Brands and the Millennium City!

I can’t understand why folks are getting their knickers in a twist over a certain politician’s Louis Vuitton bag. Where I live, designer accessories are part and parcel of everyday life. From the little mouse in my apartment, the kids who land up at my doorstep on Halloween to my cleaning woman. Then, there are my friends and foes. 

Everyone has a thing about brands in Gurgaon.

 

The mouse will only nibble at branded cheese and turn up its little nose at anything else I place inside the trap. The trick-or-treaters insist on expensive candy and my cleaning woman has a shiny red designer clutch. Okay, it’s a Chanel knockoff but you get the drift.

 

If you can’t afford the real thing, you make do with a fake. Like my latest purchase. A pair of Adrcombie and Fetch sandals from the friendly neighbourhood shopping mall. There is absolutely no way you can tell that it’s not the real thing. My big fat feet hiding the logo probably has something to do with it. But seriously folks, I am not kidding. Even our local cows will only shop for Washington apples at the fruit mart.

 

Personally I don’t think it’s a big deal. If you have a thing for brands and can afford them, why ever not? Though I do think some designer wares look quite obnoxious and while I wouldn’t spend my hard-earned money on them, I wouldn’t grudge someone who does. 

 

Growing up in Calcutta, shopping for brands meant trips to Fancy (Phency) Market in Khidderpore. My first Yamaha synthesizer was purchased from a dingy shop inside the market. The best part about going to Fancy Market those days was the thrill factor. There would be frequent police raids and one never knew whether or not the raid would happen in the middle of one’s shopping expedition. So you had to be really quick and watch your back all the time!

 

Then, there was the stretch along Chowringhee – from New Market to Dharamtolla where vendors would sell phoren goods traded by cash-strapped foreigners to pay for their expenses on holiday. A selection of watches, unwashed clothes, handbags, belts, sunglasses would be hung on the racks for sale. My friend even discovered a few dollars inside the bag she bought with her birthday money. 

 

A far cry from shopping for branded stuff in Gurgaon. Here it’s completely legit and above board. No chance of a police raid unless the shop keeper hasn’t paid his taxes or has murdered someone in cold blood. But my friends swear that shopping expeditions to swanky malls are just as adrenaline-inducing. Since I’ve never been one to get my kicks that way - give me a trip to Fancy Market in the eighties any day. Throw in a time machine too.

10 Types Of Parties That Will Destroy Your Day

Courtesy: Anja  Rabenstein

Gone are the days when an invitation to a party filled the heart with much joy. But then, life is so very different when you are six and have an evening of birthday cake, games and take-home goodies to look forward to. Sigh. At the wrong side of 40, I find my heart sinking at the thought of another party. Joy has been replaced by dread and the only piñata I look forward to smashing has an uncanny resemblance to the host's head!

There's no way you can escape. The doors are locked. You might consider jumping out of the balcony in extreme cases. Death seems preferable to this ordeal.

 

If all of this sounds rather extreme to you, perhaps you haven't had the good fortune to be invited to the wrong kind of parties. Thank your lucky stars! If you had, you might have seen the woman sulking in the corner, glowering at all and sundry, blaming the world for her misfortune. Yes, I'm the one who couldn't get away.

 

Do you feel my pain? Read on to find out whether you have been to any of these dos:

 

1. Musical soiree

 

This one is strangely reminiscent of a hostage crisis. You and a motley group of individuals are taken captive by the host or hostess and tortured by an unending medley of songs (original or covers)/instrument recitals/recitation/impromptu dance performances. One after another. Then another. And another. If that wasn't enough, there are a few people recording your agony on their smartphones, though I don't think any television channel would be interested in airing this show. There's no way you can escape. The doors are locked. You might consider jumping out of the balcony in extreme cases. Death seems preferable to this ordeal.

