I love dosas. I loved them when it meant a family outing to Sagar Ratna in Defence Colony for their red chutney, I loved them when I had a long period of extreme stomach situations and the only thing I could eat out was a…dosa(!), I loved them when I had two Arab Udupis equidistant from my house in Abu Dhabi and I could just order a quick one for dinner every week, and I love them just as much now with frequent visits to Sarvanaa Bhavan, which includes the historic first karva chauth’s only meal.
I hate Sarvanaa’s sambar, but I’ve made a rare kind of peace with the fact and just rely on the coconut chutney every time. Honestly, I never liked Sarvanaa when I was in Delhi. There I graduated from Sagar Ratna to Coco Palm (SEVERAL trips with work friends to this lovely place in Gurgaon!) to Naivedyam in the end which was a class act in the business. In parallel, Mom had mastered the art of making dosas thanks to our old neighbours who made it every single day. And she’s taken my love for dosas so literally that I have been greeted with it on the first day of every visit home I have made in the last two years. I even got it on my final day in Delhi before moving to London. It’s a special kind of love. :)
And before you ask the question, I can make reasonably good dosas if you supply me with the MTR/Gits mix. And my sambar is pretty kickass. So is my coconut chutney. Yip. Okthanksbye.
PS - I haven't forgotten the C. It's in progress; I just got really excited about the D!
I took the last flight out of Abu Dhabi so I could wrap up work in peace. By the time I reached home in Delhi it was nearly 5 am. Our appointment with the lawyer was for 10 am and the courts were nearly an hour away from home. That left me four hours to catch up with family, eat, sleep and get dressed on that cold, foggy morning. Not a lot of time if I had to convincingly look like a bride. Yeah, no way that was going to happen. So I just wrapped a pretty red net saree (in 5 degree Celsius you also wear not-so-pretty legwarmers underneath and hope nobody spots them) and put on a matching bindi to go with it. Dark circles and undone hair along....I was set to get married.
I could not feel the magnitude of the situation right then. To be fair, I rarely ever feel anything while something important or life-changing is happening. It is always in retrospect. So I was just bothered about the paperwork involved, the office work and my team back in Abu Dhabi, the traffic and so on. Everything was in place.
My mom and dad, Chetak's mom and dad, the respective bade bhaiyas and us. Eight of us in the lawyer's 4x4 chamber. Some small talk and old tales later, the lawyer's sidekick came to get things started. After the first round of paperwork we were called for the religious ceremony in the temple nearby. All of us went. The priest looked like he hadn't showered in a week. The first floor temple looked like a workshop. But we weren't complaining. And we weren't the only ones there. Everyone who cares to get a visa to join a spouse in another country in time for the bigger ceremony goes through the same process. And a civil registration through the simplest (of a few) legal routes involves going to this temple to solemnise a marriage. Of course, it's valid only if both parties subscribe to Hinduism (legalities). So there we were with used headgear and garlands that were provided at the venue. We took everyone's blessings, overpaid for one wedding photo (after all, it had to go with my visa application and NEVER to be shared with anyone else) and signed on the first of two marriage certificates.
My mom had carried kaju barfi for this moment. We stepped out of the temple and she shared the sweets with everyone. Because technically, her daughter had just got married.
Following that we went through the slow process of legal registration and showing our faces to the registrar before we got the legal paper that certified our marriage. But wait, there has to be a screw up. I pulled this one off. Through that entire morning we must have signed in at least 20 places. The final of these signatures was on the main certificate which we were made to check and proofread at least thrice before it was finalised.
Now. I used to have two signatures - a full signature that was on my passport and tax papers. The other that I started using later because my full name is too long to keep signing everywhere. This second one was on all other official papers including bank accounts. So after consciously signing the full signature everywhere I ended up using the abbreviated one on the main certificate. I realised it the moment I did it but I was too scared of Chetak's dad, who was standing beside me, to say anything. Yes, Chetak lost his top when I told him later - when nothing could be done about it.
The implications. UK home office could have rejected my application on the grounds that there was a mismatch of signatures. The photo on this certificate was so lame that that would never have served as proof of my identity. It could mean Chetak married some other Richa Bhardwaj. Paranoia levels were crossing the maximum limit for both of us. And the solution was just more unwanted paperwork.
So on my next and final trip to Delhi, I went straight to the passport office to get my signature updated (along with other changes such as marital status). It was another long days of drama. I unwillingly realised that several government processes are managed at whim. But it wasn’t the day to complain. My work got done with limited hassle. I had the right spouse name and the right signature – ready to move to visa paperwork – within a week. Yes, I was officially my Mr’s Mrs. However, I was still one step short of becoming Mrs. Gandhi. The paperwork and government's whim won that one.
