Mumbai. The city that never sleeps. The city that always eats. My kinda town… Of course, it helped that its brimming to the top with very many of the gorgeous ladies on Gaysi. Last month I darted down to India to replenish my body’s supply of Vitamin D and a quick jaunt to Mumbai seemed in order. For two all important reasons:
Does Sexy Editor MJ really have a sexy tushy ?
Will I finally have a mug of my own that says “Pink Sheep of the Family” ?
…. Its affirmative on both, folks! W00t! I pinched one and paid for the other.
Day 1: After letting everyone know they were to drop everything and be mine that weekend and charging my hotel stay to the Gaysi corporate account ( No. It doesn’t exist. ) … I arrived in maximum city. First stop – Azaad Bazaar! The lovely proprietors were going to poof that weekend, and it seemed destined that I spend my first few pink rupees on a pink sheep mug. I was going to make this happen. After Zunket ( who finally confessed that zunket zee is indeed a highly ridiculous pen name ) kindly provided directions and offered to meet me there, I ambled into The Azaad Bazaar. I was even wearing pink for the momentous occasion and my ! what a fabulous few hours that was ! I got the mug(s)! I got tshirts! I didn’t know who the heck Zunket was till she identified herself! I got to catch Tappy Tippy bunking work! I got to eat …stuff! (I lost count after a point) … This was the stuff of dreams.
Later that evening, having struck a deal with Baby Gaysi – Lady Jughead that in return for a box of high fructose corn syrup laden American milk duds (Minds out of the gutter, please!….this is a family site!) …She would acquire and hand over to me the holy grail of Mumbai street food – The much beloved Vada Pav… We met. And under the hazy streetlights of Bandstand pelting little kids with peanuts ( It was her idea. Not mine ), we exchanged the said illicit items ( notice how no matter what I say, this part just sounds naughty?). My pavs in a black plastic bag… weighing heavily under the pleasure that was to be had ( see?!..I’m trying here, I really am !) … Her milk duds (*Facepalm*) encased in a rigid box ( I give up) … This handoff reeked of the shenanigans the Gaysi Company is capable of.
Day 2: Chicklet contemplates rousing me at an obscenely early hour to take me to see the sunrise at Juhu Beach. Mind you, she contemplates this highly amusing idea and then oh! dismisses it! … Why you may ask? Because she thought I would be “Busy” entertaining company at 5 in the morning. Ahem Ahem. Myth has it that I am like a sailor who comes into port with a girl in every town. Mind you – Myth. Anyway, chuffed that I am perceived to be attractive to any woman in this universe…I finally meet Chicklet and Deepseas ( a loyal gaysi lurker…in some circles, they are known as “readers”). After buying their unwavering kindness to me for the rest of the day with gifts, we set out. First stop – Parsi Food. Where? – Brittania ! And here hilarity ensues. Anyone who has been here knows of the wonderfully wizened old gentleman I speak of who asks us what we’d like to eat. He goes onto loudly observe, “Three young ladies and no boys!” … *snicker*…. He then proceeds to declare that boys should be kept away! If there ever was a table where such wisdom would be taken to heart and milked to its last pearls – It would have to have been ours.
After bouncing along to art galleries and café Leopold, at some point in the afternoon we started imbibing good times. Upon our return from town to Bandra to finally have an audience with MJ ( you take to take a token number on the website ) Chicklet decides fun must be had. Doing an awesome impression of Ozzy Osbourne after two cocktails, Chicklet plopped in the front seat of a rather friendly cab grabs the music system remote, pumps up the volume and engages in banter with the loquacious cab driver about movie star residences. At this point, Deepseas and I in the back with ruptured ear dreams (Chicklet didn’t realize the speakers at the back were louder. Or so she says) look at each other and our eyes say it all – Chicklet is Crazy. Yep. It gets better. Ideally, Bollywood means the Khans. Not to Chicklet. Shes a true Gaysi, this one.
Chicklet: “Where does Rekha live?”
Cab Driver chatters away an answer….
Chicklet: “What about Nandita Das?”
Cab Driver doesn’t have a clue who Nandita Das is …
Indignant Chicklet: “What ! You don’t know who Nandita Das is!! You haven’t seen Fire?????”
Cab Driver: *Sheepish Chuckle…*
Deepseas & I: *Facepalm*
We eventually arrive at our destination – MJ. She greets with loud complaints about our tardiness and that’s when I see the famed tushy. Its sexy. My pilgrimage was complete. After a quick round of pinching bottoms, we all became bosom buddies really soon and more food and drink was had. As night fell, there was yet another Mumbai experience I witnessed – A Gay Party. Actually, it was Zunket Zee and Tappy Tippy in short dresses…but you probably don’t want to dream….oops, I mean hear about that. You know whats funny? Gay parties the world over are all the same. Its quite amazing. It’s a microcosm of society at large reflecting two facts – Men outnumber women and straight girls hang out with gay boys. Not lesbian women. Darn it.
Day 3: Brunch ! At Tappy Tippy’s place! Armed with Champagne and a suitcase for armour, I wandered out on Holi morning to partake in just a wee bit more of pleasure in Gaysi company before leaving the fabulous city. And its fabulous people (MJ, Chicklet, Deepseas, Zunket, Gloria Jeans, Riya ) As the generous hostess Tappy kept replenishing my glass, I safely ensconced among warm bodies tittering …. Ate more, made inappropriate remarks and poked fun at Zunket, played footsie with Chicklet, picked Deepseas off the ground and pinched MJ’s tushy for good luck. My long journey appeared complete.
With heavy heart and heavier stomach, I was finally dragged kicking and screaming to Mumbai airport by MJ. It was time to head back home to southern frontiers. With all my five senses reinvigorated, I bid farewell to Gaysi Mumbai not knowing when I would be back again… with a single lone thought playing over and over in my head …
Oh Babe, I hate to go.