The dog is supposed to be man's best friend, on account of its being wafaadaar (loyal). Your dog will never bite you, unless you do or abet in something really horrid to it, like make it listen to Himesh Reshammiya sing. It guards your house - yes, even the chihuahua has shown remarkable pugnacity when cornered. Certain species can sniff for bombs when trained to do so. They roll over, play dead, and even help the elderly and the disabled cross the road.
Most dog owners feed their canines the best dogfood money can buy. We feed them Pedigree and other leading brands. In India, in addition to a bowl of milk, we feed them roti, and boneless chicken to go with it. We give them those chew-sticks to savor while we concern ourselves with more important things.
Dogs, like human beings, have also featured in many popular works of fiction and of course, the real world. Pointofvyuh, a puppy, currently holds the record for the most googled dog name in a calendar month. Tin Tin had Snowy to accompany him on his sojourns across the seas. Toto from The Wizard Of Oz, Laika of the Sputnik 1 fame, Milo from The Mask, and of course Tiger, which is what every dog in Bollywood has to put up with, are others that immediately spring to mind.
Certain people in the English rap industry have been so influenced by this remarkable species, that they imbibe it in their name, albeit with slight variations. Just ask Snoop Dogg and Nate Dogg.
After all that, why do we desecrate the dog? Saying "kutte!" ((you) dog!), or simply "kutte! kaminey! mai tera khoon pee jaaonga! " ((you) dog! (you) wretch! I will drink your blood!) can be particularly rude to or frightening for the person it is directed towards. "You sly dog, you!" is however, an anomaly, as dogs aren't really sly.
In the English language, the female dog, the bitch, is generally agreed upon in intellectual circles as a contemptuous curse. Bitch is quite a versatile word, in that it is also a verb; to bitch means to talk ill of someone, generally behind his/her back.
Since its inception, it has taken many new forms, and continues to evolve still. The (exceedingly) informal greeting "Yo bitch, what up?" does not in any way mean to belittle the person to whom it is said. Another noteworthy facet of this word is that it has transcended limits imposed by gender, as in, the person to whom it was said may or may not be a woman, as might be inferred by mistake, although, "Yo dawg, what up?" almost always is directed to a guy. In "He's my bitch!", the 'he' is supposed by the speaker to be a servile minion.
Certain enthusiastic linguists have extended the way it is spelt to "beech" and more popularly, "biatch". For example, the seemingly abstruse "It's raining like a biatch! Let's go inside!" acts as a superlative and merely serves to inform the listener that it is raining quite heavily, and that they should go inside.
Lost in all of this lies the unanswered question - What makes the dog species so vulnerable to outbursts of both love and contempt?
Friday, August 25, 2006
Monday, July 31, 2006
Aaja Nachle
I saw this video on YouTube quite recently. I had heard the song everywhere, from marriages (most of which were in India), to almost every second room in the hostels at DCE. I even had this on my computer for a bit. I had never seen the video. Not until recently.
I neither speak Punjabi nor understand it, except for a very select category of words, which I usually hear when the speaker is particularly angry at someone. All I understand in this song is the title, which means, "Come, dance".
As you all must have seen, the video starts with an ostensibly upset Neha, who looks disapprovingly at a note she just wrote for her father. She is leaving home, plausibly because of irreconciliable differences. She boards a bus, to somewhere, which also has the hero and Bally Sagoo. This is the first of many times we see him here. He sees them.. and smiles a wise smile. Or, is he merely ogling at Neha?
Then Neha gets off, at.. err.. quite simply, the middle of nowhere. The hero gets off too, because he's the hero, and so does BS, because we're going to see him many times. The middle of nowhere is apparently a lush green field, so lush that it could give the Sydney Cricket Ground a run for its money.
Then we see colorful Bhangra dancers. And of course, BS. He instructs one of the more enthusiastic dancers to accost and pull the hero away and then dance with him. Does BS want the girl for himself? Or, did you guys just see a parody?
They dance, as was instructed by BS. BS's innocence is proven when all the dancers advance towards Neha, and then make a neat circle around the two central characters, while BS is shown enjoying the happenings.