Sometimes there are moments that I feel I am unable to share with anyone. Like how I felt when I visited my nani’s house a few days ago. Or when people talked to me about things that happened around her funeral. It was hard to swallow through those moments that felt like a lifetime. Sure there are many of us who were related to her by blood, but everyone’s relationship was unique and I never got the opportunity to say goodbye or mourn with everyone else. I blocked out tears through all of it. Yes, I would always choose that over being emotionally awkward, especially when nobody is expecting it.
___
Mom and Dad had started preparing for my visit several weeks in advance. They asked me to send them my list of things to buy in India over Whatsapp so that they could keep everything ready before I landed. The smallest thing that I mentioned while being there was taken seriously and provided for. Somehow Dad also wanted to help me pack for my return trip. He has always considered it his speciality. Yes, packing. And he did do it while I was away meeting friends. I was not comfortable with what he had done (simply because I like to know what’s going in which bag) so I told him we will repack. And he did it again based on some 2-3 random things I mentioned. AGAIN in my absence. If this had happened even five years ago I would most definitely have thrown a fit. But this time it was plain endearing.
___
It was a hectic trip. A lot of festivals, occasions, people and expectations. I aimed to do my best at meeting the maximum number of friends. Somehow, Avan was not available till the last day. Actually it is not surprising, but that’s how it was. But despite both of us being ill, we met and spoke and bitched to no end. It was amazing as always. My life truly is incomplete without her.
___
I ♥ weddings. Make that I ♥ Delhi, Punjabi weddings’ sangeet evenings. I never realised my love for Bollywood till my perfectly normal husband pointed it out. We had planned this trip such that we could partially attend two close friends’ weddings. One of these was the sangeet of a guy I’ve spoken to once. But nobody at the event would have been able to tell given how I was rooting while the families danced and took to the dance floor when my songs played. Begaani shaadi mein Abdullah deewana. That was me. The only saving grace – I was at least invited. Of course, Chetak compensated by virtue of having been the groom’s college friend AND flatmate in London for three whole years.
___
I have never spent Diwali away from home. Whether I was in Pune or Abu Dhabi, even if for two days, I always went back for my favourite festival. So I was quite happy knowing that even though I am in London now, we were able to plan our trip so that Diwali was in Delhi. And I did not feel any difference until the day of the festival; when I was at parents’ home only for a few hours. Diwali was at home, but it wasn’t at the home I grew up in. I still had family around, I still had all the mithai in the world, I still breathed in the heavily polluted air, the crackers still went off till wee hours of the next morning, but it wasn’t the same.
___
This time Delhi was fairly warm by late November standards. But I managed to experience my favourite, heady feeling that comes with the elaichi-like smell in the air at this time of the year. It is definitely one of the top three feelings in the world for me. Without a doubt.
♥ Delhi. Food. Cousins. Friends. Favourite restaurants. Movie nights. Card party. More food. More people. Delhi. ♥
There is exactly one month left before the marriage is officially (ahem) solemnised. I am completely consumed by the endless details of the wedding. But there are days when I feel I am well on time with most of the big things taken care of. Then there are days when the loose ends of each of those big things give me way more anxiety than I would like. And then there are those moments when I feel I am heading towards a vanilla wedding with no personalised elements at all. But truly speaking, I can either continue to make engagement plans (communications, duh) so I have enough money, or I can focus on those small details. Clearly I cannot do it all. And clearly I cannot delegate as much as I thought I could.
In this process, I am eating more and more chocolate. I have also reached the point where I cannot deny having experienced a ‘bridezilla’ moment. Still don’t regret losing it at those women at the tailor’s! *he screwed my wedding blouse!!*
Thinking about moving so far away from the family is disconcerting. And thinking about not having a job – exactly five years after I swore never to sit at home again – is all the more unsettling.
But on the brighter side, look what I have achieved in the recent past:
Successfully registered my marriage
Got my passport renewed in a jiffy
Submitted a humongous visa application – they better give me that visa!
Paid someone to confirm I do not have tuberculosis
Paid someone else a LOT more to confirm that I have basic knowledge of English
Documented more details about my relationship with my husband than even what my parents ever enquired about
Entertained and defied endless arguments around how ‘a bride must do/wear/look like this’
Gave in to many more such arguments so you can see the traditional bride soon enough
Convinced friends to not throw me a ‘naughty’ bachelorette. I ended up (happily) having rajma chawal at that party
Survived (I’d like to believe so) a sensitive political situation – well, simply because the only solution left was to not bother beyond a point
Co-hosted mom’s retirement party
With much help, got every last bit of my pennies out of Abu Dhabi into Delhi
Didn’t forget any birthdays
Braved an entire useless week of flu
AND SOME WEDDING-RELATED SUCCESSES:
Selected the invite at the first store I entered. Like a boss!
