Dilli Ki Badnaam Galiyaan

Disclaimer : Purely personal observations, so if you think its inaccurate/disrespectful/plain stupid , leave a stinker of a comment. Its a democracy..everyone's entitled to an opinion and an asshole. help yourself.

Special thanks : Mr. Darymple, whose literary genius i unashamedly take inspiration from.

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Its been an uninterrupted year in the city I had loved to hate and now, hate to love.A pet activity is ghosthunting and sure enough, ive found a few in the national capital. 9 lives,baby :

1. Ghost of Central Delhi 

Power defines this one. The folks haunted by this ghost either have it, or are chasing it with a fair degree of success, or are sitting on the sidelines, pulling the strings of the semi-puppets . The King & his court , The challenger and his force, the kingmakers and their pawns are given a jolt every morning and scutter about the rest of the day fulfilling what the ghost commands.The money is either with those who've had it forever or those who pretend to.Pedigreed finess and class in language, persuits and interests prevails and the blood is blue, royal blue

2. Ghost of Delhi Old

Like its name , this ghost is obsessed with the glory it once had. The old hag is full of tales of the past, but not much of plans of the future. Despite everything, it serves its purpose as the time capsule, wrapping in its curves the wars fought, the honours saved, the brutal punishments and bloody retaliations.The Economy is mostly old world, open bazaar style. The blood is black from stillness.

3. Ghost of Delhi South

This ghost is of the age between the brash teens and the content middle age when one has got the fruits of struggle , and can either decide to start a biger struggle, or to plateau at this comfortable height.The language, persuits and indulgances are a notch below real class and are the top of the wannabe league. The blood is deep,satisfied  red.

4. Ghost of Delhi West

This ghost is the upstart, the fighter, the firestarter. This one's ultimate trip is to make itself the ghost of Delhi south and it will work hard, work smart and kick ass to get there. The language is pure wannabe, persuits opporunistic and indulgances pretentious. The color of the blood is shallow, quick running, fierce orange.

5. Ghost of Delhi East

A ghost who hasnt yet identified what's it made of, and is too lazy to introspect. It just sits around,wandering its way through time. language is uncared for, persuits by default and indulgances,if any, depend upon lack of effort in acquisition.The blood is a dull, murky brown.

6. Ghost of Delhi North

This is the academic ghost with horn rimmed glasses and a joint of hashish. It haunts its way about classrooms, hostels, rent ,libraries, student politics and that great discovery - that of the self. Of the ones affected by it, some persue learning while others learn persuing.

language is a dish of mashed potatoes, persuits dictated by the black hole of future and indulgances defined by impression and affordability. The blood is the hot red of directionless energy.

7. Ghost of Gurgaon

This is the most confused ghost of the lot. It obviously missed the original party, so decided to throw its own a little south of the venue. problem was, it invited all those who were not invited elsewhere,either.A certain lawyer said that direction is more important than speed.The ghost's tearing hurry to move forward has led it down the wrong side once too often. The ghost is a split personality and it shows in the language, what it runs after and what it splurges on.Arbitrary and heterogenous. The blood is ultra thin translucent red, at strain with all the pushing and pulling.

8. Ghost of Noida

The ghost of Noida is the ringmaster of those animals who once had a chance at striking it big. The ones who've shook hands with fate and accepted the reality of mediocrity.Home-office-home is the rhythm of this hopelessly middle-class mass. The language is mild, the persuits predictable and indulgances budgeted tightly. the blood is a defeatist,slow maroon.

9. Ghost of Faridabad

This ghost has a dual personality. One is the entrepreneur taking the convetional, manufacturing route up, the other is the sort who can neither move up, nor slip down from the lower middle  class stickiness in the social ladder.The language is rustic, the persuits conventional and indulgances irrelevant. The color of the blood is a confused burgundy.

Bollywood against AIDS

Bollywood's contribution to the anti AIDS campaign : 'Rubber ne bana di jodi'

AIDS control ad

Thought of a tagline for an AIDS control program :

"Its better to check all you mate than to mate all you check."

The Mercenary

For a few pieces of the shiny metal, he sold few people’s right to live.He was a merchant of death.A mercenary.

It began to haunt him tonight. Years of fighting for money had not scarred him as past 2 days had. Earlier, it had been wars against other mercenaries, other merchants of death. Here, he was up against lovers of peace. Teachers, students, parents, bakers, poets, intellectuals who were ready to die for their beliefs but seldom rose up to kill. He had started to remember what a soldier was made of. It was not the ability to give pain but the ability to bear it. Willingness to smile into death for what one lived for.

Tibet. That holy land forever torn between peace of thought and violence of action.He saw lunatic passion in the eyes of the first man who bit his bullet. He heard reckless belief in the voice of the woman who followed. He saw unshaking unity in the joined hands of the 3 students he had gunned down that afternoon outside Lhasa palace. He heard unrelenting faith in liberty in the choruses of the masses that marched on and past him.

