Category: Delhi

Day 4 of 21daysOfLockdown

Day 4. Day 9. Whatever. Point is, I am indoors for a few days now (except grocery runs) and today I just did not want to do anything at all. I mean no work, no tracking, no timesheets, no Asana, no worry of the new normal in a post-Covid world, no stress about what I am eating and definitely no thinking about how I could be doing more in this time that all of us have at hands. 

So I did not. 
It’s 7:59 PM in the evening as I write this trust me I have not done a single thing that I would do on a normal day. For starters, I haven’t showered. I haven’t cooked today (phew! what a relief). I had two Diet Cokes (and the supply is getting exhausted now). And I have parked myself in front of the TV and been on a marathon. I’ve seen two already, on to the third one as we speak. 
The only thing I’ll do is upload a pic on Insta. I don’t want to break that streak. 
Oh, and this post. Of course. 
So here’s a thread that I wrote on twitter the other day when I was on my way back from Delhi. This was just 2 days before the Junta Curfew drama happened and about a week before the Lemme reproduce it here (and edit a bit to give it more context).

[START]On my way to Mumbai, settled on 11A. A zillion thoughts are clouding my head. Merit a blogpost but because there’s nothing else to do as I wait for the takeoff, here’s a thread. Primarily, me talking to myself. You know, like writing to the dear diary?

1. First things first. What is home? I was born in Haryana. Grew up in Delhi. I lived across India for a few months in tiny spurts. Now settled in Mumbai. Since 2014. Always maintained that Mumbai is home. But Delhi is where I belong. 

Or vice versa. Maybe. 
You know, confused millennial.
To add context, parents are back in Delhi. Significant relations (friends, co-conspirators, business partners, colleagues, loose connections, flings, etc) are mostly in Mumbai. Relatives are spread across the world. Not too attached to them.

Work is primarily Mumbai. All passion projects (except writing that can happen from anywhere) are Mumbai. 

Most importantly, I find Mumbai conducive to my lifestyle – professionals, creative kinds, hustlers, convenient, etc.
So, Mumbai looks like home. No? Maybe. Maybe not. 
You see, confused millennial.
2. Why am I going back to Mumbai? 
Isn’t Mumbai my home? But then home is where your people are. Or where the work is.

Most of the people that I want to see often (even though they are a mere handful) are indeed in Mumbai but are self-isolating. So physical proximity doesn’t really help. Plus I am not the video calls kinds. I love my handshakes and hugs and pats on the backs.

Work has come to a grinding halt. You see events and films. Marketing consulting is getting fucked as well. Slowly. Thing is, what I do is a discretionary expense at best. After all, everyone “knows” marketing. Yes, I do add value and yes it’s important. But a lot of it requires F2F interactions to deliver. But in times of Covid-19, these would get few and far between. As they say, winter is coming.


So there’s no real reason to go to Mumbai. Or stay back in Delhi for that matter. Thing is, life as we know it, will change. This IS the black swan event that @nntaleb has talked about often.

3. What about my people? 

I don’t know. While am a very benevolent, empathetic person, I have less than 5 people that I really really care for. The kinds I’d considered dying for. These 4-5 will be ok. And they anyway don’t rely on me for anything apart from emotional support that I am not too good at giving.

The larger community, world that I want to change, make better, I don’t know what would happen to them! And come to think of it, they don’t really know me. And I don’t do zilch for them right now. I just have a vague idea that I want to make this world a better place. Too much wishful thinking. 

You see, ambitious millennial. 

What about work? 

Well, post-Covid, people like me that rely on conversations and meetings to earn our bread would be forced to re-look at how we work. This is already happening in less than 10 days since I wrote this. 

My strength is opening doors with strangers and connecting them with others (people, ideas, etc) that add value to everyone. You know, scout. Or a connector, if you will. In the post-Covid world, this skill will move online. 

And I suck at that! 
My work will change. 
The way I work will change. As a result, my lifestyle will change. In fact, am already thinking about the next steps with life. I haven’t trusted a lot on savings and it’s a hard and long few months ahead of me.