Did ALL the accessory shopping alone
Combed through a list of over 50 photographers to select one
Selected my wedding dress in two days flat
Convinced so many friends to travel thousands of miles for my big day
Nothing bright about this – I still hate the tailor fraternity. I always will. From the bottom of my heart. Period.
I have been using the metro to get to work every day for two years now. Hopping to the station 100 metres away from home is the most convenient thing one could imagine for travelling to the dreadful Gurgaon land. For most part I have travelled alone. Spotting Lynn or Akash is rare. So is managing to coordinate with Vidha. And anyway I like my space, my alone time during commutes. But there are some people who are giving you company during the ride anyway. Make that many. Some manage to catch your attention though. Here are some people that I remember. I don't know any of them. But I know quite a bit about some of them. It's amusing.
In no particular order:
Man with the funny bag
Pretty decent to look at. One of those faces that you notice in a crowd. Also because he must be about six feet tall. But his bag! That weird, shiny thing with the Swedish flag in B/W. Very odd!
Fat lady in cotton saris and big bindi
I saw her every other day. She used to get on from Hauz Khas, almost always running late. She was a lawyer. After a few weeks of noticing each other, we even started acknowledging each other. Then one day she disappeared. Or maybe I got too irregular with my timing and spot in the train.
The polite sardar
Once he touched/poked me by mistake. His apology was one of the most genuine ever.
Woman with rebonded hair
Bitch! She copied my fourth coach, second door strategy, and then competed with me only! She is one of those people whom you dislike from the moment you first look at their face.
Hot guy
I have written about him in detail here. Hottie! :P
Man who gave his seat
I don’t remember his face. But I can never forget that he got up much before his station, and not once made eye contact or gestured that he was vacating the seat for me. Was rather sweet!
The two fair-skinned, curly hair women
They looked amazingly similar. One was a consultant, probably at KPMG. The other was with a market research firm and always travelled in a large group. The latter was quite pleasant. She often ate fruits in the evening. But I always got confused between the two.
There was another such pair of similar-looking women. Again, one was the harmless type, and the other one was loud and annoying to look at.
Lady who noticed my bandage
I was standing comfortably even though I had bandage around my left foot. Nobody gives you their seat in a crowded train. Especially in the women’s coach. But she noticed me and offered her seat.
The Rites bitch
Her expressions screamed of ‘judgmental bully’. Hated her to the extent that I had started believing that my day would go bad if I saw her in the morning train.
The sad lady
I think she has some hormones troubling her. She looks different. And sad. She takes the late evening train from Saket. I see her almost every time I am returning late from office.
The one obsessed with animal print
No connect with this one, but she was always decked up, wearing animal print, bling makeup, last season’s ‘cool’ hairdo, and had two chiclets on her either side.
There are many more such people I know of. Like the Jat woman who starts from HUDA, wears very tight clothes, has a husky (manly) voice, and is always ready to pick a fight. Or the old man who gets on from AIIMS and goes straight to fight for a seat. Many like them!
There are so many faces I see every day that every new person I meet looks familiar. And yet everyone is a stranger. It is actually a little irritating to not be able to place people.
There are days when I wish I didn't have any of these people around and feel that driving down is better. But then I think about the rage that I get into while on the road, and feel that blocking the noise out with some Porcupine Tree is a better option. It is! And there is always the option of taking the next train. Or the one after. :)
The heady smell of those trees The nip in the air at 4 am Preparations for Durga Puja and Diwali Music, dance and movie festivals Blooming flowers Warm colours The unspoken romance
I love it when friends travel to Delhi for work. Robin was again in town, and this time he wanted to visit North Campus. This is why I love him. So Swetha and I took him to our beautiful world on Saturday.
I visited after a very long time, and every turn brought back a lot of memories. From the moment the train reached the station, I had flashes of the past take over my mind. It was lovely.
We said hello to every college, had the customary bhel puri and bunta, followed by noodles at Noodles. That was the crappiest meal in a very long time. Disappointments, yes.