Then, something very unexpected happens. She rejects his advances and she walks away in disgust, much like how one walks away from auto drivers when they ask a very high fare. In retrospect, it was kind of expected, as there were still over two minutes left in the video. BS is evidently unhappy with some of his dancers, so he demands that they make amends. The hero is accosted by the same dude who pulled him away. He doles out inspirational advice, and urges him to go and get her. Then they promptly revert to their dance. It now becomes clear that the hero and Neha didn't know each other from before.
She goes to a bar with some of her guy friends. BS reaches there before the hero does, which once again makes me a bit suspicious. The hero watches intently as one of her more persuasive friends offers her a drink and then makes her have it. They dance. The genre's no longer Bhangra, but more of disco. This is where our men make their moves. The hero has had enough, and wants to set some things straight and BS takes up a vantage position by a wall to catch all the action.
The action consists of him walking up, and then removing a cigarette from some girl's mouth and then disparagingly dropping it, his head disapprovingly shaking at the young woman's intentions. If that was fun, what he does next is outrageous. He spills the drink on the floor, and sets a good precedent for kids and other aspiring Nehas.
Neha's persuasive friend has the hero cornered by his gang, and makes off with Neha. Once again, BS observes. Then the persuasive friend tries to misbehave with Neha on a nice black leather sofa. Then, just when we all thought the hero had been thrown around the bar, had his head smashed by tables and liquor bottles, he makes a comeback. He catches the persuasive friend by the scruff of his neck, takes off his jacket (why?), and easily dispenses with him by powerfully pushing him onto the aforementioned sofa. He then wraps his jacket around her, and leaves the place with her. We see the omnipresent BS, smiling a vindicated smile. This is where I absolve BS. He wasn't trying to get Neha for himself.
Then we come back to the Sydney Cricket Ground, where we once again see BS's bhangra troupe. She walks along the Darling river, telling our hero about her acrimonious yesterday with her father, because he rebuked her for how she dresses. He is all ears. He puts his jacket over her head, and she smiles and says no. He remembers the enthusiastic bhangra dancer's advice and tries again and convinces her to make up with her dad. I think he realises how rich her dad is. He is successful, they get married and live happily ever after.
I am in love with the video. I love Bally Sagoo's omnipresence. The dude manages to make it everywhere, and smile vindicating smiles, even though he never helps the hero get the girl.
I neither speak Punjabi nor understand it, except for a very select category of words, which I usually hear when the speaker is particularly angry at someone. All I understand in this song is the title, which means, "Come, dance".
As you all must have seen, the video starts with an ostensibly upset Neha, who looks disapprovingly at a note she just wrote for her father. She is leaving home, plausibly because of irreconciliable differences. She boards a bus, to somewhere, which also has the hero and Bally Sagoo. This is the first of many times we see him here. He sees them.. and smiles a wise smile. Or, is he merely ogling at Neha?
Then Neha gets off, at.. err.. quite simply, the middle of nowhere. The hero gets off too, because he's the hero, and so does BS, because we're going to see him many times. The middle of nowhere is apparently a lush green field, so lush that it could give the Sydney Cricket Ground a run for its money.
Then we see colorful Bhangra dancers. And of course, BS. He instructs one of the more enthusiastic dancers to accost and pull the hero away and then dance with him. Does BS want the girl for himself? Or, did you guys just see a parody?
They dance, as was instructed by BS. BS's innocence is proven when all the dancers advance towards Neha, and then make a neat circle around the two central characters, while BS is shown enjoying the happenings.
Then, something very unexpected happens. She rejects his advances and she walks away in disgust, much like how one walks away from auto drivers when they ask a very high fare. In retrospect, it was kind of expected, as there were still over two minutes left in the video. BS is evidently unhappy with some of his dancers, so he demands that they make amends. The hero is accosted by the same dude who pulled him away. He doles out inspirational advice, and urges him to go and get her. Then they promptly revert to their dance. It now becomes clear that the hero and Neha didn't know each other from before.
She goes to a bar with some of her guy friends. BS reaches there before the hero does, which once again makes me a bit suspicious. The hero watches intently as one of her more persuasive friends offers her a drink and then makes her have it. They dance. The genre's no longer Bhangra, but more of disco. This is where our men make their moves. The hero has had enough, and wants to set some things straight and BS takes up a vantage position by a wall to catch all the action.
