But a typical weekend was like the fizz from the Ginger Lemonade, I used to enjoy at Iranian eateries. It would pop frenetically for five seconds or so before fizzing away to nothingness. There were reasons behind why precious weekends were frittered away with the grandiosity of a bad gambler. And all of them were valid.
There were weekends when I’d find myself watching vague European films at some friend’s pad. It would always be the director's cut. So, add another 30 odd minutes or so. The film’s plot would be grilled over a slow fire of misplaced faith in one’s cinematic sensibilities and intellectual pretensions. Words like ‘Kafkaesque’ would be bandied about liberally till the first local rolled out sleepily from its yard at 4:00 am. Sometimes, I’d drop in at a friend’s place for dinner on Friday night and then stay there the entire weekend. Or, friends would land up at my place and stay the entire weekend. See the pattern there. In between, there would be lunches at Lokhandwala’s Food-Inn Restaurant, evenings at Cafe Mondegar, dinners at Adarsh Bar and Restaurant, observing wannabe stuntmen perform stunts at Versova’s rocky beach and the occasional instance of wearing a freshly laundered shirt to Bandra’s (then) happening night clubs – Toto’s or Club 9. And before you know it, the weekend had flown over our heads like a refreshing, but really short shower, on a hot muggy day.
This hectic and almost forced social life meant frenzied weeks started seguing into equally hectic weekends. Everything became a blur. It was fun, no doubt. But it was a bit disorienting too. And then one day the solution presented itself. I came across a second-hand bookstore in the neighbourhood. A steady access to some old favourites and new dalliances suddenly opened up a much-needed escape hatch. I started devoting a few hours every weekend to lose myself in a world conjured up by a writer’s febrile imagination. This was the pause I needed to recharge, to think, to ponder possibilities, or simply to unwind.
And then I moved to Dubai. There was a temporary blip. But soon enough, the Bombay cycle started getting repeated here too. Clock in long hours at work. Clock in long hours with friends. Again, that happy blur. Again, that slightly disoriented feeling. But now I (or rather we – since life has progressed) know how to deal with it. We just clock in some quality time with authors, old, new or obscure. And this is truly the pause we need to rejuvenate, to refresh. Not Coca Cola