With this we should have guessed how the food would be
The weekend also had the second edition of Comic Con happening in my neighbourhood. But the crowds that were pouring in were a very discouraging factor. So I decided to meet Lynn at good ol' Khan, and moved from there to the gallery of modern art at India Gate. I was there earlier in the week too, because some online information misguided me about the timings of an exhibition I was keen on going for. Dawn Upon Delhi - Rise of a Capital. The exhibition is in keeping with the romance that I associate with my love for this city. Photographs of late 19th and mid-20th century at display were an absolute treat! Original architectural plans of Lutyens and Baker, the parliament building under construction, photographs of elephants and camels at Tughlaqabad Fort & Red Fort, first Air India flight over the Qutub, old Yashica cameras, Delhi Darbar, an image of the statue of King George V at India Gate, and so on.... one hour so well spent!
I did not bother looking at other art work because, well, it's just beyond me. Unfortunately, I don't get it.
And most of this Monday, the 'extended weekend', is being spent working. :-/
I have been bored and restless the past few days. And now when I am thinking about it, I realise that I have not seen a movie in a month, not shopped in close to two months, and not travelled in more than three months. Obviously I am bored and restless!
I don't have the time to explore and develop a liking for new things. I don't remember the last time I instantly started liking a new thing. None of the things that used to excite me seem to be doing so anymore. Really, none of them! I am oh-so-bored and restless!
So, while I restart my efforts to get a few people together to head out to a new place again, let me simultaneously write about the little, much overdue trip to the Toilet Museum in Delhi.
Last weekend, I was going through old posts here on Fuchsia when I remembered that the Museum is still on my to-do list. A switch to Facebook on the next tab had Arobindo Sinha updating his location back to Delhi. He is known for toilet humour, and I had been advised to take him along whenever I make this trip. A few comments later, we had a plan.
On Saturday afternoon, he and I met after about three odd years, and moved straight to the Museum. When I entered the place, the first thought was that the place is far smaller than I had imagined. It was funny to think that I contemplated on which shoes to wear. It should suffice to say that you can go there in stilettos too.
We started looking about, read some funny facts, shared a little laugh when one gentleman walked in and introduced himself to the only other two people in the Museum, an American couple. He was going to give them a guided tour. He asked us if we were interested in the tour. We agreed. We could not have imagined what the next 30 minutes had in store for us. I wish I could have recorded the tour. The 72-year-old Mr. Jha is seriously one of the most amusing people I have ever met! His gestures, his accent, the creepy flirtatiousness, and just the bloody way of being cracked us up. I mean, giving a tour of a toilet museum should be funny enough. Why do you have to do the action of 'doing business'! Anyway.
So he took us through the complete evolution - from the Indus Valley civilisation to the first WC to the old practices of western Europe to all the latest technological innovations - we covered everything. And the punctuating jokes made the tour perfect.
In appreciation of toilet humour and an embarrassing irony, I will tell you that I went to use the loo and realised a little too late that there was no water. The absence of toilet paper had anyway been noticed and ignored upon entering itself. So. It was a memorable trip in more ways than one.
Below are some pictures that I have borrowed from Google. The copyright is with their respective original owners.
The Museum!
THIS is Mr. Jha. That table is also a toilet from some godforsaken time in history.
Apparently, the differences between England and France led to the making of toilets of this kind. The French made these book-shaped toilets and put names of popular English books on them. This one has Macbeth on it.
The image in blue highlights a little trick you can use when you cannot access a toilet. Maybe I should have used it too. It is about applying pressure on the hand in anticlockwise direction in the given shape to reduce the pressure and thus the urge to immediately relieve yourself.
I laughed uncontrollably! You HAVE to go through the text here.
I think this one was from Austria.
A solar powered toilet. You don't need water for this one.
A king used to address his audience while sitting on this toilet. Obviously he had a troubled stomach. I will buy this the day my kingdom is in place.
And here is an invention for women to make use of in places with no toilets.
I do not think I want 80 work hour weeks, but a 20-something hours week plus 2 more similar days have made life quite a drone. And therefore...
1. Firstly, yes, it is called a train.
2. I don’t know why DMRC is trying to cut costs by not keeping the air conditioners at stations on this season. Aren’t they making enough thanks to the millions who use the trains everyday?
3. The woman who thinks she has an ass small enough to fit in a space where a woman half her size was sitting earlier is quite funny.
4. The embarrassment that the same woman goes through when her ass doesn’t fit is even more fun to witness. :P
5. The people pushing their way through to that half a seat are the evils that I would like to wish away.
6. The woman who boarded the train over an hour ago, had a nice sleep, and is now getting ‘ready’ for work is entertaining. Eye makeup, hair brush, et al – everything is there in the bag.
