Domain Maximus

Over the last few weeks many people have asked us why we chose, of all the places in Delhi, to live in Dwarka. Isn’t it boring? Are there any restaurants? What do you do for coffee or IIT coaching? What do you do with the money you save on rent?

And we say:

1. No it is not. We have old men who come outside our window every morning and do laughing yoga. I have never had better digestion in my life.

2. There are tons of restaurants. KFC, Bercos, Moti Mahal, Colonels Kababz and, most of all, KFC.

3. There is a Costa right across the road from an Akaash Institute.

4. I buy Blackberrys. The missus buys blankets. We have two of the former and thirty-seven of the latter. Apparently blankets are a Delhi thing. The in-laws gift us three or four every weekend. We have no idea where they keep them. My ‘study and writing room’ is now mostly a ‘blanket and knitted goods room with laptop.’

But the single most important reason we have moved to Dwarka is for the cultural scene. Surprised? Don’t be. Peruse below the poster of one such cultural phenomenon snapped by the missus at Dwarka Sector 5 market, near the ICICI bank on Saturday. Watch in wonder. Also weep:

Faaaahhhhhhn Claaaahhhhhb

I particularly like those spectacles.

Those two heads at the bottom, if you are wondering, are the national chairman and the Delhi chairman of the fan club.

P.s. I do not mean to mock Kumar Sanu or his fans. That man was truly a bollywood phenomenon in his time.

P.s.s. But then so was Mamta Kulkarni. I am just saying.

Yes, yes I have finally moved bag, baggage and missus to Delhi and have spent the better part of the last week sneezing in our flat in Dwarka. (Thinking of the mammoth savings in rent I make here compared to my place in Wadala is somewhat comforting.)

But before I launch into blogging-as-usual-from-Delhi I must drop a line about an interesting incident that happened on the Metro a few days ago.

So there I am with the in-laws and the missus on the blue line from Connaught Place to Dwarka. The train is crowd-less but there aren’t any seats free. Somewhere mid-way, after Rajouri Garden I think, the mom-in-law gets a seat. She is wedged in between a Japanese mum with a PSP-clicking child, and a couple of African guys.

One of the African guys get up, my dad-in-law ushers the missus towards the empty seat. But before she can sit the African guy mumbles something and and scrambles his way back to the seat. The dad-in-law is very miffed and begins to say something when we calm him down and tell him to let it go.

Someone mumbles something about “better not take pangas” with “these African types”.

There is much wrathful eyeballing happening all around till both men get up just before Nawadah. Both the missus and dad-in-law take their place. I still stand. One of the guys comes over and says: “I give the old man a seat but he give it to that young woman. Young woman can stand. I want him to sit because he is old. In our country we respect old people.”

He sounds half-offended when he speaks.

I tell him that we respect old people in our country too.

Soon, but of course, we begin talking about India and Nigeria, which is where they are from. “Some things about India we like. Some things we don’t,” they say honestly when I ask them about living here. Turns out both guys are professional footballers with the Ruia Royals, a football team in the local Delhi league. (Anyone who can throw light on this please do. I could’nt Google up anything.) Both of them live in Nawadah and they were just back from a match.

When their station came we shook hands, patted backs, traded smiles and then they were off.

“These African types” were actually very nice people indeed.

I felt very, very sheepish after the whole incident.

Regular nonsense postings will resume from this weekend. Have a fantastic 2009 everyone!

Two unfortunate incidents happened over the course of last weekend.

The entire weekend was spent with Pastrami, BhaktiBong and IntercontinentalMan over the course of a wedding reception, a movie marathon on Saturday and then finally a cocktails by the sea thingie in Juhu on Sunday of which I have very little memory.

Incident No. 1:

We run into an old friend and his paramour at the cocktail by the sea thing. We’ve run into them together once before, at an early stage in their relationship, when he was trying to charm her at the Costa Cafe in Juhu. That evening I did the honourable engineer thing by not walking up to him, interrupting their romance or crimping his mojo.

Instead I walked out, then around, then stood outside the window, her back to me, and made faces at him, mimed kissing and hugging motions and, finally, thrusting movements with my hips. It is, as I mentioned, an engineer thing.

Back by the sea this was the second time we were seeing them together. I make polite conversation with him and then she speaks to me for the first time ever:

She: “Wow Sidin. You’ve REALLY bloated up man!” Her eyebrows go up and she rolls her eyes.

I repeat: THESE ARE THE FIRST WORDS THIS WOMAN HAS EVER SPOKEN TO ME.

“You’ve REALLY bloated up man!”

There was a sizeable crowd when this transpired. Pastrami fought back laughter by downing a Kiwi Cajpiroska. BhaktiBong was already drunk and was at that time hitting on a slim, expensive looking table fan.

