Chasing Childhood

Blast... I don’t know what it is about my Delhi visits! I have travelled to many places that are way more interesting, but every time I am in this city, I start itching to talk about the place - all the time wondering why, WHY this unholy fascination for the land of unholy goings-on!

Dil-li da Maamla hai

The first day of my week-long holiday, I had absolutely no intention of doing anything useful - or anything not-so-useful, for that matter. The Delhi heat and dust had started to get to me already, and all I really wanted to do was to compete with the bedspread on my Ma’s bed. I daresay I would have won, if it was not for the obscene amounts of time that Ananya, my 12-year old, was spending in front of the TV or laptop. As I watched her soak in some puerile stuff on SAB TV, her nose barely nanometres from the screen, I felt she was in serious danger of disappearing into the set, a la Mike Teavee in the Chocolate Factory - unless I did something drastic.

So I decided to concede defeat (albeit, temporarily) to the bedspread, and brave the scorching late afternoon heat of a Delhi summer to go all the way to  Shankar’s International Dolls’ museum at ITO, and top that up by traipsing down memory lane in Connaught Place. Well, to say that the museum was a tad disappointing would be an understatement. I actually recognized the faces of many of the dolls from visits during my childhood (due to technical difficulties, I will not go into exactly how long ago that was). But yes, that time they had seemed bright and alive, while now they appeared drab and desolate. That's understandable, naturally, but sprucing them up occasionally would not harm - honestly, some of them looked like the last cleaning and dusting they had seen was when they had been handed over to the museum personally by Shahjahan, or someone thereabouts...

Luckily, Ananya has a thing for dolls - of any kind, and some of the displays were rather exotic... but MOST importantly, the place was air-conditioned! So it was not an hour spent too badly at all!

Next stop – Connaught Place and Janpath.

I don’t have the foggiest why I start getting this warm glow over me when I am in this place. I don’t know why I should feel so tickled when I see the renovated Plaza theatre... I have no clue why it gives me a kick to find that ‘Prominent Tailors’, the tailor shop I used to frequent in my teens, still exists (for those of you born after 1980 - believe it or not, there actually was a time when a girl had to get her skirts and trousers stitched!) And I start doubting my own sanity when I find I still enjoy a soda and mutton chop at Nirula’s (so what if they were our favourite during the courting days – the current establishment is more washed up than Amisha Patel.)

But the best part of the day was the walk through Janpath... indulging, naturally, in the Standard Janpath Shopping Procedure:

1. Look into the wares of a roadside shop as you pass by, being VERY careful to get the right mix of interest and disdain in your eyes while you do it.

2. Casually examine one or two pieces that interest you, all the while carefully maintaining the aforementioned look.

3. Ask the price (Shift the interest-disdain mix from your eyes to your tone now).

4. Break out into derisive laughter as soon as the price is quoted, and counter it with your own price – which should be at MOST a quarter of the price quoted to you. The shop boy will counter this with his own even-more-derisive laughter – don’t be daunted.

5. After a few iterations of the previous step, say ‘Nahi chaiye, bhaiya’, and make an exaggerated show of walking off. This is the ‘make or break’ point.

6. If you lose this gamble, too bad. It’s likely the exact same thing will be available in at least 15 other shops on the same street, or at Sarojini Nagar, so you can try your luck in any of those. And if you win, gloat inwardly - planning how you will show your ‘catch’ off to your friends later.

Oh yes, we had loads of fun! But the real adventures that day had been elsewhere...

Delhi Daredevils

No, it’s not another IPL scandal that I am talking about. It’s the cycle-rickshaw pullers of Janakpuri.

Imagine the scenario. It’s the first day of my holiday, and I am off for what I hope will be a memorable outing with my daughter. Humming a happy tune, I amble up to a waiting cycle rickshaw, do the mandatory ‘Kya baat karte ho bhaiya, TEES?!! Metro station tak bees hi hotein hain, hum toh roz jaatein hai!” routine, and then settle in cosily on the seat - looking forward to a nice, long, unhurried ride to the Metro station.

Barely 100 metres into the ride, my hopes of a pleasant ride are dashed quite firmly. The rickshaw-walla, obviously suffering from the delusion that he was Michael Schumacher, started racing away like a maniac. And that too, on a road which someone seemed to have dug up and forgotten all about - a bed of spiky stones and dust. It was a ten-minute-long torture session - with me sitting there trying to divert myself by counting how many motor vehicles we overtook, while my insides felt as if someone was making a nice tossed salad with them.

