Archive for the ‘Delhi’ Category

Card party virgins


2009
10.16

In the spirit of the festive season, I lost a princely sum of Rs 140, in a “friendly” game of Teen Patti (three cards).

It was on the rooftop of a lovely Delhi bungalow, amidst diyas, scented candles, petals and potted plants. We munched on tortilla chips and cheese dip, and washed it down with white wine and rosé.

And so, for the price of seven parking parchees (receipts), I (and a couple more card party virgins) was oriented into the ‘card party’ culture, and became familiar with terms like “chaal”, “blind” and “show”.

Twas’ fun.

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Dilli Diary 2: Chivalry isn’t dead


2009
09.08

Just the other day, I suggested carpooling with a colleague, a sweet fella’, who sincerely drives three hours a day to work and back, along with some other colleagues. He nodded in agreement, but when I offered to chip in, he had a quizzical look in his eye. But it was settled, I would be carpooling.

In the next ten minutes, he walked up to another colleague (who happens to be a pal of mine) and inquired,” Whaa-t is ‘sheep ee-n’?” She in turn inquired in what context he heard the phrase. “I came across it on the Internet,” he told her, rather unconvincingly.

”It means to contribute,” she said.

The next time, I brought up the matter of chipping in, he nodded with a big smile. It’s a different matter though that he did not charge me a penny, even though I insisted. Yes, chivalry isn’t dead in Dilli, entirely.

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Dilli Diary 1: “Yes sir” & “Yes ma’am”


2009
09.07

In the past one week, I have finished reading eight essays dedicated to the capital and one book, which gave me some insight into the way of life in this city. Now, I am starting to see things in a very different light.

I remember my Class X teacher in school, balking at us if we referred to him as ‘sir’. “Have I received the knighthood?” he would demand to know. So, I sometimes addressed him as Mr so-and-so, but mostly never at all; it just seemed a little awkward. However since then, I have hardly referred to anyone as “sir”; it seems primitive, colonial, feudal.

17 years down the line, a twenty-something new recruit at work (in Delhi) recently referred to me as ‘Ma’am’, and I felt queasy.

Reminds me of the time when a twenty-something new recruit from Delhi referred to his editor and boss (in Mumbai) as “Ma’am”, and she could not stomach it. We did our best to get him to address her by her first name, but he would get very squeamish about addressing a “senior” by her first name, and could never bring himself to succumb to this casual media work culture. He got a different job, and we shall never know if this Dilli kid will shake off his feudal ways.

Reminds me of yet another instance, when a twenty-something new recruit from Delhi, referred to his boss, a very senior editor (in Mumbai) as “Sir”. Now, this senior editor’s attitude is so casual, that every now and then he poses random (sometimes scandalous) questions to his editorial staff to the effect of “If you had a chance, would you sleep with Shah Rukh Khan?”. No one would bat an eyelid, and would in fact, answer his questions in a matter-of-fact, nonchalant manner. So, when he was addressed as “Sir”, the editor scampered away in fright, and the kid did not know what hit him.

The “sir”, “ma’am” and “ma-ii-dam” culture is predominant in Delhi. In fact, once I was referred to as ‘Merrilji’! I could barely hold still, and was laughing raucously, inside.

Yes, things tend to be formal, and there’s a very clear class and hierarchical distinction, in every realm of life. For instance, a driver will refer to his employee as “Sir” or “Madam”, which is okay and applies to many parts of the world and country, but he in turn will often be referred to by his employer, as “driver”, which sounds absolutely terrible.

I know of this one family who refers to their servant as “Naukar” (servant) and he has been working for them for ONLY 20 years!

On a different note, in my apartment complex, we have a separate elevator for servants and drivers, and how do we know that? The notice next to it clearly states “Lift for drivers/ servants)”, which easily could have said “Employee lift” or something more subtle. Ironically, when the lift for residents broke down, everyone — and I mean everyone — was using the lift meant for the help.

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My first dent


2009
09.01

My car received its maiden dent this morning, when a Honda City swerved from right to left sans any indication, and stopped dead in its tracks, whilst trying to enter the housing society on my left.