The action consists of him walking up, and then removing a cigarette from some girl's mouth and then disparagingly dropping it, his head disapprovingly shaking at the young woman's intentions. If that was fun, what he does next is outrageous. He spills the drink on the floor, and sets a good precedent for kids and other aspiring Nehas.
Neha's persuasive friend has the hero cornered by his gang, and makes off with Neha. Once again, BS observes. Then the persuasive friend tries to misbehave with Neha on a nice black leather sofa. Then, just when we all thought the hero had been thrown around the bar, had his head smashed by tables and liquor bottles, he makes a comeback. He catches the persuasive friend by the scruff of his neck, takes off his jacket (why?), and easily dispenses with him by powerfully pushing him onto the aforementioned sofa. He then wraps his jacket around her, and leaves the place with her. We see the omnipresent BS, smiling a vindicated smile. This is where I absolve BS. He wasn't trying to get Neha for himself.
Then we come back to the Sydney Cricket Ground, where we once again see BS's bhangra troupe. She walks along the Darling river, telling our hero about her acrimonious yesterday with her father, because he rebuked her for how she dresses. He is all ears. He puts his jacket over her head, and she smiles and says no. He remembers the enthusiastic bhangra dancer's advice and tries again and convinces her to make up with her dad. I think he realises how rich her dad is. He is successful, they get married and live happily ever after.
I am in love with the video. I love Bally Sagoo's omnipresence. The dude manages to make it everywhere, and smile vindicating smiles, even though he never helps the hero get the girl.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Does it really matter, which side?
"Where you going?", he turned around and asked me. He was fair, clean shaven, with black hair, and was wearing dark shades. He was particularly interested in the update on the Italy - Ukraine match on the radio. From his accent and look, it was easy to guess that he was either Italian or Punjabi, and that he hadn't stayed that long here. Ten minutes into the ride, his phone started ringing, and he answered, "Abhi customer ke saath hoon, aadhe ghante ke baad milana."
Now, there are very few people of Italian descent who might have said that in a Punjabi accent (Sonia Gandhi's accent is not Punjabi). So, after concluding he was from the Punjab region, the only question was which side of the border was he from. I asked him where he was from.
"Lahore, Pakistan", came the reply. "Aap kahaan ke hai, sir?"
"Dilli."
"Lahore - Dilli to sirf teen ghante ki drive hai."
Well, not exactly three hours, except if both were in America, where 'a mile, a minute' is the norm. But I chose not to tell him, lest he thought I intended to ridicule his seemingly inept knowledge of Indo-Pak geography.
"Raat mein Amritsar ki lightein dikhti hai." He seemed to want to correct his faux pas. His phone rang again. This one was just about a minute long, but long enough for him to change the topic.
"Derh saal se yahaan reh raha hoon. Par dil nahin lagta yahaan. Do dafaa vaapas bhi jaa chuka hoon."
"Cricket ko follow karte ho?" He asked me. Ensue twenty minutes of discussion on next year's World Cup, and India's and Pakistan's chances in it. England sucks, we both concluded, and that they'll be whipped in the Ashes later this year. He was quite a well-informed guy, I must concede.
The conversation set me thinking when I got back home. I could tell he was a Pakistani only when he told me he was from there. He could well have been from Delhi, or any place in North India.
I'm sure Indians and Pakistanis don't hate each other. It's just these politicians that aggravate things, and incite feelings of hatred to stay in power. And both sides have made mistakes in the past, so don't go by your NCERT history textbooks. Even Bollywood movies which involve Pakistan show war. Can't filmmakers also show movies that make us realise how alike we are? We're essentially the same people. At the end of it all, does it really matter which Punjab he was from?
Now, I'm not saying India and Pakistan should unite and become one right away. Maybe the damage has been done and it's too late. But East and West Germany reunited, and so did North and South Vietnam. But those reunions were different. Their people were separated only because they happened to live in a particular part of their country. This is a little more complicated. Maybe there is still a way. So many problems (like Kashmir, and PoWs) might be solved or be made progress on. But some new problems could also arise.
