To Chandigarh & beyond.....

Chandigarh, 1:32 AM:
Question: How do you know when you’ve worked too much?
Answer: Remember that noise which used to come between programs during the Doordarshan days - With the static screen and lots of bright trippy colours… Remember now? … Well that ALL you hear.

So its 1 AM and you are walking back from the cab to whatever, hole in the wall, place the client has hooked you up - you acknowledge the guy at the reception and even make acquaintance with his pet rat. Collecting your keys, you walk to your room. It's finally time to sleep.

Zzzz...

Chandigarh, 1:37 AM, and now the kicker:
Some Punjabi munda is singing ‘woh lamhe’ in the lane outside.
I don’t know what the guy was thinking – but he sure as hell woke me up.
Maybe he has steamy dreams of Abhijeet Sawant and Indian Idol,
Or maybe it has something to do with liqueur vends being open till late in the night (aah…sweet bliss),

But either way something had to be done. So I grabbed a left over chicken leg from last night’s dinner and made my way to the window, determined to end the agony before he hits the chorus.

Now, regarding the chicken, it is important to realize that, in Punjab, a well made chicken tandoori is more common than a PCO.

But back to the agony. I was almost ready to launch the national symbol of Punjab (the chicken of course) at the offender when without warning the chorus arrived…. woh barsaate, woh bheegi bheegi raate, and at least 5 more incoherent voices joint in the Mongolian cluster fuck.

I sat down exasperated, cursing my luck, when it hit me. The Punjabi’s as a race are a fun loving group. They are equally at home dancing in a field of bright yellow sunflower, as they are eating chicken in a truck, while transporting sugarcane from Karnal to Bhatinda.











My point is that, instead of chucking chicken, I should embrace the culture and what the hell… maybe sing a few lines myself.
That, and there was not enough chicken to throw at all of them.

The Next Day:
Fresh from my revelation of last night I decided to take in more of the experience that was Chandigarh and the wonderful people who were our hosts. Standing in front of the spotless glass door I adjusted my tie, took a deep breath and walked in.

As part of my resolve to be less antisocial and more inquiring about everyone here, I ask the receptionist her name. Harpreet she replied.
Much later on, the office boy decided to grace us with his presence, and some tea and biscuits. I was still in a social mood, and asked him his name. Harpreet he replied.

Wonderful I thought to myself… obviously they haven’t put much thought into naming their offspring.

All the better for me – remembering names isn’t going to be an issue anymore. I mean where else can you yell ‘Happy’ in a canteen and half the people there respond with a haanji.

I can picture it now:
This year’s Bestseller – ‘Names for your Punjabi Baby’.

An 80 page book with all they information you need...
Page 1 has the suggestions: Harpreet, Manpreet, Aparpreet, Gurpreet, Navjot and Happy.



Page 2 to 69 is for more important things like Chicken recipes.
And, Page 70 is an impassioned plea to join the movement for the separate state of Khalistan…

And finally:
Yup, complex creatures they may be, but fantastic hosts they are. This was the first audit where we had a ford Icon at our disposal, and the manager of the Supply Chain group, was as much a Process head on weekdays, as he was a travel agent on weekends as he planned out stuff for us to do.

Now, if only I could remember his name… was it Harpreet… or Manpreet.
Eh what the hell… or as the Punjabi’s would say, “Koi Gal Nahin”.