So twelve days of being computerless was weird. At first, I would lightly pat my baby and whisper a little prayer of hope everytime I passed it. Then when it was taken away to be fixed, I took to staring at the empty spot on the table and singing songs like Where Do You Go, My Lovely?

Then I finally realised that I hadn't read a book in ages so I got cracking on Yiyun Li's collection of short stories - A Thousand Years of Good Prayers. An interesting read, opened up a fascinating Chinese world that I didn't know existed. Speaking of which, also good reads are Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress by Dai Sijie and Waiting by Ha Jin, both of which I've read much earlier.

It also struck me that it had been over a month since my friend returned from a 10-month stay in Florence, and I still hadn't caught up with her. So a reluctant trip was made to the only place in Bombay that everyone wants to live in and eat in and shop in and party in and walk around in chappals (slippers) looking very hep and happening in. It took me just about 20 mins to get to the starting point of that "queen of the surburbs" and then another 45 mins just to reach the meeting place! Which, by the way, is overrated, overpriced and under-cooled!

So I shut my eyes and wished that someone in their right mind would restore Bandra to its former glory - a quiet little predominantly East Indian "Katlick" haven. When Sandra really came from Bandra and broccoli was something that could only be seen in American movies or cartoon shows and not in Pali Market.

When bread only meant pao and not 53 different varieties with multi-grains, olives, sesame seeds, sunflower seeds and "god only knows what else men"! When low-fat meant Uncle Peter's abdomen was preparing to meet his feet, as opposed to Aunty Edna's ahem ample bosom i.e. high-fat.

When low-carb was unheard of and gluten free sounded like somebody who ate like a pig, without paying for it, and couldn't spell correctly. And definitely when, at 11 am all the assorted aunties (Mary, Rita, Janice, Boomsie) wore their printed skirt-blouses from the Gulf or Crawford Market (depending on how many relatives you had abroad and how generous they were), and haggled with the friendly neighbourhood fish-mongers and butchers.

These days, the women with blonde streaks in their hair and designer shades on their insipid identical faces, just order everything on the phone. Or send Savita the maid with Shankar the driver to pick up groceries, so that Sahab can have his "muselly" for breakfast and Bunty can take his brown bread low-fat "cheej" sandwich to school for lunch.

Where have all the aunties gone men?

Ok, so now I have totally lost track of what I was trying to say. Either that or I'm really missing the Bandra Bugger.

Never mind, it will come back... I think.

P.S. I'm really curious about why no one is commenting on this post. I guess the only people who read my blog are women with blonde streaks in their hair and designer shades on their insipid identical faces, and they have all taken offence to my preposterous idea of restoring Bandra to its former glory. In which they case, they are all brunching at Zenzi, Seijo, Olive or some other posh place, sipping cocktails and bitching about me - How dare she write like that? She's just jealous that she can't live in Bandra. God! How downmarket!. All this while Shankar the driver is looking for parking outside and Savita the maid is home alone, chilling with a bottle of expensive South African white wine.

Oh God! How downmarket indeed!