Sheila Dixit dreamt of it, our taxes paid for it and DDA in collaboration with MCD almost ruined it. Delhites caught in the daily grind of generator fumes and traffic snarls shrugged it off as yet another gimmick. But the megapolis with its many implants and cosmetic surgeries, courtesy fairy godmother CWG almost managed to make it. If a few strategic implants can make Rakhi Sawant India’s hattest item garl, surely apni Dilli can become a world class city!
Mumbaikars might try to dismiss it as yet another Behenjee-trying- to- be- modern endeavour but we know it’s a classic case of sour grapes. Mere pass Ring Road hai, Metro hai, flyovers hai - tumhare pass kya hai Mamu?
And to further strengthen our case, Delhi will have billionaire drivers vrooming on Budh International Circuit in nearby Noida this weekend. I am petrified that some Dilliwasi will misconstrue it as broom...broom and reserve a seat at the grandstand for his maid as a Diwali bonus. If Shiney, according to Spice ads, can buy a mobile for his bai, why can’t the cash-rich Delhizen book a seat for his?
I am told they call it Formula 1 and no, it’s not another Govinda movie with Shakti Kapoor’s naadha grabbing eyeballs. Neither does it have any correlation to Maths and Chemistry formulas which have eluded me all my life. Formula 1 racing is actually a high adrenaline event, where one gets to race long-nosed cars at insane speeds, minus the headache of a traffic cop chasing you with a challaan. Plus you get to crash cars just like in the movies, get an obscene pay check and carouse with the most glamorous women.
Hey! My husband drives menacingly and scares the living daylights out of people. And all he manages is pleas for mercy and petrified looks.
But I am not the type that goes on a fast against the unfairness of it all, especially when there is a plethora of stuff vying for my attention. Gosh! There’s so much I can choose from. I can do some head banging to The God of Metal- Metallica- playing in my neighbourhood, or burn a hole in my pocket watching drivers put their lives at risk on a race track. Giddy with fun, my throat hoarse from all that screaming, I can then proceed to Arjun Rampal’s Lap. Of course I’d love to spend the rest of my life in Rampal’s lap, but this is LAP the club, host to post-F1 parties. And Delhi knows how to partyyy especially when drunk. To facilitate the procedure, the club will have Champagne Sky Bars where firang apsaras will dangle from the ceiling, to top up our Champagne flutes. Wowie...getting drunk was never this fun!