So I realized recently that March 2 was my three year anniversary in India. Dear God. Where has all the time gone? Ha.
Anyway, in honor of that, here is a list (in no particular order) of the many, many things I have loved about this country/city.
1. AUTOS. Listen, people, if I ever write some kind of tell all memoir about my years in Delhi, pretty much every other page will feature some kind of ode or paean to Delhi auto drivers. They are rumored to the most cut-throat, competitive, cabalistic, crass demographic in Delhi. These things are all true! But last night, I needed to take an auto from my office to one of the embassies, a route that normally costs about Rs. 50. The auto driver finally - after much haggling - agreed to take me for a metered price, plus an additional Rs. 10 just for the heck of it. But going by the tried and true maxim that he who cheats you, must cheat you by as wide a margin as possible, the driver took me via the most roundabout, confusing route in an attempt to run up the meter. After about twenty minutes, I finally realized what he was doing. I hadn't eaten anything in a few hours and was pretty cranky, so I told him to stop halfway and got out of his auto. It was nearly 9 at night, and pretty dark out, but in the manner of Delhi girls everywhere I was more eager to prove a point than to protect my (anyway, not particularly existent) honor. "Ma'am, it's only another 2 kilometres," he said, beginning to look chagrined. "Does this strike you as the right thing to do?" I asked, melodramatically, pulling change from my wallet. (Literally, for those who speak local languages, I said, yeh aapko accha lagtha hain?) Looking downright ashamed, the driver shrugged. "Mujhe aisa paisa nahi chahiye", (Literally: I don't want money like this), he replied, handing back the extra 10 I was giving him. It was like one of those tense moments in a Hindi drama when the patriarch points at the errant hero and says "I will never allow you to marry my daughter" (a promise that, once the hero proves his mettle, the father tearfully breaks)
Anyway, I think it should be noted that in a country where politicians embezzle a high percentage of the nation's GDP, an auto driver gave me back Rs. 10 when I questioned his honor. Or at least, that's how I prefer to interpret this little parable.
2. DELHI PEOPLE. When I decided to move to Delhi from Mumbai, I was treated to frightening tales of how the streets of Delhi were inhabited mainy by uncouth, lecherous, angry young men and argumentative, ungenerous women. This may explain why, the moment I arrived, I really felt like I'd found my tribe. I still remember one time I was stuck in a traffic jam, the cause of which I couldn't immediately determine. Eventually I hopped out of my auto and walked ahead several metres. It turns out, a man and his wife were standing on their balcony having a loud argument with one of their servants, who was standing in the street outside of their house. Over the course of the past half hour, their argument had swelled in intensity and entertainment value until it had attracted an audience of nearly twenty spectators, all lingering in a loose semicircle nearby. Nor were these spectators disguising their interest in the events going on. At one point, the wife let loose a particuarly fervent string of abuses. "Slap him!" a supportive housewife shouted from a next-door balcony. "Divorce her!" replied a particularly hidebound husband from the circle near me. "Pay your servants more!" shouted a put-upon maidservant from another corner. Meanwhile, the three people whose 'domestic dispute' this actually was continued sparring. "What are they fighting about?" I asked another passer-by, my actual work forgotten.
My point is, no matter how obnoxious you're being in Delhi, there is someone next to you who is being even more embarrassing and inappropriate. So feel free to get it all out. The streets of this city are better than therapy. (I am NOT being sarcastic.)
3. CONSTRUCTION. I once read a review of an action movie in which the critic - clearly missing the point of the genre - said of the hero "for him, saving the world inevitably means destroying half of it." The agents of Delhi's state and local governments have adopted the same approach.
No drain is too critical, no sidewalk too thronged, no thoroughfare too arterial - to be blocked, torn up or generally despoiled in the name of "progress." As a result, my daily jaunts around the city take me through landscapes almost surreal in their unfamiliarity. There are days when, snapping out of a daze, I'll notice entire storefronts that seem to have sprung up overnight, occasionally bearing signs like the following: "Modern Hair Bazaar - sexy and stylish. For low fee, we also cut children!" Roads no longer lead where they used to. It's all very inconvenient, but also very exciting. I grew up in suburban America, where a 'landscape change' meant that Olive Garden had taken over a spot that had previously been a Red Lobster. Delhi is, as the kids used to say, a whole different ballgame.
