Kids Shids tey Chicken Khurana

At the very beginning, let me salute every fond Mama or Papa who has gladly suffered their kids’ birthday parties year after year - armed with a grin and a jar of Tiger Balm.

For me, it has been the same old story for the past 19 years... I have gotten all gung ho about celebrating the b'day of one or the other of my kids. But as D-day/B-day came near, my gung-ho-ness levels had fallen rapidly... and by the time the day had got over, I had been left wishing that I was elsewhere - maybe some serene place where wild dogs were tearing me apart, or a slobbering monster was boiling me in hot oil...

Because whenever I think ‘Kid’s Birthday Party’, a nightmarish slideshow flashes through my head: I am surrounded by about 253 open mouths – all yelling chaotically choreographed yells of ‘Auntie more cake’, ‘Auntie juice’, ‘Auntie toilet’ or some such thing. There are kids crawling out of the woodwork and tumbling out of every cupboard. And the noise!! 2-3 hours of non-stop, incredible decibel levels of NOISE! When the attack finally subsides, I am left with confetti strewn all around, unsightly coke and food stains on the sofa, maybe a few broken chairs or curtain rods... and of course, a bunch of recycled gifts.

3 years ago, I almost swore off kids’ parties of any type – after being under siege for more than 24 hours, by my daughter and her two friends who had come to spend a day at our place. Back then, I had come home from work to find that the three 9-year olds had massacred half of my wardrobe and cosmetics, left 3 huge depressions on my bed after having used it as a trampoline (WITH my high heeled shoes on, from the look of it), and used my best perfumes as air fresheners – spraying them indiscriminately all over the house.

So last week, when Ananya asked for a birthday party, I thought I would be smarter this time around, and take her out with a handful of her friends. Minimise collateral damage and all that, you know.

It was one of the MOST feather brained ideas I could have come up with. When I had asked her if she wanted to go for a movie with a few friends, the number I had in mind was 3, or maybe 4 kids. Gross miscalculation – I had neither factored in the pester power of siblings nor Ananya’s generosity when it came to handing out invitations.

Saturday, 10^th November arrived. And so did the kids – all 10 of them. No last minute no-shows (as I had half hoped)!

After they had stuffed themselves with home made namkeen and murukku (courtesy, my ma-in-law), loads of gooey chocolate cake and coke, we left for the multiplex to catch a movie. We had barely reached our seats, when a couple of kids piped up, ‘Auntie, Coke aur Popcorn?’ Of course! After all, it was all of 20 minutes since they had eaten! Rama (one of the parents who had accompanied me) and I shushed them, saying, ‘Later.’ But we knew we could not stall for too long.

And I learnt an important lesson in life... the hard way. Never, EVER take a gang of kids to watch a movie with a leitmotif of food... and farts. Luv Shuv tey Chicken Khurana is an enjoyable movie... but NOT if you are watching it with nearly a dozen kids seated in the row behind you. Everybody knows that kids turn into cola-and-popcorn-processing machines even while watching a regular movie - imagine what would happen in a movie where there is constant banter about food! And the less said about kids' affinity for fart jokes, the better.

Still, it was a novel experience! I don’t think I will ever again watch a movie where every fifth line spoken by an actor is punctuated by a dismembered voice muttering, ‘Auntie, khana kab aayega?’ behind me. And when I was not experiencing some spectral being breathing down my neck (quite literally), I was running outside to fetch water, or food, or haranguing the assistant at the food stall outside to hurry up with the food and save my life!

Finally the movie ended. And it was time for – what else, more food. This time around it was burger meals at a fast food joint. When the kids were ordering, I was certain we were ordering too much. 40 minutes later, looking at the cleaned up plates, I wondered if we had ordered too little...

Anyway, the party finally ended after dropping the kids back home. Ananya left to continue her party – at a friend’s place. Just as I was about to  change into my night clothes and fall upon the bed, my son asked which movie we had been to. “Luv Shuv tey Chicken Khurana,” said I. “Chicken! I miss chicken...,” said the lad, “Can we go out and get some... now?”

It was 10.15 pm.

But it was no point trying to... err... chicken out. There was to be no escape from food (and yes, chicken) for me that day!

