Mohalla

Migrant workers

‘Save’ Puri signs

Popcorn man with the snake charming music

Idly wallahs

Grumpy milk sellers

Packs of stray dogs

Inquisitive auntyjis

Amateur badminton players

Pomeranian dogs

Roadside Romeos

Dingy cyber cafés

Pink tents

I

Sunday, 6 a.m.: Cacophony of noises. Piercing tunes from something which sounds like a cross-breed between a flute and a trumpet, completely out of tune, of course!

My first weekend in my new abode and I am woken up by a bunch of Christmas trees neatly lined up. I am referring to the members of an Indian band, complete with the red uniforms, flowery hats and the tuneless instruments that are clogged with different layers of spit. Like most people would react in such situations, I bury my head under my pillow and start cursing in Spanish (I have noticed at previous occasions that my proficiency at this hour is impeccable). Unsuccessful at this attempt, I try a variation of the child pose from Yoga. For laymen, the knees are tucked under the chest, the forehead is on the ground and because it’s a variation, two giant pillows block each ear. However, I fail to consider the vibrations emitted through my apartment floor. Imagine an earthquake with a soar-throat measuring 7.1 on the Ritcher scale! Yes, that variety!

I remember entry No.879 from ‘Sowmiya’s Million Things to Do Before She Dies’:

(At least once) WAKE up at 6 a.m or thereabouts.

Comforting myself that I only had 99,999 things left to do and I am making progress at the tender age of 24, I finally decide to peel myself off my floor and join in the fun. From my perch on the third floor, I notice a pink tent stretching all the way down the road. I did what every NRI would do in this situation; look amused, shake my head and say:

“This happens only in India!”

This pink tent was gargantuan (note: an attempt at sounding intellectual by using big words as a substitute for the word big). This pink tent stretched to the entire width of the road and proceeded all the way to the end. The only way out of the neighbourhood was to walk through it. Unless, of course you are endowed with Spiderman genes, in which case, scaling the walls wouldn’t be a problem. I have a tendency to get carried away by my own sense of humour so I am now going to take a moment to regroup for the benefit of my readers….

Christmas trees, spit infested musical instruments, Yoga poses, Ritcher scales, haughty NRIs, pink tents and Look Out! It’s Spiderman….

This pink tent soon starts emitting various noises. Someone has forgotten to tell the band master that his colourful bunch of trees can stop destructing eardrums in the 400 km radius. The priest conducting the ceremony looks cross and starts yelling prayers at the top of his voice. The guests are seated on both sides of the tent facing each other munching on the Prasad. How do I know this? I discover I have run out of milk and am forced to walk through the tent while muttering namastes to the uncle & auntyjis. The craziest thing I notice is a scooter riding through the tent, clearly the man cannot find an alternative route out and his wife cannot refrain from stretching her hands out for some Prasad. This officially becomes India’s ‘Drive-In’ Puja.

II

Few weeks later, I am walking down the gully after a particularly grueling Yoga session. My hamstrings have just informed me that they have no intentions of cooperating any further. My shins apparently share the same sentiment, the little traitors; I knew they were plotting all this time. Left with not much choice, I drag my legs homeward. I wonder if the situation can get any worse. Apparently, it can! Mr. Sole and Mrs. Strap decide to break their wedlock at this moment. There have been arguments lately. People in the neighbourhood have noticed some tension every time the couple are seen together in public. The loose bond (a few staples and outdated sticky tape) have finally broken. So there I am with a ‘Non-cooperative movement’ waged by certain body parts and a broken (in every sense of the term) Chappal. This has to be the worst it can get….right? I make a mental note to never buy cheap chappals from Lajpat Nagar again. I find myself at the middle off a football match. With the whole dragging off the feet I become an unintentional goalie for one of the sides. There is jubilation among the little brats and then it happens:

“Thank you Aunty!!!”

Now that is the worst it can get….

III

“Hi, my name is Sowmiya and I am addicted to Facebook”

I am having withdrawal symptoms. It has been six days and 13 hours since I checked my virtual portal of self-appreciation. I enter Lucky Cyber Café and ask for a computer. The man looks at me, points behind a dark curtain and grunts a number. I am in half a mind to scram and judging by my horribly accented Hindi he will probably just think I am insane. I am ok with that. But I decide to brave it out and shout a silent prayer to all celestial beings (this broad generalization makes me sound highly secular in important gatherings). I enter and look for Computer No. 4. I am forced to squeeze past a teenager who is engrossed in scrapping pals on Orkut. He has 2346 pals?!! We make eye-contact and instantly I know it’s our addiction to social networking sites (SNS) that has facilitated this meeting. I finally settle into my plastic chair. ‘PROPERTY OF LUCKY CYBER CAFE’ it reads. I quickly learn that finding http://www.facebook.com from the drop down menu on the web browser is not the wisest thing to do. (Insert: Imagination). I scan the room and notice that I am the only woman around. The teenager is not just a SNS addict but has now progressed to naughtier pastures. I need to plan my escape route. I politely ask the teenager to move his chair forward, I pay Mr.Lucky his ten rupees and I get the hell out of there! Half-way home and I realize I never got around to checking Facebook.

IV

That same week, I sit on my balcony drinking a cup of instant coffee. I plan to think about my life and I have allocated 22 minutes to this task. I hear someone humming a popular Bollywood track. I look up and notice six pairs of eyes staring at me. The day I moved in I knew this was an inquisitive neighbourhood. You can tell these things quite easily. Well, the staring gave it away. I could just avoid the general zone of staring but sadly I was stuck in a cross-stare. Six different Romeos perched on six different balconies and strangely all of them wearing sunglasses. I search for the Sun at 8 p.m.