7. Woman who fails to understand the concept of personal space. If a train is crowded, she will not keep her bag under the seat. She will make sure she is carrying a big bag or multiple bags. And then irritate all others around her.
8. The category of women who carry bags which are bigger in width than in length do not seem to have discovered yet in life that their bag pokes the life out of the person standing behind them.
9. The ones who are too short to hold on to the handles above – them, I sympathise with. I didn’t say I like them crowding the space around the doors!
10. This one’s more of a unisex phenomenon – people not realizing that their earphones are behaving like Dolby Digital speakers, not earphones. Of course, nobody around them can figure the song that they are listening to – it’s just an endless cacophony of annoying beats.
11. Poor women who try to entertain their infant/kid in hazaar ways over 30 minutes.
12. Oh, the men who have the nerve to voice opinions like, “women have the 1st coach of the train reserved and thus should not enter the other coaches”!
13. The men who gape at you endlessly – because you are travelling in their coach. Or maybe just because they are m*&^%$fu^&*ng bastards!
I am not going into the details of what I did during the weekend, but
with a Friday that had
a light lunch with Chatterjee and a looooong walk in heels with a well-behaved knee, in the evening,
a Saturday that had
me watching two movies (Chalo Dilli and Shor in the City) back to back in a proper theatre (and not a multiplex hall), with pocorn in one and nachos in the other, and sleepover at my grandparents',
and a Sunday that
begun as early as 5:00 am for a photoshoot around the Yamuna, stopover at Chandni Chowk, chhole bhature at the Bengali Market, followed by a super afternoon spent with Avantika and Lynn,
I am now getting serious withdrawal symptoms. I don't know why I attended so many calls from office through the weekend. Have enough to do even before I get into office tomorrow.
But what a weekend it was. Especially with the last three having been slow and boring.
There are times when you ignore things people say about you or your identity. And there are times when you defend.
As a Delhiite, I have, on most occasions ignored the things people have said about me - some juvenile, some seriously condescending - simply because more often than not it is pointless to argue stereotype.
I reached home a while back, opened my laptop because I had been out for meetings since lunch, and obviously, happened to login to Facebook too. Noticed a friend's comment on a link posted by one of her friends: City of Sperms. Delhi, of course. I clicked on it out of curiosity, only to get infuriated by the things it mentions. Very articulately derogatory. For me. And for my people. There are some aspects of it which I cannot defend and will not attempt to either, but its perspective stinks. And in my free space I am going to elucidate on an insider's story.
Without getting into my little but enough-to-form-opinions experience of Bombay or the things about the city that have an equal number of people detesting it too, I will come straight to the point.
Historically, most major cities across the world have developed around water bodies. New York, London, Moscow, Shanghai, Singapore, etc. At home, Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai, and also Delhi. Port cities for the easy transportation in the olden days, and cities around rivers for easy availability of drinking water. I thought this was common knowledge. However, the greatness of these cities is not because of their advantageous geographical location, but because of their people*. I must not forget though that the article in question mentions that the people of Delhi are a questionable, pretentious lot. I guess I should focus on the people then.
Delhi, 1947. Monuments left by the Mughals, roads & a few buildings left by the British, and the centre for most of the greats who helped bring in 15th August. Barring the last point, Delhi wasn't too different from some other cities of India. Or maybe it was. There were Indians who didn't know they had become Pakistanis, there were the homeless 'rich', the 'travellers' who did not know of their destination, and there were the scared.
The scared who managed to hold on are today's Old Delhi with generations-old businesses. The culturally rich generations. The rest of Delhi of '47 began with opportunities in the form of a government. The political will attracted people from disturbed areas to Delhi. The refugees were given homes. Those homes are today's bungalows**. The existent trade channels helped bring up industry as much as they could.
Khalistan pushed people to Delhi, Kashmiri Pandits on hitlists found recluse in Delhi, the Green Revolution gave neighbouring farmers a market in Delhi, liberalisation gave UP and Bihar an opportunity for much higher daily wages, privatisation and offshoring brought the rest of India to Delhi, Bihar's hard work got appreciated in diplomacy, and of course, the government and politics remained in Delhi. Tch, trade channels. Not exclusive in India. Built. And still exist. Naturally. Organically. Not undeserved.