 

2. Potluck party

 

This one makes Breaking Bad look like Candy Land. This isn't the kind of potluck party where you show up with Tupperware filled with your signature curry. Potluck means pot-luck. Everyone around you is puffing away to glory, squinting their eyes and laughing a great deal. They are on top of the world while you stumble from one corner to the next trying to find some clean air to breathe. Gasp!

 

3. Selfie party

 

You better have your best clothes on for this one. Picture perfect makeup and not a hair out of place. Oh, did I forget the pout? The hostess will corner you at every step, whip out her smartphone and click selfies. One near the stairs, another next to the dining table, another one on the balcony. Oh dear, the light is too dim on the balcony, my double chin looks exaggerated. Let's get one with the dog and the goldfish in the bowl instead. If you are lucky, you can throw her smartphone out the window when she's not looking. Dogs don't just eat homework these days. That's your excuse.

 

4. Spiritual party

 

This one is a real nuisance if you are a non-believer like me. You can't hurt the host's feeling or religious sentiments so you fall in line without overt protest. If you think the ordeal ends with the prayers, you're wrong. There's song and dance too. Much swaying, clapping and waving of hands. Perhaps you can stretch your arms out a wee bit and strangle the host. That might end the agony.

 

5. Housewarming party

 

This one should be called "Buy Me A Present Party" because that is what you are expected to do. Buy a ridiculously expensive gift in exchange for a conducted tour around someone's new home. Marvel at the godawful décor, bizarre colour scheme and the rather strange curios and paintings the host brought back from his latest trip (read Chatuchak Market) abroad. I'd rather courier the gift and skip the tour. Thanks but no thanks!

 

6. Office party

 

You see them every single day of the year. Why on earth would you want to socialize with them over some flat Coca Cola, chips and stale pizza while Daler Mehndi belts out ancient balle balle numbers over a music system? Oh wait, there's Antakshari too. You are herded into a circle and you have to start singing Bollywood songs. A for Aaja AajaMein Hoon Pyar Tera! Arrrrrrrgh, come and kill me now!

 

7. Kiddie birthday party

 

Three words for this one. Are you nuts? Wailing children, maids in tow and yummy mummies do not a good party make. There's one person in the crowd who's looks sorrier than you do. The magician that the host hired to do magic tricks for the little brats. Wait a minute, isn't he getting paid for the magic tricks? If you pay me, I might show you a trick. I will do the disappearing act for you!

 

8. Wellness party

 

If you think discussing nutrition, dietary supplements and fitness was my idea of fun, you might want to take a hike. Literally and figuratively. It would do you a world of good. Keep me far away from the nuts and seeds. Those are for birds and I'm not one. In fact, I don't particularly like birds or bird food. The lecture on transfats will be wasted on me so spare me the invite. I'm going to Wendy's instead. I have a date with their Baconator!

 

9. Diwali party

 

I'm quite sure Agatha Christie was invited to a Diwali party once and her angst at the ordeal drove her to write Cards on the Table where the host Mr Shaitana was murdered after a bridge get-together! Get the drift? I'm a writer too and I might end up murdering you in my next book. So save me the invite and keep your cards close to your chest for this one!

 

10. Theme party

 

Dressing up as Morticia Addams for an entire evening is not my thing. Don't get me wrong. I love ghosts and ghouls but only in books and movies. I don't want to mingle with them in a party over chicken tikka kabab and Breezers. I'm not too fond of movie stars either so don't expect me to turn up with my bouffant hairstyle, flared pants and over-sized goggles if you are planning a Bollywood retro party. I tried to make myself look like Whitney Houston for a party once when I was a teen but an allergic reaction to the lacquer from the perm made my face swell up like a puffer fish. Need I say more?

 

First published in Huffington Post

Tea and snakes!

I’m thrilled that wildlife is reclaiming its territories from human beings. But I refuse to give my kitchen up to a snake. Or my sofa for that matter. 

Gurgaon’s snakes are now making their way into condominiums and penthouses for a taste of urban living. Not content with slithering around gardens and car parks, these reptiles are climbing up drainage pipes and stairwells into apartments.

