Bombay Vs Delhi ?

As I write this, I am currently sprawled across a couch a la Kate Winslet in Titanic (with clothes on), in my friend’s lovely living room at 2 in the afternoon. The weather in Bhubaneswar is real hot but concrete nipple freezing if you are somewhere in this room with me. And my 72 virgins surround me. (Darn ! That was imaginary) I look forward to this weekend because that will finally be the time I get rid of ITER (latin for “cholera”). You know ? Get a job. Settle down. Hope I don’t get one in Bombay though.  Infact, I’ve often maintained that if I get a source of income enough to pay my food, booze and condom bills for at least half of any given month , I’d move out of Bombay in a heartbeat because I think most other metros do what Bombay does, but better (except Kolkota where any derivatives of the word “do” are non existent). I know this sounds like a clear case of the grass being greener on the other side, but one wouldn’t know that because that one has been to Mumbai where there is no grass. Even if there is grass, the other side of it probably inhabits 8 Bangladeshi’s and 4 Café Coffee Days.

I’ve often said before that the ideal city to live in would be the people of Bombay, the setting of Delhi, the weather of Bangalore and nothing of Chennai. I think it might be time to rephrase that given how our people have been the center of George-Bush-level stupidity over the last few weeks.

First, the management at their very own sufi shrine Haji Ali banned women from entering the dargah. This has obviously been a cause for much uproar amongst women’s activist groups such as the Bharatiya Muslim Mahila Andolan (BMMA), or as they’re called in Saudi Arabia (LOL). I think it’s safe to say that women in our country have had a tough few months. First they aren’t allowed to leave their houses after 8 pm. If they do, they better not be around men who eat chow mein, coz that is apparently a prime cause of rape. Even if they do get raped, it’s probably their fault coz they were either carrying cellphones or wearing short clothes. The only hope left was praying to God – oh wait – they can’t do that either. Poetic. I’m surprised we’re even letting them be born. And when I say ‘we’ I’m not including Haryana.

When I read the news, my first thought was that this might be a good business decision to drive profits by charging stag entry to all men entering Haji Ali – then I realized that this is primarily a nightclub method of generating revenue. And Haji Ali could never be a nightclub. If it were, it’d be called something way shorter and cooler. Like “Als” or “Prè”.

I’m wondering, at what point will the Haji Ali management realize that the ‘no women’ policy has given Haji Ali this really weird engineering college vibe. (Haji Ali Polytechnic College Of Engineering). Infact, one would think that having women around would make the process of praying much easier. Surely at one point somebody inside must be thinking, “Man, this is a giant sausage (chicken) fest”.

Much before this incident, the collective IQ of the city was already lowered when over 200 of their South Bombay citizens stood outside the newly opened Starbucks at Colaba for over 2 hours just to get one look at the world renowned coffee chain. Amongst those who stood in line, some (suspected Cathedral students) claimed that they couldn’t wait to try the international taste that Starbucks coffee had to offer. When asked if they knew that Tata, who imported indigenous coffee beans from southern Karnataka, provided the beans used to make the coffee – one South Bombay-ite immediately responded with “What’s a Karnataka?” I’m pretty sure that if a survey was taken, not more than 3 people in that entire set would know who was standing for elections in their constituency – or knew how to spell constituency (again, suspected Cathedral students). A day or two later, another outlet opened at Oberoi mall in Goregaon because the Starbucks management claimed that they wanted to diversify their product chain into different market demographics… which is just management ball-talk for “we also want poor people to buy our shit”.

Despite this magnanimous display of mammoth daftness, there was one gloriously redeeming moment for our city. As my friend Beena once told me that when she drove past the outlet a week later, she noticed that right beside the giant international capitalist-globalized-shiny-glowing Starbucks logo lay a smaller yet entirely visible writing of Starbucks in Hindi. I don’t know what it is about our beloved devanagri script – but everytime a multinational brand has it’s logo written in hindi – it’s like watching a donkey drop a giant turd on cartful of Louis Vitton handbags.

So the next time you’re having the inevitable Bombay vs Delhi debate – and somebody brings up the age old argument – “but I don’t like the people of Delhi ya! They’re so like.. pretentious!” – remember that the branded dress they’re wearing has cotton that was picked by a farmer from Ratnagiri. Don’t tell them that. Let them believe they’re… somehow better. Just smile and wave boys.. smile and wave.