Witerati: Phir bhi drill hai Hindustani

That G20 is nothing short of a monumental moment on India Shining’s calendar, literally and figuratively, goes without saying

To be in G20 week and not touch upon it would be like doing a maiden landing at London and to not go goggling at Buckingham Palace or Big Ben.

The Capital’s makeovers for the momentous event have pretty much been written about to death. (HT File)

The Capital’s makeovers for the momentous event have pretty much been written about to death. Be it the Mahabharata murals or Madhubani facials, masterfully curated by the Kiran Nadar Museum of Art and Co, upon Dilli’s pockmarked epidermis or certain Delhi Metro stations getting mop-covers even at ungodly hours.

What the G20 has done for commoners, other than getting them grounded, is to make their mouth vocabulary rooted in the new ground reality. A vocabulary more synonymous either with catastrophic or monumental timelines.

That G20 is nothing short of a monumental moment on India Shining’s calendar, literally and figuratively, goes without saying.

Monumental indeed, considering that some of the relic monuments spruced up for the G20 are resembling dowagers with mascara or blusher overdone. It’s like history and heritage having to hobble out of customary siesta mode for strutting as showstoppers in a Sabyasachi or Manish Malhotra lehenga.

Much ado about curfew

For commoners, the G20 run-up has spelt not only run-ins with constabulary, but also catastrophic vocabulary.

Sample this. The other day, one was rather taken by surprise at the long-distance concern of a blogger based in Kerala who saw a social media post about yours truly having a book event in Gurugram.

“Is your book event really happening? But isn’t Gurgaon under curfew?”

To say that I nearly choked over the liquid in my morning cuppa would be solid understatement.

One part of me chided, the other bit clapped.

Lest the paradox be puzzling, here’s the dynamics driving it.

Chided myself, for being clueless about catastrophic tidings on turf closer to me than to Kerala.

Clapped at the blogger, for being so geographically and politically savvy.

“Oh, you must be mixing it with last month’s events that saw a bit of a riot in Gurgaon,” I chirruped a correction, determined not to sound politically challenged.

Only to realise that there really was no mix-up, it indeed tantamount to a curfew-like situation, courtesy G20 run-up.

Exasperated at ETAs

Most of the commuting by us commoners in the Capital that has taken place on the eve of G20 has come riding that acronym ETA (expected time of arrival).

The other day, when we were to venture again to the Gurugram side for an event, there was only one overriding concern. One was concerned whether or not the routes at the other side of the NCR would also be closed, on account of a related reason.

This concern was voiced to one’s obvious source in the media.

“What’s the ETA?”

“Hope it won’t clash with our ETD (estimated time of departure)?”

The ETAs and ETDs had none whatsoever to do with the winging home of any loved ones who might have to be fetched or with the dispatching of not-so-loved overstaying “atithis”. It had to do with the landing of leaders at the international airport for G20.

The cause of all the hyperventilating over the ETAs and ETDs had to do with an expected VVIP landing around the same time as one’s Gurugram event, which could have caused routes to and fro the airport to be cordoned or clogged.

Driving the dilemma was the ETA of that special “atithi among atithis” — British Premier Rishi Sunak.

Restless over rehearsals

How we Indians love to blame all that goes wrong upon the government!

Ah, but now there was the newest punching bag for many a Big Fat Indian Social Ill — The Drill.

For a Capital accustomed to only Republic Day or Independence Day rehearsals bringing life to a standstill, there had now arrived the G20 Drill.

If Ola or Uber were running late, blame it on the big-day rehearsal. If Swiggy or Zomato were lagging in legging it with butter chicken legs, blame it on the rehearsal.

Even if the truant maid did beat the retreat, like Salman Khan’s newly receded hairline, she was savvy to blame it on the rehearsal. Never mind the fact that her dwelling is as far from the rehearsal ramparts as Trilokpuri is from Timbuktu.

The curious case of Licence to Drill.