The rickshaw-walla with the Schumacher Delusion...

And let me tell you, if you thought there could not be more than one rickshaw-puller in Janakpuri with the Schumacher syndrome, you would be wrong. If we got Schumacher on our onwards journey, on the way back it was Schumacher-With-a-Death-Wish. The guy actually rode (at top speed, naturally!) on the wrong side of the road - AGAINST the oncoming traffic! (For a stretch that seemed to me like 20 km, but was probably just 200 metres or so.)

Well, the bright side of these rides was that I returned home enlightened – with a hugely enhanced vocabulary of ma-behen expletives. You have to admit - there are some things in which Delhi never disappoints! 

And I think I finally have this fascination for Delhi kind of figured out. You remember those colourful 'goggles' sold by hawkers who used to move around selling cheap plastic toys once upon a time? The ones in which the 'lenses' were simply two pieces of brightly coloured translucent paper inserted into a cardpaper frame? See, the moment I get on to a plane/train to Delhi, I subconsciously put on one of those, and keep them on throughout my trip. Everything I see or do in Delhi is filtered through these - these psychedelic glasses named 'childhood'.

Yes, when I come to Delhi, it feels like coming home. Coming home to childhood.

Autofocussed

I have always held the belief that by and large, auto-rickshaw walas across India are goons, thugs, louts, bullies and a few other unmentionable things which I can't bring myself to utter in public. But every time I make a trip to Bangalore or thereabouts, this conviction  of mine takes a really strong beating..

My friends in Bangalore constantly warn me about the auto-walas there... about their tendency to overcharge newbies in town, refusing to go by the meter, or taking a circuitous route. But my experiences so far have been 100% good. I was in Madanapalle and Bangalore recently, and I think it is time I spoke up for the undaunted and the chivalrous amongst this much-maligned species - the 'pigeons among the cats', so to speak!

The Good...

My first good-samaritan auto-wala story is set in Madanapalle. I had just landed up at the Madanapalle bus stop, travelling alone. It was my first visit there. As I walked along towards the stand where autos were lined up, struggling slightly with my heavy bags, an old auto-rickshaw wala suddenly rushed towards me out of the line of autos, saying, "Where Akka? Rishi valley? Come come, I take you." I was slightly on my guard at this sudden charge, but he looked too old and meek for me to feel threatened in any way. So  I climbed in. On the long winding road to Rishi Valley, he lamented about how the younger lot of autowallas were always out make a fast buck by cheating newcomers...  thereby explaining his jack-in-the-box kind of reaction to my arrival. 

The old man's chivalry did not end there. I had to leave my bags at the RV guest house and then go to the office. And I did not know the way. So he offered to wait while I put my bags in the room, and then drop me at the office. So far so good, but there was one complication. The person with the keys to the guest house was msssing and no one had the faintest notion where he was. Someone went off to look for him. Not wanting to hold back the sweet old auto-wala, I thanked him, paid him and told him to go. But he would not budge. He had made a committment to see me off at the RV office, and he was not leaving without doing so! So we waited. 5 min went by... 10 min... 20 min... finally, after 40 minutes the caretaker came with the keys. The old man helped me deposit my bags, and then depositted me at the office before going on his way, with the air of one who has just seen his granddaughter off safely!

And oh yes, he simply refused to take any extra money for the extra bit or the long wait.

Since then, I have come across other auto-walas around the RV campus who take you to your destination free of cost if the distance is short, and they happen to be going your way... hard to believe for us city folk, but true!

The Bad and the Ugly...

Contrast this with the hoods one has to deal with in Navi Mumbai, on a day-in day-out basis. In Mumbai they have the 'hafta'-collecting bhais, and in Navi Mumbai we have the auto-rickshaw walas... both of these are highly evolved species of extortionists. The Navi-Mumbai auto-bhais overcharge as a matter of right. You should just see the indignant look they give you if you question the inflated fare they quote! And they are super quick to sense the exact degree of desperation while picking up a fare. Sometimes I feel they have a secret 'Overcharge Rate Chart'!

