Polly Wants a Cracker

The Twilight Zone

No, I’m not talking about Edward Sparkles. Tch. Here, get educated: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Twilight_Zone.

Like me, many peeps have a certain problem. And many peeps blog about this problem. I know this because I’ve spent the last two weeks reading their posts related to it. It’s nice knowing that one is not alone, but we are a sidelined bunch who are forced to live not just with this horrible problem but with the collective disdain of the rest of the tropical population. For the 53,689,720,000th time: IT IS NOT “JUST” A LIZARD!!!!!!!!

I have not slept in these two weeks–okay, I did for the last couple of days, which is why I’m thinking clearly enough to type this out–but yes, two freakin’ whole weeks without sleep! To everyone who is not bothered by these creatures: Good for you! I’m sure you’re bothered by something else, so I’m waiting behind the curtain for that thing to show up and then I will throw your stupid flippant comment into your stupid, stupid face. Stupid! Because, see, they are the only creature on earth that bothers me. No, let’s narrow that down even further. Reptiles do not bother me. The large, garden variety lizard does not bother me. Only these stupid, effin stupid, pasty-looking wall stickers bother me. It is a phobia. It is unexplainable. I make friends with vermin for crying out loud! (Speaking of which, a family of cats adopted our house and garden, so George is no more. All of the Georges. Gone. Now I have kittens, and I call ‘em Mephistopheles. Their mother is Faustina, but everyone else calls her Blackie.) (She is not black.)

Back to the stupid, effin stupid, pasty wall stickers… When co-existing with them seemed like my only option, I had a stare down with one for an hour on a work-week morning. It was peeping at me over the side of my suitcase in the corner of the room and was turning its head from side to side, following my movements. It’s head kind of looked like Kermit’s for a second–just a split second. But who am I kidding? Kermit is a frog, and he’s green, and it’s not easy being green and all that, but he’s a frog, and I’m not bothered by frogs. I like frogs, maybe just because they’re not stupid, effin stupid, pasty wall stickers!

Also, don’t lie to me and say they keep to themselves and stay up on the ceiling. Lies, all lies. You liars!

So co-existence is out of the question. My place has been lizard free for a week now (touch wood) and I hope it stays that way. Here’s what I used:

• Amateur fumigation, aka Hit Spray, on the doors and windows and in cracks and crevices every couple of days. This has to be done when you’re going to be leaving the house for a few hours or you’ll end up sick. I don’t have mosquitoes,  roaches, or any other insects to begin with, but I’m willing to put up with a lethal chemical barrier as long as it works. I would not recommend this if you have children or pets. We’re talking about a considerable amount of pesticide here.
• Eggshells. This is supposed to trigger their get-away-from-this-birds-nest instinct. I have small piles of eggshells near windows and in random corners, all in plain sight. They have to be replaced with fresh ones every couple of weeks or these guys will think it’s an abandoned birds-nest and come back.
• Mothballs. Fail. As much as the Internet tells you that they are a deterrent, they are not. They were the first thing I tried, but all I achieved was a house that reeked of mothballs.

What I would really like to do is fix all the gaps in the woodwork and give the walls a fresh coat of paint. But this isn’t my house and I have to wait for Mr. T to get people. He’s in no hurry (because “it’s just a lizard”), so the above are my only hope for now. Am hoping they continue to work.

[Edit: 12:37 AM. Fifteen minutes ago I heard a clicking behind my head. Turned around and there was wannabe Kermit. I jumped up, and it went to hide behind the tube light. In these fifteen minutes, the tube light has been sealed all around with masking tape. All other light sockets with gaping holes around them have also been sealed. I can't reach the ceiling fan, so I can't seal around that. Dammit! No sleep tonight  ]

[Edit: 1:03 AM. I couldn't sit easy knowing the duct around the fan was open. So I used a mop to maneuvre the tape into place.]

Only second to the cause of my insomnia was its accompanying soundtrack. Now I adore Walk off the Earth. I think they’re super cool. But add “Polly” to insomnia and anxiety and see what you get. It played in my head on continuous loop every night. I’m sure there’s some message from my subconscious embedded here.