I'm not requesting you to start making up lyrics for some "Badalaav ki hawa" song. (India's and Pakistan's answer to East and West Germany's Wind of Change) But what you can do, however, is insert the following line suitably in John Lennon's Imagine.
Imagine the cricket team that we'll make.
Now, there are very few people of Italian descent who might have said that in a Punjabi accent (Sonia Gandhi's accent is not Punjabi). So, after concluding he was from the Punjab region, the only question was which side of the border was he from. I asked him where he was from.
"Lahore, Pakistan", came the reply. "Aap kahaan ke hai, sir?"
"Dilli."
"Lahore - Dilli to sirf teen ghante ki drive hai."
Well, not exactly three hours, except if both were in America, where 'a mile, a minute' is the norm. But I chose not to tell him, lest he thought I intended to ridicule his seemingly inept knowledge of Indo-Pak geography.
"Raat mein Amritsar ki lightein dikhti hai." He seemed to want to correct his faux pas. His phone rang again. This one was just about a minute long, but long enough for him to change the topic.
"Derh saal se yahaan reh raha hoon. Par dil nahin lagta yahaan. Do dafaa vaapas bhi jaa chuka hoon."
"Cricket ko follow karte ho?" He asked me. Ensue twenty minutes of discussion on next year's World Cup, and India's and Pakistan's chances in it. England sucks, we both concluded, and that they'll be whipped in the Ashes later this year. He was quite a well-informed guy, I must concede.
The conversation set me thinking when I got back home. I could tell he was a Pakistani only when he told me he was from there. He could well have been from Delhi, or any place in North India.
I'm sure Indians and Pakistanis don't hate each other. It's just these politicians that aggravate things, and incite feelings of hatred to stay in power. And both sides have made mistakes in the past, so don't go by your NCERT history textbooks. Even Bollywood movies which involve Pakistan show war. Can't filmmakers also show movies that make us realise how alike we are? We're essentially the same people. At the end of it all, does it really matter which Punjab he was from?
Now, I'm not saying India and Pakistan should unite and become one right away. Maybe the damage has been done and it's too late. But East and West Germany reunited, and so did North and South Vietnam. But those reunions were different. Their people were separated only because they happened to live in a particular part of their country. This is a little more complicated. Maybe there is still a way. So many problems (like Kashmir, and PoWs) might be solved or be made progress on. But some new problems could also arise.
I'm not requesting you to start making up lyrics for some "Badalaav ki hawa" song. (India's and Pakistan's answer to East and West Germany's Wind of Change) But what you can do, however, is insert the following line suitably in John Lennon's Imagine.
Imagine the cricket team that we'll make.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
A different kind of love
I first met her when I was around thirteen. She wasn't particularly good looking and she had an average body. She was not like the others, and was rather old fashioned. I used to catch a glimpse of her every morning while walking to the bus stop. I wasn't attracted to her so much back then. I highly doubt she was attracted to me either. I didn't know her that well. But all that was to change.
Five years later, I was formally introduced to her. I began seeing her more often, and took a liking for her. We started going out. Initially, I was a little selfish, and treated her as a prop to catch bigger fish. I'm sure she realized it, for she had her own strange way of telling me. But she never walked out on me. She showed her disapproval at my intentions, but she never deserted me.
It happened on one of those short drives. It was overcast, and that intoxicating smell of wet earth was in the air. I don't know how it happened - I fell in love with her. Maybe it was the weather. It could have been the music. I started taking her out for long drives. It was just so perfect. I would wait like crazy for Friday to come so that I could go home and spend time with her over the weekend.
It was a different kind of love. I took great care of her, for I loved her very dearly. We spent a lot of time going on those long drives. I discovered many things about her - her likes, dislikes and what not. I figured she didn't like the winters too much, and it would take me several minutes to lighten her mood. She would invariably start her day coughing ceaselessly, before I would attend to her.
There came a time, probably a year ago I think, that I believed I knew her inside out. I knew exactly how she would react to different behaviors of mine, and why she would react that way. She was mine. And I was hers. Being with her made me feel like a man.
Then it happened. It was decided that we were moving out of town. Believe me, a long distance relationship was out of the question. It was understood that there was really no future. So it was decided that we meet one last time.
