Perfumes of Gurugram!

I don’t know which is better - too much perfume or none at all. 

The other day I was stuck inside a lift with both varieties – the fragrant and the fetid – and I came out smelling like an animal that had died inside an exotic flower garden.
 
I wish people would bathe regularly (read: daily) instead of using perfume to disguise body odour. It doesn’t work people. You are still smelly. 
 
I can understand folks dealing with mental health issues that make it difficult to get up and have a shower every day. But the others, what’s your excuse?
 
Water is inexpensive and while not available in plenty, one shower a day is manageable. It would cut down your perfume bills by half. And our elevators could be rid of ghastly smells.
 
In fact, most days I am huffing and puffing my way down from the fourth floor of my condo just to avoid being in a lift with the perfumed elites (as I’d like to call them). And no, the masks do not keep out the stink.
 
Folks in the Medieval Ages didn’t bathe regularly. The Mayflower Pilgrims had an aversion to bathing. Even French King Louis XIV was scared of baths. Legend has it that he had three baths in his entire life. Water was rumoured to spread disease so the rich bathed less. But it’s been centuries since the Middle Ages and the French Revolution. I wonder what keeps the Gurgaon elites from bathing daily? Are the fancy washrooms featured on the décor mags just for show? 
 
On a recent visit to the mall, I noticed a swish new store with glitzy black-and-gold décor and smartly attired salesmen. My neighbour whispered that Oudh Arabia was a premium Dubai-based perfume brand and that we were spoilt for choice with Sephora next door. I felt faint and there was a ringing in my ears. On hindsight, I think it was Lady Macbeth’s voice.
 
“All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten my little elevator. Oh, oh, oh!”
 

Mapping Misadventures!

pic courtesy: pixabay

When we moved to Gurgaon decades back, the first thing we did was to buy ourself a map of Delhi/NCR. Best decision ever. We spent the first decade navigating in and out of Gurgaon and Delhi holding on to the Eicher city map for dear life. And it never let us down. I would provide the directions, the husband would drive and we would find our way to places we wanted to find.

Technology changed all that. With the arrival of smartphones and Google Maps, navigation became a nuisance. Now I’m not a luddite - my wariness is well-founded. Google Maps has landed us in many sticky situations over the years. There were times when it promised us a smooth road but delivered a cow-dung-plastered brick wall instead. At other times, what was meant to be a highway turned out to be a unnavigable dirt track and we had to retrace our steps throwing angry expletives at whoever happened to be in our way. The worst was when we turned a corner while racing down a village road and found ourselves in someone’s courtyard. Now I don’t know who was more shocked – me and the husband or the group of Haryanvi elders on their charpoy peacefully smoking a hookah on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Thankfully, they did not make us sweep their courtyard. They just blinked at us in confusion while we reversed in haste and made a dash for it with indignant street dogs on the chase.

 

Just the memory of that day makes me flush.

 

I feel sorry for the man who was misled by Google Maps and made to sweep the road. But then again, I feel sorry for the guard who probably has a thing about muddy tyre tracks on clean roads. I would have hated it too. Let’s hope they sort their differences amicably. After all, keeping a road clean is a civic duty. Hardly a harsh punishment.

As for me, I will keep the Eicher guide handy on my next long drive. Just in case.

 

 

 

 

Monkey Business!

Where have all the monkeys gone?

 

No, I’m not improvising on the lyrics of the Pete Seeger song, silly! This is a genuine question. 

 

The monkeys that have been part and (hairy) parcel of my existence over the 21 odd years that I’ve lived in Gurgaon seem to have disappeared during the pandemic. You might think it strange that I’m missing a monkey of all things but the truth is, I’d gotten used to watching them as they wreaked havoc on my balcony, trampling my plants and breaking my ceramic planters. A watered-down version of Planet of the Apes if you will. 

 

Yes, one of them did pee all over my nasturtiums. Nasty business that was.

 

Every year, the monkeys would pay me a visit once or twice around this time. They’d come alone or they’d bring their entire families along. Their arrival would be announced by a bloodcurdling shriek (from the person who had spotted them) followed by doors and windows banging shut and the metallic clang of the rails as the primates jumped from one balcony to the next. If the monkeys had nothing better to do, they’d stare at us, rubbing their noses against the glass windowpanes. I guess it’s fair to say that there was curiosity on both sides of the glass.

