Last weekend I had a weak end blast. Thanks to a fleck of gilawati kabab that I expertly prised out from the cavity in my left-upper molar with my tongue after a pitched 5-day battle and promptly swallowed. The rest of the weekend comprised primarily of reading back-of-pack copy of a number of bathroom products ranging from anti-dandruff shampoos to toilet bowl cleaners.
So this Saturday I’m going to brush my teeth. Mother promise. After which I’ll whip up a breakfast consisting of three eggs, sunny side up, fatty oak-smoked bacon and a frankfurter or four. No bread, please. I’m off carbs. Breakfast done (peppered with disapproving looks from the cereal-slurping wife), I’ll drag myself to the couch in the living room and watch a bunch of gawky teenagers trying to outdo each other in vociferousness in some reality show on TV. Lunch, mind you, will be constantly on my mind.
Lunch. Will keep it simple, really. Chilled beer. Mutton biryani. Chicken chaanp. A lot of onions. Followed by a short rendezvous with Mathew Vincent Menacherry’s book ‘Arrack in the Afternoon’ and a long nap.
The evening will be dedicated to Mrs. Guha Thakurta. Which effectively means Season 3 of Desperate Housewives. Or dinner a dinner soppy dinner rom-com dinner featuring dinner Hugh dinner Grant dinner. I reckon I’ll have Chinese food for dinner. 5 Spice. Definitely the chicken pot rice. And the pork in black bean sauce. And since my friends are invariably going to land up uninvited at around 9, I’ll have to order a lot of that. And arrange the foosball table. And bring out the bottle of Chivas (aged 18 years).
Ditto Sunday.
I hope you’re not reading this, Shruti. Love you.
P.S. – Did you know they put urea (formerly known as urine) in your hair gel?
Prajato Guha Thakurta is creative consultant, Mudra
