Do You Know Who I Am

Delhiites are obsessed with being connected in high places. Cradled in the same family of obsessions such as good food, expensive cars and opulent houses is the fetish with ‘contacts’. One’s worth is not measured by one’s own individual achievements in this city, it is measure in terms of the people you know. Police officers, IAS officers, upmarket restaurant owners, concierges at 5 star hotels; all count. Everybody wants to be a somebody in Delhi, and one isn’t a somebody unless they know other somebodies.

Bump a car, cut someone off in traffic, and chances are that you will be hearing the words “Do you know who I am?” very soon, coming to you from a guy vaguely resembling an Australian frilled lizard striking a threatening pose. This is always a rhetorical question, as it is not possible for anybody to know every random person in traffic in a city of 14 million people. It is also a question which is best not answered by wise cracks. It is a question to be replied with an averted gaze or an even more menacing “Do you know whose son I am?” It is a common sight for Delhiites to witness such pointless arguments until a moment where either parties tires of the altercation and drives off in a huff, to the relief of the other party and the rest of the drivers stuck in the ensuing traffic snarl.

Each time anybody gets pulled over by a cop for violating a traffic rule, they step out with their cell phone in hand, determined stony expression set on  face and names whirring through the head as they try to remember which person would be able to get them out of getting a ticket. Denial, acceptance, phone calls and finally greasing palms are the 4 steps of getting back on the road. After all, only the least connected, dumb or incoherently drunk people pay the full fines for road violations in Delhi.

Not a single day goes without a Delhiite bragging about knowing some person of wealth or stature, or recounting tales of flouting one law or another and getting away with it because they know somebody who could get them off the hook. Driving back home late last night, I witnessed a man blind with rage, beating his fist on the window of a car in the middle of a crossroads. It looked like the driver of the car had haplessly blocked this enraged man’s way. Instant payback is a way of life here. The man probably felt completely justified for his unruly behavior, perhaps because he was connected in high places. That’s just how it is in the quirky capital.

Only In Delhi.

Give Me A Rupee

If you are jolted out of your reverie by the sound of a sharp clack on the window of your car and turn your head to find a dirty snot covered staring at you, you know you are at a traffic light in Delhi. Every few minutes as a few hundred vehicles roll to a halt at a traffic light, a sudden maniacal buzz of activity takes over the road. Scores of children swarm the street and start begging, selling poor quality kitsch or rubbing the windshields of the cars with greasy rags which in reality leave them dirtier than before. Seen from the comfort of an air-conditioned car, one beholds a chaos like none other, with people zigzagging between the cars, narrowly missing being crushed by rolling cars and bikes while balancing insane amounts of merchandise. All this is seen with the quality of a TV commercial with the mute button pressed. That is, until the window is rolled down and a cacophony of blaring horns, cries of the beggars and the wailing of babies assaults the ears.

Begging is an extensive industry in Delhi, with organized begging being practiced on each road, street and market across the city, with revenues running into several crores of rupees. Beggars have perfected the knack of annoying people into giving them money, be it on the road or in the market. Most people just give them money to get them to stop beating and scratching their precious gleaming cars or to get rid of them in crowded marketplaces. One child literally did a headstand on my shoe a few years while I stood in queue outside a movie theatre. Trust me you, trying to count my change with a kid stuck to my shoe was not an easy feat. People, especially Delhi’s women are repulsed and terrified by beggars, a fact which is well known and exploited by the latter. A couple strolling through a market are the victims of choice for they are the people who want to be bothered the least. Men throw money into the eager hands of child beggars to the sound of blessings towards the longevity of the couple. In reality, it is done just to avoid them running their hands up their girlfriend’s legs, a sight seen much too often in markets like the PVR Priya or PVR Anupam complexes.

It is indeed sad that nothing is done to curb the menace of begging in Delhi, it is now as integral part of the city as is the January fog. When children should be at school, gaining education and working towards a brighter future, thousands are forced to beg each day for their livelihoods. Although most Delhiites only see them as the menace they indubitably are, some do feel their plight. Unfortunately the average Delhiite finds himself powerless in the face of such a malignant problem. He just sets a stony expression, tosses out the occasional rupee, rolls up the window to his car, shrugs and drives off.

Only In Delhi.