 

I’d have expected them to return in greater numbers during this period. After all, wasn’t nature healing and all that? There was some talk about relocating them to Ferozepur Jhirka in neighbouring Nuh but the environmental activists were putting up a fight. According to them, the authorities do not have the equipment – either trained handlers, rescue ambulances and veterinary doctors - that can take care of the relocation exercise safely. Most of the time, the authorities rely on private catchers who trap the monkeys using langurs and then, after a couple of days, release them somewhere else. According to official estimates, Gurgaon has around 30,000 monkeys. That is a whole lot of monkeys that need to be treated with care.

 

Could the plan to relocate them have already begun? If not, where on earth are they?

If you have news of the missing monkeys, do share. NO rewards are being offered at this point of time.

 

 

 

 

 

Mughal E Azam 2.0 - Brick in the Wall

When I decided to write a modern-day fictional adaptation of Mughal-e-Azam a couple of years back (still writing it BTW), I didn’t realize my art (if you can call it that) was going to imitate life. Cut to the present. April 2021 - the condominium in which I live, is inching close to being sealed by the authorities in Gurgaon as we have had a significant outbreak of coronavirus infections. 

Now I truly understand what Anarkali must have felt like when that first brick was laid. 

Okay, I guess I’m being slightly dramatic here. I’m not being walled in. One of our gates has just been sealed and residents have been asked to clamp down on visitors and domestic help. Not just that, there are a couple of Plods manning the main gates and several inside the condo making sure folks don’t break rules. So if you are out without a mask or two, gossiping in a group or trying to sneak out after curfew hours for a drink with your buddies, you will be marched to prison. Do not pass go. Or collect the 200 dollars. Straight to prison I expect. Or worse, the entire condominium will be sealed off from the world at large. 

 

Mughal E Azam 2.0. Except my Salim is sitting beside me, balding and spectacled, completely zoned out from being on zoom calls with clients. On my part, I’m jumping around from one room to the next like a cat on hot bricks. I don’t think that qualifies as dancing.

 

I’ve been told our condo is a containment zone. That’s what they call places that have a huge spike in infections. By policing it, the authorities hope to bring down the cases. A few of my friends whisper conspiratorially (over the phone) that they are in Large Outbreak Regions. All of these sound like names out of a dystopian novel -- so you have to excuse me for hyperventilating a wee bit.

 

Breathe in, breathe out.

 

I haven’t had any visitors or domestic help for over a year. From the first week of March 2020 to be precise. I’ve been scrupulously washing my hands using up gallons of liquid soap, wearing an array of masks and staying away from everyone and her aunt. Other than minor episodes of cabin fever, things have been mostly fine. But now, things are getting tricky.

In my version of the story, Anarkali escapes by taking a flight out of Gurgaon. I’m not sure that will be possible in real life. Perhaps I could be a fly on the wall instead?

 

(To be contd)

 

 

 

 

Techch Me Not!

Photo courtesy: freepik

I wish I had the money to afford all the vacations I take each year during Holi. Then I could have really taken a vacation. * Wink Wink *

Last year, I went to Mauritius. I think it was Europe the year before that. I’ve lost count of the exotic holidays I have taken over the years. Thank heavens for the dog-eared Lonely Planet on my bedside table. Each time I am at a loss for which spot to choose, I play book cricket and land on the perfect page .. erm .. I mean holiday spot.

The truth is, being AWOL is the perfect way to avoid the chaos that is Holi. I’ve hated the festival and everything it signifies from the time I was a child. The damp, the colours and the obnoxious revelers who just don’t take no for an answer. Bura Na Mano and all that.

This year, the dreadful Corona virus has helped keep the enthu cutlets at bay. But it’s more like being out of the frying pan into the fire. Though to be honest, Corona or no Corona, I’d slap anyone who breached the three feet distance rule on Holi day. I don’t play and that’s that. Besides, how can anyone bother you when you are away on holiday? There’s a lock on my door, if you don’t believe me.

My neighbour, Mrs M is really worried, unlike me. She loves playing Holi, dancing to the terrible remixes and drinking thandai till she’s out stone cold. But this year the Corona scare has put a damper on her plans. “Arre did you know about this new virus in town?” she tells me the other day over the phone. “Techch karne se daaeth ho jata haye,” she sighs. “Mr M has told me that we will not be playing this year. I’m just so sad yaar.”

I tell her to play online. Google has new Doodle and she can burst bubbles all day long on her computer. No techching and certainly no daaeth. She is not amused and disconnects the phone with a rude click.

As for me, at least this year I can save my money and put it where it’s worth - towards a real vacation that is. If I survive the virus.