Honestly, the way the auto-bhais here wield absolute power, I think it is high time Navi Mumbai was declared an autocracy!

And I do not even want to start upon the antics of the Delhi auto-wala... that supremely regal being, who continues his search for treasure - deep inside his nose with his index finger, oblivious of your presence - even as you try to coax him to take you to your destination! And you are not sure which is worse, him refusing to ply you, or agreeing to do so and handing you your change with his treasure-laden fingers...

And the Good, Again...

Meanwhile, my ode to the Bangalore auto-walas is not over yet! The old man in Madanapalle was the second good samaritan auto-wala who came to my rescue that day. The story started at the Bangalore bus stop. Someone had booked me an online ticket from Bangalore to Madanapalle on an APSRTC bus. So, there I was at an unfamiliar bus stop, running helter skelter, trying to find which terminal I was to get the bus from. The fact that I could read neither Telugu nor Kannada, didn't help. I had just walked 2 or 3 times from one end of the vast station to the other, misguided by various people, including (as I found out later) those at the info booth. I was standing at a platform at one end of the station, where the person at the info booth had asked me to wait for the Tirupathi bus. On inquiring from the other people waiting there, I gathered  that the Tirupathi bus would not go to Madanapalle.

At this time, seeing me all hot and flustered, one of the auto-walas from the nearby auto stand came up to me and said, "You go Madanapalle, madam? Bus not here." I have been brought up in Delhi - where if a lone woman traveller responds  to a strange man who comes up to her, it is equivalent to inviting him politely to molest her. So, my initial reaction was to give him a wide berth. But the man's tone had some conviction which made me believe him. "Then where", I asked. "I not know. You ask in counter." It was now 7.10 a.m, and my bus was supposed to leave at 7.15. Mentally preparing myself to scuttle my trip, I started picking up my bags and bracing for the run to the info booth once again. And then the auto-wala said, "You wait madam, I ask." And before I could say anything - up went the veshti to knee-level with a snap, and out sprinted the man to the info booth at top speed. In a minute, he was back, saying, "You go Kadapa bus. It is in opposite side." I ran and caught the bus just as it was pulling out of the station.

The man did not ask for any money. And there was no time for me to even thank him properly. But this piece of writing is a thank-you note to all those auto-walas who help us keep the faith, through such acts that defy the ignominy that follows their lot...

Delhi... Lost and Found

Recently, I made a trip to Delhi, to visit Ma. I mostly stayed indoors, catching up on all the family gossip with Ma, and of course, clearing the hundreds of spam sms’s flooding her phone inbox...:-/ http://womaninterrupted-merablog.blogspot.com/2011/02/mother-of-all-technologies.html

But even the limited time I spent out on the streets of Delhi gave me something to think about. In many ways, I started rediscovering the city I grew up in...

Delhi dehleez

On the August Kranti from Mumbai to Delhi, my immediate neighbours in the compartment were 4 men (not traveling together). They started conversing  as soon as the train started. They spoke in a coarse tongue, and their conversation consisted solely of business deals and money talk. “Haan haan, woh do lakh maang raha hai toh kal hi pahuncha de na usey paise!” sort of thing. The only time they deviated from the topic of ‘making money’ was when a couple of them waxed eloquent about the greatness of Delhi and rued the fact they had to travel to Mumbai so often for business.

Come night. One of the men clambered on to the top berth, and almost immediately, started snoring. Actually, to call it simply ‘snoring’ is an insult - the sound was roughly equivalent to 5 trains ramming simultaneously into a mountain, and then letting out a loud, anguished whistle. In the morning, one of the other men, tongue firmly in cheek, asked him, “Achchhi neend aayi?” “Haan ji, mujhe toh bahut badhiya neend aayi”, he replied. The first man shot back, “Aur aapki badhiya neend ne hum sab ko poori raat jagaye rakha!”

I could not help smiling! Simple. Direct. Unpretentious. Two years ago I would have been judgemental. But now, I found myself wondering which is better - artlessness and unsophistication, or the pretentious world where you go ‘Hey…lovely to see you!’ and ‘muah muah’ even at your worst enemies at a party…

‘Apne shahar ki toh baat hi alag hai…Dilli toh dilwalon ki’, one of them quipped, as the train chugged into Delhi.