Of course, things may come under control soon and all this may turn out to be the musings of a restless mind that is bordering on paranoia. But this incident has made me look at the very assumptions that I’ve made to build my life. Need to think about things that will make life comfortable and better in times to come.

[END]
I hope that made sense. How are you coping up with the lockdown? What’s your defense mechanism? 
And with that, that’s it for today! See you tomorrow 🙂 

Previous posts in the series – 1, 2, 3

The Delhi Dislocation

So I am in Delhi. Been here for almost three days and haven’t stepped out of the house since. I merely ate, slept, crapped and Netflix and chilled with self. I did take a few work calls but I kept those to minimum. And as a result all the work that I had to do has piled up the way cars stall on a highway after an accident. And because I can see work piled up like a long line of cars stuck on the highway, I dont want to work at all. Am stuck in that vicious circle. And I dont know the way out. 


Anyhow, today I’d had enough of home and I had to step out. The nearest Starbucks — the place where you can sit for hours and work — is about 20 KMs away from my place. And though I hate going too far away from home for work, I had no other option. 


Fat forward. I am parked at the Starbucks CP. And I am trying to fix things. And how do I fix things? By writing. The other thing that I typically do to fix things is go for a drive. But then I dont have a vehicle and I am tired of begging from friends. And I can’t afford all those self-drive cars. Like they say, #FML. Let me not crib and do the other thing that I dont have to borrow for – write! 

So I am in Delhi and unlike other trips to Delhi, this time I haven’t called anyone (called = made an attempt to meet friends et al). I want to be with myself and fix shit in my head. The ones I am meeting are the ones that can’t wait – perils of being self-employed.

Thing is, last few months have been crazy (not work wise but emotions wise) and I needed a break from the madness. One option was to take off to an unknown land and meet strangers. I could even go to a familiar place like Panchgani or Goa or something. But then I looked at my bank balance and decided not to. Thus the only place that I could escape to, without spending too much, was Delhi.

However, little did I know that Delhi no longer gives me the peace, the sukoon that I craved for.

I’ve always known in my head and heart that I may live anywhere in the world, I will always remain a Delhi Boy. And and East Delhi Boy at that. For things like bhai, feel, bhasad, jugaad et al define me. I am as unpolished as they come – I like to wear socks and chappals, I like to scratch my arms and head at public places, I like lounging on a chair, rather than sitting with my back straight. I am loud. I am a showoff. I like attention. I am embodiment of everything that a Mumbai girl (aka sgMS) hates. And no, I am not apologetic about it. I am proud of my roots. I dont have any deep cultural ties to any religion or a location, except Delhi. Delhi is me, I am Delhi.

I knew I could count on Delhi. Anytime. Everytime I needed a break, I could scoot away to Delhi, meet old friends, get in a car, blare the car music system at are you crazy levels, drive fast, get into petty arguments and yet find the peace of mind. I could go for walks with locals, go to far away malls with friends, even hop to Gurgaon when I wanted to feel good about how I dont do the Delhi-Gurgaon grind anymore.

There was no ailment that a trip to Delhi could not fix. Even the craving for sgMS is a tad less when I know that I am not in a 20 KM radius of her.

However, this trip I realised that in the last few years, between all the Delhi – Mumbai trips I’ve severed my ties with Delhi (the bonds with Mumbai are shaky at best). The friends are still around, things are still the same, there is that familiarity with the place but I no longer get peace here. I am as restless as I am in Mumbai. I continue to get those cravings to search for that promised land where weather is perfect, things are the way I want, and I have a life of abundance.

Couple this with my permanent bone against the Bandra house.

Thing is, I am finally rootless. I dont know where to go, where to sleep, where to go to find peace. I am lost. And I dont know where is home. And I dont know what to do about it.

May be home is between soft, white, cold sheets of a hotel where the AC is always at a perfect 22 degrees. I love the feeling of being in perpetual motion. I love airports more than I love home. In fact, when I worked for Gravity, the best bit was all the airports and hotel rooms that I was supposed to live out of. I loved the muted opulence and pseudo-luxury. I loved the distance that the staff maintained while I was there. I liked how at a press of a button, things magically appear. May be, next time I need a break, I’d book myself into a 5-star and switch off my phone! May be. I shall try next time.