Homogenized Milquetoast

The Hindustan Times is running a campaign to make Delhi sartorially splendid. From the two style makeovers that have happened so far and from the expert commentators, I’ve deduced that in order to say you dress well, you have to shop at one of the DLF malls. I’m taking issue with this. No, not because I abhor crass consumerism (it’s my political affiliation), but because (1) how people dress is an extension of their personality. Let people be. (2) Some random pile of style experts was put together, and they are deciding what is and what is not aesthetically pleasing. Let people be. (3) Once you homogenize everyone, who will I point at and make fun of and think I am better than? There will only be mall-rat aunties and yuppies. BORING.

Speaking of DLF malls, DLF Place in Saket is a great place for the activity in point 3 above. You get some real doozies there.

Delhi Spank Numero Dos: Delhi 6

This will be kept brief so that I can schedule in some fainting. I’ve never fainted before in my life, so I don’t know how to, but it seems like the right thing to do at the moment.

• Purana Dilli / Delhi 6
• No map
• No plan
• Jama Masjid
• 1 crowd-hating introvert

Join the dots.

My sincerest apologies to le hapless travel companion [hereon TrC] who watched me turn into a zombie before their very eyes. [Methinks I should also tell them in person before posting it here, but I'm, like, faint and all, k.]

Luckily for TrC and me, I had been fed at Paranthe Wali Gali before the aimless wandering began, so my body kept running on auto long after the pilot shut shop. Ok, another list, a food one.

• Mixed vegetable parantha—awesome
• Bhindi [okra] parantha—awesome
• Dal and aloo [potato] parantha—awesome
• Rabdi parantha—OMMFG awesome!!!

Dilli 6, I concede this round to you. But I’m not done–no. This weak-stomached child of the suburbs has a bone to pick with you, and it will be at Karim’s. Soon.

And I have a list of havelis to find.

Time now for some positive visualization and, thus, this week’s earworm.

 

Structured-Hippie-Librarian-EarthMother-Boho Chic

That’s gonna be my look from this summer onward. I’ve been channeling Ellen Degeneres for way too long with the shirt, trousers, and Converse sneakers thing, and it’s time to take things a bit more feminine and flow-y.

Well….the intention was to take things a little more feminine and flow-y, but now, as I sit in the midst of my damages, I realize that there’s been a full-on oestrogen explosion. I’ve got flimsy, floaty blouses; skirts that sweep the floor; halternecks, strappy things, and more halternecks; and dresses that billow and swoosh. And there are patterns and prints and flowers. Seriously. FLOWERS. On me (!?!). There are also some random sequins on one of the dresses that I’m gonna sit and cut off now. I’ve gone feminine, not batshit crazy.

Janpath Market is so much better than Sarojini. Though, as I always promise myself, next time imma go early before the crowds get there, because, as you know, I hate people. Especially lots of them.

And even better, across the road is Sarvanaa Bhavan! Today, we had to wait in line (aka mosh pit) outside for our names to be called. ["We" meaning Adopted Sister and I.] Once in, hunger overrode better judgement (as usual), and two “Fixed Thalis” and filter kaapis later, we could not even summon the bitches inside us to glower at the annoying family at the next table. Is it advisable to loudly suggest to someone on the phone–in front of your family and children and strangers at adjacent tables–that they should stay in hiding instead of showing up at the police thana after they’ve been summoned? Oh, wait. Of course it is. This be Delhi.

The nicest thing about Saravananananaa Bhavan, apart from the food, is that all the waiters speak Tamil. This is unlike Naivedyam, where you also get authentic regional food, but your waiter is from Govindpuri. Just stuffing him into a dhoti doesn’t make him come from Udipi–tsk tsk. I should talk about Naivedyam sometime. It’s pretty awesome in its own right.

WordPress has added some new tools where I can see which countries readers come from. [Just the country--no GPS stalking. Don't panic.] I’ve got readers in Japan! That. Is. So. Cool!

Hello!

Whitefield EPIP Zone on Juice

Gurgaon.

No other comments because I spent the weekend indoors–in Gurgaon, which happens to be the Whitefield EPIP Zone on some serious juice.

