Photo Essay - Time Out Jama Masjid

Visiting the society of Muslims in the world's greatest and grandest Mosque.

[Pictures and text by Mayank Austen Soofi]

Mecca has Masjid-al-Haram and Istanbul boasts of Blue mosque. The former has its ancient authenticity compromised by Petrodollar-funded air-conditioned renovations and the latter's magnificent splendor pales under the brilliant glow of the much older basilica of Hagia Sophia.

Delhi's Masjid-i-Jahan Numa - the mosque commanding a view of the world - neither tolerates nor suffers such ignominies. Standing erect on a high ground, the grand mosque is the sole custodian of all that is beautiful, commanding, powerful, and historical about Old Delhi.

Welcome to Jama Masjid, so called because of a large prayer congregation that gathers in its great courtyard in the Fridays or Jummas of every week.

Old Delhi - Filth, Stench, and the Muslims

Two Veiled Ladies on Way to the Mosque



Caged Chickens Waiting to be Slaughtered for the Ramadan Feast



"Are you crazy? Why are you going there? That place stinks of dead chickens and dirty Muslims!" This was the response of a friend when I invited him for an afternoon excursion to Jama Masjid.

For many Delhiites, it becomes necessary to travel to Old Delhi only when there is no option but to board trains from its bustling railway station. True, the historical bazaar of Chandani Chowk -- the moon-lit square -- situated in the same district, is legendary and retains a charm for the tourists, but it is congested and makes for an exhausting experience for the 'natives'.

Modern-day Delhites, belonging to a new and vibrant India, have other preferences. They shop in glitzier malls -- glamorous American bubbles -- situated far away from the depressing third-world reminders like Old Delhi.

Jama Masjid - There It Is

The Immense Crowd Below the Mosque



Skullcaps for Sale



The streets should have been secreted under a haze of languidness and the stone stairs leading to the mosque should have been bare and lonely. After all, it was a Ramadan afternoon. Pious Muslims, keeping fast during the day, remain hungry till dusk when it is time to break fast by feasting on a special meal called Iftar.

Ramadan is always a trying time for the faithful since even water is not permitted to pass through the throat. To conserve energy, long days are whiled away by lying still in bed. It is not a surprise that Muslims chose to stay at home rather than deplete their energy by going about the business of the day.

This was not to be so this afternoon. The streets were crowded. Beggars were crying "Ya Allah" with all their passion. Chirping families were busy buying clothes, bed sheets, socks, sandals, and kitchen utensils. At one corner even kebabs were being roasted. Were people actually keeping fast? Could it be that Muslims have finally started being less conservative?

At The Entrance

In spite of this being the second week of October, the air was uncomfortably warm. After climbing over the final step and reaching the landing, a notice board greeted the visitors asking them to take off the shoes, but there was a problem: There were no guards to look after the shoes. What if somebody stole them?

To make one feel more uncomfortable, there was a thuggish-looking man holding a wooden club with which he was shooing away any ignorant bumpkin stupid enough to sneak by with his shoes on. An old man suggested taking off the shoes and carrying them in the hands. As long as they do not touch the sacredness of the holy ground it would be fine, he assured.

Read Before You Walk



Careful, Do Not Let the Shoes Fall on the Ground



Inside the Mosque

A Grand View; An Awe-Inspiring Scene



The facade of the mosque had a spectacular dazzle that had the power to stir the senses of an unsuspecting visitor. The great dome appeared to be a giant drop that must have trickled out of Islam's greatest moment when it ruled all of South Asia; when its Mughal dynasty was at the peak of its glory and gleam; when Islam was breathing its best days in the region.

The Erection of Militant Islam



The Breast of Spritual Nourishment



Jama Masjid was commissioned by Shah Jahan, the Mughal emperor who had earlier created Taj Mahal in the memory of his departed wife. The poor empress had died during the labor pains of her 14th child-birth.