P.S.: Of course I need money to be able to afford a lifestyle like that. And by God, I will.

22 May 2013 – A Day in Life

Credits: mspittal | Original Image

I told myself that I would write 1000 words a day. I have done that previously as well and I don’t think I did it for more than a week. This time, its been 2 days. Today is the third day. For records, I call it 1000WADv2. And since I work best on external motivation, to help matters, I have wagered with a friend. Every day I don’t publish 1000 words, I give her a 1000 bucks. And every week I write for seven days, she will give me 1000 bucks. 7 to 1 odds (updated on 30 May, the deal is off).

This means two things. One is that I will publish everyday and add to all the digital noise around us. Along the way, I will write short stories, rants, reviews, trolls etc, all in the hopes of getting good at the craft. I mean there are no guarantees that I would get better but I want to. With every passing day I see writing as an easy alternative to my issues. Second is that I would write more than I would publish. This means that I would think more and write more. And I would work more and write more. And I would reflect more and write more. And I would stop talking and write more. Write more. You know what I am hinting at?

So today I had initially thought I would rant about my bald head and aging bones. But today has been an interesting day. I learnt three interesting things about myself. I mean I have known these at the back of my head but I havent been able to see the picture painted so clearly on the wall!

One is that I really think that minimalism could be a way of life that I may find peace and happiness in. Like one, same pair of denims for 6 days and one suit for formal occasions, one credit card, one telephone etc. Much like that George Clooney movie where you could pack all you own in a travel suitcase. This guy, is an inspiration. More on it later (in a different blog post).

Second is that I am awesome. I am not being a egomaniac or megalomaniac here but the realization that dawned onto me when I was part of a long and boring meeting where 9 adults were sitting across a table and were trying to justify their respective jobs. In that meeting I realized that I am actually very good when it comes to what I did at CLA and what I do now. I really needed this gratification, its been a patchy ride last few months. 2013 isn’t turning out the way I had envisioned it.

Third is that I can not tolerate the heat in Delhi. Nothing new, I have already ranted about it a million times on social networks that I hang out on, but its time I decide to do something about it, rather than merely ranting about it. I promise myself that this is the last year where I am forced to be in a city. By the next summers, I want to achieve location independence wrt to my work. I dont know how would that happen but I would NOT be reeling under the torturous heat of Delhi. 

Apart from this being an interesting day and these three lessons, there was another realization. I got this comment (from who else but Neo) on a post and that compared me to EL James. No I am not taking it seriously, vindication from audience is obviously a motive for writing, but if, what I write can influence confuse someone enough to make them leave a comment (even if they were pulling my leg and mocking what I write), I have a career ahead of me! Yeah, any publicity is good publicity.

So yeah, that’s about it for the day. Quite a few things happened. Just that I need to remain consistent with tracking the lesson and then may be implementing them.

Also while previewing this post, I realized that I havent changed my blog theme in ages. Nothing wrong with it but if I am planning to write longish posts, I need a design that allows people to read it. The sad thing with blogger is that I can customize it only so much. Wish there was something that was simple and yet had tons of features to choose from. Guess this is why Tumblr is what it is. Not all blogging platforms (or content management systems, if you will) get acquired for a billion USD, most of it in cash! And what an eventful year this has been for Marrissa Mayer, since she moved to Yahoo! Thats what Google has done, apart from making money and helping the world. Google created groomed people into awesome managers and entrepreneurs. If I had time, I would try and create a list of ex-Googlers that have made an impact by joining other companies or starting em. Would be a long list I guess. In fact that is one of the reasons I want to chase in life. To be able to groom people around me and be that catalyst that helps them grow. Again, more on this later, in a different blog post.

So, if you are a regular here, I suspect if anyone is regular, please dont be alarmed if you see a change in design of the blog in the next few days. Its only to help you read better (spoke like a true marketeer).

Guess thats it. There is nothing more to talk of. I mean there is but then I would have to get into specifics and I would not want to do that. I like this pseudo anonymous life. Until the next Day in Life update, so long!

The Hauz Khas Village

For the last three days I have been camping at a cubby hole in Hauz Khas Village. I am trying to get some work done by a few freelance artists that work out of here. And here is the mandatory disclaimer. The post is not about work, or the artists per se, but is about this place – Hauz Khas Village.