I braked, and a Santro Zing rammed into the rear end of my wee Alto. I glared at the driver, and he stepped out of his car and apologised profusely, mumbling something about his brakes not working — civilised behaviour for the average driver in these parts.

I stooped down to take a closer look at the black bumper; it was a mere scratch. So, I got back into the car. The first dent/ scratch seems like a necessary rite of passage for any new driver, and I recalled the words of an old classmate – after banging your car once, it’s all good. Touché.

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Cheap books


2009
08.31

I attended the Delhi Book Fair at Pragati Maidan, and noted that the diversity of the madding crowds transcended class, community, religion and nationality, unlike the usual suspects at the Crosswords and Oxfords of the country.

One stall in particular was bursting at the seams with voracious readers.

Was it Penguin? No.
Was it Sage? No.
Was it Katha? No.

The name of the stall: ‘English Novel – Rs 25/- only’.

One man emerged triumphantly with 50 books (yes, I counted) in a plastic bag, most in mint condition, and in hardback.

As I tried to get a foothold into the stall, an elderly gentleman asked the man in charge of collecting the moolah, with disbelief,” Yeh zyaada sastha tho nahi ho gaya (isn’t this price a tad too less)?”

I picked up politically incorrect Bill Maher’s New Rules. I would have fished for some more, but there were two many armpits in my nose (akin to a Mumbai local), and the couple in front of me looked like they weren’t going anywhere for the next decade.

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Woman power in Delhi


2009
08.29

My first impression of woman power in Delhi is this -– it can get violent!

Whilst waiting to collect my baggage at the airport, I saw a woman sporting high-heeled shoes, fitted top, tight jeans and an urbane, upper class air. A band of uncouth-looking males hovered dangerously close to the lady, on the pretext of also waiting for baggage.

Trolley loaded, she attempted to make her way out of the swarm. But they continued to hover, whilst she proceeded to kick them in the shins with those killer heels.

Then recently, another useless creature attempting to cop a feel, brushed past by my pal, Delhi girl Beeps. Before he could sigh with pleasure, she rushed towards him and started slapping him violently. Her brother stood about 200 m away, and felt rather pleased at the spectacle of a wee girl beating the crap out of a fella’ with such fury. Little did he know hat Supergirl was in fact, elder sis. On realisation, this ginormous boy who is for most parts, a gentle giant, did some slapping of his own. It was one of those rare, sublime moments of sibling unity :)

Then, just a few days back, an unsuspecting eveteaser had the misfortune of teasing my very sweet-looking colleague S. She stood next to her friend’s car, whilst they fixed a flat tyre. “Usne mujhe aankh maraa (he winked at me),” she said.

Suddenly pretty girl metamorphosed into Catwoman. She took out the spanner from the boot, walked boldly up to the perpetrator, and started slapping him violently. Pretty soon, her male colleagues joined in the fun. The two chaps made like a tree and vanished.

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The Dilli Way


2009
08.18

It has finally dawned upon moi — trust no one, and be nice to no one, unless you have good reason to. You can be polite of course. But nice…I would ask you to wait a wee bit before extending niceties to the average Jo.

Even if people seem nice, ask yourself very objectively: are their sucking up because I am cool, rich, powerful or attractive?

I have seen suck-ups at work, masterfully taking their art to another level, and those on the receiving end feeling pleased as punch one minute, rude and ruthless, the next .

It’s almost as if people don’t have faith in their own ability to be interesting or successful. But of course, you can’t hold any of this against people, because as the good Lord once said, ‘Forgive them for they know not what they do’.

But there is a silver lining. If people genuinely like you, expect the world from them.

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Talibanisation Of ‘Gone With The Wind’


2009
08.11

I finally watched Gone With The Wind, once again after more than a decade. I spent many waking hours devouring the book during my school days, in the quiet confines of the one and only loo at our flat in Darsait (Oman).

