Archive for the ‘Delhi’ Category

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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JOBLESS IN MUMBAI


2009
07.17

My new best friend in Delhi, Bips was telling me about how she and her roommate combed the job market in Mumbai with a vengeance, at the start of their careers.

At any given point of the day, they were carrying a least half a dozen resumes, and this piece of paper must have landed in every small, medium and large-sized TV, film and advertising company in Mumbai.

They paid a visit to this particular advertising company in Bandra one fine day, which was the size of a bathroom. The receptionist opened the door, stuck her hand out and asked from their resumes. There was no room from them to wait inside the office.

Finally, my friend got a job. Her roommate was not as lucky. One fine day, she packed her bags and was all set to return to her hometown. But as luck would have it, her train was cancelled and she returned to her PG digs. The next day she has a job interview with a big TV company. The next day, she got the job.

Bips’ anecdotes reminded me of my own jobless situation in 2001. My friend and roomie Moush was jobless, too. Everyday we would religiously surf job web sites at the local net café for suitable positions. We networked, attended interviews, cooked together, took a stroll in the evening at Naani-Naani Park in the vicinity and counted our pennies together. Finally, we landed jobs for the princely sum of Rs 8,000 a month. Guess what we did? We threw a party, which cost us about 1/8th our salaries.

The joy of finding a new purpose in life was priceless.

By the way, my new haircut can be styled into a Mohawk, using just the right amount of serum and the right hand movements.

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Silky Silver BMW


2009
07.09

My daily commute is sucking every ounce of energy from my being, post my my office relocating to the boondocks, in the middle of nowhere. There’s a swanky IT hub nearby, but a  few kilometres of construction, dust, highway and nothingness, can leave you feeling pretty isolated.

I really want to find more time to write about the things that matter. But I am doing so little writing these days, and whenever I sit down to pen my thoughts, I feel exhausted. Whenever I call up mom, I am yawning. Sometimes she worries. I tease her and insist that she tell me more scandalous stuff – aside from how Goa is sweltering in the heat, how the sewage has overflowed once again, and other such mundane events.

On the bright side, I have just bought my first set of wheels, a second-hand Alto in Silky Silver. It’s not a BMW. But it has power steering, an AC, a stereo with FM and (guess!!) a cassette player! Also, tinted glasses and it’s seen about 21,000 km of road, up to now.

Learning how to drive was my resolution in 2007. Well, two years late is better than never!

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Happy ‘n’ Gay


2009
07.03

On the way to work this morning, I voraciously combed the paper for all dope on the HC’s judgement to decriminalise homosexuality. My eyes grew moist, as I thought about all my friends in the gay community.

Yesterday’s high court judgement was long overdue. But a colleague observed with scepticism, “I doubt it will change the perception of gay people in India. This media is simply hyping things.”

Maybe.

But imagine the sheer confidence  that any gay person would feel, knowing that he or she could now legally exercise their own sexual preference in this country? Well, not the entire country, yet (but when the capital takes the lead, the rest of the country will hopefully follow suit. Fancy this happening in Delhi, which is perceived more conservative and insensitive than say Mumbai or Bangalore).

This fact changes everything.

No longer does a gay person need to be quiet when harassed, blackmailed, extorted or jailed. Besides, gay people seem to always be associated with more promiscuity. I quizzed a gay friend of mine about this, and he responded that one reason could be that all liaisons and relationships need to be conducted in secret, because your have the law against you. They can’t get married, claim mediclaim for their partner, et al.

I feel sad that Christian groups in India are investing time and energy in opposing this  judgment. What ever happened to tolerance?

Bill Maher conducted a borderline comical interview in his documentary Religulous, where he interviews a gay chap who turned pastor and claims to be a straight pastor. In other words he was ‘cured’ of his condition.

Bill flirts with him, in his typical brazen style, and it’s obvious that the pastor naturally responded to it. All that suppression is SUCH a waste of energy. Besides, if we just allowed gay people to be happily gay, I think this world would have a lot more character. Touche.

The LA Times features an empathetic piece on this development:

Personally, I think that though the Indian media is indeed going to town by sensationalising things, which can sometimes be a good thing, they do report with a little more empathy, and not make a carnival of the whole event. Some restraint and empathy, is the need of the hour for the Indian media in this country.

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The birth of Niril Pinil And Memil Diveez


2009
06.30

I must share how my name is being mutilated by people across the world:

Misspelled on my Airtel bill: Niril Pinil

Misspelled on my airtel landline receipt: Merril Dim

Misspelled on my ID card at a chorale music conference in France: Memil Diveez

Misspelled on a kathi roll dhaba located just a stone’s throw from my office: The delivery fella’ was looking for a ‘dinish’ (in these parts, I ONLY share my surname as they can’t get beyond mmmm if I tell them my first name).

Mispronounced by Malayalees: Mer-rul

Mispronounced byGujaratis: May-rul

Mispronounced by Maharashtrians: Marol

Mispronounced by my dear departed grandma Avo: May-reel

Mispronounced by close friends with great affection: Merly

Mispronounced by a Brit RJ on a Dubai FM channel: Me-ri-yal

Lame attempts by several yuppies to show that they can indeed pronounce such a name: Streep or Lynch?

And this one takes the cake! Mispronounced by a stupid needlework teacher at Indian School, Muscat (duh!) while addressing me in her  first ever roll call in class: May-li (looking up in wonder at the existence of such a name).

In Konkani, May-li means ‘dead’ .

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