So, once upon a time, there was actually a time when the village was famous for a lake, a few historic remains and lush green parks where young couples could go and spend quality time together (away from peering eyes of all their well-wishers).

Now, its something else. Hauz Khas Village is now known, in the Lonely Planets (and other such travel guides), for fancy restaurants that patrons of the page 3 frequent. For the kitschy stores that sell everything from replicas of famous paintings to designer dresses to overpriced paintings to artefacts that only a handful people can appreciate to antiques to bagels (whatever that is, I am told you are supposed to eat it) to handmade teeshirts to “authentic” Italian gelatos to cheap thrills to Thai massages to silver jewellery and what not. If you can imagine it, they sell it here. And most of it has the sheen and label of being the output of a famous designer or a desperate woman in some obscure place in India.

And as a result, the kind of people that frequent this “village” are poles apart from all the people that visit all the other villages that dot the landscape of this modern marvel that we call India. For starters, there are numerous non-Indians. Atleast they look non-Indians. A few characteristics common to these “characters” are nondescript complexion, half pants, ample cleavages (even men), large sunglasses (even if its 8 in the night), loose Birkenstocks (fake?), generous tattoos, braided hair, long sling bags, accents that could put the most seasoned call centre trainers to shame (fake?), frequent pecks (on cheeks to greet others of the same clan), cigarette dangling casually on skinny fingers, unnecessarily large headphones (with no player in sight). Then there are a few Indians who are the waiters at the fancy restaurants, salesmen at these stores, parking attendants and other such people. And then there are people like me, who are as lost as Alice was in her Wonderland. Who, for their lives, cant seem to make any sense out of what they see.

I am no expert in people watching and the ethnicity (and even the nationality) of most of these people elude me. They cant be Indians because the India and Indians I know would think like a million times before engaging indulging in such overt public display of affection. More than them, I am sure their parents wouldn’t let them step out of their homes in those dresses. I am not really traditional but what some people wear here is no less than sacrilege. But then, this is a free country we live in and everyone has the right to do what they deem fit. So I cant complain. But if they are Indians, I must be living under a rock because for some reason I have not seem them anywhere else but at the village.

Coming back to the village, there are people and sign boards that could lead you to believe that you are in some chic European market. And like it happens to me in all chic markets anywhere in the world, when I am at the village, I get very very intimidated. Scared is a better word I guess. Moment I am in the open at the village, I want to dig a tunnel through the street and hide myself in it (atleast my neck, like those pigeons when they see a cat). I otherwise believe in keeping the neck high and taking long confident strides. But when I am in the village, I walk with my head down, as if I have lost a penny and I am trying to find it. And I try very hard to not even come within an arm’s length of anything that is non male. I have no clue how would their highnesses react if I make the mistake of accidently brushing my arms against her Highness. She would shriek at me in English, but in an accent that I would not be able to comprehend and thus would be humiliated unnecessarily in public. Anyone heard that maxim? Better safe than sorry? So, avoid all eye contact and physical contact.

Then there is that issue of being brown, bald and badly dressed. With these three B’s there is no way I could look like someone who can afford a coffee at a half decent coffee shop. Truth be told, I actually can NOT afford a coffee at most of the places at the village but I really like to pretend that I can. I like to look in menu, bring out the fake accent and say, “nah I am not a coffee person. I like green tea” and move onto the next store. But here, at the village, where the shops talk to only the non-Indians, someone like me comes across as nuisance. And unlike most other shopkeepers over the world, rather than dismissing me politely, these guys, the shopkeepers at the village, unleash their wrath on me, as if doing that would take them closer to salvation. Even the restaurants treat me like I am a waiter that had cheated all others on the tip. I am always asked if I have made a reservation, even when I can see the damn place as empty as the space itself!

Apart from the kind of people that hang out here and the super expensive chic stores and restaurants, the last thing I want to talk about would be a general rant on the good and the bad of this place. Good, there are places that I can “show off” to my contacts that are not from Delhi. After all, Delhi may have the best infrastructure in the country, it still lacks in terms of coolness quotient. Then if I ever get a woman in life, I can get her here and let her blow away a fortune and make her happy. And finally, if I start smoking, I just need a tattoo and a Birkenstock to get access to all the stores and restaurants that have shunned me without any mercy.