Alleged Intellectual Pursuits
The common man in Delhi talks about the weather. It is always too hot, too cold or too humid. It rains too much when not expected. It rains too little when expected. The common man also talks about governance and policy. Heard of that feature of journalism where proximity makes news more interesting? Hmm. The debates on policy take place on the porch that Delhi's homes boast of. And in the college canteens that give students the freedom to discuss what they like, and choose a future that does not result in making hoards of money every month. Where students can enjoy the lectures on Marxist theories and have the option of knowing more about it in a masters or a doctorate course. JNU is a cult. Contemporary culture deceives a visitor of JNU's mind. JNU is not about a meaningless existence or a hip MNC future, but of keeping a school of thought alive which capitalism obviously would not allow to exist. JNU also possibly gives entertainment products like _Capitalism_.
A society is made of layers. Layers of various colours and textures. These layers lend the society a character, a meaning. These layers help in evolution and growth. Layers exist for a reason. Just like vegetarians and carnivores. So, onions being at the heart of all north-Indian dishes are playing an important role. Read about the price issue?
One can always debate the objective and role of media in a democratic state, but The Times of India being quoted as a game-changer in media is a big misrepresentation in my mind. A game-changer in the business of media, yes. Journalism, NO.
Going back to the layers that Delhi is made of - the city lets you decide whether you want to make money or not. It gives you the opportunity to go to Gurgaon and earn a BMW or make a living out of painting and dancing. It does not throw you off a railway platform for not running the race to earn more money. Or call it a commercially viable existence!
Delhi, like any other part of the world has stood the test of time. It does not become endearing because a loser decides that his city has some related flaws. It does not become hateful because it happens to be home to corrupt politicians. Delhi is beyond labels. It is a lot more than the stereotype.
*Which is why there are numerous cities across the world which are great even in the most challenging geographical terrains. People make a city, not its terrain or climate.
**Rest of the bungalows belong to rich industrialists and Bollywood stars. Perhaps made for their extended family and extended servants. Perhaps the same in number as those in Bombay.
P.S. - Didn't Bombay inherit fish? Does it not make millions off it every day? Undeserved? I don't think so. It is distressing to imagine that people like a Manu Joseph talk on behalf of an entire city. A city that minds its own business. Of its contempt for another city of the same country?!
P.P.S. - When did 'sperm' become a dirty word? The art of making normal words sound gross. Appreciation-worthy!
And talking of a crass Jat and the 'thousands like him' is like talking about India and comparing population-based indices with a country like, what, Iceland! Of course there are thousands like him from neighbouring states in a city of over one crore people. About the Jat behaviour, go do some reading!
I waited for the 'right' job for more than 10 months. But when it came along, it did so in a snap. All the things that did not work out have left me very unsure about how 'right' this one really is, but logic and sense say that it is. And for now we are leaving it at that.
So, this Friday I went in for induction and a meeting. It was a rather important meeting and I felt great being a part of it. I was not expecting day 1 to bring anything spectacular with it, so it felt even cooler just being there in the moment.
The awesomeness of the day continued with managing a seat on the metro on my way back. My iPod also saw light of day after really long. It had the old playlist in it which brought back a lot of memories from Pune, both good and not-so-good, but it was nice feeling that music again.
I came home and made a number of phone calls to the people who helped during the struggle. The highlight was talking to my grandparents. All four of them. Making them happy is an overwhelming feeling. Every single time.
Then I connected with a few cousins, and next thing we knew.. it was 1:30 am, and four of us were driving out for some official celebration! Things like these do not happen with me in Delhi. Neither for the two other girls with me. We had to make up a few stories, bring in a few confidantes, and the mood got rolling!
We first went to Cibo at Janpath. Apparently it is one of the better places to party these days. But what we saw when we went in was the last thing we'd have expected to see. There was a big group of surds dancing to hardcore punjabi music. The kind that is easily detestable. But we decided to stick around for a while because things were slightly bearable thanks to the punju connection. More so because it was too late to think of going some place else. We drank. We danced. And in the end, when the DJ played corny Bollywood tracks, we were happy too. :)
It was around 3:00 am when we left from there. Nidhi thought we should look for food now. Samridhi and I felt we should look to move home now. But Agneesh felt we should try to get into Agnee at The Park for some extended fun. Especially because the scene at Cibo wasn't particularly what we had set out for. And the moment we entered Agnee the past hour felt like such a waste! The music was great, the ambience was good, and there weren't any shady surds dancing with a glowing mobile phone set in their belt. We danced like crazy for the next one hour. I know I for sure was having the time of my life. Definite glances from two cute guys made it even more entertaining. :D
We left from there around 4:15 am. First we were to drop Nidhi and Samridhi back. I act responsibly 9.9 out of 10 times, so it was tooooo much fun speeding and singing out loud in chorus (no, the windows were not rolled down), on empty roads.