45 minutes later, we were at a neighbourhood pub. As Amartya devoured chicken seekhs with gusto, I sat sipping on some warm cognac, my brain in a ‘time out’ state.

It was peacetime - after a one-day frenzied war. I felt content. The kids had enjoyed themselves to the hilt. (And though I simply hate to admit it in public, I kind of had a good time too!) My daughter, of course, was thrilled to bits with the party. 

And that, I guess, is why we Mamas and Papas of the world do it... over and over again, every year. Sure, it’s a lot of effort... but ultimately, that’s chicken feed when it's your child’s happiness at stake...

The Gift

I want to give Mark Zuckerberg a great big collective hug from all of us prehistoric beings (read as 'those born before the times of the internet')...

You see, Facebook is giving us a very special gift indeed!

How else would I have located my teen-time buddy, with whom I pretended to study Chemistry and Physics, studied neighbourhood boys, read 'hot' bits from Mills and Boon novels, and painted the town red?

And in what other way could I have reconnected with my very first 'best friend' - one who wrote a poem about me in Class 1... and for whom I ran to reserve space on the school merry-go-round at breaktime everyday?

There are many many others, with whom I had lost touch decades ago, but found via FB in the last 2-3 years. But a handful of them, like those above, are truly special. Finding these special ones and sharing your lives all over again is a thrilling feeling indeed!

Last week Mark Z's baby did it once again. I found a couple of long lost friends on FB... and with that, discovered anew an important phase of my life that has, at least in recent times, not found pride of place in my reminiscences. And so, now I must share the story of the Kalonia sisters, and some memories from the first few years of matrimony...

Kalonial Times

Dan-ta-ra. Flashback..

Sudarshan and I are just married, and leading a hippie-like existence in a 1-bedroom flat in Munirka. Sudarshan has to travel a great deal. But he always comes back on time though - on time for his next trip. That leaves me with a lot of time on my hands... and no one except the portly middle aged neighbourhood ladies for company. The idea of mingling amicably with them in my free time to talk about maid-servant hassles and in-law woes is quite alien to me. Of course, there are our neighbours upstairs- a joint family where a live soap opera plays out daily. But after some time, one gets tired of the same old melodrama, and even the thrill of learning new swear words in Hindi and Punjabi wears off..

That's when I found the Kalonia sisters - Vaishali and Sonali. It is difficult to explain what exactly they were to me. Technically, I was their teacher, since I was teaching at the Naval Public School where they were studying. But the actual equation we shared was hardly teacher-student - let's say it was more 'Abe Oye' than 'Good evening Ma'am'. Vaishali and I hit it off at once - we got along like a house... rather, a whole colony on fire. Sonali joined the party some time later, no doubt impeded initially by the fact that I was teaching her Math (her most hated subject) at school.

Very soon we became sisters-in-arms. Upon their return from school, they would barely touch home before they were in my house. We would hang out together, cook up interesting snacks, share music, or just indulge in wink-wink nudge-nudge girl talk. Once in a while, we would have a sleepover at their place, talking late into the night over food and the latest Grammy videos.

Their Mom frowned upon this arrangement though - she thought I was a bad influence. Can't really blame her, since I behaved more like a debauched hippie than a prudent and respectable teacher. To make things worse, I wore no sign of being legally married - no mangal sutra, no sindoor, no 'shankha-pola'... nothing. So for her, I was a libertine whose origins, morals, and marital status were all suspect - a total no-no as a companion for her daughters at that impressionable age..

But Vaishali and Sonalil were at that point in their teens - when if your follks want you to go East, you naturally go West.  And I think I had not outgrown my teens either. So we drew even closer.

Ditched!

My reminiscing about those days will be incomplete without one particular story.

Soon after we were married, Sudarshan (for reasons unknown till date) had decided that I needed to learn that one thing every new bride must know (no no, it's not cooking... or the finer points of Kama Sutra) - riding a bicycle. Accordingly, he spent a couple of days to teach me to ride. Which, incidentally, was not a simple job, since I  seemed to have had the singular knack of turning the handlebar of the bike directly towards any approaching vehicle or person while riding . So, to avoid giving heart attacks to unsuspecting drivers and pedestrians, I started practising daily in the afternoon, when there would be fewer moving objects on the streets to try and run into.