The notable downside is when I notice entire families living in abandoned or active construction sites. These are usually the construction workers. I guess in India, it takes a village to raise a metro track.
4. RUMORS. A friend of mine who moved from India to the United States said that one of the biggest benefits of moving was "people no longer talked about" everything she did, all the time. I happily dismissed this as hyperbole until I'd been in Delhi for about a year, and my erstwhile landlady asked me over for chai. I figured she wanted to get to know us. How right I was. The conversation went something like this:
Landlady: (after about five minutes of polite chitchat about my job) So I see your other roommate going out all the time.
Me: I mean we all have pretty active lives, I guess.
Her: Right, but I notice that she goes out all. the. time.
Me: No more than normal, really...I mean, she works...
Her: (adjusting a massive gold hairband that reads 'CHANEL' is large letters) Yes, but don't you worry that she's unsafe going out like that?
Me: Like what?
Her: You know, at night? Alone?
Me: Oh...
Her: With all those men...
Me: Men?
Her: So many, many men...
Me: You think so?
Her: Every night I see her, at 3 or 4 am, standing in the road with strange men. Every night, different men!
Me: What are you doing awake every night at 3 am?
Her: (not hearing the question) And don't you think she drinks a lot? I guess you wouldn't notice, though, being an American. So tell me, do you have a boyfriend?
And believe me, when it comes it gossip, caste is truly no bar. Many a morning I'd wake up to the joyous sounds of my maids gossiping loudly about other women's husbands and their wandering eyes/alcoholism. Sometimes, they'd gossip to me, like the time one maid told me that the other had once been a "thief" and her husband "worked in a factory" with some kind of meaningful wink that I still don't understand.
But absolutely nothing gets a Delhi-ite's blood going like combining two of our favorite pastimes: gossip and name-dropping. Here's a representative conversation:
Him: The thing is, there's so much money in prostitution in Dehi.
Me: Really?
Him: Of course. All the high-end stuff. You just don't know about it.
Me: Is it really all that organized?
Him: Oh yeah. All the high-end prostitution in Delhi is run by [famous Indian politician].
Me: How do you know this?
Him: Boss, I used to go to school with his daughter's best friend. Everybody who knows him, knows it. There's just no proof.
Me: Really?
Him: Go ahead and ask any crime reporter.
Later on, I did in fact ask a crime reporter, who said: "Oh, that politician? I don't think he's involved in the business side of it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure he samples the wares...everyone who knows him, knows that."
How much of this gossip is true? How much of it is due to us being a nation of frustrated soap opera actors? I simply do not know. The one cardinal rule of gossip is to never call a Delhi-ite out for references; after all, this is gossip, not the journal Nature. The best you'll get is a shady once over and the mumbled words, 'everybody knows...' The best Delhi rumors are like the famous curries in our dhabas: they're delicious precisely because you don't know exactly what mysterious masalas have been added, and by whom. (And really, what's the difference between masala and vegetable, in the end?)
5. DELHI AT NIGHT. Despite the aforementioned greatness of Delhi's residents, there's nothing like being out after all of them have gone home. I have fond memories of riding through the South Delhi streets on the back of someone or the other's motorcycle, zipping past random Mughal monuments (covered, equally, in bas-relief and bird shit) on one of the (few) nights a year when the weather is beautiful. At times like that, South Delhi feels like one of the largest communities in the world: its broad roads, green streets and guarded bungalows suggest benign exclusivity. The land that the colonists forgot. The roads, at least, still belong to those who dare. (Besides the cool air, there's the clear and present suggestion of danger - but there are fewer guns in Delhi than there are in DC. Or so I hear.)
Anyway, in honor of that, here is a list (in no particular order) of the many, many things I have loved about this country/city.
