Directions

This summer, unlike the last one, or any other actually, I find myself in... no, wait...I lost myself in Gurgaon.

Again, I must correct myself.

Gurugram.

GURUGRAM.

Big and loud. Just like the city.

In this blog, I'm not talking about why or how I ended up here. Let that be saved for some other delayed blog.

This is about an experience with the city on my 2nd day here.

I've never been great with directions or keeping track of where to go. So naturally, when I took the Yellow Line to reach Millennium City Metro Station and heard Hauz Khas being announced, I didn't panic. I was certainly surprised, but not concerned. I expected this to happen someday.

What could be a more comedic welcome to the city?

Naturally, I got down at Hauz Khas and asked a wise-looking Gen Z dude,

"Bro, Millennium City kaise jaun yaha se?"

"Metro se, bro," came the reply. In his defence, his eyes gave the impression he had touched grass a little too much that day.

Technically, it was correct. Personally, I found it funny. But was it REALLY going to help me get home? No.

I just said, "Thanks, bro. Han ye kar sakta hun!" and decided to find myself an upgrade on the Gen Z. A wise-looking Millennial!

As soon as I found one, the same question was repeated. However, the same answer wasn't what I expected.

In a very matter-of-fact way, with baggy eyes guarded by dark circles staring into mine as if to say, itna to sab jaante hain, the woman said,

"You can take the metro."

Thank you, good woman. But which one?

"Oh... take the Yellow Line."

It was at this moment that I suspected maybe this was just an elaborate prank and that I was in The Truman Show.

I muttered a thank you, looking at her with an expression that said, you idiot... but with a smile. A smile goes a long way. Yes, exactly a mile.

(Sorry for the lamest joke you've read all day.)

Done with wise-looking people. I decided to look for the unwise ones. This took me to a middle-aged security guard with a moustache dyed slightly imperfectly in a way that created the illusion that it was denser than it actually was.

As I approached him and interrupted his bum-scratching ritual while he scrolled reels at the highest volume a smartphone can shout at, he glanced up at me with disinterested eyes.

They were baggier than the wise woman I met earlier and slightly redder, too. A Paan Masala packet was peeking out of his shirt pocket to see the intruder who wanted to disturb his master's dhoom scrolling.

(Yes, I invented this.)

Also, I was getting a subtle hint of bidi smoke from him.

Nevertheless, I asked him,

"Millennium City kaise..."

Before I could complete my question, with his head turning a few degrees, he pointed in the direction I needed to go and said exactly two words.

"Udhar se."

My gratitude for this expression was obviously ignored, and I finally found the right train to my residence.

I couldn't have asked for a better welcome to the city.......

A few days after the incident, when I found(not lost this time) myself on the Millennium City metro station platform, this time without any assistance, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned around to find a young lad, not more than 25 summers old, with a beard that wouldn't qualify as whiskers, asking me,

"Excuse me, Sikandarpur kaise jaa sakte hain?"

At this point, if you're expecting me to write that I said something confusing and wrong, I must disappoint you. As a wise man, I did no such thing. 

I did what any wise person would've done.

In a calm voice, I asked him,

"First day in Gurgaon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Metro lelo"

I turned around and didn't catch the expression on his face. But I can fathom what it would've been as I walked away with contentment of welcoming him to Gurugram. One day, when he becomes as wise as me, he may do the same with someone else.

However, I hope he found someone as unwise as the security guard who gave me directions with as much nonchalance as one person is legally allowed to have.

And I hope, dear reader, you do too.

When you need directions.
At a metro station. On a road. In a market.
Or in Life.

P.S. I wrote this while on the Yellow Line today, so pardon the typos that may have crept in. I was multitasking. Writing and overhearing an Aunty discuss, or actually rant, about her neighbour Renuka. 
Renuka ji, you shouldn't have hogged up the sunny part of the shared terrace for your aam ka achaar. How would your neighbour, the metro lady, make papads for her NRI son now? 
Not a good thing. And please don't bring Dhoklas for every kitty party.

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Over the last few weeks, I've been attending a cosy, friendly and very fulfilling book club hosted by some amazing people. 
We get together, talk, laugh, and talk about books and feel the sense of community that we all collectively long for. Makes the city feel less like a stranger.
Through that, I got a chance to read Manto, and I am eagerly waiting for their June calendar.
So Ravnita, Khezran and anyone else from the book club reading this, Thank You for doing what you do and being a part of it.


Till the next blog, Good morning! Oh, and in case I don't see ya: good afternoon, good evening, and good night!


Now let's come to recommendations:

1. Book: Trial by Kafka
2. Media: Pluribus 
3. Song: Ron Bur Akuwalim by Bishrut Saikia (it's an Assamese song, but if you're in the mood for trying out something new, listen to this)