Delhi Belle

I don’t know what made me travel by a DTC bus that day. And I definitely don’t remember when I last rode on one – definitely not in the last 15 years.

I was to visit a friend in far-flung Sarita Vihar, and I had every intention of using the universally applauded Delhi Metro. But at the last minute I changed my mind, and hopped into an AC bus on route 724…can’t think of any good reason for doing it, except the corny: ‘It was fate’. It probably was – I was destined to meet someone.

Inside the bus, I looked around for a ‘safe’ seat – having grown up in Delhi and being well aware of the noxious ‘paws’ lurking around in DTC buses. My eyes zeroed in on an empty seat next to a demure looking, smartly turned out young woman in her 20’s, and I went and sat down there.

Next, I started looking around for the conductor. A man strode purposefully towards us from the front of the bus. He came right up to where we sat and held out his hand to the young lady sitting next to me. The lady dug into her large bag. Ok, here he is, thought I, and rummaged into my bag to locate my wallet. Pulling out the cash, I turned towards the man to collect my ticket – and got a HUGE surprise.

It was the well-dressed woman next to me who was handing over the ticket – she was the conductor of bus #724!!! And even as I sat there - blushing inwardly for my presumptuousness and marveling at the whole idea of a woman conductor in a DTC bus, she hollered, in a strict school-principalish voice, “Haan bhaiya! Aage wale aa kar apne apne ticket le lo!”

I was completely fascinated, and spent the rest of my journey chatting with her. Most of what I heard was a pleasant surprise. Hired after the Commonwealth Games, these women came looking for the security of a government job – the coveted ‘sarkari naukri’. This particular lady had left a ‘desk job’ with a private company for this. Women conductors are put on day shifts, ending by 4 or so, for safety. But still, she was looking forward to being promoted to a desk job soon.

Crossing all limits of inquisitiveness, I asked her whether the crowd in AC buses behaved any better than in the others. Not really, she replied - in fact they misbehaved with more confidence!

A man came up to me (mistaking me for the conductor) and asked for a ticket… I could not decide whether to feel pleased or insulted – and ended up feeling bemused. But overall, it would be a rather adventurous job, I surmised…

Did she like this job? I asked, pushing the boundaries of politeness again. She gave me one withering look – “Would you?” Well, that put me firmly in my place!

Lost and Found

But still, the whole idea was a big and bold step forward for Delhi, I thought. And somehow, after a long, long time I started liking Delhi again during this trip…

Of course, the ubiquitous traffic snares are still very much in place, and your ears get tired trying to beep out all the ma-behn gaalis being bandied about, and no Delhi public place is quite complete without a few men standing around scratching their balls with supreme abandon…

But still, on looking inside myself, I could no longer find the active dislike for the city that I had developed some years ago.

And that brings me to the inevitable - the ‘Mumbai vs Delhi’ bit…

I have lived in Mumbai for over 5 years now. It is supremely impersonal. Everyone is immersed in themselves - nobody gives a damn for anyone else… so much so, that sometimes you start wondering if you really exist! So maybe that is why I found Delhi a welcome change – where people at least notice you, even if it is to drive too close to the pavement you are walking on - to splash muddy water from a puddle on to you (on purpose, naturally). Or lean out of their vehicle at a traffic signal to stare at you as if you were the last specimen of a female homo-sapien left on earth…

Delhi is the city of my birth... the place where I grew up, went to school and college, started my career, got married. But somewhere down the line I had distanced myself from it. It was a good place to go shopping and have fun times with friends, but that was it.

But this time, I started feeling reconnected to the city again. Of course, the DTC experience and all had something to do with it. But I think a lot of it was also due to a meeting with my school-friend Gautami. Time melted away as we spoke of the days gone by, giggled at juvenile jokes, and shared the most heartfelt joys and sorrows.

As I put on my red-and-black shoes to go out, she said ‘Oye, 40 saal ki ho gayi hai - sharam nahi aati laal jootey pehente huey!’ And then suddenly realised she was carrying a large red purse - and we both went into fits of laughter...Nobody could have guessed we were meeting after so many years – yes, it had taken us 22 long years to ‘find’ each other again.

And it was the same with Delhi. And I plan to keep in touch – with the people and places that matter. I guess, there comes a time in your life when you need to ‘Get back to where you once belonged’…