Pune Memoirs, 2005-06
Pune, Shivaji Nagar 2006:
A headbutt volleying its way on someone’s stomach, ouch it must have hurt with France flavor Zinedine Zidane slugging it out with Italy’s Materazzi. A cherished and unusual monsoon spooking me eternally. Windy burst ruffled my unkempt hair. The rebellious days. Final exams were over and riding over the anguish of waiting for the results or the time to say taa taa Pune, Mumbai was next on the list to quench the thirst of aspirations and perils of becoming famous that never happened. World Cup final, Maharashtra went berserk, a ‘friend’ bidding farewell and hunting for food reminded there was no dearth of drama both in the city and the state making for an anti-climax.
June 2006, the day World Cup final played as I huddled alone in the room, munching snacks-must be Lays with alcohol-either Vodka or Imperial Blue whiskey, the only thing that was had in those days. I may have struggled to get myself alcohol on that day or stole it from Adi’s bottle, something can’t even remember.
Uncle, Adi’s Dad, ditched me on the day when he told of plans to watch the finale together in the studio apartment, where Adi shifted with his then-girlfriend and later I would join him in the spacious space jutting to a sprawling balcony, large enough to be converted into a cricket pitch. The living space was above Adi’s Dad shop dealing into interiors, curtains, linen and bed sheets at Shivaji Nagar, near SB Road and the same area where Crossword is nestled at ICC Convention Centre, which was just launched at SB Road in 2006.
It started early morning. Adi’s girlfriend in those days was moving back to her home and had to catch a plane from Mumbai when tensions suddenly cropped and aired on TV. Buses were torched at Dadar early morning and goons went on a destruction spree in the city with the risk of curfew looming large. Poor girl was getting hyped about missing her flight and frantic calls were made to the Volvo bus or airport to inquire about flight or bus service, who must have told to wait and see. The planes were running as scheduled. During the night, some idiots blackened the statue of Matoshree, Bala Saheb Thackeray’s wife at Dadar where all buses have to wade through in this part of the city always boiling, forever on the kerfuffle of political and social anger. The dice was thrown and every reason for the Sainiks to go on a rampage spree. A common sight for us in the city and but someone had to board the flight. The violence reached Pune with stone pelting on shops, eateries and outside cinema theatres that made it a real struggle to get food. Even Pizza hut pulled down the shutters putting our lunch fate in limbo.
Image credit: Senapati Bapat Road/ Google
Finally, we got food at a nearby shop dabbling into room rental, pool and alcohol that saved us from starving to death. I think we managed some Pizza as well through Neraj who came to visit. This room has quite a personal story to tell when one unusual day, the two occupants went into a deep slumber and after bang fisted, I accepted defeat that the door would not open to welcome me anytime soon. Every single day was spent plodding my feet to FC Road at our hang out spot Savera and the time I came, was dying to sleep but had no choice than slouching outside on the huge balcony for more than an hour or two. It made for quite an experience to nap in the open and the blistering sun shining on my face. When the two woke up, they broke into peals of laughter on how I ended up on the concrete cement and ignored my aching back after being stuck like glue to the wall.
It often takes a wise man to allay fears with our friend whining about how she is going to miss the plane but Adi’s Dad convinced us that hired goons are thriving on 200 bucks and cheap desi daru to break everything which means they will go to the slums to sleep or having sex with whoever they do it with. By the time, the bus will reach Mumbai, everything will be pretty sorted out. Quite entertaining to See Adi arguing with his Dad and both bringing their fair share of logic, often heating up things. Decision was taken and finally, Adi and his then-girlfriend agreed traveling to Mumbai airport. The coach bus slowly ambled its way in front of the house between three to four PM and heavy luggage filled with shopping stuffs descending the staircase, a hug and both of them leaving for the airport. The time they reached, I buzzed and Adi told me things are fine in Mumbai which means they are safe. Uncle was right and that’s how it has always been in Mumbai.
The gate at the shop-cum-studio was always locked at night. The routine thing that we did was jump the fence to be on the road and coming back in the same fashion, holding on the brick wall separating the road and the property. I made sure to order some food at the same place that saved us in the morning and post 7 p.m was the time to be on the safe side avoiding being high on alcohol and not without food. The match started at midnight and forever waiting for Uncle who never turned up. I was alone with alcohol, my hatred for the France team and celebrated Zidane’s red card after the famous headbutt. It called for another peg and a smoke but was quite a dry day with goalless post extra time. Penalty time was pray time answered after Italy has just won it. Another smoke and an extra peg to celebrate the Italian job.
I dozed immediately after that. What a day it’s been! Wrestled out of the bed when Adi fist pound roared on the door and shouting, “Fucker! Get up!” to realize its’ morning, the time I hurtled to our college hang out Savera, meeting every Fergussonians and post exams and the final days in the city, waking up time meant heading to one single direction. I hailed the rickshaw to the hang out for smoke, filter coffee and animated conversations with our friends turned experts point of view’ on the World Cup. There was no lack of pundits among us on what could have been the final outcome. I turned into a Christiano Ronaldo hater during the World Cup 2006, since he played a dirty game on Rooney that got him sent off in the quarters since was an England supporter in those days, doesn’t matter their drab style hasn’t changed at all.
This time belonged to France who retributed themselves last Sunday as champion and as I watched the match with my scotch, the mind hovered to those Pune days, the last World Cup watched in India and the Shiv Sena drama that vividly resurfaced in the mind so much that a brand new Pune memoirs chapter had to sweep its way on the blog.
Love
v