He started out a soldier. A patriot who fought for his country, killed for his country. He moved on the fast track in the army, picking up honor after honor to become the most decorated soldier of his batch and the 5 batches preceding him to be the poster boy of the armed forces and face of its recruitment programs.

The threat of foreign invasion loomed larger everyday. One fine morning, the radio cackled that the bully neighbor had annexed the country. The government, courts and armed forces were declared invalid and were to be disbanded immediately. The sleepy populace suddenly woke up and wrecked havoc on the street. Unarmed peasants, teachers, bakers poets, intellectuals .. everyone revolted against the arbitrary rule.He took on the cudgels to organize the former army into a guirilla militia and commanded it to victory after victory on the enemy forces, forcing them to withdraw. The slogan of FREE KUWAIT rang loud in the streets.

The shit hit the fan. Some politicians of his own country conspired with the enemy to sell off their nation for a handsome personal profit. Of course, the rogue commander of the rogue army would be taken care of too, as part of the deal. He was arrested and made to appear in a fake court martial on charges of fanning separatist violence ; Impeached and awarded death. A public hero had become the national shame. He had resigned to his destiny till he was being shifted from ordinary prison to high security prison. The guards were sympathetic to him and let him loose near the border.

He crossed over into another country, into another life. His spirit was broken but his bones were intact. He was a trained crack commando and knew his job well. To keep alive and away, he became a mercenary. He moved from war zone to war zone , fighting for his paymasters of the moment. There were dozens of land disputes across the world being solved by the bullet, and he would be the shoulder that carried the gun, along with others like him

A soldier died.A mercenary was born.

He was emotionally dead and never thought of who had been on the other side of the gun once he was done with the job. But today was different. He drank 5 stiff ones but couldn’t get the innocence, the determination of those faces off his mind. Most of all, it was their correctness that haunted him. He fought for money. They fought for justice. Half an hour of tossing and turning later, it was clear that sleep would be elusive tonight.

He went to the bonfire of the camps he was living in and requested the clerk to get him a fix. The clerk was a deputee of the paymaster and he was happy to oblige the mercenaries with alcohol, cigarettes or a fix, free of cost. Almost as soon he reached his tent, his fix followed him in. He had noticed the natural beauty of Tibetian women, but this one was a piece of art. Almond brown eyes, smooth skin, long brunette hair and a delicate citrus perfume. But still the whole of her was more than the sum of its parts. He was rough and reckless with her, but she was understanding, even encouraging. Half an hour later, he fell on his side, slumbering in his sex and booze haze.

She turned him slowly onto his back, gently sliced his throat with her knife, and patiently engraved FREE TIBET on his bare chest for the world to see and melted into the moonless night.

A mercenary died, a soldier was born.

The Russian Consignment

Manny ran a tense hand through his smooth beard. “Ive done this before, so what if the goods are a bit different this time..I know I can..I will” ,thought he,trying to steady his shaky nerves. He hugged his accomplice, Sukhi, a goodbye. The hug turned out a moment too long , a grasp too tight, and betrayed his discomfort and lack of self assurance. Sukhi put a brother’s hand on his shoulder and said cheerfully “Rab raakha” (may god take care of you). Even this lighthearted good luck wish did more to stir his discomfort rather than steady it.

Shrugging his shoulders, he stepped into the Swarn Shatabdi which would take him and his cargo to his destination, Ludhiana. He made sure the cargo was settled in safely and comfortably and then took his own seat, 2 rows behind…2 rows behind, close enough to keep a hawk’s eye on the goods, far enough to slip away into nothingness if things got tricky.

Manvinder Singh Lakha was the blue eyed boy of his village in Punjab. Born into obscurity, he had always harboured dreams of money, glamour, big city life. He pushed himself hard and soon found himself in Ludhiana, working for a big property firm as an accountant. He was sharp, smooth and willing to bend rules, which took him up the ladder quickly. Right since the beginning, he had noticed that the firm’s profits were extraordinarily more than what the property deals could add up to. Of course, he was quick to adjust these unaccounted for funds into the normal transactions. Over the course of two years, Manvinder became close to 2 of the 3 partners, often joining them for drinks and entertainment.He was now called Manny by everyone outside the village. The partners confided to him that they had 2 more associates, who operated out of Russia and together ,they ran a trade in Import-Export. The profits from this were hidden to save tax and that’s what the unexplained funds were.