There was this pretty market with a fountain at its center where some Chinese food was consumed which may or may not have gotten the Tortoise and me plugged up, but I have nowhere to go but down with that part of the story, so will shut up here.

You’re gonna show me more, right? Right? I’m willing to give Crazy Noodles another try just to see if it was indeed them who did it (still think it was McD’s).

 

There’s No Beginning, There’ll Be No End (and some Gloves Off)

‘Cause on my love you can deeependooooooh

And now that I’ve started it, wait till I finish.

It’s written in the wind

Oh, everywhere I gooooh

So if you really love me (love me) {love me}

Come on and let it sho-00h

Oh, what the hell? Here’s the whole thing.

I did that just so I could look at Marti Pellow’s sexy teeth. Then I googled him and, now, erm… well, we don’t want him nibbling on our napes anymore.

And now, for your reading pleasure, a long-winded exposition has been summarized into easy-to-digest tidbits. Yes, I am talking down to you. I lou you so much that I cannot kiss your ass.

What we’ve been up to

Dilli Haat: I don’t get it. I was told to expect “craftsmen who come from all corners of the vast & varied land of India.” What I saw was the folk version of Commercial Street. The same stuff in different stalls at different prices. But I’ve been there enough times now to know which stalls sell the unique stuff and those traders know my wallet by face. I’ve paved a road of goodwill lined with cash, so you, dear fraands, will start off with a healthy discount as long as you take me with you.

This is a place you go to on a Sunday evening. And not with the intention of shopping.

1. Head straight for the food stalls.

2. Order a fruit beer.

3. Check the stone benches and tables for reptile life.

4. Sit under the trees and swat away flies that thrive on fruit beer.

5. Think about what you want to eat. (I always sway toward the North East section. At the Nagaland stall: The. Best. Pork. Momos. I. Have. Ever. Put. In. My. Mouth).

6. Order. Swat some more flies.

7. Eat. This is clean, quality food. It’s good stuff to pack for dinner as well.

8. Wander around the market and make some impulsive purchases. The jewelry and home knick-knack stalls are the most interesting.

9. C’est tout.

Hauz Khas Village: This is the most beautiful place I have been to yet in this city and if I ever go off the radar, the odds are 10 to 1 that you’ll find me here. I’m going to have to do it justice in more detail, with pictures. No pithy little summary for you, Hauz Khas. You make me very, very happy. Marry me?

The Grey Garden, Hauz Khas Village: Let’s return to the list system.

1. Choose a Friday night, any Friday night.

2. Make your way to Hauz Khas Village.

3. Wander its winding streets, walk through dark and crumbling corridors, gingerly climb up a narrow flight of steps, walk through another dark corridor till you see a passage leading off to the right at the end of which you can see a warm, hazy light.

4. Go down that passage and step through a wall of curtains and curtains that enclose a space filled with curtains, which overlooks a moonlit lake.

5. Sit inside or out. There are advantages to both. Outside, you have the lake. Inside, you have the proprietors, and yes, they are the guys you wonder what happened to: the guys you know exist but are so rare you question your beliefs.

6. Order wine or beer. I did wine, but I’d suggest the beer.

7. Lean back and take it all in. The “all” is the amount of thought, taste, and effort that went into every detail of this place. Then stop thinking and just feel it. This is the life.

8. Order your food. We had lotus crisps (fried lotus stems), steamed fish in banana leaves, zucchini and carrot tagliatelle (this was not regular tagliatelle with zucchini and carrot in the sauce; the tagliatelle was the zucchini and carrot), and chocolate cake. Plate-licking good. The only thing that remained till the end was my wine. I don’t know a lot (read: anything) about wine. I know that you drink red with red meat and white with fish. That’s the beginning and the end. I have also chugged cooking wine out of a box. What may have been a very expensive bottle tasted a lot like that cooking wine.

9. What was that rating system? Oh, yes. Food: 10 / Service: 10 / Decor: 10 / Music: 10 / Ambience: 9 (little brats a couple of tables away. Keep it down, girls. And stop flirting with the proprietors. They’re mine.) / Price: 10 (worth every penny).

Saket, again: A diversion. In the midst of all this wandering, we find ourselves getting quite comfortable at Saket, and the theater there, more precisely. If it wasn’t for Saket, I would never have noticed that Justin Timberlake has grown up to be so fine.