It was a typically humid July morning. I awoke to discover that she was gone. They told me she had left town overnight. I was disappointed, for I never had a chance to say a proper goodbye. I would never see or hear of her again.
I'll always miss my first car.
-Rishi-
Five years later, I was formally introduced to her. I began seeing her more often, and took a liking for her. We started going out. Initially, I was a little selfish, and treated her as a prop to catch bigger fish. I'm sure she realized it, for she had her own strange way of telling me. But she never walked out on me. She showed her disapproval at my intentions, but she never deserted me.
It happened on one of those short drives. It was overcast, and that intoxicating smell of wet earth was in the air. I don't know how it happened - I fell in love with her. Maybe it was the weather. It could have been the music. I started taking her out for long drives. It was just so perfect. I would wait like crazy for Friday to come so that I could go home and spend time with her over the weekend.
It was a different kind of love. I took great care of her, for I loved her very dearly. We spent a lot of time going on those long drives. I discovered many things about her - her likes, dislikes and what not. I figured she didn't like the winters too much, and it would take me several minutes to lighten her mood. She would invariably start her day coughing ceaselessly, before I would attend to her.
There came a time, probably a year ago I think, that I believed I knew her inside out. I knew exactly how she would react to different behaviors of mine, and why she would react that way. She was mine. And I was hers. Being with her made me feel like a man.
Then it happened. It was decided that we were moving out of town. Believe me, a long distance relationship was out of the question. It was understood that there was really no future. So it was decided that we meet one last time.
It was a typically humid July morning. I awoke to discover that she was gone. They told me she had left town overnight. I was disappointed, for I never had a chance to say a proper goodbye. I would never see or hear of her again.
I'll always miss my first car.
-Rishi-
Thursday, March 23, 2006
The key to averting electric shocks.
This has been a very hectic week and I'm pretty glad it's over. Friday is a fairly light day for me, as I only have classes till noon. It is good to get back to college after spring break. Nice to return to the quiet of Troy. Nice to look up at a clear sky again without additionally noticing upto ten airplanes piercing it in all directions.
They say spring has arrived, but it is still very cold here, and the temperature only goes as high as 6°C during the day. It doesn't snow anymore, save for very mild flakes sometimes. I still require my warm coat, which I wear over my T shirt. This combination suffices fairly well, as buildings here are internally heated. But that isn't really what I planned to write about.
The inside of my coat, with all the fleece it has, leaves my skin with quite a high amount of positive charge, which entails quite a high electrostatic potential. Now, when two bodies are at different electrostatic potentials, medium permitting, charge flows between the two bodies till their potentials become the same. And flow of charges is what constitutes electric current. And when this current flows through the human body, the body is commonly said to have been 'shocked'.
Now, when I was young, and oblivious to the dangers of electric current passing through my body, I would marvel at how a dry comb could attract hair and bits of paper. During the first two days of this week, I got a shock at least seven times, in completely isolated incidents after taking my coat off. Sometimes it was the metallic frame of my bed, at others, it was the doorknob, and the rest, it was the darned bed again. It felt rather silly. I could tell that I had a lot of static on me, but wasn't able to combat the impending shock.
That is when I decided to do something about this offending static charge. I found the key to my predicament - my room key. I realised, that if I held onto it while I took off my coat, and after that, lightly have it touch against my bed/doorknob/bed, I could discharge myself quite efficiently without getting a shock. It went very well yesterday and today, as in, I would rather conveniently hold my key while taking off my coat at the beginning of class and then have it touch the chair, coercing somewhat mild sparks, and then casually slip in a macho one-liner followed by a quick wink, if my neighbor were a she.
It looks pretty cool too when it comes off, that is. Try it.
-Rishi-
They say spring has arrived, but it is still very cold here, and the temperature only goes as high as 6°C during the day. It doesn't snow anymore, save for very mild flakes sometimes. I still require my warm coat, which I wear over my T shirt. This combination suffices fairly well, as buildings here are internally heated. But that isn't really what I planned to write about.
