting to push through. I knew well that Sara and myself would go down try as much as we may to avoid it. But our best chance was to grab the attention of the others who were swimming at a distance from us. So I diverted all my energy in trying to signal to them asking for help. And then …. In seconds I went down. It was all too clear. In that split second I totally accepted what I was going through. Surprisingly, I thought of no God, no scenes of my life flashed across my mind. It was just an engulfing feeling of complete acceptance. I soon became unconscious as I gulped down gallons and gallons of water.

When I came to my sense, I felt a hard pull at my arm, and I was being helped towards the edge of the basin. Coughing out water, I burst into a fit of laughter and began looking around for Sara. There he was, not far from me, perched on a rock still shivering from fear and cold, with the blankest of expressions on his face. This was the first near death experience I had had. (Of course! Those exams at school and being confronted by enraged parents over dark score cards are beyond death experiences!) Loitering a little longer, we walked out of the basin towards our dry clothes. Later over hot tea and spicy mirchi bajji (a special sausage kinda food with a huge chilli in it) we recollected the whole episode. By far this was the most defining moment in my recent past after I left college. It made me question myself why “I” should have gone through all this. What was it that I was supposed to carry back home (apart from my living myself) out of this experience?

After this episode everything that I cared to cast my eyes on seemed to wear a new look. I felt reborn, no …. I felt as if the entire world around me was recreated. It was a beautiful feeling. I wanted it to last forever, like that magical early morning dream that we long never to fade.

Staying a little longer to snap a couple of more pictures, we retraced out steps back to our lodge. Soon we packed our bags and checked out heading towards Tirunelveli, for the next day we were to cover a few more falls. Landing back into the heart of a bustling township we found a decent hotel and guzzled and gorged on what ever crap the restaurant had to offer in the name of dinner. Absolutely worn out for the day we slipped into our rooms and crept into our beds.

Come day 2, we had a light breakfast and typical south Indian coffee and alighted a bus that rumbled through lush green waves of rice fields towards a place called Ambasamudram. We had plans to grace a few other water bodies that was on Bali’s list. Ooopppsss…. The names of these smaller and less known places seem to evade my poor memory always. Anyway, we had to take another motored metal box that ran on four wheels carrying a crowd of over stuffed helpless people. The first falls that we landed at was simply too crowded and fared no good on our internal evaluations. So we discarded it and went on to climb the hill near by, to which more adventurous souls around there pointed. But they warned us that the water there was far deeper and more dangerous and only experienced swimmers went that far. We were driven nuts by the long ride and the thought of an entire day going of waste. So we trekked upwards climbing over neatly decked steps towards a Shiva temple right at the top. Once there, we busied ourselves looking for safe shallow spots where clear water flowed. Sara, chose to stay on in the temple, while the rest of us getting roughish by now, changed into our shorts and found deep and perfect cuts in the rocks where we could lie down with the cool waters running over us. We spent nearly three hours fooling around clicking pictures and catching small colored fishes and chit chatting over everything under the sun. When the sun got blazing, threatening to char our delicate complexion, we decided to pack and leave for the day. The rest was one sad story of how we got back to our hotel, promising to go on more such holiday get aways … and parted ways to get back to our homes … back to our daily lives… routine work … syrupy sweet coffee and stale damp biscuits at office.

My Life ... and it will remain mine.

I caught myself again with the same question being asked on my face. Every time I ping or get pinged by a log-time-no-see buddy, the second or the third “Q” that gets flung at me would be “Hey!... what happened to ur blog? … get that lazy ass of yours moving and get writing more regularly.” That’s when I stop … when some invisible hand comes out of the blue to hit me smack on my forehead … helping me realize that I am getting carried away in the torrid currents of my wayward life.

Here I am far away from home, waking up late in the morning and draging myself to office, dying for those darn coffee and lunch breaks and getting back to home late in the evening to gape into the magical idiot box …. eat some trash and fall asleep dreaming of a better tommorrow. I do all this and ask myself what is wrong with me and my life, that it is almost dead as my brains! There seem to be no fun in it … no purpose to it … nothing to motivate me, keep me up and going. I go through all this like a zombie.

