Moving to Jan Pratinidhi and Arjun's Wedding

I’m surrounded by staff. My staff. Hundreds of them. Bobby, Prameet, and I have become India’s latest top floor residents with our recent move into the penthouse apartment in the Jan Pratinidhi complex. We have four bedrooms, five bathrooms, five balconies, two lounge rooms and a bar. We are also housed within a décor that resembles something between a bordello and a mausoleum. Our family circle has also swelled to three house staff and two drivers. While all this help may sound exotic, in reality it’s exactly that – help. Assistance is required over here constantly because India is quite an inhospitable place. One cannot get around without a car, and foreigners cannot drive a car without a death wish. We have people to clean, launder and run errands for us - not because we won’t do these tasks, but because we can’t. We have no washing machine, no cleaning products and no means of tackling even the most basic chore.

Our five balconies are interesting too. Not from any architectural quirk but because of the views they provide – absolute nothingness. Gurgaon is an arid dustbowl punctuated with isolated office buildings, apartment blocks and the odd hyper-mall. Our 360 degree view is composed of a few shanties, deserted construction pits and sandy oblivion. I’m not going to let this get me down however, because this morning, while perusing this panorama, I decided that one does not often get the chance to have endless untouched earth at one’s disposal, with no supervision. In light of this, Prameet and I have started making some discrete enquiries into the price of dirt bikes and explosives.

As would be obvious now, our house in Vasant Vihar fell through – and perhaps mercifully. On reflection I was worried about the age of the house and the slipperiness of the agent. As my experience of Delhi traffic grows, so too does my relief that I won’t be spending a couple of hours a day in transit between VV and the office.

Especially as it’s been a very demanding week. Work is to blame for this. Over the past few days I’ve been bowing to deadlines conceived in London, Brazil and India. Given the time differences, this has meant my working roughly 36 hours a day. Purists of the solar day will point to this as impossible. Well, I can assure those who’ve restricted themselves merely to diurnal living that it is. All it just takes to achieve this is adrenaline, pizza and considerable disorganisation. The madcap week was topped off by our giving Delhi another opportunity to trumpet its restaurant scene. We attended Thai Wok, a rooftop restaurant adjacent to the Qutb Minar and with incredible views of this architectural marvel. The Minar’s 70 odd metre high spire is made from sandstone and marble. Its construction commenced in AD 1199 for the use of Mu'azzin to give calls for prayer. It’s on the site of India’s first mosque.

Despite the Herculean effort needed to get through this work week, I did find time to attend my first Indian wedding. Arjun is a friend and former colleague from Melbourne who is so serious about his matrimonial commitments that he decided to hold separate ceremonies in Australia, India and Malaysia. Although I only attended the Indian third, I would be confident in saying that this shindig would have to be the high water mark. The typical Indian wedding ceremony usually elongates itself over the best part of a week and normally invites most of the country. Arjun’s festivities stretched over a weekend, with the celebrations held at a family member’s residence in Delhi’s blue ribbon district.

Friday night was the Sangeet party, which I believe is more to do with the bride. It was a lavish but informal affair, so I acted lavishly and informally. Beside the groom, the only other familiar face was Adam – a senior partner at the firm I formerly worked for, who had travelled with his wife to attend the wedding. As the waiting staff supplied more and more liquor, Adam and I developed into a bizarre double act that eventuated in the most jaw dropping fusion of traditional Indian dancing and heretical boogieing. We made an impact, and certainly a big contribution to many guests’ wedding shots for the night. What made this scene more interesting was my attire. Prior to the wedding, Arjun had half jokingly asked if I would like to wear customary Indian garb for the occasion instead of a suit. I thought that a marvellous idea and organised a costume immediately. This comprised a kurta (a silk shirt that extends to the knees), pyjama (linen pants that have stovepipe legs but a circus clown waist, with a drawstring to keep them up - and once pulled makes the wearer look like a deflated pavlova) and jutti (elf shoes with upturned toes providing much discomfort - especially during dancing manoeuvres). What made this more hilarious was that most Indians were wearing very subdued suits. I certainly stood out.

A logistical hiccup meant my missing Saturday’s actual ceremony, which was a shame as Arjun arrived on horseback to much fanfare. Adam was reported to have been dancing in front of the horse during the procession. The party on the Saturday night was as raucous as the previous night’s. I’m unsure of this celebration’s title, but I presumed it was the reception. The pace at which drinks were served seemed to confirm this. Of particular note was a transaction that took place on the dance floor close to the end of the night. In hindsight, I’m surprised this event didn’t bring about an immediate coda - for me at least. I was on the dance floor happily defiling a thousand years of Indian musical history when the crowd parted to admit the barman onto the floor. He made a beeline for me and the party formed into an audience seemingly about to witness a Christian being fed to the lions. The barman had balanced on his tray a number of vials and instruments that I recognised immediately as being for the purpose of accomplishing rapid intoxication. He deftly mixed a brownish potion in a large martini glass and set it alight. He then thrilled the crowd with his dexterous display of pouring the burning liquid from head height into another martini glass held in his other hand. My excitement was significantly less in the knowledge that very soon he was going to force me to drink this. With a flourish, the fiery waterfall finished. The barman produced a metal straw and stuck one end in the still blazing liquid and the other end into my mouth. I drank and I burned. Even in my frantic state I realised that the amount I was consuming was more than the amount leaving the glass. This is what the crowd was really cheering at. At the time I had no idea that the barman was topping up the glass with vodka and tequila in equal measure. When he finally released me from this alcoholic hamster wheel he extended his hand. I shook it not because I felt any further need to bond with this man, but because I welcomed the stability of a sober frame. There was no more dancing for me after this. I discovered after the ordeal that the brown potion was a mix of Galliano and Absinthe, and that the barman had run out of vodka.

Interesting discoveries:

• The standard birthday salutation in Hindi is ‘Janamdin mubarak ho’ – literally ‘wishing you a happy birthday’
• Parcels sent to Australia take about four days to arrive. Parcels sent from Australia just don’t arrive

Administrative facts:

• Curries consumed so far: 19 – including a few sumptuous Thai dishes
• India is the world’s 4^th largest economy, and has an active space program

Song of the moment:

Crazy Kiya Re, from the Dhoom 2 soundtrack.

The movie hasn’t been released yet, but I’ll be the first in line for tickets when it is.

Sangeet party: Arjun's wedding