 

I can’t blame them really. I’d trade the Aravallis for the Aralias any day. But the residents aren’t exactly ecstatic with the new company. 

 

A few years back, a woman went to make herself a cup of tea in the morning and found a snake curled up on her gas stove. By the time she had brought the place down with her screams, wildlife officials arrived to take the snake away. And they had the audacity to call it a “distressed” reptile. I’m not sure who was more distressed. The woman or the snake.

 

Another chap found a snake cozying up on the sofa with him one night. Thankfully, he leapt out and called the wildlife department before the snake got too close. The snake was kept under observation and released into the wild. No news about the poor chap.

 

Stories like these in the newspapers are giving me the heebie jeebies. I give the kitchen a thorough inspection in the morning before I make myself a cup of tea these days. And I don’t venture into the bathroom without my spectacles on. The internet is rife with stories of snakes hiding inside commodes you see. And when the doorbell rings, I make sure that a snake hasn’t slithered its way to my doorstep along with the Amazon parcel I ordered. 

 

I am taking no chances.

 

I’ve read that around 20 species of snakes are native to the Aravallis and four of them, the monocled cobra, spectacled cobra, black cobra and the common krait, are really poisonous. These four snakes are given the highest level of protection by law under the Scheduled II species of the Indian Wildlife Protection Act, 1972. That’s well and good but what about extending some of that protection to humans as well? All lives matter -- as far as I’m concerned. 

 

Did you know that even Salman Khan was not spared? The actor was bitten thrice at his Panvel farmhouse! As if once was not enough. One hell of a vindictive snake I'd say. Though I’m glad that he’s doing well now. Salman that is. Not the snake.

 

I’ve read snakes can’t stand the smell of garlic so I made a garlic repellent the other day and sprayed it liberally around the flat. The only problem is that it is so damn strong, I can’t stand the smell of it either. So I might have to move homes soon.

 

Snake – 1. Human – 0.

 

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.

 

 

 

 

Here a theka, there a theka, everywhere a theka theka!

When the teen returned from university for her summer break merrily singing “Ganpat Chal Daaru La” (all the rage among Gen-Z apparently), it suddenly struck me that if Gurugram had an anthem, this one would certainly make the cut.  

I mean - take a look around you. There are more daaru shops here than schools, museums, libraries and bookstores. Doesn’t that tell you something? And if that wasn’t enough, the Millennium City is all set to get 300 more liquor shops from June onwards. *eye roll*

 

Oh and we also have shoot-outs. In fact, there was an incident at 32nd Milestone soon after I'd moved to the Village. A few gangsters had shot someone dead inside a restaurant. Left me quivering in my boots it did. Avoided that place for the next twenty years though I hear it's had a natty makeover recently.

 

Initially, I found Gurgaon’s ahatas, liquor vends and the culture of open-air drinking quite fascinating. Men (and sometimes women) would be drinking by the side of the road or highway in the evenings with their alcohol bottles lined up neatly on the roof of the car. For youngsters looking for a quick drink and snack after work, Gurgaon’s ahatas were a pocket-friendly alternative to pricey pubs and lounges. Over time, the makeshift shacks/ahatas transformed into buzzing open-air restaurants replete with ear-splitting music and, in some cases, a compact dance floor. There were reports of drunken brawls every now and then and illegal ahatas being shut down. But each time an ahata would close, another would open further down the road. It was like magic. Except it really wasn't.

 

Nowadays, I don’t see people drinking by the side of the road anymore like they used to in the past. And there’s a spike in the number of swanky liquor stores selling IMFL. There are at least six to seven liquor stores + innumerable ahatas in my vicinity. But only one school and one and half bookshops. Gurugram is not just Haryana’s biggest market but also accounts for a whopping share of Delhi-NCR’s alcohol business. It’s a lucrative business, no doubt. 

