Embedded pearls of wisdom in a harangue OR the trouble I go through to impart invaluable life lessons to you

It has been over a week since I went on my 1.5 day(s) trip to Delhi and my head‘s still a ‘reeling. And it’s not because of every mode of public transport I traveled by in those 2 days… but that ever since I returned to my drab professional existence, each day has been a slapdash case of wanderlust.

On the way to the airport, I realized I had forgotten to pack the newly bought over-priced sinful nail paint that would have reminded me of well-preserved red wine whenever I would have looked at my hands.

I cursed my eleventh hour packing skills for ten minutes.

Then, my mind wandered off to natural disasters. Does it matter if your nails don’t match your dress when you are lying dead beneath rubble of a collapsed building?

But I spotted a shop at the airport which had something similar, and the kind shop lady polished my nails before I boarded my flight.

Lesson 1: You never know what kind of snobbish hi-society after (death) party is happening way UP there… and since you might be required to drop by that party on a breath’s notice… polished nails all the time!

This time, my usual watering hole wasn’t serving any gin based drinks. When I sighed, the server looked daggers at me…go back to the gin joints of Prohibition, you stoopid fool…we serve hi class liquor only. And beef too (I tried it for the first time and I hate to admit it but it was delicious. Forgive me, my sacred cows!)

The only other poison that enlivens me is tequila, so a margarita it was. And in Delhi, when they serve you anything to eat and drink, the portion size is in 90th percentile. I had almost forgotten that.

Lesson 2: On the rocks > frozen. Always. Also, two are enough. Really enough.

Loco-berry Rita – the best margarita I ever had. Good job by the city built on vodka (something I never ever enjoyed).

And it so saps the joy out of you to stand in a queue for that token to ride the metro. Aunties, those cantankerous loud aunties, first they butt you and boob you and then small talk! The horror! And then, some white-capped lady will shout at you for not standing in the line and your quiet self is pushed to the limit to shout back, “But everyone keeps pushing me out! Where is the discipline?” Also, every second person keeps asking you to buy ticket for them citing outlandish reasons.

Lesson 3: Do not protest even if being squeezed dry in a crowded metro station. Even if you are lucky enough to be spared the shoves after that, the way those aunties and uncles will look at you and murmur for the next forever minutes will make you want to become invisible.

Lesson 4: For tattoo virgins- In case you are damn scared and still badly want to get inked, take a reliable friend along with you who will keep holding your hand and not let you get out of the tattoo parlor till you get the tattoo you have talked about for the past 2 years!

I spent 2 hours gathering courage, listening to scary drilling sounds and finally when I was shoved inside that dentist-kinda-room, it took just 5 minutes! Also, this tattoo parlor – pretty neat! I have three more tattoo ideas and if I am brave-enough again, all my tattoo-tourism will be reserved for Delhi.

Lesson 5: Have a lullaby-playlist on your pod/player/phone for an overnight train journey. Snorers galore!

Unlike the name suggests, a lullaby-playlist isn’t the songs that put you to sleep. These are the songs that transport you to some other world, a snore-free, better world.

For me, it’s just one song on repeat. Bob Dylan’s ‘Desolation Row’.

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Class dismissed now.

Go home.

Revise.