In terms of bad bits, there are a few. I would not get into a lot of detail but I am not really happy that a real village has been left to the mercy of these stores and the bonafide residents are left to fend for themselves. Then I am definitely not happy about all the confused Indians. They need to realize that they need to grow up, some day or the other and take charge. No, no more public service announcements.

On a serious note, to remain impartial, here are a few highlights of the village if you ask me. TLR, Kunzum, Maati are the few stores that I actually support. TLR, apart from being a great place to hang out with friends, is doing a LOT for the Indian indie music scene. Most Indian bands (some with audience as small as my blog) perform here and get to know their fans. Brilliant brilliant initiative on behalf of TLR. Kunzum is a cafe with a twist. You go, you sit, you read, you sip a coffee and then you decide what you want to pay. Beat that. Thats changing the business model on its head. Ofcourse the place makes money by selling merchandise etc but I love the idea. Someday I would copy it. Finally Maati, a teeshirt store that actually helps the community that designs their teeshirts. And apart from these three, there are tons of cool work place (the place where I am holed up for example) that are so inspiring that you could sit here and actually dream of conquering the world. And you know what? You can get the dream to come true here! That brilliant office spaces.

Guess thats about it. I am waiting for my work to get done and it had been quite a few days since I had written. Loved wiping away those cobwebs on my fingers.

To end it, I sincerely think that Hauz Khas Village is one of those must visit places for anyone who is new to Delhi. I would definitely add this to my list of things to do, if you just have ODID. If I ever get around to doing the Raju Guide thing with ODID, a visit to Hauz Khas Village would be amongst one the top 10 things to do in Delhi for sure.

The Angry (and not so) Young Man

Without the formality of an introduction (or a beginning), let me dive straight into the heart of the issue. At this instant, I am a very very angry man. Here is why.

I live in a lower middle class locality of the capital city of a developing nation. And as a result, there are a plenty of problems – high density of population, bad traffic, lawlessness, petty crimes, broken roads, lazy officials etc. But then, I have had the privilege of getting really good education (private schools, bachelors in computer science and a MBA from one of the best colleges in India) and my job takes me to places that I can never afford, even if I was paid a bomb. As a result, I know how amazing life could be. Things could actually be perfect and there could be an Utopian world where everything is in order and you can work on things that are worth investing time in (rather than chasing people to get your Internet connection fixed). This dichotomy, of my aspirations of living in a Utopian world vs the expectations from the Banana Nation where I actually live, is in one word, fucking my head. Note to self: that’s three words Mr. Garg!

Coming back, here is a small list of things that has gone haywire in the last one week or less. And this is not even exhaustive.