Toppled by his son and doomed to spend the last days in a prison-cell whose window looked out to a faraway view of Taj Mahal, Shahjahan was a man of colorful personality. It was rumored that he had a romantic relationship with his own daughter, Jahanara. The unfazed emperor had defended his feelings by asking what crime it was to pick grapes from a plant he himself had planted!

A Jama Masjid View of the Red Fort



Jama Masjid faces another great Delhi landmark built by the same king -- the Red Fort. It is a monument of immense historical character, its relevance still powerful in the narrative of modern India. The Indian Prime Minister annually hoists the nation's flag on its ramparts during the country's Independence Day while Pakistani ultra-nationalists publicly dream of implanting the green flag of Islam instead.

The People of the Mosque

Sunday families, carefree boys, western tourists, and fasting pilgrims crowded the mosque. There were people sitting on the stairs, lying in the balcony, and half-reclined under the shade. Some were gossiping while many looked tired and were quiet. There were beggars too, some without legs and some without arms. Some sat listlessly and one slept peacefully on the cool tiles inside the main complex.

The Balcony Scene



Sweet is the Sleep - Inside the Main Complex



Western Tourists Watched the Monument; We Watched Them



How Many Hours Still Left to Break the Fast?



Boys will be Boys



Ohff, It's So Sunny!



Delhi from the Mosque

While one side of the Masjid was graced by the smart-straight line of the Red Fort, the remaining three appeared to be draped with large wall-papers of Delhi, showing the city in all its chaos: shaky structures, dangling electrical wires, misplaced hoardings, rickshaw jams, and an unmanageable surge of humanity.

Delhi in all its Glory, and Disgrace



A Side Show of this Old, Unplanned, and Congested City



Prayer - The Chief Business of the Mosque

Of course, sightseeing is not what most of the visitors come for. Jama Masjid is a destination for those desiring for a momentary escape from the claustrophobic world of Old Delhi. It is a monument of refuge to the world-weary people. It is a grand chamber of solitude that offers private moments of reflection within the silence of its stones. It is a holy house intended to rub the balm of solace to the souls of troubled men. Most importantly, it is a mosque where Muslims are expected to reflect on Allah, angels, and other compulsory vocations.

This stone mosque is welcoming even to non-Muslims. One can sit inside the main complex or lounge against the balcony railings or stretch out on the floor without any Mullah bothering about one's religion. In fact, the place is ideally suited for reading. The book does not necessarily have to be the Koran.

The Path to Paradise is Straight and Narrow



Ablution - Clean Yourself before Bowing to Allah



Communion with the Book



Why is the Mullah So Sad?



The Library of Muslims - Copies of the Koran



Remnant of a Lost Glory

Every beautiful story has a sad ending. So it is with this mosque, too. Once Old Delhi was the center of the world and Jama Masjid, its crowning glory, shone with glittering lamps, gold-plated doors, and silken curtains. Now, only a sad-looking chandelier limply hangs down from the dome, the corridors are haunted by bats, the stairs are lined by hungry pilgrims, and unemployed Muslim youths play cricket under its shadow.

Those Were the Days

The truth is that Jama Masjid has fallen from its original royal stature to a mere sad reminder of its former glory. It closely resembles a starving fakeer tightly clutching onto the rags of a used kaftan donated to him by a rich noble.

Indeed, the edges of the stony dome blurs with three-dimensional perspectives. It stands as a relic to the great past of the Muslim empire in India. It serves as a mirror into the pathos of present-day Indian Muslims. It holds out an unpromising peek into the grim future of the Muslims of the Indian sub-continent.

Khuda Hafiz.

'White Ghosts' at Red Fort: Late Evening Sufi Music Concert at a 17th Century Delhi Monument

Old Delhi charm; Ramadan night magic; Red Fort glitter; Pakistani pop stars' charisma; and my digicam.
- by Mayank Austen Soofi

Since this was Delhi, we reached Red Fort one hour after the scheduled start of the concert. It is not considered respectable in the status-sensitive society of India's capital to arrive at a venue on time.

