Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Longest surnames

ca. 2005, college Library
विचार मंडली: Pande, Pandey, Joseph

Aim: Find a lengthy Indian surname to beat Schwarzenegger (14)
Narayanamurthy (14)
Radhakrishnan(13)
Bhattacharya (12)
Gopalakrishnan (14)
Venkataswamy (12)
Muralidharan (12)

Winner
Rajagopalacharya (16)

Can ye think of anything longer?

Friday, August 14, 2009

Fright, fear, numbness

THE HOUSE. It's in Delhi, and if you're in the abnormal-phenomenon circle, you'd have heard of it and can find out where it is. I managed to research into it quite exhaustively.

They say that if you want the real chill, then visit this house. Legend goes that the owner of this house (I'm missing out on his name here, but lets call him Mr. K) - before it came into being - was having difficulties with his business. He consulted a spiritual advisor, who asked for him to undertake some rituals 'in a permanent structure on a permanent piece of land', land that would be truly his i.e. won't tie him with anxieties of ownership or mortgage.

A quick background: Mr. K's family was a large one. a wife, 3 children - a son, the youngest, and two daughters, the younger of whom to be married soon. Mr. K was respected in social circles. we can't say anything beyond this with certitude.

To fulfil the given objective, Mr. K took great financial and mental exertions. He didn't merely want a house, he wanted it to be all that he was. The purchase of land was the easiest part of the challenge. What plagued Mr. K was seeing the house in exact image of his experiences, being the learned and well-traveled man he was. He had seen it all, and he wanted that to come out in the design and proportions of the house. The latter - tackling proportions - was easy...he had it built as HUGE as he could. As for the design, not much knowledge exists.

In the process - madness - of completion of this project, Mr. K lost his wife. Some say she's dead, but others say she left him for her in-laws; her life just got lost midway the chapters of this house Mr. K was building. Soon after Mr. K moved in with his remaining family, his eldest of daughters also vanished from sighting. The neighbours had barely known them by this time, so no factual explanation exists - besides that of her joining her mother (at her in-laws). In times that followed, occasional quarrels were heard in the house - Mr. K vs his daughter and her boyfriend. It would be a barrage of undecipherable verbal blasts in varying pitches and tones (that would suggest equal participation from both the sexes). Sometime in future, the quarrels stopped, and the younger daughter vanished as well. "Vanished" seems a word appropriate for Stephen King's usage, and not for us, but nothing better explains these incidents of people just not being seen anymore. In course of time, the boy 'vanished' as well. Few people have claimed to have seen him working up the stairs at times, listlessly; though where he emerges from and what his purposes are is a mystery and affects the credibility of these sightings. Nobody's sure whether Mr. K has deserted the place or not, but he's claimed to have been heard at times, shouting at himself.

To spook myself, I visited that house sometime back. I'd gone there alone, right after a day of hard rain, with clouds still looming overhead.
The colony where it's at is a posh one: Clean streets, wide roads, private garages, no overflowing gutters after a heavy downpour, no mongrels hating your presence. The house was located after some mental math with the street addresses leading in and out, though with ease.

The house really is daunting in proportions. HUGE, as described. It reminded me of those multi-storeyed MCD residential compounds - the dimensions of interconnecting structures and the porch seemed so familiar. The entire facade seemed to be built on blue/gray marble with resplendent, flowing, visceral patterns. There was tinted glass used higher up. Every edge had been rounded, so that there was nothing harsh about this structure.

A huge flight of stairs leads up into the verandah. I did not investigate whether there was a garage or a basement built at the ground level, because of which this would've been necessary. As I climed up these stairs, I couldn't help but feel odd. I could listen to my steps. The dull sky outside made it seem awfully empty and gloomy. It was puzzling WHY Mr. K won't have anybody to take care of this house, HOW Mr. K can do without anybody to take care of this HUGE house.

Upon reaching the vast tiled verandah, more of the structure comes into view. It all seems rather like the waiting lounge of a prestigious hotel. Everything is sparkling, speckless, flowing. But there's only marble all around - marble pillars, a marble bench to one side stretching all along, a huge marble doorway at some distance right ahead, narrow marble stairs to the right. My unease intensifies. Just staring at all that marble - cut so, as to keep the wavy pattern intact - makes me dizzy. Besides that, I also feel somebody staring at me from the stairs to my right. Those stairs extend deep before they bend back. I begin to palpitate, the chill starts (the same feeling just revisited me as I'm writing this down sitting in my home, I play some music to detach myself sufficiently). I am trying to call out to somebody, but my throat is glued from this mental aggravation and I find myself crippled in midst of this silence.

