Dilliwala chronicles

Jackpot. Managed to get (tear away) not a couple, but a bumper 8 double-sided sheets from the hotel manager's notebook - The Bombay Palace - which now gives me 16 pages to scribble on. He (the manager) seemed drunk, exceedingly so by the time of my return from dinner, and since he'd already proved himself a man of verbiage, I decide to ignore whatever rant of his followed my return and quickly made my escape into my room. It is past midnight, and I need to get my tiny share of whatever sleep I can, so that I could begin the most action-packed in my recent history of living in this urban space.

I don't know where to begin with. Being happy, unconfrontational, unjudgemental, and of a shy reserve - though some would condensely label it to their convenience as "being a dick" - has its own headaches, and there are people who feel a license to pile a lot of shit on your back is their prerogative. But, anyways, at the end of the day, its me lying in this seedy 8x5 ft walled spot (its called a 'room' in common parlance, albeit I'm afraid if it even qualifies for that) in Pahraganj, to the accompaniment of the noisy metal grind of the fan, and askance attraction/distraction of the dancing brown curtains with paisley and flower petal designs. The wall's dotted with a few Paan spits around the base, and a strange rainbow of red splatter much high up which reminds me of the gory scenes in Korean movies - to talk about movies, this room is exactly like the one which Philippe Nahon (in Gaspar Noe's "Seul Contre Tous") fucks a crackhead prostitute in. I could be anything but your regular Dilliwala tonight - a tramp, a traveler, a fugitive, a refugee, a madcap. Nobody decides to experience Paharganj for the kicks. Seul Contre Tous, after all.

It is just another 5 hours to survive here; after emptying my bowels in the most repulsive of toilets (huh, as if I'm not getting used to it) I think I will.

To draw a sharp contrast, just yesterday evening I was at the Hauz Khas Village, in a rooftop resto overlooking a lake (teeming with ducks) surrounded by a lush green scape and remnants of Mughal architecture, eating Naga cuisine of beef shreds and pork ribs, in the company of my brother, marveling at the cones of light filtering through clouds (that had the potential of 10000 faves on flickr) and discussing a lifestyle to look forward to. Right now, I just had my only meal of the day (by the end of it) - of North Indian flavor of Dum Aloo and Matar Paneer - in a shabby dhaba called Swagat (near Imperial Theatre) sitting adjacent to rickshaw-wallahs, coolies, and the lower rung clerks, where one would find it easier to prepare a list of things to NOT complain about - that sole entry on the list being an absence of rodents. That, when a coupla' hours back, I'd almost decided for a scrumptious South Indian thali at Karnataka Bhawan. Talk about life...

I'm very tired tonight. I wish I could dive straight into Stage N3 sleep for the next 4 hrs-or-so I'm left with. Will update more on a new dawn.

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