The inside of my coat, with all the fleece it has, leaves my skin with quite a high amount of positive charge, which entails quite a high electrostatic potential. Now, when two bodies are at different electrostatic potentials, medium permitting, charge flows between the two bodies till their potentials become the same. And flow of charges is what constitutes electric current. And when this current flows through the human body, the body is commonly said to have been 'shocked'.
Now, when I was young, and oblivious to the dangers of electric current passing through my body, I would marvel at how a dry comb could attract hair and bits of paper. During the first two days of this week, I got a shock at least seven times, in completely isolated incidents after taking my coat off. Sometimes it was the metallic frame of my bed, at others, it was the doorknob, and the rest, it was the darned bed again. It felt rather silly. I could tell that I had a lot of static on me, but wasn't able to combat the impending shock.
That is when I decided to do something about this offending static charge. I found the key to my predicament - my room key. I realised, that if I held onto it while I took off my coat, and after that, lightly have it touch against my bed/doorknob/bed, I could discharge myself quite efficiently without getting a shock. It went very well yesterday and today, as in, I would rather conveniently hold my key while taking off my coat at the beginning of class and then have it touch the chair, coercing somewhat mild sparks, and then casually slip in a macho one-liner followed by a quick wink, if my neighbor were a she.
It looks pretty cool too when it comes off, that is. Try it.
-Rishi-
Sunday, February 05, 2006
#36 - Shahbad Dairy
The other side of DCE can at best be described as rural. The first time I went there was to get a demand draft made to pay the university fees. The road narrows for some distance, and is flanked by markets on both sides, most of the shops in which are chemist shops. Then come the houses, most of which domesticate cows and buffaloes, typical of small towns. Then come the farms and the countryside in vast expanses. Then comes Shahbad Dairy. Shahbad Dairy is not a dairy; it is a bus terminal housing buses that connect Bawana with civilization. Five such buses do this.
1. The 879, which goes to Janakpuri and of which I’ve seen exactly one DTC kind.
2. The 165, which goes to Anand Vihar, mostly privates.
3. The 106, which goes to the Old Delhi railway station, all in DTCs
4. The 140, which goes to Mori Gate and consequently carries 25.18% of Delhi's population.
5. The 123, which goes nowhere in particular, because it doesn’t really exist.
Shahbad Dairy is also where most RTVs emanate from and retire to. They come in two varieties, namely:
- Those with 12-year-old conductors that go to Wazirpur and persuade even those going in the opposite direction to go to Wazirpur. All are dhoom enabled. For further information on them, refer to ‘How to get to civilization – The RTVs’
- Those with 12-year-old conductors that go to Azadpur and persuade even those going in the opposite direction to go to Azadpur, telling them stories of its advantages. Most are dhoom enabled. Those that are not are chhaiya-chhaiya enabled.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
# 20 - How to get to civilization
The five most popular ways to get to civilization from Bawana Road are:
1. Drive out. If you’ve got a car with a ton of petrol, there’s nothing like it.
Average times: 5 mins 34 secs to Rithala and 13 mins 49 secs to Wazirpur.
2. Catch a friend driving out. If a friend has a car with a ton of petrol, there’s nothing like it.
Average times: 6 mins 34 secs to Rithala and 14 mins 49 secs to Wazirpur.
The extra minute is usually required for verification of route and destination and arguing that there’s space for exactly one more person when 5 others are already in the car, by suggesting alternate seating arrangements.
3. Hop on aboard the 879. Route 879 runs from Shahbad Dairy to Janakpuri via Madhuban Chowk. It goes through the heart of Rohini and makes it a point to visit its every road and marketplace. This greatly increases travel time. Another very disturbing truth about the 879 is that 99.71 times out of 100 you happen to be unfortunate enough to board it, it’ll be a private bus. The misfortune of boarding a private bus will be explained sometime later in the book. I have seen exactly one DTC 879 till now and the likelihood of that changing is the same as those of our bathroom flush working again.
Average times: 17 mins to Rohini West. Fare Rs. 5/-
4. The RTVs. When you board an RTV, the driver and his partner in crime, the 12-year-old conductor promise you they’ll be fast.
RTV Laws:
A- Stoppage time at any stop is approximately 10 minutes, often converting to a bidi break for the driver…
B- The stoppage time is invariant with the number of people already in the RTV, if there aren’t too many. It increases logarithmically as the number of passengers increases.