That thing in the shadow of the stairs is still watching me. I cannot make out who it is, but I can feel that I'm being observed. Two slender slits in an oblong head on a slender and tall body, slowly shifting. In the meantime that things are pretty still, I try to deduce that it could be the father, Mr. K and get engrossed contemplating an encounter with the shadow.

Suddenly, by an impulse, I'm possessed by fright. It takes time, but as I gain back awareness of my surroundings, I find them changing in their shape. Twisting, distorting; it's as if the house will melt with me at its center. It's the organic pulse to this whole act that numbs me; had it been more mechanical or random, I won't have felt this way. Then, askance, I see the figure in shadows moving towards me. I grow cold from the premonition that it wants to take me in. I dart back, the way I came. In long lunges I descend down that entire stairway, and onto the road, and then right out of the boundaries of that house. I never look back. I keep running, cold and mute.

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Overrated Gullu


Gullu Meat Wala isn't difficult to locate; however its location is such that first-timers would find themselves confused: Take the road into Malka Ganj at the Hansraj-Malkaganj crossing, go a hundred yards, there it is!

For a sample of overrated Mughlai food in Delhi, look nowhere beyond Gullu's. Tucked inside Malka Ganj, at a location you won't believe could sustain such a takeaway joint, Gullu Meat Wala (GMW) has been a much-cherished secret among Delhi-ites, some of whom even claim it to be one of the better foodie places. However, the cold truth is that these folks have either been feeding under the influence of alcohol, or peer pressure, both of which numb the senses equally. There's also the need among DU-ites to patronise a nearby joint; and lacking any other option, Gullu's is IT.

What's good about Gullu is that their work environment seems very hygenic and their service seems organised.
What's bad is that they have a limited menu, their food sucks, much of their gravy is sweet, use of oil is to disgusting proportions, no home delivery, unhygenic/unsafe surroundings immediately outside their sparkling tiled verandah, and a narrow time-frame during which they serve.

Darvesh Corner at Ghanta Ghar



UPDATE: This blog post was originally written in June, 2009. Since then, expect a variation in Darvesh's food menu, especially the prices. I would even imagine - correct me if I'm wrong - that the bulls and their bullock carts tied nearby have been relocated, the doggies begging for food have multiplied in number, the unruly parking lot is all the more so, and the burly Jatt preparing Butter Chicken has lost some of his flair.
Not to be mislead, you should follow more recent Google links reviewing this place.

Darvesh Corner is a legend in itself. It's so awesome that it's delivery radius is double to that of any other joint. It's located right next to Amba Cinema, and easily spotted on evenings by the social nexus that it makes for the neighbourhood dogs; there's a bull tied to a tree nearby as well; right next to it is some lawyer's office.

Their tandoor is great. So is the Butter Chicken, prepared by the burly Jat who's always seen playing with supplies of butter holding a large spherical spoon. Rumali Rolls are also good, but for the heavy onion content. Also suggested by the others on the web is their Tawa Chicken, which I personally have no experience of. The prices seem like their moneys worth.
Phone: 98918-95260, 98101-75411
Note: It ain't a restaurant, but a takeaway


 

PS:Going on a different path, I wonder if Darvesh originally stems from the word 'Dervish', which refers to a mendicant monk or a Muslim ascetic.

More interesting moments...

"Single-mindedly pursuing a truth of staggering importance to the world."

'hi. bhai kaise ho?'
'HI'
'what r u singlemindedly pursuing that is of staggering importance to the world?'
'a way out of THE SYSTEM. how're you doing these days?'
'the system... as in?'
...
'What SYSTEM are you referring to?'
'The SYSTEM that you cant think outside of.'
'I feel the same. We are tied to it.'
'And the worst part is, our aspirations are boxed inside it. The best we can think of, the worst we can think of.'
'Yes'
'We live in it, think in it, achieve in it; there's no knowledge of that which exists outside.'
'I too want to live outside it.'
'Yes, but finding a solution while feeding off it is impossible.'