Pop highly disapproved of my hogging precious loo time, to read those ‘novels’. Incidentally, the cousins from my generation in mom’s side of the family have a penchant for spending many hours reading in the loo and under the covers in torchlight at night, whilst everyone in the household is asleep.

So, we watched the movie once again, on a DVD by BIG entertainment (that Zee brand).

Well, guess what? All the most passionately charged scenes between Scarlett O’Hara (of the 16-inch waist) and Rhett Butler were edited out of the piece!

It reminded me of the one and only Oman TV, the lone channel available in Muscat during the 80s, before satellite television changed our lives. When the hero makes love to his leading lady, we would get to see a video grab/ photograph of flowers, usually roses.

And coming back to censorship in today’s era, damn you BIG.  Talibanisation of this classic is in bad taste.

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Sunshine @ The Living Roo


2009
08.10

Sunshine and I partied at this little hole in the wall known as ‘The Living Room’ at Hauz Khas Village in South Delhi.

It has a vintage-boho chic vibe about it; you have an old grandfather’s clock in mint condition standing right next to the bar on one hand. On the other, you have abstract paintings adorning stark walls. The decor does not seem very choreographed and could pass off as the work of creative minds that were low on cash but high on resourcefulness and good taste.

TLR does not play any Bollywood music or rock (thank heavens!), but a convenient mix of all my favourite music genres – jazz, retro and house — with some live trumpet thrown in by a musician who swishes in, does his thing with gay abandon, then makes off to the bar, until he feels the urge to do this thing all over again.

The bartender is a very friendly hippie who possesses a good memory for people and their poison, and surprise, surprise, a personality, too.

An ISB alumnus stood in a corner, nursing his beer, eyeing my very agile dance moves on the floor. Once in a while he would edge closer towards us, not quite knowing how to get my undivided attention.

He had a neat set of dimples, yet, I suspect that beneath the Ivy League (Indian version) trimmings, he’s a simple, non-sophisticate who needs some lessons in the art of talking to a girl. Sunshine had no mercy for the unsuspecting fella’, and was in fact eyeing a very skinny-looking intellectual sporting skinny jeans and a tortured look, who most certainly prided himself on having a dark side.

Before I could scope him out for the sake of sunshine, the skinny intellectual vanished. Sunshine is hopeful of meeting  him the following week.

A Punju gang of uncles and aunties, who were celebrating someone’s bday randomly offered us cake, and sunshine obliged by stuffing himself. Then some more random people introduced themselves, and sunshine was very keen that we invite them home for an after party, because one of them took his fancy.

Despite the friendly overtures, when I actually did the inviting, the girl made like a tree, one chap followed her, and the third fellow declined, looking very alarmed. The things I need to do for sunshine, all of 23, and terribly sloshed.

The next morning we returned for brunch, and I had bacon, eggs, sausages, beans, coffee, mixed fruit juice and brown bread with mint-flavoured butter @ Rs 275.

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MAMA SAYS…


2009
07.23

I speak to my mother, twice a day. Once, during my morning expedition to work in a shared cab, amidst a din of loud Hindi/ Punjabi music (a snooty friend once asked if I was in a very downmarket place!), five groggy-eyed people trying to take a nap in a Tata Safari, that’s thundering down the streets of Delhi at the speed of light, only this ride is bumpy and jerky, and not recommended for anyone with a bad back. On the bright side, it has an air-condition, which works. And the driver is a pleasant chap (by Delhi standards this is superlative).

I speak to mom once again in the evening, before I hit the sack. She wants to know how the day went, if I practiced driving, et al.

This morning, mama said excitedly,” Your horoscope has good things to say about you, today.” So, I asked her to read it aloud. As she looked for the morning paper, she said,” You know, I read only YOUR horoscope everyday, and when it is good, I feel happy.”

I instantly felt a warm, fuzzy feeling, inside. Henceforth, she will be reading to me every morning to me, on the phone, whilst Lassie messes about cantankerously, in the background, with her bottles and balls.

PS: I took the car for a spin after dark, and I realised that Noida is full of speed demons, in the evening, all racing in every direction. Banshees wail, as bikers honk, incessantly.

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