Normally I would have squatted squarely on these big questions of life and let them slip away. But this time it was very different. I wanted to feel good, I wanted to know that I was steering my life (Oh!... not that I turned an atheist … Holy God forbid ….). So the next day I woke up early. Put on my tracks and slipped into my running shoes. After a brief and brisk workout, had a refreshing breakfast of fruits and delightful cornflakes. Dicing and chopping lettuce, soy sprouts and bell pepper, packed myself a light meal of sandwich. Already feeling better, I remembered a quote I read on Men’s Health, “Dress for the job you want and not for the one you have.” So I pulled out the best pair I had, pressed it neat and set it aside. Showered clean, perfumed crisp and rightly dressed I left for work, telling myself that I was going to make my day interesting, exciting and perfect.

Believe it or not, it was one of the best day I had at work. Everything went beautiful. I was able to complete all the task that I took up. I made a dashing impression. I could almost feel that people were looking up to take note of the difference. I felt like a vortex of power and magnetism walking on two legs. It was amazing. The whole week went this way. I feel so much better.

Everything looks a shade brighter now. Though the deeper questions of life still remain unanswered, I find the subtle gloom now gone!!! A good shake up is always defining enough to make that extra needed difference in our daily lives.

My Bloody Ego

No more would I be apologizing to the huge mad crowd of die hard fans that I keep imagining are out there reading my blog, for not having written regularly. But then again … my dastardly bloody ego, makes me put on airs as I turn up my collars in swelling pride over a few paltry, friendly (and deeply understanding) praises that I receive from long time acquaintances. Hmmm…. Ego, what a damnable thing it is. For long I had no idea as to what it is, though I was categorically branded as tending towards the limits of egomaniacal exhibitions of outward behavior. God!...just see me … I have this dirty habit of writing twisted, extra compounded, highly sophisticated sounding sentences to convey a dumb idea .. That I am dumb!!! Phew!

As a school kid, we were often coaxed to build and exude self confidence. But as things would have it, the line between self-confidence and ego (and many other scary things) is simply too thin. Brought up amidst a bunch of spoilt brats in an affluent society; bragging was an indispensable mark of identification of the neighborhood. It was reasoned out thus – “It is true talent that comes with head weight.” (Kill the dog who said that.) Of course they were all talented … of course kids need encouragement to excel … but this is taking things a bit too far. Thank God! My parents were not of the same breed as those snobby, petulant, stiff necked aunts and uncles. They kept repeating a proverb in Tamil – “Nerai Kudam Thalzhumbadhu” – which, in essence, meant “Empty vessels made the most noise”…. Oh well … ok … here it is … the proverb literally meant that – “A pot that is filled to the brim doesn’t spill!!!” …. Hmmm…. Now I am scratching my head trying to make sense out of this for all my western readers! Well it goes like this. Women in the villages of India carry water from the river to home. And they often found that when the pots they carried were half filled, they spilt more than when the pots they carried were full. (God!.. it beats me ..trying to put it in scientifically, gravitationally, kinematically …. Bless all those dead physics teachers of mine …explanatory terms.)

Parents repeating good things on and off to get them into their kids’ muddy heads is one thing, and the extended incessant exposure to higher-than-normal-self-esteem attitude of your playmates is another. And unfortunately try as much as they may, my sis and myself didn’t escape the infection. With our noses thrown up and heads thrown back we walked from primary to secondary to higher school. I turned lucky when I walked this way into college.

There in college, I had in waiting a most needed rude shock. There were batch mates and seniors far more talented and gifted in ways more than one, a million times more humble and unassuming. They mutely shown like bight torch lights, highlighting my own faults to me. They would do this … they would do that … and yet when praised they would brush it all aside with a simple smile and go back to their normal routines like normal people. (uhh!... I mean like the rest of us …) God! … They had so much to teach by just being themselves. Slowly but steadily the culture of the place (my college) crept into my psyche. Somewhere down the line I learnt to learn the good things from people I come across. Woooo … boy! I sound like some weirdo. But it all paid me well.

I try sharing the same with my sis, but I guess we’re from different species altogether. We simply don’t understand the language we speak in, let alone more complicated concepts on humility. It all makes me wonder, why people want to SHOW their confidence to the outside world. Is it that we are incomplete all by ourselves without the reactions of the world around us, to what we are and what we do? What would it be like to stay absolutely unconcerned, unaffected and untouched by the world around us? Would that be a challenge? Would that be abnormal? Hmmm…. I think its worth a try. If it turns out to be disquieting and paranormal to the extent that I am branded as an unacceptable outcast amidst my own roost …I might have to turn around.