After that we quietly left my brother's car back at my place, picked Agneesh's bike, and moved to his place. So, just as I thought that I had had the perfect few minutes on the road, the 5:00 am cold air hit me hard on my face!
Yes, Delhi is festive again. And I do not feel left out.
Would not have been possible to move out had he not come over to congratulate! :)
PS - I do NOT like beer. Yes, I have tried those fancy brands too. :
# A two-day trip turned into a two-week long trip. # Chandni Chowk, Rajouri Garden, Kotla, Punjabi Bagh, Chawri Bazaar - the wedding cards, dhol, band, ghodi, d-day ensemble for the groom, et al - complete utilisation of my presence at home! # I had an impossible amount of chaat on this trip! # Did not miss the penne with vodka at Big Chill! :D # Played a nice, colourful Holi! # Met Saumya after about a year and a half, and it was obviously lotsa fun! # Met Prashant after even longer, managed to check out his latest exhibition too, and it was plain, simple, nice to see him! # Watched two not-so-good movies in one week. Still quite like Morgan Freeman and Abhay Deol though. # Managed to get back a bit of control over my mind. # Still haven't managed a frikkin' job. # Clicked lotsa flowers blooming in my backyard. # Stopped haggling with auto guys. Every journey does cost Rs 50. Period! # Felt inflation! Silver which used to cost anywhere between Rs 350-500 has shot up to Rs 1300 and more! And this was before the announcement made in the Budget.
Had home food, slept well, and now heading back. I hope it is the last time I have to board a Pune-bound train. Never felt worse about getting onto one of those!
The fall internship is due in a month's time. Somebody damn the systems (or the lack of them) because I still do not know where I will be going. And I am f r e a k i n g out! I know it is the beginning of the horror called final placements, but it kills. :-/
There isn't really much happening these days for me to update this space. Except that I have no money on my phone. Or no hot water in the shower. Or no peaceful sleep in the nights. Except that I suddenly lost weight and fell sick. Except that I never thought I was capable of choosing to paint over writing for a culture studies assignment. That I have not read the newspaper in more than a week. But I have bought a hot cushion cover with lotsa colours in it. Fuchsia too. :D
But one of the many things that are on my mind is the Delhi Diwali air. I cannot wait for a whiff of that smell. I know there's a month left for this too and I'm probably living ahead of times (no pun intended) but I am excited about it. I am! See.. there still are things that excite me!
Last year, I was busy winding up assignments, celebrating an anniversary, and gearing up for my first tryst with an NGO. The year before that, I was busy falling in love, and healthily losing weight. Mad CAT stuff was happening on top of it all. And the year before that, Pa was going for a surgery, I broke my back, and I was at the threshold of some losses too. The year before that? I only remember my rangoli. I make one every year. Bad back or not.. the floral rangoli has become a religion. I love doing it. Every single year.
Yes, all the girly stuff is very much there.
I think this is about it for now. I shall let you know the moment somebody decides to give me temporary employment.
I have been in Delhi for a quite a few days now, but I stepped out for a long distance outing for the first time today. There were a couple of things which seemed new.
1. People seemed mellow. Everybody looked quieter. Sweeping generalisation, I know. But I could really not see the aggression. People seemed to mind their own business.
2. Way too many girls in casual shorts/dresses for me to think that they were exceptions. Delhi males never let women wear that kind of stuff on the streets. I never saw them using public transport or be out in market places dressed like that. This is definitely new.
3. Delhi Metro has deliberately removed 'please' and 'कृपया' from all their announcements. I wonder why! Even if we assume that people misbehave and DMRC is short-tempered like me, how can they just stop using the word? It is not polite like this!
Feverish nostalgia took over the moment I stepped inside a train today. I spent god-knows-how-many moments on the metro trains with Tarun through 2nd and 3rd year of college! It was insane. We were insane. Absolutely, purely mindless! (A lot of serious conversations too, but the mindlessness is always more memorable :)) So immediately a call went all the way to Bangalore. I adore that man so much!! Uff.
On April 14th, I realised that I was done with pushing myself. At least for now. I worked through the day, had a quiet dinner down at Shree with a couple of friends, and then stayed up ALL night packing everything, and only managed one hour's sleep after sealing all cartons and shoving them into a corner. The morning felt a little lazy, but the motivation to come home was enough to push a little more. All flights from Pune to Delhi were delayed because of congestion and construction work at the IGI airport. So we waited and waited. Laughed and laughed too. And those were two horrible sentences. Basically, Gopika Gulati and Sahil Chopra decided to entertain me, and I enjoyed myself.
