Currylingus

Since 04 I've been madly obsessing over certain individuals and their collective output. Rajbo sometimes gets worried, "Um, Neha, I would really appreciate it if you could stop gently stroking the monitor when you're reading Sepia Mutiny". I am delighted to have been given this opportunity to deal with my obsession in a suitable manner by immersing myself in the SM bunker for a period of weeks. I will be writing like a mad woman, playing with the research monkeys, and doing my overlords' bidding every chance I get. Needless to say, this space will be a little more lacking than usual in the coming days so if you want to read my spew then head on over to the Big Dawg itself! Time to go, the monkeys here are damn strict with personal internet time...

Last weekend, when Hasit was down from Ottawa, I finally got the chance to try the used-to-be-new tapas place in Kensington Market called 'Torito'. Verdict? Five sangria drunks out of five! Though I am an eggitarian, occasionally fishitarian, the meat and fish-filled menu was an interesting sight. It was divided into cold and hot tapas, most of the vegetarian stuff being on the cold side.

The sangria was refreshing and tasty, a massive jug for $34. I inhaled: bread, olives, cheese, green beans with marinated mushrooms and pickled onions, arugula salad with machengo cheese and almonds, crab croquettes with parsley aioli, spicy egg and potato Spanish tortilla, Andalusian spinach and chickpea stew, and a bit of potato (?) soup with dill that I sopped up with bread. This is why tapas is one of my favourite dinner settings, you get to eat an entire supper out of appetizers. Delish. The food was superb and the service was excellent. It is a small place and they don't take reservations so expect a 10-20 min. wait on weekends. Still, we were never rushed and ended up staying for three hours. A bit pricey but when it comes to great food I'll pay for an atmosphere that isn't pretentious.

The week before, Rajbo and I finally made it down to the Distillery District after having lived in this city since '03. Two things that I really enjoyed were the massive quantities of red brick, which made for great pictures, and a shot of pure melted chocolate with a dash of red chilli from Soma Chocolatemaker. Good god, chocolate in a shot glass is my new # 1 drink.



The District is also home to the Mill St. Brewery, which souded really good at first but then I had never been to a brewery before. It stank like death, so much so that the (free) beer in my hand smelled like water. Also, we found a cool upside down tree that could double as a kickass crown of thorns...for your next video maybe, Kanye.



This weekend has been a quiet one with Rajbo falling ill and being unable to greet his devotees on Friday :-( Poor boy, shitty way to celebrate a birthday. I'm sad that Dutty Boi ended up going only to find the party machine, namely myself, missing in action, while having to fend for hisself in the wilds known for roaming hoardes of borderline illegal skater kids. So sorry, Dutty. It has also rained non-stop since Friday so I've been keeping cooped at home, spending my funny coloured moolah online on books. I'm highly excited to read Gautam Malkani's "Londonstani", no lie, I know the hype is enough to scare many away but not me. No way I would deny myself an entire novel written in Brit Asian thug slang. Do you know how long I've waited for a desi Irvine Welsh? Ha. Authors must *love* it when us common folk make such comparisons. Anyway, I speak the truth, here is an excerpt:

Teachers or no teachers, fuck it. I had to redeem myself after my gimpy remark bout spellin Paki with a capital P. After all, Ravi had spotted the white kid in the first place an Amit'd helped Hardjit pin him against the brick wall. But me, I hadn't added anything to either the physical or verbal abuse of the gora. To make up for my shitness I decided to offer the following, carefully crafted comment.

Yeh bredren, knock his fuckin teeth out. Bruck his fuckin face. Kill his fuckin...… his fuckin, you know, him. Kill him.

This was probly a bit over the top but I think I'd got the tone just right an nobody laughed at me. At least I managed to stop short of sayin kill the pig, like the kids do in that film Lord of the Flies. It's also a book too, but I'm tryin to stop knowin shit like that.

Scottish schemies, Hounslow hooligans, same difference. Can't wait!

Rumbling, tumbling, loosing steam aaaaaand...THUD. Two weeks of complete madness are nearing their end and someone's becoming addicted to keeping on the go. I work best under pressure and this leetle project I've been working on for months at the jay-oh-bee is in its final push, after which I wait and watch and pray that everything works out as planned. Wooooooo weee.

Last weekend we had a visit from my brother from another mother, Hasit a.k.a. 'Thank Tank', it was great to catch up. It's good to hang out with family, reminiscing and gossiping. There was too much eating and drinking and dancing going on for pictures but trust me, we had a blast. Even caught a Ghislain Poirier set at the Drake by slim chance. Can't think of a better DJ I could've taken Has-lo to go see. Also, Ghislain totally recognized me from My Space...yea...pretty bad...but not as embarrassing as it sounds. I tried to bribe him for a "Bounce le Gros" tee but no fruit borne as yet.

The day after tomorrow is The Rajbo's birthday! Let us now take a moment to bask in the divine glow of Rajbo's Buddha-nature:



He will be accepting offerings from devout disciples tomorrow night at the new Get Juiced venue, 751 Queen Street. Please remember, no touching allowed unless you pay the priest, namely me.

That's Anar Ali, you crazy inebriators! Since I had so much fun at last week's launch of Consensual Genocide I've decided to dedicate as many outings as possible to book launches. I feel like an imposter making my way through the throes of talented writers and poets and publishers and other pillars of the literary world that is the Toronto Women's Bookstore. After hearing, "So, are you a writer too?", and waggling my head in a noncommital fashion while saying, "...but I blog?", I've realized that if you can't rank among the writers then at least you can sit among them hoping to soak up any inspiration in sight. Plus, there is nothing like being read to from a book by its own author.



The details:

Book Launch for
Baby Khaki’s Wings
By Anar Ali

TODAY APRIL 11, 7pm
The Social
1100 Queen Street West (at Dovercourt)

These richly imagined tales, by turns playful and dark, and shot through with magic, depict the lives of East African Ismailis, a Muslim community with origins in India and a history of upheaval and dislocation. Set variously in Canada and East Africa, these stories portray characters caught between home and exile, between what is real and what is imagined, what is lost and what is found.

Featuring tunes by DJ Abdul Smooth spinning Indian electronica and Pan African grooves and DJ Nep Sidhu spinning an eclectic blend of jazz, disco, rap, and space music.

Dunno about that "space music" but one Abdul Smooth did confess earlier that he'll "be busting some old old wax from the bollywood funk days as well as weird 88-92 dance music (until a long cane comes from behind the curtain and pulls me out of the booth)." Hard to pass THAT up. Come all, buy books, listen to tunes and support as the summer descends to thaw your frozen spirit.

Apologies for posting this flier so bloody late but it has been a busssy week, full of work, Seera, poetry, pints and now this:



Hoooo, am I ever excited to shake my mammy jammy - or kaju katli - tonight! I've been really looking forward to qool Qasim's first installment of this monthly gig. Tablas AND synths, mmmmm, delish. Doesn't hurt that I only live 10 mintues away, woohoo!

As an aside, there are surely folks in Toronto I have never met who read this blog and might be interested in this sort of thing so if you're down tonight then be sure to holler at me doggies, arf.