C- There is also an unwritten rule stating the conductor must personally persuade all people within a 25.78m radius to board his RTV, even if the angle between their velocity vector and that of the RTV happens to be 180 degrees. Where there is one RTV, there is another on the prowl, waiting to ‘steal’ passengers from the first RTV.
D- If an RTV is threatened by another one encroaching upon its area, they’ll tear through empty roads in a terrific display of sheer racing madness under the false pretext of keeping their promise of being fast. The winner of this short but eventful battle usually boasts of his speed and control to the terrified passengers and then ridicules the loser for having the balls to challenge him.
E- Most RTVs plying in the area are ‘dhoom-enabled’, i.e., when they brake or their indicator flashes, the ‘dhoom’ song starts playing.
Average times: 29 mins to Rithala and 58 mins to Wazirpur. Fare: Rs. 5/- for both.
5. The autos. The best place to take an auto till is Rithala. Bargaining is easy, especially when more than 20 Rs. are asked. It is better to have 3 others along, so that each one can pay a measly sum of Rs 5/. The last one in isn't exactly a rotten egg, but he gets to sit with the driver. Average time: 8 mins to Rithala.
6. The Delhi Metro. This is the best means of transport. What sucks is that only an auto or an RTV can take you to Rithala.
-Rishi-
1. Drive out. If you’ve got a car with a ton of petrol, there’s nothing like it.
Average times: 5 mins 34 secs to Rithala and 13 mins 49 secs to Wazirpur.
2. Catch a friend driving out. If a friend has a car with a ton of petrol, there’s nothing like it.
Average times: 6 mins 34 secs to Rithala and 14 mins 49 secs to Wazirpur.
The extra minute is usually required for verification of route and destination and arguing that there’s space for exactly one more person when 5 others are already in the car, by suggesting alternate seating arrangements.
3. Hop on aboard the 879. Route 879 runs from Shahbad Dairy to Janakpuri via Madhuban Chowk. It goes through the heart of Rohini and makes it a point to visit its every road and marketplace. This greatly increases travel time. Another very disturbing truth about the 879 is that 99.71 times out of 100 you happen to be unfortunate enough to board it, it’ll be a private bus. The misfortune of boarding a private bus will be explained sometime later in the book. I have seen exactly one DTC 879 till now and the likelihood of that changing is the same as those of our bathroom flush working again.
Average times: 17 mins to Rohini West. Fare Rs. 5/-
4. The RTVs. When you board an RTV, the driver and his partner in crime, the 12-year-old conductor promise you they’ll be fast.
RTV Laws:
A- Stoppage time at any stop is approximately 10 minutes, often converting to a bidi break for the driver…
B- The stoppage time is invariant with the number of people already in the RTV, if there aren’t too many. It increases logarithmically as the number of passengers increases.
C- There is also an unwritten rule stating the conductor must personally persuade all people within a 25.78m radius to board his RTV, even if the angle between their velocity vector and that of the RTV happens to be 180 degrees. Where there is one RTV, there is another on the prowl, waiting to ‘steal’ passengers from the first RTV.
D- If an RTV is threatened by another one encroaching upon its area, they’ll tear through empty roads in a terrific display of sheer racing madness under the false pretext of keeping their promise of being fast. The winner of this short but eventful battle usually boasts of his speed and control to the terrified passengers and then ridicules the loser for having the balls to challenge him.
E- Most RTVs plying in the area are ‘dhoom-enabled’, i.e., when they brake or their indicator flashes, the ‘dhoom’ song starts playing.
Average times: 29 mins to Rithala and 58 mins to Wazirpur. Fare: Rs. 5/- for both.
5. The autos. The best place to take an auto till is Rithala. Bargaining is easy, especially when more than 20 Rs. are asked. It is better to have 3 others along, so that each one can pay a measly sum of Rs 5/. The last one in isn't exactly a rotten egg, but he gets to sit with the driver. Average time: 8 mins to Rithala.
6. The Delhi Metro. This is the best means of transport. What sucks is that only an auto or an RTV can take you to Rithala.
-Rishi-
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