In that city that knows only extremes in everything, sweltering heat or chilly jackety weather, loud and lechy Jats or bonhomous Punjabis, overmade and poutish women or irritable gaali-mouthing aunties. Where barbers shave away at random street corners and where pretentious youths carry their laptops to Market Cafe or Big Chill to check gmail (fancy that) or write novels where "the atmosphere was moist with sexual tension".
This entry is about a series of events, nay encounters of my friends and randomly my own encounters with each other and with that unique variety of Indians, namely, Delhiites.
P~'s encounter with the concerned co-passenger
I'll start with the train journey, where P~ and I were quite oblivious of the world at large, of our scandalous conversation, and most of all, of one gentleman, if you will admit that gentlemen can burp very loudly, sound orgasmic when they drift gently to sleep.
We were then quite unmindful of this gentleman, and given that this was our first long session in quite a while, we had no thought to break up soon. Late in the evening, when we had had our fill, and were actually relaxing in a certain post-coital sense,
Uncle trips into saying: Accha, only one of you is having reservation, is it not?
Me (politely, almost civilly): Yeah, she's my friend and she's here.
Uncle in rising tempo (read temper): I am observing you, you are going on talking, and I was listening to your caanversation, you ARE INDISCIPLINed and disGUSTing, what naansense are you talking, you are giving madam here (and he points at a lady who wakes up reluctantly) a headache. You are...(tapers off, as he is not allowed to finish)
P~: You limit your right to objecting to our conversation. How dare you edit the contents of our conversation? You actually eavesdrop; lap up all that we say keenly and then you ask us to stop disturbing you.
P~ to me: I've had enough of this disgusting creature aunty, I'll see you later.
Me (shrilly and in vain): Aunty wait
P~ walks all the way to her compartment, some eight bogies away, fumes and can't stop fuming, comes huffing and puffing all the way back and throws herself (metaphorically and angrily) at concerned Uncle and says,
Yeah, I didn't want you to think, I got intimidated and ran away, I think you're disgusting, coarse, without an education to speak of.
Uncle (by this time, both his English and his courage have failed him, so he is almost defenseless): Haan haan maa, English bolnese kuch nahi hota, main educated nahin hoon, vohi bolre ho naan?
P~: Yes, uneducated, illiterate and a b, no a peasant (P~ tells me later her first choice was a boor, but she settled on a peasant obviously out of loyalty to and fond memory for V~)
G~’s encounter with the formidable Jat
B~, G~ and me had finished a very fulfilling round of Palika Bazar, that free porn-selling, shady and delicious subway and were gorging ourselves and this time, quite mindful of the formidable Jat (he could be nothing else, he had the belly and manners of one) sitting across, and being something of unrestrained people ourselves, couldn’t help pointing a little unsubtly at him
Me: Your city is full of supercilious bitches and creepy men like the Jat across us.
G~ (looking directly behind him and giggling): Yeah, quite.
Formidable Jat (very formidably and loudly): Yes boss, what is it, talk to me now.
G~ (almost girlishly if not churlishly): Oh nothing
Formidable Jat: Where are you working?
G~ (drawing himself to his full height): Errr…what?
Formidable Jat: I saw you staring and giggling, where are you working
G~ (failing to see the compelling logic): You are a very insecure man Sir, you are not appealing to us in a way we would want to stare.
Formidable Jat (now in full form): Now what are you suggesting Boss, that I am ugly?
G~: Ugly enough for us not to notice.
Formidable Jat: I’ll tell you what (comes right across to G~) and instead of telling G~ slaps him quite hard across the face.
I shall for the genteel readers of this blog, edit the rest of the conversation, but I can’t help adding that an adrenaline-driven G~ managed to stand his own, or slap his own, and the waiters had to interfere and extricate one from the other, after which the Jat made a hurried exit. Later reports of course say that the Jat called the next day, admitted to have been quite alcohol-pumped and offers an apology, but these reports remain to this day unconfirmed.
P's encounter with A~ and B~
P~ was meeting A~ and B~ for the first time and as she reported later, was left feeling quite overwhelmed by the experience, as A~ at least had lived up to the descriptions of him so beautifully that she didn’t believe fact to be different from fiction any more.
Before P~ arrives
A~ to me: Yeah, so this friend of yours, man, describe her (when A~ asks you to describe a woman, he wants only the “bare” details)
Me (angelically): What do you want to know?
A~: Yeah, what makes her interesting, is it her persona, her ravishing looks, is she well-read, does she listen to good music?
G~ to A~ : She is a Mall (as if that were self-explanatory)
A~ (quite needlessly): Oh, I love Malls…
G~: And she is from Hech.C.U (G~ and all the others say I can’t say Ech.C.U. to save my life)
Me: (a little earnestly): By the way, why should she have ravishing looks, listen to good music or any of that, isn’t it enough she is MY friend (stretching my luck really)
A~ (ponderously):Ah, but I don’t bring any of my friends and expect you to warm up to them because they are my friends, like, COME on, man
P~ drops in, swishing her bag and phone a little self-consciously on the table.
A looks a little bashful, and fails to make small talk and so returns to being his boisterous self, ignoring her completely, but later confesses to G~ that he found P~ to be quite the thing, and as “the mysterious woman of strange allure”. P~ of course peevishly says that she cut ice with A~ only when she quoted the Jabberwocky.
G~'s encounter with the eunuch or the eunuch's encounter with G~?
We were all sprawled out quite blissfully at India Gate, P~ and I had finally bored even ourselves gloating about India Gate, when a very pretty eunuch, yes a really pretty and solitary eunuch stepped right in front of us. (She was quite something, very mild-mannered, not aggressive at all, inviting smile and all, and as G~ put it, had it not been for the fact that she WAS a eunuch, she could have passed off as a randomly pretty woman albeit with a deep-throated baritone.)
G~ (a little cautiously): Nahin kuch paise vaise nahin he
The eunuch: Are kuch to hoga, dedona, and makes a pass at him with her toe.
G~ (hotly): Bola na kuch nahin hai, jaaon abhi
The eunuch: Ladki jaisi gussa, kya chupke rakha hai udhar, and points at
G~ (spluttering): Jaati hai ki nahi?
The eunuch (reluctantly passes, but determined to deliver the coup de grace)
says: Kabhi tera phutdis ooncha nahin hoga (May you never have an erection)
And here I shall end my narrative…B~ who was present in most of these encounters, you might think, was a silent spectator, but that’s just a euphemism for wily instigator, so don’t you be trusting witnesses who tell you B~ is a harmless guy or that he is a “poet in the garden”.
This one is for G~ and B~, both of whom were beautiful hosts, where beautiful is an adjective that qualifies them as hosts only...