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’…

The Visitor

Just got back from the farm in Seoni... as usual, an action packed visit - so much to share, but first the story I am simply bursting to tell!! It just has to be told quickly you see, otherwise it'll lose its sting...

It was the first time that I stayed at the farm during the rains. And I guess just as the monsoons are the peak season for tourism in the places around Mumbai – with hordes  of people making their way to Lonavla, Khandala and thelikes, it was peak tourist season at our farm in Bhatiwara too.

For the fauna of Seoni, that is.

Our friend Gouthami was coming over to the farm for a couple of days, and I had decided to join her, having missed seeing the farm in all its glory during the last monsoons.(Here is a pic from last year for ref)

Well, we didn't get to see the butterfly colonies this time (probably a little early for them), but we did have a whole lot of other visitors peeping into the mud hut Gouthami and I were sharing. There was a rather frisky centipede, a large number of fat black ants, a frog so small that at first I thought it was a cricket, and at a rough estimate, about 126 earthworms - all crawling, creeping or hopping right into our room. To have a dekko at us, from the looks of it.

But the most important visitor of all was a large scorpion, making its way rather grandiosely from a corner to the centre of our room, when we spotted it… I, of course, made absolutely no pretensions of bravery and scampered right out of the room with a loud yell. Gouthami, being made of stronger stuff, maintained her decorum and ambled out in a more dignified manner.

A young lad, the son of one of the farm-hands, volunteered to get the scorpion out of our room. As soon as he could stop rolling on the floor with laughter on seeing our reaction to the scorpion, that is.

Room de-scorpioned (by the brave lad carrying it out on a stick), we tried to go to sleep… I chose the ‘samadhi’ option – covering myself entirely from head to toe with a thick quilt, even though it was rather warm – in the hope that no creepy-crawly would be able to make its way inside the samadhi. My nervousness was contagious, but Gouthami tried to shake it off by declaring (in a tone that I think was supposed to be reassuring), “Scorpions stings don’t kill, you know - they are just extremely, extremely painful.”

Not the least bit reassured, I continued in my samadhified state – coming up for air occasionally, and not getting a wink of sleep, naturally.

Needless to say, all the locals were totally unfazed by the incident. All these creatures are very much a part of their lives. Even as we became extra wary after the sighting, shining the flashlight on the floor to check it carefully before stepping down from our cots at night, these people continued sitting around on the floor in their huts, chatting merrily. The sighting was an absolute non-incident for them!

By the next morning, things were back to normal even for us– with Gouthami rueing the fact that she did not think quickly enough to get some nifty close-ups of the regal creature before dashing out of the room, and both of us fondly remembering Nissim Ezekiel’s classic, ‘The Night of the Scorpion’.

Whatever else, the night visitor gave me a good opportunity to tell stories and boast about the sighting to all those who cared to listen. Gouthami tried to dampen my spirited story-telling, by raising one eyebrow and asking, “How big, how big?!” with a highly skeptical air every time I said “The scorpion was THIS big..’’ and displayed its size to the audience...

Tch! Some people just don't believe in artistic license. :-/

"I saw a human being last evening - she was THIS big... and yellow......."

Anyway, it was a rare encounter, and I am not going to miss any opportunity in future to tell this story... exaggerations and all. And I guess the scorpion is not likely to forget it either - the day a 1.7 m tall human being turned pale at its sight, and scooted at top speed...

Childwise

KidCommandment#1


Last week, Ananya, my 10 year-old informed me that I just have to take her to watch the just released potboiler, ‘Ready’.

While I do admit Salman’s patented brand of puerility is sometimes good for a laugh or two, I was quite up to my gills in it after Dabangg. Let me put it this way, I was not ‘Ready’-ready just yet.

So I hemmed and hawed and said,“Umm… don’t know how the film is going to be. Let us take a look at the papers and see what Shubhra periamma has to say about it.”  (The periamma in question here being my sis-in-law Shubhra Gupta, a highly regarded film critic with the Express group.)

“Ya, let’s”, she said. So I did that, and duly reported back: “Periamma says the film is a dud... pretty silly and mindless, and not funny at all.”

“Shubhra periamma said it’s silly?” said Ananya, with a furrowed brow.

“Yes”, I said.

“And not funny?” The furrow deepened.

“Yup... not a bit”, said I, barely able to hide a triumphant smile - I might not have to endure ‘Ready’ after all!

The furrow cleared and she broke into a wide smile…“Oh great! Phir toh mujhe pakka achchi lagegi film! Book the tickets, na!”

The rationale, as you must have guessed, being: ‘If a knowledgeable adult pans the film, it must be a great film for juveniles of all shapes and sizes.’ Beat that for logic!

Amazing, how kids instinctively suspect/dislike/reject anything and everything that adults close to them choose to advocate! And the other way round, too.

And I remembered incidences from my childhood… I remember rejecting ice cream - yes you heard that right! (I know those of you who have seen me in recent times tucking into a 1-litre tub of Natural's jamun ice cream or Baskin Robbin's dark chocolate will find this rather hard to believe... :-/)

But seriously, I grew up totally hating ice cream – because the gaggle of 9 adults at home tried to make sure I only had 'healthy' ice creams (Kwality ke vanilla cups to be precise, which they called the ‘doodh-wala ice cream’). My heart, on the other hand, longed for those 20-paise wala orange and cola flavoured iced lollies, which the adults back at home claimed were made with ‘gutter ka pani’. But my tongue would literally hang out at the very sight of those lollies in all those interesting colours and flavours, while I felt like puking if I so much as even smelt a ‘doodh-wala’ ice cream.

Which brings us to…

KidCommandment#1: Anything that adults recommend strongly is uncool and eminently useless.

And the natural corollary to this: Anything that adults discourage strongly is worthy of exploration.

There are other pearls of wisdom that my brats have taught me over the years, which I will put forth in the coming days... those of you who have kids of your own, do share your gems too - along with your learnings, naturally - share your  own KidCommandments!