The 2 policemen casually entered the coach, putting ‘checked’ stickers on luggage without once checking a single one. The moved about the compartment casually, flashing their smiles and stenguns to the passengers. Most passengers ignored them out of habit and continued with their newspapers/tea/cellphones. Manny tried hard to focus on the words in the newspaper as the policemen inched closer. One of them, a big fat lump of corruption, stopped near Manny’s cargo and gave it a intrigued look from top to bottom.Manny mind was oscillating furiously. He could take the policemen aside and trying to bribe his way out or abandon the cargo altogether and flee. In a cold sweat, he almost jumped from his seat. Just as he looked up again, the policeman smiled ,flashing his stained teeth smile at the cargo and continued down the aisle, without pasting the ‘checked OK’ sticker onto the cargo. Manny realized just then that he had not breathed in or out for the last 2 minutes.

His mind jogged back to 6 months ago, when he was offered a bigger pound of flesh by the 2 partners. “ run some Russian cargoes for us , from Delhi airport to Ludhiana station, and take 20% of the profit as your share” Fair enough, he had thought. The goods were usually small technical items, not illegal because of what they were but because they were undeclared to the government. Manny ran such a cargo assignement every week for six months, till he became familiar with the staff, and even the seats of Swarn Shatabdi, Delhi-Ludhiana leg.The money was coming in like never before, and it bought the little joys and healthy savings.Manny was a big man now, bigger than the traditional landlords,’zamindars’ in the village. Respect and love followed freely to him. His ambitions were bigger than ever and he had even started dreaming migration to that El Dorado of Punjabi psyche, Canada.

Then, last Sunday over scotch and soda, one of the partners, Lakhwinder Singh ‘Lucky’ had said, “ enough of the donkey work. We like the way you work Manny. I think its time we trust you with some real work. It’s a big consignment you’ll be bringing this time, and you have to be careful.” He had accepted the assignment readily,without even asking what it was.
The cocky self confidence had made his head dizzy, and his steps surer.

The feminine electronic voice announced, “blah blah LUDHIANA blah” . Manny rushed to the exit with his cargo, trampling a few feet and many egos on his way. Lucky greeted him with a broad smile at the exit, standing next to his new Lexus, black tints shining with opulence. Manny helped the cargo into the backseat, and embraced Lucky. Lucky jumped in and gunned the engine, as Manny looked on from the outside. Just as the tyres began to screech ,the rear window pulled down and Manny’s cargo waved to him.

Manny broke into a bleak smile and waved back to his cargo, ladies of the night Natscha, Gustava & Svetlana.

At first sight

She immediately caught his eye…through the haze of pollution, dust, blaring horns, pleading beggars and other miscellaneous sounds and sight that accompany a traffic light turning to red.

She was behind a tinted window, this girl. She was talking into her phone while unconsciously brushing her hand through her hair silky brown hair..

He knew it. It was nothing more than a gut instinct, but no lesser, either. The way she looked at him, he knew she had a thing for him. He was a master at the game, always playing to win.

It struck him. She was in a BMW, while he, well, never mind. She wore a custom tailored designer dress, he wore one of those tatters you justify by calling ‘old favorites’. How in the world could he go up to her and even say hello, leave alone flirt.

The time meter below the signal caught the corner of his eye..10 seconds to go. Now or never. If he did not speak to her now, he may never see her again. Urgency pushed him into action. He put on his best smile and strode confidently towards her car. Damn, this limp ! always makes me look like a clown..5 seconds to go, he reached her window. He doubted himself even more as he saw a well dressed, robust man sitting on her side.He had not noticed this man earlier and was a little startled by his sudden appearance.The man said something to the girl while pointing a finger at him. He entertained the thought of turning around and running for an instant but the look in her eyes..those eyes!! they pulled him towards them.

She flashed him the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen..He gulped, and the words got stuck to the back of his throat. “Should I open my mouth and spoil this trance or play along with her and see where it goes”, thought he.2 Seconds, the light was already on orange. She dipped her hand into her bag to fish out a small object. She took her hand into his and placed the object there. A thousand things rushed through his mind..a momento? A visiting card ? a gadget?? He dint want to look down and spoil the surprise. As the light turned green, the BMW surged forward and she was lost in the buzz of the city. He clenched his fist tightly before looking as he made his way to the side of the pavement. The flesh on his hand was still tantalized by her touch, and his mind was racing to imagine what the rest of her felt like.

Finding himself in the familiar safety of the road side, he opened his fist slowly to see what she’d given him..goosebumps of anticipation formed on his skin.

The goosebumps disappeared and were replaced by a single tear to acknowledge reality as he saw what lay in his hand..A shiny 2 Rupee coin for the beggar at the traffic signal.

The Indian stock market resembled a bloody carnage today while East India was reeling under the threat of bird flu snowballing into a calamity.
This one to commemorate this orgy of tragedies

"Bird flu,eh?? Slaughter all the stock!! no, wait a sec, wait, not 'that' stock...Hey..HEY..nooo"