The Kailash Market near the NDTV Office: I’m totally confused now. I’ve been to three markets in Kailash and though they’ve all been somewhat different in layout and offerings, I can’t tell which is where anymore. This one seemed to have more stuff for everyone than the previous two. Tons of jewelry shops with the most godawful, ugly waste of human time, skill, and money (I have to take pictures of this, too, or you won’t believe me) and some designer boutiques for the more upscale among us. And then some nice coffee shops and everyday boutiques for the more impoverished. I find myself being drawn to dresses and skirts more here than I ever was in Bangalore. Maybe it’s the heat and humidity. What would you rather have? Jeans that stick fast to your thighs or a breeze gently stroking them? No matter what you say, I know you want the latter whatever be your gender.

I guess I’m done for now. This turned out to be pretty long even after all the hacking.

Strike a Pose; and Market to Market

Facebook profile pics are big business here. For instance, when Dilli peeps see a fountain, it’s a photo op; when I see a fountain, all I want to do is streak straight into it. How do you guys do it, the posing? How do you keep your straight smiley faces, or your smoldering come hithers, or your rehearsed spontaneous action shots? That too in front of everyone?! Props, peeps. Props.

I remembered that my phone has that wonderful ability to capture scenes and objects in living color, so I took two photos today. No, not of me.

This is my garden.

And this is Khan Market.

Sorry for the darkness; t’was eventide.

Do you see the horribly unsafe crisscross of wires and the butts of air conditioners? This is the most expensive market in Delhi and proof of the fact that a tattered and torn book cover hides inside it a page-turning masterpiece. More about Khan Market below. First, some deets on the ultimate Big Bazaar shopper–c’est moi.

So I finally moved into my new digs and needed to stock up on kitchen stuff and cleaning agents and sundry furnishings. Big Bazaar at Vasant Kunj it was. To quote Adopted Sister who took me there, “You have no idea how big a Big Bazaar can get until you shop there.” It can be really, really big. The staff there are also extremely helpful and pleasant and so very different from the surly, bitter, “you want this or not” staff from the Big Bazaars in Bangalore. Dilli: 1; B’lore: Fail.

I’m just discovering the markets here and the fact that they are much better places to be at than the malls. They’re crowded, your toes can be run over at any second, and you’re constantly dodging air-conditioner drips. But they’re lovely–in a very orientalist messy-aesthetic way. The little arty-farty bakeries, department stores, and boutiques stock some interesting stuff, and all the food places people (and the people on the Internet) recommend are found on these little islands.

On Saturday, it was Defence Colony market and the Shack at Moet’s. I was meeting a girl I’d never met before, a friend of my mother’s friend’s daughter. My mom kept egging me on to call her and her friend did the same, so we finally caved and made a plan. She was really good company, but I might have come off as a blithering idiot, so it remains to be seen if we will hang out again. The Shack is dressed up to look like a fancy hunting lodge, all furry cushions, dark wood, and tree-trunk furniture. At first I went “hmmm, overdone,” but it grew on me and now I think it was really pretty. The food was OK. I had barbecued prawns, which tasted really good, but required some serious hacking with the knife and fork, and Thai green curry, which was good. The service was some kind of sucky, though. The prices are steep: Rs. 2500, for two starters, two beers, one main course, and waiters who somehow manage to distract themselves doing nothing. I’ll come back if someone else foots the bill, and I ain’t ordering the prawns.

So the ratings…

Food: 7

Service: 2

Decor: 9

Music: 5 (they started out with some weird trance, not that there’s anything wrong with trance, but a woman was screaming in pain [0], but then they changed it to CCR and acoustic 90′s rock [+5])

Ambience: 5 (Not enough people to form a general opinion with the setting)

Price: 5

Oh! And I watched That Girl in Yellow Boots. Don’t go by the reviews; I’ll give you two reasons why this will be worth that ticket stub: Gulshan Devaiya and Puja Sarup.

Today, it was Khan Market and fridge-and-water-dispenser-buying day. Khan Market is one of the most interesting places I’ve been to in Delhi so far. Think walking the alleys of Shivajinagar, only each doorway has a doorman or a bouncer. It’s such a perfect example of how public spaces are no one’s responsibility… or am I missing something and is the effect intentional? Let me know.