I briefly contemplated poking her in the eye with a cocktail sausage on stick. I was dumbstruck. I didn’t know what to say. In fact I didn’t speak for several minutes. It took me several drinks and one Oye Lucky Lucky Oye on the dancefloor to get over it.

Homework: Imagine if I had said the exact same words to her. Now where approximately, in my body, would she have disposed of the table fan? Why are women like that? Why do they even bring up the word “bloated” in normal cocktail party conversations?

Incident No. 2:

We’re driving to the Imax in Wadala to watch The Day The Earth Stood Still. There’s Pastrami, IntercontinentalMan and IntercontinentalMissus in the car. IntercontinentalMan is a batch mate of course but his wife is not. So she has plenty of questions about campus and all of our lives there and we respond with plenty of anecdotes.

At some point she decides to ask all of us about our dorm names. (Dorm names are the nicknames they give all new joinees at IIMA each year. It is a crucial part of tradition and many people stick to their dorm names for years after they graduate. Like “Vindi” Banga, I am told. Some more details on a newspaper piece I once wrote.)

Remember that we’ve been hanging out with IntercontinentalMan and the missus for a while. We’ve had a couple of dinners and so we’re not strangers by any means.

So InterconinentalMissus goes around discussing various dorm names until she comes to me. I am squirming now because I don’t particularly like mine: “Khujli”. (Don’t. Ask. Ever.)

InterconinentalMissus: So Sidin… what is your real name?

Sidin:

IMrs.: Tell na… What is it? And why is “Sidin” your dorm name?

Sidin: It isn’t.

IMrs.: “Sidin” is your real name? Not a dorm name?

Sidin: No. “Sidin” is my real name.

IMrs.: Oh…

Pastrami: CHOKE LAUGHTER CHOKE CHOKE

Homework: Do you have a normal name like Ravi, Abhishek, Omanakuttan or Bhaskaran? Go kill yourself.

Sorry if my typing reads hoarse. But I’ve been ill all of Sunday, took Monday off and came in today over-helmed by a sense of duty and obligation.

But I always have time for a little blog post.

So Saturday Pastrami, the missus and I spent a rather productive day consisting of bagels, foot massages and Dostana at that Cinemax in Bandra with the bargain Lazy boy seats. While we were biting into our bagels and sipping on our Doppio’s pastrami suddenly sat up and ran to the counter to ask for the day’s Bombay Times.

“You must read the horoscope in today’s BT man. They are howlarious!” Pastrami panted as he flipped the pages.

Now I was prepared for the worst you see. With all these job cuts and banks in trouble and financial turmoil we all try to laugh as much as we can when Pastrami cracks jokes. Even the weird, banker-type jokes where the punch line involves phrases like: “And then he said why don’t we just look at perpetuity after five years and finance the whole using convertible debt warranties! HA HA HA HA HA HA! Phew!” or “And then the prospective girl’s parents asked him what desk he worked on and he said structured debt and they all got up and ran away…even the broker…”

Which is just sad.

But lo and behold. Pastrami was actually right. The horoscopes were hilarious and mostly completely pointless. I have intrepidly managed to track it down:

Finolex Fortune

Gems include:

Leo: You may choose to get out into the world and to grasp all to learn, can become negative and selfish. The energy of the day will require you to be more outgoing. You are probably having the most influential aspect.

This was either written by a bad machine or dictated over the phone to someone who hates his job, sitting on Friday night writing the horoscope. Eitherways it is a masterpiece of… I don’t know really.

Please click on the image to read it in full.

Also, when time permits, read this fascinating article in October’s Smithsonian Magazine. Its free and available in full.

Maybe I should get my DNA checked as well. What if I was related to…shudder…Mark Knopfler?

Later crocodiles.

Foot where?

Transcript of conversation with anonymous public relations professional on newsroom phone a few days ago. Edited for readability.

(Phone rings)

Sidin: Hello… Sidin (It is a miserable habit of mine, that line. So many people respond by saying: “No.”)

Random PR professional: Hello Sidin! This is <mallu name> from <name of PR company>!

S: Hi. Tell me.

RPRP: I have been reading your work for a long time now. And I am impressed.

S: (Sensing a catch somewhere…) Oh thank you very much.

RPRP: Especially the wonderful work you’ve been doing in the area of Law firms and legal services…

S: (What the…) Oh I see. Which stories in particular?

RPRP: Oh the one… err.. you know the story… this particular one… I mean the one on…

S: (Aha! The plot thickens…) Oh you mean the one I wrote last weekend?

RPRP: EXACTLY! That one. It was so, so, so good…

S: On legal services no?

RPRP: Yes yes.

S: Ah but I have NEVER EVER written a single world in my entire career on legal services and law firms…

RPRP: Never?

S: Not once.

RPRP:

S:

RPRP: Maybe I have my information wrong.

S: Maybe you do.

CLICK!