I slept a bit on the flight, and spent the rest of the time being excited. :D
The Delhi airport is shaping up well. Mom and dad were a delight to see. Hearing a stranger talk in punjabi felt familiar. I know it has only been about four months, but I had really forgotten how wide the roads here are.
Since technically I do not have a single day off (today I had permission to travel), I could not just let the world fuck itself and sleep at home. I needed to pay some people to make me look presentable.
Off the to-do list: Haircut that feels awesome Golgappe Good dinner with family Cake and other meetha A bit of shopping too And some surprises from the family
I will be joining work tomorrow morning. Following that, I will worry about the remainder of submissions. :|
Delhi lets you be. Delhi intrudes. Delhi can be very damp, and it can let you breathe too.
For three consecutive nights, I have gotten into a conversation about Delhi with someone or the other. With someone, I was defending the culture. To someone else I was explaining how the stereotype does exist in reality. With another person I was discussing how Delhi is probably cosmopolitan in the truest sense of the word for the sheer coexistence of conflict and blend that people manage between them. And then I talked about the one cause and movement that I feel strongly about... Blank Noise.
The Delhi that I know... the Delhi that I have seen and experienced..t he Delhi that lives in my heart, and this is what my mind thinks of Delhi....
The stereotype?
Yes, Mrs. Sharma does live in the neighbourhood. Goldie does have a Santro with fancy ‘art’ sprayed on it. Most corners on the street do stink of fomenting piss. The large, green trees do beautify the even larger roads. Most chaat walas serve chaat that you can enjoy. You really can buy clothes worth Rs 35 to beat the summer heat. The letch on the street will surely manage to come up with a creative pass. You will not drive down any busy road without a BC-MC playing in the background. You will have the prettiest women walking around in fancy market places of south Delhi. You will also have pseudo-pretty old ladies with coloured hair, make-up, bling bag and weird clothes walking around in the same fancy market places of south Delhi. You can manage to strike a conversation with an auto-wala above an average age of 35 about anything under the sun. Old Delhi will certainly not disappoint you with the food it offers. The Metro is seriously the cleanest public space. The same Mrs. Sharma will not get sleep if she does not offer you her saag and kadi if you live next door. The best blend of Haryanwi and Bihari will greet you in buses and cabs. And you can’t miss the ‘hello ji’ for most people will offer you that too. If you’re street smart and have a thing for breaking rules and getting away with them, all your narratives of funny incidents to friends will be about your rendezvous with the thullas you cross on the streets.
I can go on... but I also want to write a bit about my experience of things beyond the stereotype. Perhaps a rather myopic view, but it is what I have really experienced.
When you walk alone down a busy street, you can choose to look at the people around you who will totally engross you with their activities and conversations. You can also choose to space out and they’ll let you be as well. Board a blueline and you will get to feel the pulse of the city because it’s hard to come by a bus which does not have the radio playing in it. Delhi listens to the radio. And I cannot emphasise on this point enough. Travellers talk of a state’s dynamics changing as you move along a belt, I am telling you that you can sense the changing dynamics of Delhi just as you keep switching bus routes. Take a bus to my place on a Sunday, and you cannot fail to find groups of Mallu women on their weekly shopping trip to the INA market. You won’t just see them, you’ll hear them loud and clear. Non-stop. Sit on a bus to Kashmere Gate in the mornings, you’ll feel you’ve experienced the north campus on a bus itself. For that matter, take a 420 at 7:00 pm and you’ll feel the people look alien if your background is similar to mine. And a Gurgaon DTC at 9:30 am can be found with perfume all over because most of the people on it are white-collared professionals.
(This just makes me realise that I’m done with my share of travelling in buses. :-|)
Anyway, moving on...
Wherever you may turn your head, you will find a frame worth capturing. The most innocent-looking kid looking to have fun his way, the dog playing with a bag of trash, the old lady haggling with the fruit vendor, the old men’s group sipping tea together, the couple with strong beliefs in PDA, the consortium of ice-cream wala bhaiya, churan wala bhaiya, gubbare wala bhaiya, and all the bhaiyas sitting together and cooking up unknown stories. The colours of different seasons in the air, the colours of different brands on bus shelters, and the colours of different cultures floating around in human form.
Delhi can be ruthless with its heat, its men, and the frustrations it breeds as a city of conflicted minds.
At the same time, Delhi is generous with the space, the smiles and the warmth it gives you.
If you didn't know already, I'm homesick and I want to be with my family right now. I know it's just another week left, but the term's been too long. Waiting for the flight to take off.
And for the lack of flow and abruptness of this post, blame the work that I brought to the last minute which made me write this post in parts.