The Amici Cafe is awesome. Good food, unpretentious surroundings, no distracting music, and people who just come to eat said good food and not make a statement (this, babies, is an eclectic crowd; they have better things to do than “be seen”); wood-fired-oven pizzas–pizza pizza, the way it was meant to be; really nice, attentive staff who let the three of us hang there for four hours undisturbed. They got quite a big tip, which they actually appropriated, but I like them still.

Ratings

Food: 10

Service: 10

Decor: 8 (nothing special, but not pretentious)

Music: 10 (no music, so nothing to complain about.)

Ambience: 8 (would have got a 10, but it allows screaming children in so -2)

Price: 8 (Rs. 2600 for two big hand-made pizzas, 6 beverages, and 2 desserts)

This got, like, really long. OK, buh-bye for now!

Saket Hot Magaa!

Yes, Anna Hazare is out there starving for my (our? his?) benefit and I’m out exercising my right to crass consumerism. I did think him noble for the first five minutes, but it all went downhill after Baba Ramdev got involved and they let him stay. Now I’m firmly on the side that dreads what this country’s definition of democracy is. Op ed over.

There is a reason I do not write about politics, society, or the human condition: I am woefully inept at it. The opinions are there, but they are not formed by extensive research on an issue, nor do they account for subtleties. That, and I originally typed out about 50 lines, read them back, and then deleted them. So make of this what you will.

And so we segue back into piffle.

What makes you feel at home in a brand-new city? Whither comes that turning point that suddenly has you thinking, “I can make this work”? Mine came when I caught the first glimpse of the HRC guitar at Saket. Ah, Saket. It is so uncool of me to love you, but I do.

Glass, chrome, acres and acres of mall-age–we understand each other. I’m no mall rat (can’t understand why someone would just hang out at a mall without specific shopping or a food place in mind), so maybe it’s just the familiarity of the space. A mall is a mall is a mall. Some are bigger than others, some more expensive, but retail spaces, to me, are havens where everything is right with the world.

And, hell yeah, the shopping is better here! I’ve always said this of Bangalore–you don’t really have that many options when it comes to clothes shopping. The only spaces that seem to cater to more than one trend are the Lifestyle stores and Splash. Everywhere else you go, it’s the same stuff with different price tags and brand names.

Over here, I can do me some damage. Like real damage. Like a whole lot of real damage. They really do understand that there are more than, perhaps, three kinds of women.

And tomorrow, I do Dilli Haat. O happy day!

Poof! A market?

Oh, so this happens every fortnight?

When I left home this morning….my definition of “home” has become so general–*selfbackpatitate*

When I left home this morning, everything looked the same. Puddles from last night’s rain, no autos as usual, and the guys from the gym downstairs sizing me up (yes, it is a tattoo and yes, if I had balls they’d be made of steel, unlike yours) (no, I don’t know why I’m being mean). Nothing out of the ordinary.

The workday passes as usual. The bright smiley face hasn’t shown up this week. I have a feeling that it belongs to someone else and is on holiday with them. This means that when it returns I have to be good girl and not do the stupid things I am wont to do. Dammit!

On the way home….Holy shit of cow, Batman!

The kilometer leading up to the guesthouse is now a fairground. Everything is red, orange, yellow, green, and blue. I couldn’t find my street and when I did find it the auto couldn’t get through it because the whole street was lined with stalls full of people. It’s mostly clothes and hand-loom stuff like the nighties and frocks sold outside St. Mary’s in Shivajinagar, but Shivajinagar don’t have no music! Each stall here has a musician or a tape recorder and they’re playing their chosen themes on loop. The stall outside my window has as its herald the theme from Dhoom 2. Over and over and over it plays and it’s still a welcome break from “Character Dheela Hai,” which I’m sure has been programmed into my A/C because I hear it in my sleep.

They’ll start dismantling everything at around 10pm and will finish by 11. Strangely, they leave nothing behind: no piles of garbage, no bits of paper, nothing. Tomorrow morning, it’ll be like they were never there. Poof!