This seemed like a great idea... till that fateful day when I fell off the bicycle while trying to stop it (you see, Sud had only taught me pedalling... not how to start or stop that damned thing!). So, there I was - sprawled in a ditch at an awkward angle, with the bike twisted over me at an even more awkward angle. And having so carefully chosen a time when the streets were deserted, there was no one to rescue me.

That is the situation in which the Kalonia sisters found me. And it is not everyday that you see your Math teacher lying in a ditch. That too, one who resembled an overly ambitious contortionist - bent at an impossible angle and  waving her legs in the air, seemingly pedalling at the bike that was lying atop her. (I was doing this in a  rather futile attempt to dislodge and kick away the bike...).

To cut a long story short, the Kalonia sisters rescued me, and it kind of sealed the friendship.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Last month, we made a brief visit to our old house in Munirka. And as I gazed fondly at the spot where I had lain in the ditch, I resolved to try and find Vaishali and Sonali again.

And last week, I did. And it definitely is an event in my life. Because the times we shared were not only the growing up years for them, it was growing up years for us too - as a couple, and as individuals living independently for the first time. For Vaishali and Sonali our house meant a taste of grown-up life and freedom, for me their company meant the stolen joys of youth in the times of sudden hardship and responsibility. Reconnecting with them brought back waves and waves of memories - all the struggle of those early years of marriage, and all the fun...

The interesting thing is, I don't think the coming generations are going to experience the thrill of finding a long lost friend at all- Messrs Zuckerberg et al will make sure people never go out of touch in the first place! A good thing? Umm... maybe, and then again, maybe not!

You lose something precious, think it is gone forever... think of it less and less often as time goes by... only to discover it suddenly, after years, at the most unexpected time and place. And the joy of that is absolutely unparalleled!

Vaishali called me - all the way from California, barely minutes after she confirmed my friend's request on FB. 2 days later, it was Sonali. While ending our call, Vaishali said, "Now I'll have a smile on my face throughout the day!"

And the smile on mine is still going on, and on, and on...
                 

Our Leh-Days

Leh jayenge!

It looked like it was going to happen after all - the four of us taking off for a family holiday to Ladakh!

This might seem like a simple enough task to some families - but for us, it was not. Let me explain. Honestly, in the past 5 years or so, it might have been easier to get Shahrukh, Salman and Amir in the same room rather than the 4 of us!! Our schedules were definitely mismatched - maybe even our preferences. Sudarshan only took time off from his work and tours to visit home once in a while. Amartya's attitude towards home was that  'it's a decent place for getting a bed, a clean loo, and breakfast - FREE!'. And as for me, people had started commenting that my laptop and I would make a great Fevicol ad.

So, you see, it was no mean feat to get our act together and actually take off for this holiday as a team.. 

'Don't be a Gama in the Land of Lama'

View of Leh

Landing at Leh airport, we were met by our college-time-ka-yaar Amit, now Colonel Amit Srivastava - and promptly given (in true military style) a talking to about the do's and don'ts of being in a high altitude cold desert. This was summarised best in the one-liner posted on the walls of the guest house at the army camp : "Don't be a Gama in the Land of Lama". Simply put - I think this translates into 'Leave your ego behind and don't try to prove your physical prowess when you come to Ladakh.' :)


We soon realised that when they say Ladakh is a place of 'breathtaking beauty', it is quite literally so!! The awe-inspiring visuals hit you even as you land at Leh, but so does the lack of oxygen. We wheezed and panted at the smallest hint of physical activity..

First day at Leh: Much puffing, panting and TT

So, for the next 1.5 days we cooled our heels (or should I say warmed them?) in our cosy beds with the TV, and Asterix & Obelix for company. When tired of resting, we would all troop off to the sports room - where 2 of the adults would take turns to play TT, while the third tried to restrain Ananya from decimating the pool table with the cue...

On the third day, just when we were starting to feel  rather settled in our warm rooms, we had to leave for a day-trip to Pangong Lake - which many now refer to as the '3 Idiots Lake'. On the way, we had to cross Chang-La pass, the third highest motorable road in the world, at a height of 17586 ft. While driving up to the pass, we came across our first snow on the hillside - some old, sad looking, mud splattered snow. Since the kids had never seen snow before, we asked the driver if we could get down and touch it, because we might not find any later. He gave us a look that was 75% amusement and 25% disdain, and said, "Aage snow hi snow hai, aur kuch nahi dikhega." 