The 27th Of May

It was a very hectic day for all of us at home. It was the 27^th of May, a day for which, each year, as kids all three of us bro, sis and myself would stash away all our pocket money.

Back when we were kids, on the evening of 26^th we would pull out all those crumpled notes that had been so carefully tucked away into all unthinkable corners of our house and make a secret expedition to the local supermarket. (Oh! We would simply whistle and tell mom that we were going for a walk … and of course she would know well, but would choose to act appropriately ignorant.) Once there within the air-conditioned, well lit, polished floors of the supermarket, we would go about walking up and down the aisle stopping at every shelf, debating, estimating, recalculating and driving every sales girl crazy, scratching up the wall with our stupid questions. The store owner, a neatly powdered lady in starch stiff sari, in her late 40s would come snooping behind up, just to ensure that we were not there for shop lifting. Three little kids running all around the place inspecting almost every product she had displayed, would drive the old lady nuts. She would conspire and place all her worn out, half dead sales girls at strategic points in the shop to have a birds’ view (naa …. an eagle’s view) over us. But we cared nothing. The whole fiasco would last for about 3 to 4 hours. Well that’s about the time the three of us could be patient in one place on one task, before we get down to blows over small differences in opinions.

Within those few hours we would have “a” task in hand; to buy for mom and dad the most fitting anniversary gift that could be bagged for the all the pocket money we had been collecting all through the year. What we had in our minds never matched what we had in our hands; damn those flashy advertisements that interrupted all those cartoon shows! Finally, when we find ourselves well exhausted we would lay on the counter, all the prospective gift we could buy. Then there would be another round of intense heated discussion to reach a unanimous consensus on the right gifts. With decisions made we would proceed to have the gifts billed. Smirking at the old lady and growling at all the other zombie-like sales girls we would walk out of the store with the gifts in neat plastic bags.

We would then head to the florist’s. With the remaining paltry sum we would go about picking dewy, dainty, delicate flowers and soft colored leaves to make a bouquet back at home. After pulling and plucking at almost every organic stem the florist had in his little red buckets, we would stumble back home all too excited.

Once back, we would go into the master bed room and lock ourselves up, shooing out our highly irritable but sadly ineffective granny from the room. Bustling about gathering small pieces of assorted decoration material and anything of interest and attention we would finally settle down to make a huge anniversary greeting card and a big flower bouquet. Right from leaves, dried up petals, flashy stickers, color pencils, crayons, scissors, glue, etc … everything would conjure up from nowhere. After an eventful span of one hour twenty eight minutes and forty seven seconds we would crawl out of the room shouting out to mom (who would be making dinner by then) to stay away from the fridge … hmmm … to stay put in the kitchen long enough till we tell her that the coast is clear. We would run over to the fridge, make a large clearing in one of the shelves and carefully place the custom made bouquet. (That was our perception of keeping the flowers fresh and beautiful.) With that we would stick a note on the door of the fridge threatening anyone who moves anywhere within a few feet from the fridge. Sometimes we stood guard … till the night’s most important TV show started.

Then when the BIG day arrived, we would wake up nudging each other and roll over on our tummies to plants sleepy kisses on mom’s and dad’s cheeks, wishing them a happy anniversary. After all the initial hugging and thanking we would walk out to the fridge and pull out the bouquet and the greeting card, from the bottom most shelf of the cupboard. Both mom and dad would be amply pleased, with glistening eyes there would be another round of warm hugs and loving kisses.

And these days, when we’re all grown up like buffaloes, we still storm into shops on the 26^th of May and go about busying ourselves driving every pathetic store owner creepy mad. The only difference, instead of stashed away pocket money, it is the mindless swishing and swashing of shiny pieces of plastic, our bloody credit cads. Oh!... but the joy still remains the same. Ooooppppssss…. There’s my mom screaming at the top of her voice. I think she’s finally spotted the bill for the cake we ordered for her anniversary. God! I’ve now got to sit through another round of wont-you-ever-grow-up talk show!

My trip to the ...

