Sunday, 11 December | Krishan Kalra
Krishan Kalra
“You’ve changed” is the oft-repeated complaint of many a wife. “Of course not, darling,” you say and try to make up by taking her out for a meal or – if things are really bad – splurging on a sari or a trinket. Does one really change so much or is it a calculated strategy of wives all over the world?
I did some introspection and, my god, the results were astonishing. The things one did as a youngster – not necessarily while courting your future wife or even during the heady honeymoon days – sound absolutely mad and crazy today. Like the time, we were checked by a restaurant manager on a silly little technicality and how we got even with him. Carlton Café at Kashmiri Gate was our frequent haunt while doing engineering at Delhi Polytechnic. The good owner – later famous TV artist Vinod Nagpal – used to charge eight annas (50 paise) per head for tea or coffee. All we wanted was to have one cup of the brew each but he wouldn’t permit. “Have any amount of one” he would say or “pay double”. Now, this was ‘unfair’ and we tried to teach him a lesson. We got our chance soon. The yearly ‘Boiler House’ practical meant going inside a big coal-fired boiler and when we came out, only the eyes were visible – rest of the body, rather the dungarees we wore, was all covered with a thick black layer of soot. We walked up to the café without washing up or changing clothes and demanded to be allowed in – a crisp rupee note held out by each – ready to pay for both tea and coffee!
The Gurkha at the door was no match for thirty ghostly apparitions; he cried foul and ran for cover. By the time we occupied half the tables other amazed customers started leaving in a hurry. Soon Mr Nagpal appeared and gauging the situation offered settlement. No more black ghosts in his cafe and polytechnic boys could have both tea and coffee for the price of one.
Or the time Gian Chand, our classmate from Himachal, ran up to Ritz Cinema and back, without a stitch of clothing, at midnight. He was challenged to do so and at stake was the princely sum of Rs 10. For the full blooded pahari bania, this was a matter of honour. All he had to do was behave like a lunatic and the prize was his.
Eating up others’ lunch packs in class, taking in noon shows at the Ritz, drinking beer while shuffling around in CP were all game. What takes the cake was an experience at the swanky new Laguna restaurant. At the next table sat a German woman. We were all showing off and talking loudly in Punjabi about doing this and that to the firangan if only she would agree. The lady sipped her coffee silently, paid the bill, came up to our table and asked in chaste Punjabi “Pher kerha jawan mard aj raatin mere nal chalu ga” (So which He Man is taking me out tonight) and walked off!
(A veteran of the corporate world, the author now does only voluntary work in various spheres. Views expressed are personal)