And so there was! Soon we were amidst the real thing - deep, pristine white snow all around! It was absolutely fantafabulous! But as luck would have it, we got stuck in a bad traffic jam near the pass. Now, the menfolk - namely Sudarshan, Amartya and an army jawan who had accompanied us, had not paid heed to the warning of the first day. So, trying to be Gamas in the land of Lama, they had come without adequate warm clothing. And at 17586 ft that is not a joke! Well, they had to pay the price for their indiscretions... To cut a long story short - by the end of the trip, the only ones who had not revealed (in grisly detail) the contents of their breakfast, mid-morning snack and lunch, were Ananya and I... :)

Pangong Tso - Serenity unlimited...

But the one hour we spent at the Pangong lake made it all worth the while. As I keep saying, you can't get much closer to heaven on earth than this place...

Over the next 4-5 days, we saw the magnificent Indus (Sindhu) river winding its way through the mountains; sighted marmots, kiangs, and yaks;  travelled over the world's highest motorable road at Khardung-la to cross over into the mesmerizing Nubra valley; saw the sand dunes at Hundar and got a taste of the Silk Road experience on the two-humped bactrian camels ...

(Here, Amartya and Ananya remind me that I have forgotten to mention the most remarkable thing we experienced during the trip - the butter chicken served at the army guest house at Pratap Pur, where we spent the night at Nubra... :) )

We even experienced a fresh snowfall (near Khardungla) and a sandstorm (at Nubra) - within a span of 24 hours...!!!

Seriously, how much more can you live life in one week? :)

'Test your Nerves on My Curves'

:D

Wondering what that is? Well it's only one of the many quirky road signs you see while driving in and around Ladakh. While some of them make you grin ('Lower Your Gear, Curve is Near'), others make you wonder ('Darling I like you, but not so fast')... and still others are pretty bizarre ('If You Are Married, Divorce Speed'). What about bachelors, divorcees, widowers et al, you ask!

Well, if nothing else, at least some people slow down near the signs just to read them for their entertainment value!

Jule, Ladakh!

A word about the Ladakhi people. Initially, we felt quite shocked hearing the taxi fares etc. in Leh - and were just starting to feel that rank commercialization is taking over the place. But once we got talking to the taxi drivers etc, we understood exactly how tough life is for the locals - for most of them, it's severe weather and no income in the six months of winter. But still, they are always courteous and cheerful. The cheery 'Ji ji ji' with which they pepper all their talk stays in your mind and makes you smile long after you have parted...


Mesmerizing visuals. A surprise waiting almost at every turn of the road as the visuals change dramatically. Exotic animals. Amazing serenity. Charming people. Ladakh is a magnificent place indeed, but one of the main reasons for this trip being really special for us was the special people there - our old friends. There was Amit and his family, with whom we shared a few quiet evenings over cocktails or kawa chai in the strategically located gazebo at the army camp - surrounded by the mountains and howling evening winds.


And then there was Colonel Sonam Wangchuk and his lovely extended family - Sudarshan's friends and neighbours from his childhood days in Delhi. What a great yakking session we all had... transported back to those old days in R. K. Puram - those days when we would play outdoors till late in the evening, sleep in charpais out in the open, bunk school to go and catch the latest Amitabh Bachchan flick, and so so much more! All this over steaming bowls of thukpa and some enchanting live music provided by the two boys, Amartya and Riggyal (Col Sonam's son)...


(Incidentally, Colonel Wangchuk is a Kargil war hero, and a Mahavir Chakra awardee. There is even a scene in the film 'Lakshya' that is based on his feat at Kargil - but we really couldn't remember when we last met such a down-to-earth, and totally chilled out person! We felt so proud knowing him!)


We left Ladakh wishing to return someday, with much time on hand. And yes, we felt much closer as a family than we had felt for a long time. So, "Jule, Ladakh!" it is! Jule - that priceless word in the local lingo which means everything from 'hello', to 'thank you'...


Jule, indeed.