1. AUTOS. Listen, people, if I ever write some kind of tell all memoir about my years in Delhi, pretty much every other page will feature some kind of ode or paean to Delhi auto drivers. They are rumored to the most cut-throat, competitive, cabalistic, crass demographic in Delhi. These things are all true! But last night, I needed to take an auto from my office to one of the embassies, a route that normally costs about Rs. 50. The auto driver finally - after much haggling - agreed to take me for a metered price, plus an additional Rs. 10 just for the heck of it. But going by the tried and true maxim that he who cheats you, must cheat you by as wide a margin as possible, the driver took me via the most roundabout, confusing route in an attempt to run up the meter. After about twenty minutes, I finally realized what he was doing. I hadn't eaten anything in a few hours and was pretty cranky, so I told him to stop halfway and got out of his auto. It was nearly 9 at night, and pretty dark out, but in the manner of Delhi girls everywhere I was more eager to prove a point than to protect my (anyway, not particularly existent) honor. "Ma'am, it's only another 2 kilometres," he said, beginning to look chagrined. "Does this strike you as the right thing to do?" I asked, melodramatically, pulling change from my wallet. (Literally, for those who speak local languages, I said, yeh aapko accha lagtha hain?) Looking downright ashamed, the driver shrugged. "Mujhe aisa paisa nahi chahiye", (Literally: I don't want money like this), he replied, handing back the extra 10 I was giving him. It was like one of those tense moments in a Hindi drama when the patriarch points at the errant hero and says "I will never allow you to marry my daughter" (a promise that, once the hero proves his mettle, the father tearfully breaks)
Anyway, I think it should be noted that in a country where politicians embezzle a high percentage of the nation's GDP, an auto driver gave me back Rs. 10 when I questioned his honor. Or at least, that's how I prefer to interpret this little parable.
2. DELHI PEOPLE. When I decided to move to Delhi from Mumbai, I was treated to frightening tales of how the streets of Delhi were inhabited mainy by uncouth, lecherous, angry young men and argumentative, ungenerous women. This may explain why, the moment I arrived, I really felt like I'd found my tribe. I still remember one time I was stuck in a traffic jam, the cause of which I couldn't immediately determine. Eventually I hopped out of my auto and walked ahead several metres. It turns out, a man and his wife were standing on their balcony having a loud argument with one of their servants, who was standing in the street outside of their house. Over the course of the past half hour, their argument had swelled in intensity and entertainment value until it had attracted an audience of nearly twenty spectators, all lingering in a loose semicircle nearby. Nor were these spectators disguising their interest in the events going on. At one point, the wife let loose a particuarly fervent string of abuses. "Slap him!" a supportive housewife shouted from a next-door balcony. "Divorce her!" replied a particularly hidebound husband from the circle near me. "Pay your servants more!" shouted a put-upon maidservant from another corner. Meanwhile, the three people whose 'domestic dispute' this actually was continued sparring. "What are they fighting about?" I asked another passer-by, my actual work forgotten.
My point is, no matter how obnoxious you're being in Delhi, there is someone next to you who is being even more embarrassing and inappropriate. So feel free to get it all out. The streets of this city are better than therapy. (I am NOT being sarcastic.)
3. CONSTRUCTION. I once read a review of an action movie in which the critic - clearly missing the point of the genre - said of the hero "for him, saving the world inevitably means destroying half of it." The agents of Delhi's state and local governments have adopted the same approach.
No drain is too critical, no sidewalk too thronged, no thoroughfare too arterial - to be blocked, torn up or generally despoiled in the name of "progress." As a result, my daily jaunts around the city take me through landscapes almost surreal in their unfamiliarity. There are days when, snapping out of a daze, I'll notice entire storefronts that seem to have sprung up overnight, occasionally bearing signs like the following: "Modern Hair Bazaar - sexy and stylish. For low fee, we also cut children!" Roads no longer lead where they used to. It's all very inconvenient, but also very exciting. I grew up in suburban America, where a 'landscape change' meant that Olive Garden had taken over a spot that had previously been a Red Lobster. Delhi is, as the kids used to say, a whole different ballgame.
