*
Today has been a day of relaxation, of sorting out and of people. I had tea with Prakash and Shiv in the middle of the day which, unpuctuated with square meals to demarcate its various sections, lacked a morning or an afternoon. It was lovely to see them again. Prakash told me in private that he is currently studying for Indian Administrative Service (IAS) exams. These are the hugely prestigious first step in a long drawn out yearly selection procedure for outstanding individuals to fill the role of collector (a district administrator) in whichever districts have vacant posts that year. Once you become a collector it is a lifelong post that only retirement, death or deposition by the president himself can interrupt. What exactly they do, I am less clear about, but they are apparently viewed as demi-gods in their district, and Prakash is full of burning ambition and a worrying lack of backup plans. Still, I wish him the best of luck for the first round of exams in May and will try and find out more from him about the collectorate system.
Shiv is Shiv – full of life, honesty and a sometimes embarrassing admiration for the “sharpness” of my mind. I worry that he may be rather lonely. When I asked him how he spent New Years’ Eve he said “I came home and I put my bag down”, setting great store by the action of putting his bag down (perhaps a sort of “collapsing in front of the TV”-type gesture, shutting oneself out from the world) in contrast to Prakash who had been out drinking with friends. Perhaps because Shiv doesn’t drink or smoke and seems to have a fundamental mistrust of people, he finds the Fateh Sagar camaraderie difficult. He doesn’t lack friends to go “roaming” with, but his attitude towards them is difficult to gauge.
“Have you seen Vinod recently?” I asked. Vinod is a friend of his whom I have met twice.
“Vinod is very irrelevant person,” said Shiv with a look of mild disgust. “What is this meaning, irrelevant?”
“It’s when something isn’t relevant,” I said unhelpfully, yawning with tiredness as Prakash bailed me out.
“Irrelevant is something with no bearing on the case.”
“Achcha, thik hai. Can I say this ‘he is irrelevant person’?”
“Well it might seem a little odd, unless he specifically wasn’t relevant to what you were talking about. Maybe irreverent? Meaning that he doesn’t respect sacred things or figures of authority?”
I had a feeling that Shiv was more concerned with the adjective’s syllable count than its aptitude.
“Yes, yes, irreverenced. He is very irreverenced man. Actually, Sam, I’m like... Sorry, yaar! Jon! Actually, Jon, I am like a businessman.”
“A businessman?” I queried “I’ve never imagined you as a businessman!”
He guffawed, and Prakash, who evidently knew what was coming, rolled his eyes.
“I will make you understand,” Shiv continued. “In front of people’s faces I am a very friendly person, but when they are not here I feel nothing about them. Only I am saying they are fools, or they are irreverenced. Are you getting it now?”
“But Shiv, yaar,” said Prakash with a note of exasperation, “This does not make you a businessman but an anti-social idiot! Businessmen can form genuine friendships also!”
“Arre! He is not getting it actually,” said Shiv, giggling.
Both are infected with the excitement of the growing India, and it is little wonder that Prakash is unburdened with cares about the environment and global warming – from his point of view why should his country’s new lease of life be curbed to mitigate the damage done by its former oppressors? – and that Shiv looks to America with a mixture of unexamined admiration and scorn.
I also spent some time in tourist-ville today, particularly in Hari’s shop, which was full of rather dubious characters, all boasting about their “hunting” prowess with European female tourists. All of them had the same unsavoury dandiness and emaciated good looks as Hari, and all were doing their best to impress a visitor called Mario, a stylish Bangalorean sculptor of Goan origins who was visiting from his home of several years in Paris. He had a friend, possibly lover, in tow called Phillippe, a peculiar but quite likeable Frenchman who seemed disgruntled by the company and latched on to me as a fellow European. There was also a former college-mate of Mario’s from Baroda who had an unnervingly gravelly voice that would have suited an escaped convict.
Later on, I met Hari for supper at a little place near Delhi gate. He seemed ashamed of his friends’ crude behaviour of earlier and did his best to distance himself from them by telling me something about the politics of Lal Ghat. There seems to be a lot of infighting and jealousy, especially involving money and girls, and Hari claims that he is the object of a lot of jealousy because he has lived in Lal Ghat all his life. He told me that this jealousy also stems from the fact that “in the past” he had a constant string of European girls on the go. I don’t know whether this past means a long time ago, or recently, or whether it is merely the “past” when he wishes to distance himself from it and its associations. He certainly seems rather fed up with the lifestyle running a boutique in the tourist nerve-centre of a popular city, and loves being able to get out. However, he is probably too rooted to the place to be able to leave, much as he toys with the idea. I remember him coming back from a few days at a family wedding in a distant village and complaining that after an hour he had been fed up and desperately bored and couldn’t wait to come back to Udaipur! On the other hand, I suspect he would find Delhi or Bombay far too difficult and impersonal – even he if set up shop in Paharganj or Colaba (the “tourist-ville” parts) he would not have the same clout that he has in Udaipur and it would take an extremely long time (if ever) for him to integrate into the community to a sufficient degree to be able to live the happy-go-lucky life he lives here. He is also concerned about his father, a friendly, kind old man who always stops me for a chat when I pass, even though we have little to say to each other. He is completely out of touch with the real world, Hari says, and people take advantage of him.
Hari
*
And Priya. She seems to have found love on the internet – a young professional from Bombay who she has met twice now, including last night, when he ruined her New Year’s Eve by being miserable. Somehow she seems to have resolved never to talk to him again and also to marry him. I shall watch events with interest.
*
Saddam Hussein was executed yesterday and, judging by the newspapers, India is up in arms, seeing it as yet another disgraceful crime against humanity by the Bush administration. I am very confused about what I feel myself.
Next Post - Friday 5th January 2007: Delwara (will be posted Thursday 5th January 2012)
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