If only writing were as lucrative. I’m seriously considering bidding for a vend and turning into a Ganpat. Might make more business sense than writing books for a living!

 

 

Poltergeist? No, Power Cuts!

The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

I don’t think Bon Jovi (or was it that Jean-Baptiste Karr fellow?) was talking about Gurugram but the chappal fits really well so I’m going to use it. Gurugram might have evolved into a swanky glass-and-steel Millennium City (just like Singapore) from a dusty hamlet but there is one thing that has stayed the same despite all the mindboggling changes. Come summer and the crippling power cuts arrive without fail – often much earlier than the langra aam I wait for patiently.

When I moved to Gurgaon from Calcutta in 1998, I was awed by my new surroundings. Vast empty spaces, stretches of unfettered green, quaint kothis and a handful of condominiums – ours being one of the few. It was almost as though someone had built me a house in the middle of the Maidan. On a clear day, I could see the planes taking off from the Delhi airport, from my 10^th floor balcony and there was a huge ravine (and illegal quarry – more about that later) in front of the apartment.
 
It was September, chill in the air, a glorious time to relocate from muggy Calcutta. I had left my job at British Council and decided to spend a few months unpacking boxes and doing up my flat before I began the job hunt in earnest. And right from the onset of that first winter, one woke up to a curious early morning power cut. Our neighbourhood friendly uncleji helpfully informed us that power would go to the fields as it was sowing season. A few months rolled into summer and the actual power cuts began. The condominium didn’t have power back up (there was a tussle going on between the builders and the residents that we had no clue about). The inverter ran out within two hours and the aircon didn’t work on it, in any case. So I sat at home and wept. My only company being the nesting pigeons and the heat rashes that had sprung up all over my arms and neck. It was an oozing mess.
 
In the evenings, when the husband returned from work, we would cruise round the block in our Maruti 800, air conditioner on full blast, buying orange ice lollies from the ice cream vendors and and chatting into the wee hours of the morning. You might think it was romantic but truth be told, I was nagging him to move back to Calcutta.
 
A couple of earthquakes later, we were shaken and stirred enough to move. Not to Kolkata but to a solid park-facing bungalow down the road. What a fall from the 10^th floor apartment it was. But like those pesky poltergeists from the American horror movies, the power cuts moved with us. There was just no getting rid of them. The house would heat up like a brick kiln during the day and husband and me would go around with buckets of water, hosing down the walls and floor to keep it cool. Thankfully, the bungalow had a nice little courtyard and we’d carry a cane sofa out and sleep under the stars at night. Romantic? Not at all. Uncomfortable as heck? Yes. You see, Gurugram mosquitos are warriors whose ancestors might have learnt a trick or two from the legendary warrior guru. And unbeknownst to us, Delhi was dealing with its monkey menace by deporting its denizens to the forests almost next door.
 
A year later, despite the crippling power cuts and the mosquito warfare, including waking up next to a monkey family, a baby came along and several months down the line, we decided to have a rice ceremony for her. Horror of horrors, on the day of the ceremony, the electrical wiring in the house went kaput. All that hosing down with water was probably the cause. So we were stuck without power for good and a house full of guests! That night, after everything was over, we booked a room at The Bristol (the only hotel in Gurgaon at that point of time) and had a good night’s sleep after months. 
 
Cut to the present. We live in a condo with functional gensets but every summer, it’s the same. The Return of Poltergeist in HD. The generators trip because they can’t carry the load of all the air conditioners running full blast in 900 odd flats. The electrical appliances go bust and I could be the heroine of my own horror movie. Often I let out a huge sigh of resignation and wonder whether things will ever improve here. Or perhaps it’s my destiny? After all I grew up in West Bengal in the eighties with rampant load shedding, candles and invertors for company with a Chief Minister who was called Jyoti (Light). It’s almost as though I landed from the frying pan into the fire. 
 
Dang - the lights gone again. See you later.

Gurgaon weather update!