Innocent and studious, I sit at my comp browsing at harmless sites when all of a sudden there is that nefarious ring of a cow-bell…. a long live, die hard buddy who has this sweetest of thoughts to catch up with matters of greater importance on that devilish thing called Google talk. “bum…. Where are the US pics? Why the bloody hell haven’t you uploaded your holiday snaps yet?” …. “HOLIDAY” … just imagine, the company’s most sincere employee was sent to the parent org in the US to WORK … mind you to work…. And here are these people asking for pics of my US holiday …. Atrocious. Well…. Of course there were those Saturdays and Sundays.

Oh!... ok here it is …. a) I was lazy and b) Some how I wanted to break away from the usual stupid and dumb habits of a nerd who goes abroad …. To list a few:

- take a few pics wearing the thickest and heaviest of overcoats, sunglasses and standing by the snow and grinning like a jackass. Upload the same pic on ur orkut profile and update ur status to “Now in US” …. Can’t believe that there are so many out there who do this.

- Keep mailing all close friends news items of better interest in the US, as if these ever mattered to anyone anywhere.

- Call up every number on your contacts and ask a stupid question – “Hi, its been a long time. How are u and WHERE ARE U?” and keep your fingers crossed for them to ask you the same question in return so that you could beam and tell them with puffed up chest that your abroad.

- Ask friends, relatives and country men how the weather is back at home; and fuzz about saying how cold it is in US and how well you adapted to the climate change. As if you were an African penguin relocated to the South pole!!!

- Wait till the entire world begs on bent knees for snaps you have so languidly clicked away on lazy afternoons of well maintained US. (God! .. and you bloody feel off as if NASA is asking their Mars probe machine for those prized pictures for the surface snaps.)

And now … here I am forced to do all those that I have listed above as things I detest most ;-). Anyway …. If my fan clubs all across India would find joy herein … I see no harm in giving in ….

The Dimple on God's Cheeks

Often I’ve come across people whose very existence is beautiful. They are not people of importance, they are not people of influence… they are not even perfectionists. But they are those, who are a universe onto themselves. They do what they do because they believe strongly in it. They are like wild flowers that bloom by the way side, in all their beauty and color. They don’t bloom for someone to stop and smell their fragrance. I don’t know why, but these people appear like the best fitting creations in God’s world. I guess what appeals to me is … no part of their life or being is affected by what someone else would think of them. They don’t look for fame; they aren’t bogged down by cold sniggers. Surprisingly, everything … almost everything we do in our lives revolves primarily around how we believe the world we live in will judge us. Our dreams, our ambitions, our wants … and last but not the least even our bloody needs are centered around what our neighbor/colleague/friend or whoever it is, will think of us …It is saddening to realize that most of our lives are a farce.

On the other hand these people, the dimple on God’s smiling cheeks, like children they believe in a perfect and beautiful world, where everyone loves everyone and there is nothing bad ... (Oh... now and then they do get to see the nasty things … but … they choose to brush it off and act as if they saw nothing.) They are like the smooth perfectly shaped pebbles that sit snuggly on the sea shore while the whole world twists, twirls and lashes all around them like mad waves. And when the sea recedes and the sun smiles down warmly on them … they silently offer the sapling whose seed they have been holding for long, the truth of their simple but perfect lives.

God!... Oooopppsss, I was about to make a prayer to God asking for strength to shape myself like these people I admire, when I stopped myself. God has bestowed each one of us with all the powers to make anything out of our lives. He just chooses to sit by the side and watch what we do with it all.

Freebies Galore ...

I came across a very interesting site that gave away 1 quality software for free everyday. Infact, I downloaded a couple of them too. From the user comments for every software that is put up for download, you can gather the usefulness or installation impact of it on your machine. More to it!... they even give away a game of the day. I am not sure of the quality of the games they give away ... for I am not much into gaming myself.

Ok ok.... stop gnashing your teeth ... I can feel the impatience bubbling in your veins. The site is ....The Giveaway of the Day . Go ahead, lush green foliage all for yourself. You can download to your hearts content. These are useful, safe and non-adware/spyware/or whatever God! damned ware softwares. I followed the softwares offered by this site for a few days at a stretch. What I noticed was that these softwares that are being offered for free are in fact pretty costly ones. However, just for that one day, the firm that creates that software agrees to allow this site to give away the software for free as a promotional initiative. Ofcourse, it comes with the usual agreement that you don't share it with others ... how nasty of them.. and so on and so forth. Hmmm.. well not all the softwares offered are interesting .. But hey .. they are doing a great job by offering goodies for free ... so they need to be applauded, not smirked at!

