vindaloo

I thought maybe a better description of my tribe was called for so here it is:

Bombay Katlics

Thou shalt drink. Thou shalt jive'

If there were commandments requiring you to be a 'Katlic', these would be the first two. 'What to do, men?'

I always find myself facing people who exclaim "you don't drink! What kind of Katlic are you?' (As though the Pope decreed it.)

Then as if the answer to the next question would redeem me, they hastily ask, 'Do you jive?' An affirmative nod saves my soul and I am admitted back into the fold.

By religion we are Roman Catholic, because we are governed by the Church in Rome, not because we have dual passports.

By culture, we're Katlic, or Mack' as people refer to us after they've known us for two sentences. How can anyone miss the 'What men?' (Where the 'men' comes free with every sentence quite oblivious to the fact that you're woman) Or other phonetic jewels like 'tree' (for three), 'aahks' (for ask), 'doll' (for dhal), 'dat' (for that), Or 'faader/mudder' (for>father/mother) that I would like to believe is some dialect of German. But nein, it's trademark 'Mack' talk

(Of the several theories that float around, one say Mack is a derivative of 'makka-pau' (bread and butter) because, supposedly, that's what Katlics eat!!!

The drinking of course, we're sure of. "Michael daru peekay danga karta ha" from Majboor tells a small part of the story. We drink at Holy Communion parties, Christenings, at other festivals too. We drink on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays.......You get the picture. And of course we drink at those crazy carnivals called Katlic weddings. Where you dress up, quaff wine, slip on confetti, stomp at the Wedding march, get sozzled, eat potato chops, vindaloo, sorpotel, pork roast, do the mandatory birdie dance, throw the bouquet and finally wake up the neighbours with off-key renditions of 'He's a jolly good fellow' as you zig-zag home!!!!

Katlics like to sing. Where there's a Mack gathering, not counting funerals, there's a sing-song session. 'My Bonnie lies over the ocean', When the saints go marching in' and the quintessential Annie's song. No Mack party is complete without a guitar and at least one sloshed uncle who will be dragged home by the toes!!!!

Katlics mourn with the same passion. Wearing black at funerals and for months after, and fasting with fervour at Good Friday. But as December knocks on their doors, you'll find Crawford Market besieged by Katlics from Maim (for Mahim) to Marine Lines, taking home so much lace you are not quite sure whether it's for the curtains or the dresses!!!

At Christmas, Katlics eat guava cheese and cake and drink (more) wine, go to midnight mass at 8 p.m. Then in 27 degrees centigrade heat, they wear jackets to Willingdon or Catholic Gym and jive the night away.

Though being a Katlic may be more about cultural togetherness then going to mass every Sunday, we religiously fulfill the requirements. To be a really good Katlic., you must go inside the church. They have a name for people who don't............'outstanding Katlics'.

If you are a Katlic, you subscribe to the 'Examiner' where Katlic girls search for Katlic boys with 'sober' habits and own accommodation.

Good Katlics go to confessions. When we were kids, we knelt in the dark confessional and sincerely asked for forgiveness. The sins were standard:'I beat my sister' and 'I told lies in school'. Of course when we grew up we either stopped going or confessed to only the simple sins and hope God would get the others telepathically. We didn't want to give old Father Andrew a minor heart attack. Besides, by then our idea of what constituted a 'sin' had changed.

Katlic girls anoint themselves after every four-letter word and shall go to confession the morning after their wedding night.

Katlic boys are in a different league altogether. They simply play hockey or football till they die.!!!