  1. Its simply too hot to live in Delhi. I can live in extreme cold but I cant stand heat. Even at 7 in the morning, the heat is that harsh that you cant sit in the open. You have to have air conditioning. 
  2. I crashed my car. Almost got attacked by a bunch of rowdy taxi drivers. And paying through my nose for the repairs. Will get the car back in about 15 days and as a result, I cant move around the city as well. I can take Metro but I am not a woman and men refuse to take bathes or use deodorants. 
  3. The Internet does not work. I have an Airtel connection and they have the most incompetent helpline (or customer care, as they call it) ever. Apparently they always ALWAYS have some “server problem” and they can not even lodge a complaint. And there is no supervisor or an escalation process to expedite resolution. Airtel used to be good, till about two years back, but now, they are worthless. Oh, did I mention that they charged me 50 paisa, per minute, to lodge complaints? I am sure TRAI can do something about it. I will write into them soon. And no, the @airtel_presence on twitter is of no use either. 
  4. There is no current. And no, I am not talking about the city of Delhi but in a block of 20 houses. From my balcony, I can see the shining street lights, the well lit advertising boards, the shining LED board for a gym and the constant hum of the ACs at my neighbors. But its me and some 20 other fortunate neighbors that have been blessed by the power cut. Apparently there is some short circuit somewhere. Despite repeated calls to BSES, no one wants to fix and I am left poking in the electric board with a wooden stick, hoping that I would live another day and actually write a few more of these blogposts. 
  5. I have been thinking of a month long vacation. Nothing important but I think I am stuck at what I do an I need to recharge my batteries. I also want to take it easy, get fit and read. Every place that I have called (have spoken to at least 15 places), everyone is booked till July/August! Imagine, the entire world wants to go to Himachal in the month when I want to go. How fair is that? 
  6. And then, apart from all these things that I cant control, there is that issue of not knowing what I want in life. I am almost 30 and in a few months, I would be on the wrong side of life and I wont know what my epitaph would say! How bad is that! All this while, I have always joked around about me suffering from QLC. Now I know what QLC/MLC actually feels like. There are days when I want to see a shrink but then I wish I could afford one. 
The funny thing is that I have tried everything that I could have. I called up the cops when I got into that accident. I have tried waking up early so that I may avoid traffic and heat while going to office. I have tried complaining against Airtel at all possible forums. I have called BSES multiple times, each time getting assurance about someone fixing the bug. Have called and exhausted all travel portals, agents, Justdials of the world. And have planned and thought about what I want from life. 
I guess my effort hasnt been that great and I need to do more. I dont know! All I know right now, is that, I am a very very angry young man. I now believe that the world indeed is an unfair place. Its definitely not a movie and there are no guaranteed happy endings. Reminds of that line from a song… “…yeah you bleed, just to know you’re alive”. I wish I had realized this while I was 20. 

And end-note, please do not make impressions about me just by reading this. I want to believe that I am far saner than this. If saner is a legitimate word.
I am a mere human, suffering from the curse of mediocrity, wading through life, surrounded by more vegetables and I dont even see a sliver of hope from any corner.

Home to work, 50 mins flat

twitter.com/sgElectra

Today I created a record of sorts. I reached work in 50 mins flat. For the uninitiated, my home is about 40 KMs from my workplace. And on a typical day, it takes me close to two hours to negotiate the way. Of course Delhi has awesome roads but the traffic and the office hour rush leaves me with no other option but to tolerate bad RJs (except Saarthak on Hit 95 FM) while en route.

I got sgElectra (please follow and spread some love) fixed after a while and for some random reason I wanted to take it out for spin. And I did. And the ride was amazing, I have written about my love for biking in the past, but today, I add yet another reason. Bike is faster than the car! Bike can navigate through small alleys and is not constrained to long jams. Perfect mode of travel in city. May be I was helped by the fact that todays a Saturday and more than half the world is on chutti. And then it was about 8 in the morning. 
BTW coming to work before 10 has other merits. You could plug in your laptop to 5.1 speakers and hear Shankar Tucker, Lucky Ali, Mohit Chauhan and Rabbi Shergill on are-you-crazy levels! As I am typing this, I am listening to I want to break free by Queen.

Live blogging a ride on Delhi Metro

Today am going to work on Delhi Metro. I don’t even remember when was the last I rode with Delhi Metro. Have heard horror stories. Here’s a live blog of thoughts.

Left home. Have to take a rick to reach Metro station.

Reached metro station. @kv told me to walk up the two flights. Walked up the stairs. Thanks heavens for my netbook. I can’t even imagine lugging a heavy laptop up the stairs! Surprised to see neat queues before the security check.

Train is not really crowded. This being the terminal stop. There are places to sit. Tried sitting. Really uncomfortable seats. I’d rather stand.

So far we are on the elevated corridor. With the advantage of height, I can see the city, the life, the way I’ve never even thought. I love standing on roofs and looking down. Its like seeing the big picture and getting hold of secrets.

Third station. Crowds building up. All those stories about rude people and shoving et al, they are slowly becoming evident.

Hate the announcements. Sandeet na bajaye, farsh par na baithe etc. 1984 anyone?

Whoa! An aunty is wearing yellow nailpolish on toes with golden chappal. A green suit. She’s apparently going to work. I mean yellow. And aunty. That’s the difference between Delhi and Mumbai women. Delhi, they think bling is cool and put everything that is shimmer and a lot of it. Delhi women need a crash course, no a full time, long term course, on the art and science of decking up.