Leh Gate

The kids fooling around on the banks of Indus

The silk route experience on Bactrian camels at Nubra valley

Falling snowflakes - at South Pullu
 on way to Khardungla pass

No escape from traffic jams - even at 17000 ft
(near Khardungla pass, the world's highest motorable road)

Returning home from the Kala Ghoda festival on a Harbour line train, I felt light and content. I had had an enjoyable day. Plus, the fact that I got a train as soon as I got to VT, and got a good seat to boot, contributed in deepening my sense of contentment. If I had been a cat I would definitely have sat there purring. :)

And then something happened - an incident which I can only term as faintly disturbing, but nonetheless, something that refuses to leave my thoughts.

At Mankhurd, the crowd in the train had thinned considerably. A woman got in with a small girl of 7 years or so, and headed for the seat behind mine. "Shabbo, yahan aajao beta," she called to her daughter. Shabbo, obviously a bold girl with a mind of her own, came and stood near our seat instead, asking my neighbour at the window seat, "Aap kahan utrenge?". The woman said Sanpada, and Shabbo called out, "Ammi, main yahin baithoongi."

Her mother attempted a couple of more times to make her come and sit near her, but to no avail. I was starting to like the spirit of this girl!

Sanpada came, and Shabbo sat down next to me. She had a cute, expressive face, and as our eyes met, I smiled. She smiled right back, and we struck up a conversation. 

"Tumhara naam kya hai," I asked.

"Aapka naam kya hai?" she retorted.

"Shabbo," said I, with a mischievous look. An old trick, and one that never fails to amuse. I had attempted this ruse many a times to strike a friendship with a kid.

But in this case, it drew a reaction quite different from what I had expected. There was no dropped jaws and a surprised "Aapko kaise pata!", no indignant reaction saying "Nahi, woh toh mera naam hai!"... instead, she responded in a faintly pleased tone:

"Aap Musalman ho!?" 

To say I was taken aback totally with this response, would be an understatement. It felt like she had landed a juicy one on my solar plexus. I tried to think how to answer, and she repeated, in a slightly more pressing tone, "Musalman ho aap?"

I finally smiled rather lamely and said, "Nahi," in some strange way feeling I had disappointed her. "Aur mera naam Shabbo nahi hai - woh toh tumhara naam hai naa?"

We then continued the conversation for another 2-3 minutes, when suddenly she glanced back at her mother, who had obviously somehow called her to attention. From where I was sitting I could not see her mother or what she did, but it was obviously some kind of warning to stem the conversation. When I tried to continue talking, Shabbo put her finger on her lips to indicate to me that I should keep quiet.

For some strange reason, this little exchange derailed the sense of contentment and harmony I had felt at the beginning of the journey.

A little later, as I got up and stood near the exit, our eyes met again. I smiled and waved to her. After a glance back to assure herself that her mother was not looking, Shabbo raised her hand gently to her waist level (so as not to draw her mother's attention, presumably), and waved back, with a slight twitching of the corners of her mouth which was just barely recognizable as a smile.

We parted friends, and the sense of disquiet that had crept over me a little while ago abated a bit.

But the incident has stayed with me and raised many questions. Would Shabbo's mother have stopped her from talking to me if my answer to her question had been different? Why did Shabbo feel compelled to obey her mother in the matter of carrying on a conversation with me, but not in the matter of choosing a seat? But most importantly, how could the first question coming to the head of a 7-year old in that situation be that particular one?!

Is it that bigotry is a lesson that can be learnt a bit too easily and too early in life by a child if people around are not careful...?

Aunts aren't Gentlemen

For quite a few weeks now I have been itching to get back at a particular nephew of mine. And not without ample reason! He not only makes some preposterous statements on his blog, but also makes absolutely no attempt to make nephewly (yes, I just invented that word) overtures to me when I am in Delhi – steadfastly refusing to come and see me.

A small clarification here. In general aunts are of two types – and here I go by P G Wodehouse’s classification. The first category are the likes of Wodehouse’s Aunt Dahlia - the generally affable and indulgent kind, who pull the cheeks of nephews and nieces and slip a few bucks into their grubby hands when their parents are not looking. The other, more lethal kind, are the broken-bottle-chewing nephew-crushers of Wodehouse’s Aunt Agatha variety.  I like to think I belong to the Aunt Dahlia category, but when thwarted or annoyed, I can quickly turn into an Aunt Agatha at her nephew-crushing best.

