All vulture, no culture: seven pet peeves about haute Delhi

I’ve stayed in my share of hideous but lovable cities in India. There are certain trademark aspects of each which set it apart from the others – both the good and the bad. So while Bombay has its yummy food, dishy men, fabulous autos and Cool Cabs, it also has matchbox houses, crowded trains, constant drizzle, and muddy muddy streets. Calcutta can be proud of those lovely country clubs, phuchkas, massive bungalows, and people who can string a grammatically correct sentence together. But then there’s the airport which resembles an antiquated train station, gruesome traffic, the sweat, the ubiquitous grime, and buses stuffed to the brim like sardine cans. So it is with Delhi, my current city of residence. There is no denying our great capital’s many charms: ancient monuments, wide roads lined with beautiful trees, taxi stands in every colony, fabulous food. And then there’s the Delhi we all want to run away from — which too has a charm all its own. The road is my driveway: Now I come from Calcutta, where people really value their cars. After all, you’ve spent good money buying it — even if it’s just an Alto. And everyone parks their car in the garage, be it in an apartment building or an independent house. But that’s certainly not the Delhi way. Drive through any colony and you’ll see a line of cars parked on one side of the road. Not because it’s a parking zone, but because as every Delhite knows: the road is just an extension of your private driveway. As in, the private driveway no one parks in because – duh! — they don’t want to block it with their car. Now that’s classic Delhite logic at its best. Bigger, better, best: Speaking of cars, you’ll rarely, if ever, see a small car in Delhi. While people might not own their own house, they won’t think twice about dishing out 50 lakhs on a BMW. Why spend it on a house which nobody else can see, when you can get a car that everyone on the road can ogle at? The hottest cars are BMWs, Mercs, massive SUVS — not mention the ever-popular ‘posh’ and ‘oddy’. [caption id=“attachment_51806” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“Even Delhi-ites who have no pedigree to speak of themselves insist on only buying pedigreed dogs. AFP”]  [/caption] Out with the ‘pomerian’, in with the ‘labradog’: Even Delhi-ites who have no pedigree to speak of themselves insist on only buying pedigreed dogs. No mongrels, please, we’re Delhi_walas_. And once again, it’s all about size. Except for the ‘pomerian’ which has long been Delhi’s state mascot, most people refuse to adopt even a small dog — because what’s the point of having a dog that can’t be seen a mile away. Never mind that the Rottweiller, Boxer, Great Dane or ‘Labradog’ — all of whom need open space and a large garden to be happy — is cooped up in a small apartment the entire day. It’s all good as long as you can troop out your depressed dog when guests come over, and show them how cool you are. Continues on the next page Baby on board: As it is with the dogs, so it is with their children. Most wealthy Delhites hardly spend any time with their children, especially the stay-at-home moms who seem to maintain a 1:1 ratio of maids to babies. And woe betide if the maid is missing for a week. You’ll read all about the suffering mother’s woes on Facebook. Oh the horror of having to actually feed and bathe her child, and keep him entertained. And much like the pets, the babies too are trooped out when guests visit. Everyone coos over the child, who soon acts up, surprised by this unexpected bonanza of parental attention. The guests grimace, and the maid is soon asked to take away baba who has overstayed his moment in the sun. Maid for slavery: No Delhi family is complete without its own personal maid. And since most mothers seem to be petrified of spending time alone with their kids, the maid is carted everywhere. They will troop into the fanciest of restaurants, with the maid usually forced to stand outside, while everyone stuffs their face and the kids run riot. Or she’ll sometimes be made to sit at a separate table. No food will be ordered for her though the really generous ones may send across an entire bread basket. [caption id=“attachment_51605” align=“alignleft” width=“380” caption=“Vehicles wait in a traffic jam in New Delhi. Prakash Singh/AFP”]  [/caption] The birthplace of road rage: If city streets are the average Delhite’s driveway, then main roads are his very own private highway. It’s only in Delhi that someone will slam into your car for no fault of yours, and then get out and hurl the choicest abuses at you. And that’s if you’re lucky. I saw a chap pull out a baseball bat from under his steering wheel just in case …. Better to be safe than sorry. Boyz in the hood: And then there are the lovely men of Delhi who all seem to think that looking like Salman Khan is the way to a woman’s heart. Their days are  gainfully spent in the gym, broadening their horizons and their biceps, and then preening in the parlour. The body beautiful is accentuated by wearing a t-shirt which is 2 sizes too small. And just to be sure that you know that they aren’t completely shallow, they quote Paulo Coelho and Dale Carnegie at you, along with the price of their latest car, watch or shoes. The final effect is less James Franco, more Neil Nitin Mukesh. So there it is: my laundry list of Delhi’s dirty little ways. The next time you’re wandering around Khan Market, keep an eye out for the lovely families, with their babas, babies, BMWs and boxers — and, of course, that poor maid in tow. Coz that is how the Delhi_walas_ roll, Hauz Khas ishtyle.