And ladies and gentlemen, here comes the first shove. One uncle just stepped on my feet, stomped the way you crush a cigarette butt and dint even say sorry. Glad that he’s not a fake. He meant harm and he is not apologetic about it.

The aunty in yellow nail polish just got down. Good luck to her. And to her colleagues.

Just wondering, like the Mumbai locals, why can’t the Delhi metro have first class coaches? Am not for discrimination but people who want little more privacy and can pay for the privilege, yes privacy is a privilege in India, why shouldn’t they have an option?

Crossing Yamuna. Really wish that yamuna was clean and we could have had a few picnic spots around the banks. Wouldve made awesome evenings!

And my first stop is here. To reach work, am supposed to change the train twice.

Had a quick break to catch on some breakfast at McD. EggMcMuffin. Ymmm.

And magically, the way it happens in The Truman Show, moment I step out of McD, I see hoards of people, all going in the direction I am going. There must be a million people here, give or take a few hundred. Where the fuck are all these people going?

And the new coach has yellow lights. And I am on the yellow line. And that aunty with yellow nailpolish.
Whoa, this dude in orange shirt just came in between me and the wall and stood with his ass pointing at me. And by the way I was standing next to wall. I dint know that air could pass between me and the wall where this guy wedged himself. And he’s wearing chameli ka tel. I mean some tel that is pungent like sulfer is and is filling my nose with it. Someone get him a deo please.

And for the records, Mr. Sreedharan, yellow ambient lights are depressing.

Love the gush of wind in my hair. I am right under the AC vent. Loving it. Everythings not bad about Metro afterall!

And just when I had thought I have placed myself at a comfortable distance from the orange dude, another gentleman encroaches on my space. Not that own the space but the concept of personal space is being violated!

Finally got some space where I can rest my back.

Like Yogi (Berra) said, you can observe a lot by watching, any student of people watching needs to ride on the Delhi Metro for sure. Even Mumbai locals for that matter.

For the record, we’ve been standing on this station for close to five minutes and they aren’t opening doors. Junta around me is getting jittery. And yellow lights aren’t helping.

Ok, the door opened with beeps, the way timebomb beeps and surprisingly about half the coach got down. And bigger surprise, twice as many people boarded the train. All within 30 seconds! I dint know that each coach could accommodate these many people. And more than that, the engine could lug a train with so many people. These engines should be used to launch aircrafts etc.

Damn the jouney is too long and too boring. Am almost losing interest. The live blog could continue till the world war three. My car’s the best. I miss 🙁

For some reason, people don’t smile here. Everyone has a glum face as if they are being sent to the gallows against their wish! Guys, its 9 in the morning. Can we have some sunshine please? When God was creating humans, he should have put some more funny bones in us. We have 206 and we could certainly adjust some more.

Back just starting hurting. The right knee is almost ready to buckle any moment. Am standing on one leg. Plan is to get down at any station once I cross the border and then call office to send a cab. I really need more money in life. I need material comforts. Can’t do the metro routine. Need to have another car. Wondering if my boss reads this blog? Don’t think so. He aint got no time for his emails, leave alone blogs. And that too mine.

The station I am supposed to go is still ten odd stops away. At this rate, my thumbs would get a heart attack. Been using them frantically for last hour an twenty mins! Not ten. Make that twelve.

Love the wind from the AC shaft. Its just right. Not too cold. Not too fast. Not too wild. The way it should be.

And, for the record, I have lost interest. The station would not come in this life time. My bodys aching like its been put in a grinder. Everyone has a long face on them. They’ve shut down the AC. Enough.

I can’t even tolerate music no more. I have no clue where I am and when I’d reach. It’d be better is someone put a mask on my face and took me in white van with no windows etc. At least there’d excitement that am getting napped. I’d have a shot, though distant, at my 15 seconds of fame!

 Finally! I get down from the metro. The next battle I need to fight is to find a way to reach work. Am told you can take an auto but am not really looking forward to haggling with them on the fare.

One things for sure. Am not coming to work on the metro ever again. The commute sucks. I’d rather be stuck in a traffic jam for four hours.

