Why I love Gurgaon

I love Gurgaon more than the city of my birth - Kolkata. Before you raise your eyebrows, let me tell you that it wasn’t a love-at-first-sight kind of story for me. Rather, a love that developed, matured over the years and stood the test of time. The best sort of love really! In fact, I would go so far as to call Gurgaon my muse. Most of my novels and short stories have been written about this place that I now call home.
 
Twenty five years ago, when I arrived at this dusty hamlet, my first instinct was to hop right back on a flight headed to Kolkata. I still remember the first sight of Gurgaon from the airplane window, in between the cotton wool clouds, as vividly as though it were yesterday. Wide, open spaces everywhere I’d looked, not a building in sight. 
 
A bumpy touchdown later, I discovered that the hamlet was bustling with life. There were multinational corporations and call centres. Genpact and car manufacturer Maruti were the star attractions those days. There were condominiums, bungalows and a smattering of grocery shops, tailoring boutiques and hole-in-the-wall eateries selling rajma chawal, tandoori chicken and jeera aloo. There were no fancy malls, restaurants, lounges or pubs to hang around in. It was North India’s equivalent of a quiet little Gaulish village.
 
The years brought globalisation and rapid economic growth.  The sleepy Haryanvi hamlet was transformed into a throbbing, bustling urban hub. The empty spaces got filled up by glass and steel skyscrapers, the grocery stores turned into supermarkets and the local boutiques run by homely Punjabi women morphed into swanky malls and designer stores. Rajma chawaland jeera aloo became passe. Sushi, bulgogi and imported truffles were de rigeur. There was an influx of migrants from all corners of the globe.
 
The contrasts and contradictions of this rags-to-riches story were too obvious to ignore. With the glitzy hub having come up almost overnight, Gurgaon didn’t have the infrastructure to support the demands of development. There weren’t proper roads, lighting or sanitation.  Come monsoon season each year and all hell would break loose. The roads would be submerged (if they were not caving in, that is) leaving residents and officegoers stranded inside their fancy condominiums. In winter, there was the problem of heavy fog and inadequate street lighting. Add to that, the incessant power outages. 
 
Gurugram’s success story was developing holes. Almost as deep as the ones on its roads. The earthquakes only made it worse. Gurgaon was high risk seismic zone IV. 
 
The BPO boom also had an unlikely beneficiary. The language of the rustic hamlet had changed overnight in a manner that would have put Danish linguist Otto Jespersen out of business! People were now conversing in a language that can, at best, be described as a fusion of Haryanvi, Hindi and English, peppered liberally with Americanisms.
 
There were other, subtle changes in the colour of the place that were hard to spot at first. While, on the one hand, wallets were getting deeper due to the industrial and property boom, there were people living in abject poverty. The construction boom had also made the air in the city unsafe to breathe. Air quality index in Gurgaon had touched the 700-mark making it the most polluted city in India!
 
You may ask, where is the silver lining in this rather gloomy story? Well, I’ll tell you.
 
The best part about Gurgaon for me are its people. A motley crew that has gathered here from across the world – literally! The same bunch that gathered at Leisure Valley Park recently to protest against air pollution. It is Gurgaon’s community that gives the place a warmth and vibrance I have not found anywhere else in the world. Some of my closest friendships have been forged at Gurgaon. My human and book babies were conceived here. This place has given me a lot.
 
In fact it’s not just me. I’m sure the canines would also agree. Take a walk to Galleria, Gurgaon’s answer to Khan Market, that happens to be a few steps away from my house. You will find the strays well looked after -- blankets to sleep on, water and fresh food provided by kind-hearted Gurgaonwalas.
 
A few years back, I fell and became unconscious outside my condominium while returning from a grocery run. A young woman and some auto-rickshaw pullers found me, retrieved my mobile phone and dialed the last number called (which was home) to say I needed help. I will never forget their kindness. That to me, is the essence of Gurgaon.

Not on your Boat!

I am extremely wary of the sea. That I haven’t inherited my late father's seafaring qualities might have something to do with the fact that my earliest memory of him (and one I remember vividly) was going to see a movie called Poseidon Adventure when I was three. It was about a ship that was overturned by a tidal wave and almost everyone on board perished.

Now my father (whose ship had been run aground by a tidal wave in Hachinohe on the northeast coast of Japan in 1968, he survived by the grace of God) thought it would be a fabulous educational experience for his children. 

It wasn’t. 

It scared the living daylights out of me. And since then, I have kept a respectful distance from the sea. Ships and boats make me quite uneasy. Even slightly queasy.

Imagine my horror when I receive a gaudily designed whatsapp invite to a Titanic-themed Valentine's Day party in the condominium from my neighbour Mrs X a few days back. Once my eyes were able to focus on the rest of the card (after being temporarily blinded by the shining red hearts that filled up my mobile screen), I noticed a picture of Rose and Jack, hands spread out on the deck of the ship. The text said: enjoy a special evening with your loved one, dancing the night away on board the Titanic. Charges: Rs 500 plus taxes for dinner. A sumptuous fare of kali dal, paneer, chicken tikkas and biryani will be served. Booze unlimited.

