Dilli Game

Dilli's never been home to me - surprising me in ways that I ought not to be surprised in, throwing up the unexpected with frequent regularity and on much rarer occasions, does me the bizarre.

Its 11.30 p.m. on a warm Saturday evening in Dilli, and the trance beats at Mojo weave their way into my body. The cold club air washes over me, the energy is crackling out of my fingertips  - I am feeling good, and am about to let someone know it.

I see her at the bar, nursing a scotch on the rocks. Dressed in a long black dress, the smooth shiny fabric clinging on to every curve like an old girlfriend - she looks cool, calm and confident as she tosses her long hair back in one sinewy motion as she brings diamond studded fingers to her mouth, to drag deeply on a Camel.

I catch her eye - and her gaze lingers for a heartbeat before washing over the rest of the gyrating crowd. I know its my night. The beats accelerate as I seat on the empty bar stool next to her, nod over at her emptying scotch glass and say "buy you another of those?".

She leans over, sending a wave of Bvlgari up my senses, clears a curtain of black shiny tresses from her shoulder, tucks it neatly behind her ear in one sweet motion and says "Henh-ji?"

The beats stopped.

More dilli...

And this can happen only here.....and you will not believe me, but this actually happened...


Smart young purchase officer of BLC (Big Large corporation) saunters into the cabin of his boss - a balding, pot bellied general manager (PBGM)
"Sir, here are the - " he stops and stares at PBGM - "sir, pardon me, but dont you think your hair looks like Shahrukh Khan's today?"
PBGM blushes embarassedly and self consciously pats down a decidedly scrooge duck-like tuft at the back of his head..."really?" ....more patting..." ahh..hemm..well...i ..er...DID get my hair cut yesterday..."


"I swear sir....! my heart almost stopped thinking I am giving my leave application to Shahrukh khan" ....he shuffles a piece of paper unobtrusively onto PBGM's table...
"well..my wife has been making this special egg yolk based henna, y'know...." PBGM scrawls enthusiastically  


"Sir, its WORKING...you look YOUNG"...pockets the paper...." I will come after my leave for this recipe sir!"


Told you...this is dilli ...!

and more chaiiii...

Its a wintry morning, Singhsaab and I have decided to go wild and walk down to Kamal tea stall instead of the pantry for our 11 o clock cuppa. I am in deep in thought about global warming, megan foxxxy and whathaveyou while Singhsaab has just taken a break from building another complex BI query.

We are walking along companionably when singhsaab nods his head vigorously in response to nothing in particular and announces "Medical doesn't cover OPD charges, y'know". "Eh?" I go. "Swines" he carries on smoothly "its all a scam...!" I am now utterly tongue-tied at this scholarly holding of the forth. "you tell me, how many times will you get a brain tumour?" he looks at me and before I turn my fuddled brain to the actual mathematics of the knotty problem, he thunders on "and how many times will you get a viral fever?" I close my eyes and shake my head in amazement at one more of singhsaab's unbelievably profound conversations. I open my eyes to find him calmly looking at me.

"Chai?"

Chai!

Dilli has a vigor and zest all its own, most of which even the sweeping surge of modernity is hard pressed to contain.

Picture this: its about 11 a.m on a thursday morning and my first day in the offices of a busy large corporation (BLC). Hundreds of worker bees hunched over flickering screens and busy excel sheets, the hum of profitable conversations counting millions of rupees of buying and selling, I trundle over to the office table size pantry room where weary old kattoo is hunched beside the coffee machine. I am about to politely interrupt his reverie when something large and busy bustles past me into the pantry room rubbing his hands in utterly undeserved glee and booms "Kattoo , yaar - ek BADHIYA si chai pila de..!"

Kattoo bursts into action as if called by Dalai Lama to invade China and turning purposefully towards the coffee machine, with as much zest as his twenty year old body and 7.2 mm of turning radius will allow, pushes the big red button which says TEA on it, watches intently as weak tepid tea dribbles into a cup and produces it with a flourish. One sip by big bustling man and he erupts "waah kattoo! mazaa aa gaya!!" and trundles away happily.

Its inane - a meaninglessly celebrated and overinvested moment of the day and yeah, its incredibly Dilli!