Signing out.

Dear Girl in Blue Dress

Dear Girl in Blue Dress,

I am so sorry. I was in the same coupe as you were in. I was there when those men intruded on your personal space and dared to touched you. I saw your Dupatta being pulled away. I saw you crying. I saw that despair in your eyes. Your eyes were searching for help in that crowded metro coupe and they infact had briefly met mine. I looked into them, gave them my sympathies and then diverted my attention on my ipod, pretending to search for the next song that I wanted to hear. Ofcourse I was pretending and I was still aware of what was happening to you. I told myself, what every other man would have told himself, that I dont know you and hence what was happening to you, was not my problem.

I know that I am proud to be a male. I am chivalrous when with womenkind. I am courteous when I am with elders. I am loud when I am with girlfriend. I am protective when I am with my sis. And yet, I am indifferent, with every other women. I dont even consider that more than all these superficial relationships defined by us, you and I share, a stronger and bigger relationship. HumanKind.

I know we are the men of Anna. We have taken loud pledges against corruption on public forums, and in person we dont mind paying that ten rupee note to get things done faster. We pledged with Anna and we joined him for his fast, and post that we went to fancy restaurants to party and debate on things happening around us We went to India Gate with a candle in our hand, and post that raced our bikes around that very India Gate, a little high, on alcohol and pride. Rather that all these fancy things, a mere act of helping you would have elevated me higher than any other deed. 

I am sorry. For not having the balls to act and stop those men. I can ofcourse give a lame reason that there was just too much crowd to do anything. I can even say that since I did not know you, why should I get into trouble. But end of the day, my inaction cant be justified. And of all those men who were meek spectators. What troubles me the most is that some were secretly enjoying the act as well. I wish I could slap some sense into them. And you know, I dont think I even I have the right to comment on them.

I just want to tell you that Delhi is not what you think we are. We are not rapists and we know our limits. There are some people who need a life and I am extremely sorry for letting things happen to you.

And I hereby promise that next time I see something like that happening, even if I dont know the woman, even if I am outnumbered, even if I am handicapped, I would do my bit to help you. I promise.

And once again, I am really sorry. I am sincerely ashamed. 

Apologies,
An Ashamed Delhite.

Inspired by an incident that a friend had to go through while traveling by Delhi Metro. And this is from and for all those men who just stood like meek spectators. Would I have done anything about the incident? May be not. But I shall, next time it happens in front of me.

Close races of the strangers kind

When was the last time you raced your car through traffic on Delhi roads? Against another vehicle? Being driven by a stranger? And with a tacit understanding between the two of you that you were racing each other? And trying to better each other?

I did it on Friday. I won. No kidding. And it was as exciting as the bungee!

The best part of the race was the inherent unpredictability of the encounter. You know for sure that you would not meet that driver ever again in your life. You would not have notes to share or stories to tell. And you know for a fact that there wouldn’t be any spectators around to cheer your victory or console your loss. And you dont even know when the two of you would part ways and race would end as abruptly as it had begun!

But, one of those things that make live worth living!

So this is what being drunk means

So this is what being drunk means. The heads spinning and yet you feel good about it. You have that heady feeling and yet you are elated. You yell out songs at top of your voice and not care a shade about anyone or anything. You lose your inhibitions and only thing stopping you from being yourself is you.

So this is what being drunk actually means. When you are carefree. When you cant think of anything. When the mind is actually blank – devoid of all thought. Even when you are on the phone, with your best friend, all you talk, is nothing. Where there are no words. There’s not even silence. Just the noise of wind. On either ends.
So this is what being drunk really means. When you get that mental high just because you are on the road, driving a vehicle. Controlling it. Maneuvering it at will. Like a free bird. Imagine Delhi at night. The wind. Cold enough to send that shiver down your spine. And not so cold that you need layers of cloths. Awesome roads devoid of any traffic. Where you can zip around in your car. A pit stop at India Gate. And spreading your arms wide. The way birds often do, before they fly away. Imagine the flight. Wish you could take off.
Confession. I am drunk. Not on alcohol. But on caffeine and chocolate. And on the amazing winds that you get only in Delhi. And on the wonderful drive that you just completed.