The notable downside is when I notice entire families living in abandoned or active construction sites. These are usually the construction workers. I guess in India, it takes a village to raise a metro track.
4. RUMORS. A friend of mine who moved from India to the United States said that one of the biggest benefits of moving was "people no longer talked about" everything she did, all the time. I happily dismissed this as hyperbole until I'd been in Delhi for about a year, and my erstwhile landlady asked me over for chai. I figured she wanted to get to know us. How right I was. The conversation went something like this:
Landlady: (after about five minutes of polite chitchat about my job) So I see your other roommate going out all the time.
Me: I mean we all have pretty active lives, I guess.
Her: Right, but I notice that she goes out all. the. time.
Me: No more than normal, really...I mean, she works...
Her: (adjusting a massive gold hairband that reads 'CHANEL' is large letters) Yes, but don't you worry that she's unsafe going out like that?
Me: Like what?
Her: You know, at night? Alone?
Me: Oh...
Her: With all those men...
Me: Men?
Her: So many, many men...
Me: You think so?
Her: Every night I see her, at 3 or 4 am, standing in the road with strange men. Every night, different men!
Me: What are you doing awake every night at 3 am?
Her: (not hearing the question) And don't you think she drinks a lot? I guess you wouldn't notice, though, being an American. So tell me, do you have a boyfriend?
And believe me, when it comes it gossip, caste is truly no bar. Many a morning I'd wake up to the joyous sounds of my maids gossiping loudly about other women's husbands and their wandering eyes/alcoholism. Sometimes, they'd gossip to me, like the time one maid told me that the other had once been a "thief" and her husband "worked in a factory" with some kind of meaningful wink that I still don't understand.
But absolutely nothing gets a Delhi-ite's blood going like combining two of our favorite pastimes: gossip and name-dropping. Here's a representative conversation:
Him: The thing is, there's so much money in prostitution in Dehi.
Me: Really?
Him: Of course. All the high-end stuff. You just don't know about it.
Me: Is it really all that organized?
Him: Oh yeah. All the high-end prostitution in Delhi is run by [famous Indian politician].
Me: How do you know this?
Him: Boss, I used to go to school with his daughter's best friend. Everybody who knows him, knows it. There's just no proof.
Me: Really?
Him: Go ahead and ask any crime reporter.
Later on, I did in fact ask a crime reporter, who said: "Oh, that politician? I don't think he's involved in the business side of it. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure he samples the wares...everyone who knows him, knows that."
How much of this gossip is true? How much of it is due to us being a nation of frustrated soap opera actors? I simply do not know. The one cardinal rule of gossip is to never call a Delhi-ite out for references; after all, this is gossip, not the journal Nature. The best you'll get is a shady once over and the mumbled words, 'everybody knows...' The best Delhi rumors are like the famous curries in our dhabas: they're delicious precisely because you don't know exactly what mysterious masalas have been added, and by whom. (And really, what's the difference between masala and vegetable, in the end?)
5. DELHI AT NIGHT. Despite the aforementioned greatness of Delhi's residents, there's nothing like being out after all of them have gone home. I have fond memories of riding through the South Delhi streets on the back of someone or the other's motorcycle, zipping past random Mughal monuments (covered, equally, in bas-relief and bird shit) on one of the (few) nights a year when the weather is beautiful. At times like that, South Delhi feels like one of the largest communities in the world: its broad roads, green streets and guarded bungalows suggest benign exclusivity. The land that the colonists forgot. The roads, at least, still belong to those who dare. (Besides the cool air, there's the clear and present suggestion of danger - but there are fewer guns in Delhi than there are in DC. Or so I hear.)
Anika I totally loved it. You write so bloody good. Check my blog too.
ReplyDeletewww.omgdelhi.blogspot.com
Auto-wallahs and Rumours are the specialities of Delhi! No one can miss it...
ReplyDeleteBlue-line buses could have been another thing you would have loved(being sarc) if you were here few more years back..