Back to Innocence

I was happening to watch a film while flipping channels on a lazy Sunday afternoon laying sprawled on my bed. I knew not of the name of the film or cared less to find what channel it was being aired on. It was a scene of a sunny day in a village where an middle aged son was back home after winning a piano in a rowdy bet at a drinking hole down at the town's square. It was a poor and simple peasant family of a loving mother, a sweet and beautiful sister and a couple of brother's (oh! well I didn't get the details actually.) The whole family was pleasantly shocked to find a piano arrive at their door step. Except for the mother none of the other sibling had ever seen a piano in their lives. But they knew for sure that it was something of awe. The mother was so delighted; you could almost feel her overwhelming emotions reach out of the screen like tentacles of powdery smoke grabbing at you. I was beginning to smile without my knowledge.

It was the same pure child like joy that fills any moment of innocent surprise. The same kind of joy that would light up the mischievous eyes of little kids I play with.

It makes you ache in your heart ... a tug somewhere deep in your being, an urge to go back to that innocence, giving up all the funny false pursuits in your world. Back to that time of timeless joy. Where every emotion is felt completely. Where you can cry like a child and laugh like a kid.

Your head goes up in a race of mad swirl and you can almost hear yourself praying aloud asking the being above to grab you back into His warm folds never to let you go again... never ... never ....

At the New Yorkers

Wooooo! There was a mad spate of ultra frequent eat outs in a short span of a month, that I couldn’t simply sit down to pen my thoughts on any one of them. So here I am back … but this time around I want to write about all the gloriously warm and dull lit, softly aroma filled restaurants I chanced visiting.

To begin with ... the entire tide of outings got spurred by the simple occurrence of the Georgian remembrance of my decent on planet Earth, my BIG BRIGHT RED LETTERED DAY! On that evening I had been out, with family to this pretty popular place, opposite “The Park”, called “The New Yorkers”. It was a very pizza-kinda place. However, I guess it must have been the time we went in, for it was sparingly dotted with people. We were five of us wanting to spend some quality time together relishing out-of-the-world-food, food that we have never before seen on our regular menus. Following crossword and puzzle filled paper mats, came the much looked forward to menu. There was Mexican, Italian, American and Lebanese food.

I was so hungry that I could have nibbled at the edges of the sofa I sat on. So the first thing I wanted was a good piping hot soup. So there it was sweet corn and cream of tomato soup, on the menu. And oh!...what about the starters … cheese balls filled with American corn and spice. Adding to the magic of the starters and soups was the Mexican salsa sauce. I could have almost kissed the chef’s hands for that amazing taste.

Main course - there was Pizza (a bad idea to order that one here), lasagna in tomato sauce, garlic bread, burrito and a couple of other goodies. The food was filling and worth every penny (though a bit steep than elsewhere.) We were in a kind of pleasant mood, so by Gods’ ultimate grace my sis was for once not cribbing about food being served cold or freezing the poor server with those wretched blinding stares and worse still, her biting words. Commenting favorably for every mouthful we spooned, we kept appreciating ourselves for having chosen the right place for a decent family outing. Well the best is yet to come.

Ting-Tong!!! Time for desserts! There were very few to choose from though. So we called for the sizzler brownie and a chocolate something. (That’s a bad habit I have got myself into …. “Ice cream = chocolate syndrome”, I must get out of it some how. Anyway, prompt it arrived on a flat wooden dish holding a square piece of cake and a large helping of vanilla ice cream. The moment it was laid on the table, the server poured smoking hot chocolate sauce and threw at it a handful of nuts. And in we dived with our spoons. Whoo … it was a hell of an ice cream. I can’t explain what it felt like to have hot chocolate melting the ice cream and nuts in your mouths. It was the crowning glory of the night’s dinner. A perfect way to end a fabulous birth day.

Oooopppsss … I did it again. One more account of flab kissing foodie adventure that runs father than a page’s length. Hmmmm… I‘ll get back when I’ve practiced it enough to write crisp and clear … instead of ranting on and on …..blah blah blah ….