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Friday, February 17, 2012

I love to be a part of Delhi.

Extreme of emotions, extreme of climates.

To get irked at the silliest of provocations seems the primordial paradigm in Delhi. People have abundant affinity to spill the venom by implicating others’ sisters in selected series of swear-words.

The light is red, and red attracts. It’s a very usual sight to find an army of cars, parading from different directions, trying to speed up and cross the intersection, even when the traffic light is red and the traffic policeman is in the uniform.

Graffiti, aimed at simplifying the purposes of DNA Testing, takes a high on the back side of most of the moving 3 wheelers. Pappu Te Lucky De Papa Di Gaddi… and what not. Even the 4 wheelers don’t fall behind the name game; the imaginations become more urbane, and more Haryanvi, not necessarily in that order.

Street-side food stalls. Crispy, succulent, cheap and Pan-Indian.

No matter its day or night, people would look preoccupied. Finicky auto drivers, stubborn clerks, fussy house maids often drown the day in the morning hours itself.

Arrange me a pass; I belong to so and so family. I sometimes wonder how the organizers plan out for a profit. It’s more of a status symbol, a habit indeed, that a lot of affluent or well-connected Delhites are addicted to.

Gaudy weddings. Ostentatious Karwa Chauth celebrations. Omnium gatherum. Protuberant bellies. Flamboyant flyovers. Delhi-belly (made famous by the celluloid adaptation).

Most of the mobile phones don’t work properly in mute mode; hence, when in doubt, keep the ‘General’ profile activated. And this is a phone for which you paid through your nose, so why not talk loud.

Road-rages. Jungle of serpentine metro-tracks. The poor migrants from UP, Bihar working relentlessly at the construction sites to earn one square meal.

Centuries old commercial establishments that haven’t deteriorated in quality of their products.

A moderate amount of alcohol intake is the antidote to most of the worldly problems encountered during the day; this is the axiom by which a lot of Delhites live by.

Ear-splitting noise of fire-crackers the moment Indian Cricket Team wins a crucial match.

The devotees of rumour-mill. The gossipers. The gastronomics. The snazzy feat of cars playing loudest possible club-rock during the dark hours.

The Ice cream carts doing brisk business in the night, irrelevant to the month of the year.

Never-say-die spirit that virtually inhabits the tissues of Delhites. The day is not far away when word ‘Jugaad’ would be included in the Oxford Dictionary with appropriate esteem.

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