In particular, I want to respond to one particular blog post of this nephew, where he waxes eloquent about the pleasures and virtues of being single… and how he is hounded by various near and  dear ones bent upon getting him married. Also, how in certain gatherings singles are looked upon with suspicion.

Well, to be honest, I give him this… he is right about the hounding relatives and the suspicious looks, but it’s quite justified. I might sound a little biased here – but for most single men, a large part of their free time is spent in drunken debauchery.  Just take a look at the pics posted on my nephew’s blog (http://deboozedabble.blogspot.com/2011/08/singularly-me_09.html) if you need proof. ‘Families’ generally don’t mix well with boisterous, single, drunk men. Haven’t you noticed, how some restaurants have clearly demarcated areas for ‘families’, so as to separate them from single men making a spectacle of themselves in an inebriated state!

And there is one thing I have noticed – men who keep claiming they want to remain single, have the tendency to suddenly go and jump into the lap of matrimony sometime between the ages of 40 and 55. The lucky(?) female usually being some bimbette they met at a party 2 weeks ago. Along with their discretion, these men suddenly lose all their astuteness, and end up marrying the most inappropriate woman. Single women, on the other hand, remain discerning throughout their life. They might remain single, but at least they don’t end up making a fool of themselves!

So, as my nephew approaches 40, I have absolutely no doubt he too will bite the bait sooner or later now – and I just have to bide my time till I receive that sms saying 'Got married to Sheila last evening' (or something of the sort), and brace myself to have that last, loud, vindicated laugh… 


Does that sound too cruel? To display so much mirth at a nephew's misfortune? But then, as Wodehouse said, Aunts aren't Gentlemen!

The Teen Commandments

In September this year, Amartya, my son, touched that magic number that he thinks allows him to drive, vote, and be legitimately defiant and rude towards parents. Yes, he turned 18.

We had thought there would be some changes once he turned 18. There is some change, but not the kind we expected! He continues in the same vein as before, and is simply more righteous about it… :-/

If he could hand us down 10 commandments on his 18^th birthday, this is how they would go:

1. Thou shalt NOT try to wake me up. Period. At 6 am, 9 am, 1 pm or any other time. I will wake up EXACTLY when I want to. And this goes for ALL days – holidays AND the days I have college.

2. Thou shalt NOT try to ask me about my attendance in class, assignments or exams. You shalt be duly informed if I flunk or have insufficient attendance.

3. Thou shalt make thyselves invisible when my friends are visiting. This goes for Ananya too - if possible lock her up in the toilet when my friends are visiting. Of course, it goes without saying that my friends and I shalt need a regular supply of snacks – I leave it to thee to figure out how to supply the snacks whilst thou continue to be invisible.

Teen Commandment #3: Thou shalt make thyselves invisible when my friends are visiting.

4. Thou shalt NOT ask unto me where I am going when I step out. Ask no difficult questions and thou shalt hear no lies. (This part goes for the next commandment too)

5. Thou shalt NOT ask unto me totally silly, irrelevant, and absolutely unanswerable questions - like ‘What time will you be back from the party?’

6. Thou shalt drop me (and pick me up) at/from wherever I want, and at any time I want - be it 6 in the morning, or 12 midnight, with a smile and without even a little hint of a grumble.

7. Thou shalt buy me my own vehicle ASAP after my 18^th birthday – it is my birthright, and moreover, all my friends have one.

8. Thou shalt not make ridiculous and irrational demands of me - like asking me to put my dirty clothes in the laundry basket instead of strewing them about in creative formations in and around my room.

9. Thou shalt not make even more ridiculous and absolutely irrational demands of me – like asking me to keep within the speed limit when I am driving.

10. In case any of the above commandments are violated, I shalt hold full rights to argue my case with extreme vehemence and without any heed to the words thou speaketh. And hence the last commandment: Thou shalt concede any argument that we have in my favour.

So you see, touching the magic number didn’t really convert him magically into a serious and responsible adult.

But there is hope. He has actually started doing his assignments. Sometimes he actually cleans up his cupboard. And occasionally he comes into our room to discuss the pros and cons of various prospective careers with his dad.

Lagta hai ab Dilli door nahin…

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’…