Delhiites are good listeners. See, when I was driving around North Delhi, I was listening to radio. To some braindead bumbling fuckwit radio jockey actually, who thought the medical students stir was funny. Everytime I’d change the station, there’d be jabber. I don’t think anyone has told radio station head honchos in Delhi that they ACTUALLY really have to play music. They haven’t the foggiest idea that playing music, and NOT incessant chatter, is the karmic goal of a radio station. And no one seems to be complaining either, which means Delhiites are good listeners. So when I had to go down to CP, I chose not to drive and took the Metro instead. It took me 25 minutes by Metro and another 57 minute walk in the blistering dry heat, thanks to a confidently-lying-dickwad who told me that Nirula’s was just a block away, though it clearly wasn’t. By the time I had walked the entire inner ring of Connaught Circle or Quadrangle or Nightingale or whatever the fuck its called, I was thinking that this whole effort would only be worth it if it resulted in a story for my grandchildren. Where 50 years later, I’d be sitting by the fireplace on a cold snowy night in Bombay (global warming and all) with my aging-gracefully wife making hot chocolate for my adorable grandchild who’d be sitting on my knee wide eyed listening to me go ‘And beta, your mommy wouldn’t have happened, and then you wouldn’t have happened, if dada hadn’t gone to Costa Coffee that godforsaken hot summer afternoon by the metro and then walked for 300 years and then met your grandma.’ Yup, by the time I’d hit my 55th minute walking, this trek across a giant sauna with a broken temperature control lever seemed worth it IF ONLY it resulted in another story for my collection marked ‘For Grandchildren’. So anyway, don’t ask me what’s good at Costa Coffee coz I didn’t drink anything. But, my grandchildren will be pleased to know that I DID meet two potential grandmothers, one of whom was really cute in a Bridget Jones-meets-Carrie Bradshaw way (lets call her Mrs. Jaya Bachchan) and the other one was disarmingly sweet in an Irawati way; Irawati being my art partner of 2 years 9 years ago when I was in advertising. Ira was the kind who would come to me, bitch about someone irrelevant for 8 minutes and then mid-conversation say Chal picture dekhne jayenge with an excited spark in her eyes, like picture dekhna was the answer to all the world’s problems. It is, actually. Then there was a third girl who doesn’t count because she was leaving our glorious country. I don’t blame her, if you lived in Delhi for 5 years you’d probably want to leave the world altogether. So Jaya and Ira and Country-leaver and yours truly spoke about Bollywood and Bosses and Cricketers and shacking up with Kunal Kapoor in Goa while selling some nondescript stuff, and a lot of fun came till it was time to depart and find a shorter route to the nearest Metro. By the way, did you know there are people who use a Black Umbrella for protection from the sun? I've seen people do it only in London, but then there's usually no sun there in the first place. And as a parting shot, Grandmother potential candidate 1 of 2 urges me to become famous soon because ‘it would increase traffic on my blog.’ Er, Splendid. Ever since I was a little boy of 2 I wanted scores of people to spam my blog, and now my childhood dream would hopefully be fulfilled. Getting back home and the ensuing family affair at hand was fun too, despite the family. Surprisingly, the same folks who would rile me and samjhao me and give fundas on life the universe and everything to me 9 years ago when I attended my last family thing were now asking me for advice on their children’s careers and health habits (?!). One gentleman who 9 years ago had asked me to get married to some nondescript girl and had lost his head when I had politely declined after explaining my stance to him, nodded and bought my point when I told him the EXACT same thing I’d said 9 years ago. People who then thought I was immature and foolish and rebellious and the black sheep and a pathetic loser and who looked at me haughtily and spoke to me like I was Adam Sandler in Big Daddy, now probably still think of me that way, but they kept a 10 meter distance and smiled unnervingly when I’d happen to look their way. One can safely conclude that once some people see you on TV and read about you in the papers, in a strange unexplainable way you become credible. Compare this with my aunt Sangeeta who’s the exact opposite of these thali ke baingans. She doted on me and pampered me to bits then and she’s the same even now, which is the only reason why I come to bloody DELHI of all places when I need a break. Um, not the only reason, my cousin Yashu rocks too. She throws rocks at me, that is. I was hoping that at the very least there’d be eye candy, this being a social function and all and notorious for matchmaking, rumblings of which I could observe in the people who were inclined that way, but tough luck. It had slipped my mind that we were Marwaris, and a pretty Marwari woman is like the cricket world cup. One comes along every 4 years. But wonder of wonders, one was spotted but my happiness was shortlived when I realized that she was a cousin of my cousin’s. After that I was ridden with guilt of incest everytime I’d as much as look at her. But the kids in the clan all love me, I’m happy to report. My 2 and something year old neice Priyanshi would come up to me and say ‘Kuku’, which meant she wanted Kurkure, and I would pick her up in my arms and go buy her some. My nephew Ishan would drag me outside to a traveling toy shop, and I would look at the monstrous toys and make some excuse to not buy it for him. My 6 month old nephew Abhyudaya would come into my arms gladly and start violently scratching the back of my neck and pulling at my beard. And the first time my 6 month old nephew Vaibhav saw me he cackled and laughed and smiled, but after that whenever I tried to take him in my arms he bawled his head off. A behaviour previously demonstrated by my ex girlfriends. I was greeted with terrible news when I got back. But this time around, I'm not disappointed or disheartened or tired or drained. Maybe it was the walk in the sauna, maybe it was Jaya and Ira, maybe it was Yashu and Sangeeta chachi, maybe it was little Priyanshi and her dead pan 'Don't take me for a kid' look, maybe it was my two gorgeous bhabhis who are so incredibly sweet and innocent that I ruled out flirting with them the second I met them, maybe it was my litle neice Riddhima dancing like a maniac, her arms flailing about and her head bobbing like an american rapper on crack oblivious to everyone around, maybe it was being treated like a semi-celebrity by people i'd never met before, maybe it was the cute cousin of cousin, maybe it was running around helter-skelter with kids whose parents once ran helter-skelter with me, maybe it was the pretty girl in the metro who smiled back shyly when I smiled at her.
Maybe it's Delhi. I was sitting at Costa Café and listening to Jaya and Ira bitch about their bosses when they played an old favourite of mine, one of those songs that I’d forgotten about. It’s not particularly relevant to this post, but I’ll leave you with it anyway coz it’s a fantastic song. "And in the morning I'll be gone away, all the things are left behind If you need me I'll come night and day, let's stop the hands of time." 'Love is on the way' - Saigon Kick
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