Now, I am not sure why anyone would want to spend Valentine's Day on board an ill-fated boat that sank in the icy waters of the North Atlantic. That isn't remotely romantic, it is a recipe for disaster. I certainly wasn't going to. 

So I sent a polite message saying I was busy.

It should have ended there but the woman just wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sent me a message back saying “Why you are being anti-social?” She wrote that I should come with the hubby. He would enjoy it. They would be playing songs like Gallan Goodiyaan from Dil Dhadakne Do (a number I really love) and there was going to be red vaalvet cake for dessert.

Woman, even if you fly down Leonardo DiCaprio all the way from the US, I still wouldn’t go! No amount of chicken tikka and red vaalvet is going to convince me. I will listen to Gallan Goodiyan on YouTube and do a little jig at home. Perhaps if my father hadn’t taken me to see Poseidon Adventure all those years ago, I might have turned out differently.

So no, thank you. I'll pass.

In fact, the only boat I’m likely to set foot on is an ark should the world come to an end.

The End.

Unfaithfully Yours!

Of late, everyone’s favourite topic seems to be infidelity. At coffee meets, book clubs, lunch parties – after a bit of polite conversation, an awkward pause and then, the inevitable. The latest scoop on who’s dating who, and who doesn’t know. There’s just no escaping it. 

Just the other day, I was hungrily tucking into a dim sum lunch at a popular Chinese eatery when in walked a couple I knew very well. Desperately trying not to choke on my sui mai, I downed copious quantities of Coke in a hurry. You see, the reason for my discomfort was that “the couple”, in question, were not married to each other and I knew both their spouses extremely well. They even had two teenagers between them.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no prude but I wished, at that very moment, that I was dining elsewhere.

“The couple”, however, did not seem to be bothered. Politely nodding their heads at us, the two seated themselves in a quiet corner, as far as possible from the rest of the diners. I marvelled at their quiet confidence, arrogance almost. Not worried that they would be spotted or that word would get back to their homes. “Is infidelity on the rise in Gurgaon?” my friend whispered across the table. “People are so open about these things these days.”

I shrugged. I really don’t know whether more and more people are allowing themselves to be carried away by reckless adventures of the body and soul in the Millenium City. What I do know, for a fact, is that it’s certainly easier to do so. Have a reckless adventure that is!

A certain man (middle aged by now), wherever he is, will certainly agree with me.

Fifteen years ago, when I first moved here, all that Gurgaon had was empty spaces. Wide, open, empty spaces with or without green. A few condominiums and a handful of shops selling vegetables and groceries. One or two hole-in-the-joint eateries whose owners actually heaved a sigh of relief every time you told them you wanted the food packed to take home. No fancy malls, restaurants, lounges or pubs to hang around in. No place to have intimate dates, really. Just your own home or outside, in the lap of Nature.

Every evening I would rush home from work, make a pot of tea and sit in one of the two balconies that our charming little flat possessed. With not many buildings blocking my view, on a clear day I could see right till the airport. There was so much to take in. I loved it.

One such evening as I was getting ready to pour myself a cuppa, my husband yelled out, asking me to come to the balcony immediately. Slightly annoyed, I shouted back saying I would, in a minute, as soon as I had poured a cup for myself. He yelled out again, a strange urgency in his voice that I hadn’t heard before. “Now!”

I rushed out, my tea forgotten for the moment.

And, I will never forget the sight that greeted my eyes, for as long as I live! 

A man was hanging from the balcony of the flat, adjacent to ours. Yes, you heard me right! He was hanging, clutching onto the railings, for dear life. A sheer drop of ten floors below him. Though he had his back to us, I could make out that he was quite young (possibly in his twenties) and well-dressed. Expensive shirt and trousers.

He was facing the inside of the flat. His head bent so that someone inside the flat would not be able to see him. Unless, of course, they came out onto the balcony. Sensing movement behind him, he jerked his head round and saw us gaping at him. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible (as though he was taking a stroll in the park), he went back to what he was doing, gripping the railings, looking down nervously once in a while. In those few minutes, I could make out that he was really scared. I mean, who wouldn’t be. One false move and you are history!

  

“Should we tell the security guard?” my husband whispered, sounding worried. "He may slip and fall." I agreed. I didn’t want it on our conscience. We rushed down to inform the guard but by the time we got to the bottom of our block of flats and looked up, the man had vanished. Into thin air!

Poor, unfortunate soul who had risked his life for the love of a married woman. Whose husband had walked in on her! Just think, how much easier their lives might have been, had this romance played out today, in modern day Gurgaon. So many places to go to. To disappear to. Why, they might have even been eating dim sums next to me!

Whoever said falling in love was easy. Falling to your death, however, is another matter!