Anyone who has used the Delhi Metro for a substantial amount of time would agree that the millions who use Metro’s mostly-pleasant-sometimes-annoying services regularly can be broadly categorized into a mere handful of types.
The Seat-snatchers
Members of this species, which has an overwhelming majority of males, seem to have an aversion to standing, even if it is for just a couple of minutes. So they suspend their manners for some seconds when a train arrives on the platform and easily resort to pushing, pulling, jostling, scratching and even stepping over a couple of hapless innocents to grab that much-prized seat. If they are unable to succeed in this exercise, they go and stand in the corner sulkily, with their wild greedy eyes on the ones sitting.
The Agony Aunties
If traveling alone, this species finds itself utterly lost and miserable. Generally, its sari-clad overweight members fail to locate the elevators and then take atleast five and a half minutes to board the escalators. If they fail to walk up to the ladies’ coach or manage to not notice its existence, they board the general coach and stand with such wretched expressions on their faces that a couple of young boys readily get up to offer them their seats. If traveling in pair or groups, this species can be exceedingly noisy.
The Conversationists
This species has members with diverse behavioral characteristics. While some of them have an uncanny predisposition to share their personal problems with fellow commuters by either talking rather passionately on phone or through direct forcefully-initiated conversations, some of them are budding editors who think that the world is interested in their opinions and therefore can’t wait to share them with others (during the recent Anna-mania days, these members had a ball of a time).
Other members of this group are rather young and travel in groups. They stand or even sit together in the space between the coaches and indulge in stimulating and lively discussions. If the group is predominantly male, expect to hear some colorful expletives. If it is predominantly female, expect an ample volume of giggles, screams and ‘awwws’.
The Aesthetes
This metro species is found in abundance and predominantly consists of music enthusiasts who have earphones plugged tightly into their eardrums. If you stand close enough to them, you can expect to hear a muffled version of the latest item number or the soundtrack of Salman Khan’s current blockbuster. Some of them can even be observed giving an impromptu karaoke or restrained dance performance.
Other members of this species are lost in literature. Either the morning newspaper or the latest Chetan Bhagat bestseller is opened before them. The Seat-snatchers and The Agony Aunties can be often observed staring disbelievingly at this species.
The Rebels
This species consists of anti-society anarchists. When not breaking queues, traveling in ladies’ coach, using elevators and quarreling, they can be observed complaining loudly or mumbling quietly about the world around them (why do ladies travel in general coaches? why is Rajiv Chowk so overcrowded? why do people stand near the doors? why is the AC not working? What is up with that Aesthete?). Mostly in great hurry, the members of their species are generally middle-aged men who are getting forever late for their office and who possess a unique skill-set to board overflowing coaches through closing doors.
The Intellectuals
Members of this species have so much to think about that they have no time for anything else. They can be found sitting or standing looking here and there in expressionless contemplation about everything under the sun. When the sounds and sights around become too much to handle, members of this species close their eyes to reflect with utmost concentration. When doing this, they appear as if they have dozed off because the sex of the previous night took too much time and effort.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Bargaining at the Sunday Book Bazaar at Daryaganj
“You can get classics for as less as Rs. 20 there!” This and many such enticing remarks, heard over years of existence amidst fellow bookworms, ensured that I finally made my first visit to the Daryaganj Book Bazaar on last week’s breezy pleasant Sunday, with a friend who shares my affection for all things literary.
After meeting at the Chandni Chowk Metro Station, we boarded an auto-rickshaw that charged Rs. 30 to drop us at the Bazaar, essentially a long sidewalk with books littered everywhere on it. Many of these were competitive books that reminded me of my dreadful high-school’s science books but there were novels too: classics intermingling with cheap crime thrillers, Indian bestsellers lying beside French authors and so on and so exciting.
“It’s a flea market, bargain as much as you can,” my father had advised before I had left home.
Now, I am not that good at bargaining, but I was determined to give it my best shot that day. We began browsing, essentially looking for canons in that sea of low literature.
I spotted The Inscrutable Americans at a small stall.
“75 Rs,” the stall owner said.
“20?” I took a chance.
“No,” he said.
“Tell me the right price then.”
“Minimum 40, not less than that.”
“Finalize at 30,” I said.
“No,” he said.
I moved on. “He would call me back,” I told my friend. He didn’t. I had to come back ten minutes later and pay Rs. 40!
