A drink each at TGIF and then a dinner at Phoenix Mills sounds like a lavish evening. It turned out to be something that can launch a script writer into an interesting movie with a rich plotline. After the evening yesterday, I have no clue why people insist on writing just their own life stories for books/film scripts!
I rushed through a CST routine at gym in 30min flat before Asit dragged me from the locker room to Phoenix. An investment banker (Asit), an LA based ex Wall Streeter wanna be/struggling film maker with a thespian politician as a grandfather (Mana), and a corprorate law firm partner (Yash), swapping love stories, bitching about batch mates, narrating the occasional sexcapade really made me feel inside a semi art house movie. We even had a movie start couple to (Genelia and Ritesh) to make for an aside.
The narrator (moi) contributed little to the tumultuous love stories swapped across the table. Each of my class mates from school had their own love stories, pot boilers, the satisfaction of their own been-theres, and of course stories about other batchmates.
A couple of school mates in asylums, a suicide, a death, a priest, goons turned to boardroom tycoons, private equity analysts and... I just wish I could write one of this novels.
I loved Deven's one. Rich industrialist's son and Yale graduate wooing a middle class girl. This after a series of dating scenes in a South Mumbai Crossword. Full drama. The girl has unwilling Bunt/Shetty parents who don't like a maru guy. Deven's mother is the mother (and in-law) from everyone's dream. Of rejected shagun, whisking away from the airport, a girl hidden away with relatives to a small wedding, the girl being considered 'dead' by her family, it has all the elements of a very entertaining love story. I had moist eyes at the end. And of course I wanted to stand up and snap a salute to Deven's mom. A few drinks later I would have. Instead I just popped in an olive from the martini and tended to the lamb shank and pomegranate polenta.
The number of people I am coming across with kamikaze love stories these days is not funny. Swati, Abhilasha, Akhilesh, Preeti, Puja, Arpan, Radhika, Deepali (and well Dipali), Benu, Guru, Tamojoy, Chiro, Piu, Arjun, Rajeshwari .... Good grief.... I could go on for a few more lines at least...
I am becoming a magnet for this sort of a thing. As if I don't have enough of it in my own little dream theatre...
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