So went on the haggling and shopping. We also soon found the Rs. 25-30 books and went crazy picking this and buying that. At the end of the sidewalk, I spotted Wodehouse at a stall.
“Bhaiya, 20?” I asked.
“30.”
“Minimum 25.”
“No.”
I moved on. “We are crazy, leaving Wodehouse over Rs. 5!” my friend said.
“He would call us back,” I said. He never did. We never came back for the book. We are crazy.
When we thought that the sidewalk has ended and with it the stalls, we didn’t know the sidewalk never did end, and neither did the Bazaar: both continued as we turned right at the end. As we turned left and then right again after that, we were still in books’ company. After buying 7 famous titles for Rs. 220 at one stall, we chanced upon The Lord of the Rings trilogy lying unnoticed at a stall. “We have struck gold,” my friend said. “We are buying this for Rs. 20.”
“In that case, we have struck diamonds!”
“Bhaiya, how much?” my friend asked.
“100.”
“Be reasonable,” I said, trying my best to control myself from bursting out laughing. My friend took over the bargaining.
We came up to Rs. 40, the shopkeeper was down to 50. We began leaving. “He would call us back,” I said.
He did!
I didn’t go back; my friend did. She came back a minute later with the thick book in her hand. We sat down on the stairs of a building nearby, laughing at our good fortune. Two minutes later, we discovered that a page was missing from the book. Not that good a fortune then, I thought. “Don’t worry, I have the pdf!” my friend said.
The stall-owners soon began packing up. But we weren’t done shopping, even after having bought 25 books! As I was checking out books being stashed into sacs at one of the stalls, my friend hired an auto.
It was time for us to go to the Delhi Book Fair and laugh at the prices there!
After meeting at the Chandni Chowk Metro Station, we boarded an auto-rickshaw that charged Rs. 30 to drop us at the Bazaar, essentially a long sidewalk with books littered everywhere on it. Many of these were competitive books that reminded me of my dreadful high-school’s science books but there were novels too: classics intermingling with cheap crime thrillers, Indian bestsellers lying beside French authors and so on and so exciting.
“It’s a flea market, bargain as much as you can,” my father had advised before I had left home.
Now, I am not that good at bargaining, but I was determined to give it my best shot that day. We began browsing, essentially looking for canons in that sea of low literature.
I spotted The Inscrutable Americans at a small stall.
“75 Rs,” the stall owner said.
“20?” I took a chance.
“No,” he said.
“Tell me the right price then.”
“Minimum 40, not less than that.”
“Finalize at 30,” I said.
“No,” he said.
I moved on. “He would call me back,” I told my friend. He didn’t. I had to come back ten minutes later and pay Rs. 40!
So went on the haggling and shopping. We also soon found the Rs. 25-30 books and went crazy picking this and buying that. At the end of the sidewalk, I spotted Wodehouse at a stall.
“Bhaiya, 20?” I asked.
“30.”
“Minimum 25.”
“No.”
I moved on. “We are crazy, leaving Wodehouse over Rs. 5!” my friend said.
“He would call us back,” I said. He never did. We never came back for the book. We are crazy.
When we thought that the sidewalk has ended and with it the stalls, we didn’t know the sidewalk never did end, and neither did the Bazaar: both continued as we turned right at the end. As we turned left and then right again after that, we were still in books’ company. After buying 7 famous titles for Rs. 220 at one stall, we chanced upon The Lord of the Rings trilogy lying unnoticed at a stall. “We have struck gold,” my friend said. “We are buying this for Rs. 20.”
“In that case, we have struck diamonds!”
“Bhaiya, how much?” my friend asked.
“100.”
“Be reasonable,” I said, trying my best to control myself from bursting out laughing. My friend took over the bargaining.
We came up to Rs. 40, the shopkeeper was down to 50. We began leaving. “He would call us back,” I said.
He did!
I didn’t go back; my friend did. She came back a minute later with the thick book in her hand. We sat down on the stairs of a building nearby, laughing at our good fortune. Two minutes later, we discovered that a page was missing from the book. Not that good a fortune then, I thought. “Don’t worry, I have the pdf!” my friend said.
The stall-owners soon began packing up. But we weren’t done shopping, even after having bought 25 books! As I was checking out books being stashed into sacs at one of the stalls, my friend hired an auto.
It was time for us to go to the Delhi Book Fair and laugh at the prices there!
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