Red Fort is Old Delhi's most imposing architecture - a 17th century monument of sandstones excavated from the burning deserts of Rajasthan. Constructed during the reign of Shahjahan, the emperor who gave Taj Mahal to the world, Red Fort was the grand palace of the great Mughals from whose ornate chambers they used to rule over the immeasurable expanse of their gigantic empire in South Asia.

Feeling smug and arrogant, we held our chin up high as we allowed ourselves to be security-checked by the Red Fort guards - the monument is on the hit list of Islamist terrorists. We entered through Lahori Gate, an entrance from whose ramparts the Indian Prime Minister annually address the nation on the country's Independence Day.

There was no one in the pillared hall of Diwan-e-Aam (Hall for Common People) but Diwan-i-Khaas (Hall for Important People), where once Mughal Emperors used to grant private audience, blinked from a distance as if vacuum-packed in a bright orange bubble. The entire setting was a bit too grand for a Sufi concert; after all Sufis were poor Muslim ascetics who reached out to the God singing uncomplicated love poems.

Yet, the buzz was that of a major Sufi concert, with performances said to be by acclaimed Pakistani artists; and allegedly all the tickets were sold out. But like good Delhites we had managed to get hold of free passes through a friend who had a passing acquaintance with a person friendly with the powerful.

The Ramadan Night Blushed Under the Red Fort Dazzle

The open air theater was filled with Very Important Persons, popularly known as VIPs. Most of them looked like the very people with whom our friend's passing acquaintance was friendly. We were the tip of the VIP tail which in Delhi lingo meant that we were nothing. But who cared? It was a Sufi evening and we were determined to savour the mood. Besides, we understood that the concert was a part of the people-to-people contact programme between the rival nations, India and Pakistan. This made our peacenik heart swell proudly with uninhibited righteousness.

Diwaan-e-Khaas Invaded by the 36 Virgins of Paradise

Soft rugs, covered with clean white sheets, were laid down in the front. Extremely important people — politicians, bureaucrats, police officials — were languidly lying down against masnads (round pillows to comfort the back), as if watching a courtesan dance. We sat down on the bare grass.

It was not a rock concert crowd. But the VIPs gracing the event did not seem particularly fond of Sufi music either. There was a tangible lack of enthusiasm. The performers, expecting us to go mad with Sufi spirituals, tried exhorting us to cheer but we remained committed to denying them this pleasure.

The Very Imporant People

The band on the stage was playing heavy metal music. My companion asked if I was sure this was a Sufi evening. I unconvincingly suggested it could be 'Techno-Sufi', not being sure if such a stream existed. The companion grew confused, depressed and silent. But there was no need to be so - we were told that the great Pakistani Sufi singer Abida Parveen would also be holding forth. As a matter of fact, our entire purpose in coming here was to listen to her live recital of soulful songs. But this being a Delhi event, you could not be sure of anything. The announcer, an irritating smart-aleck who hosts morning shows for a dumbed-down radio channel kept warning us to be prepared for an imminent surprise. This made us a little optimistic.

The Not-so-great White Ghosts Trick

Indian singer Kailash Kher, currently in vogue, was rumored to perform the next number. But it was once again Techno-Sufi, with lots of pretty girls in long white gowns dancing icily with a look-but-touch-me-not warning.

Actually the specter of these 'white ghosts', with numerous folds of their gowns rapidly whirling up and down, against the background of Red Fort ruins was breathtakingly beautiful. In addition, the sky was clear, the moon was almost round, and the grass on which we were lying down was delightfully wet with the October mist. But olfactory nerves tend to grow immune to the most expensive perfumes after a while. So we too were bored by the white ghost trick.

There was another grouse - we were given to believe that the concert was by Pakistani artists but most of the Sufi singers were Indians. There was no novelty. And all of them were singing a remix of the same hit — Dama Dam Mast Kalandar — as if there was only one Sufi blockbuster in the world.

Unfortunately, more indignities were lying in wait. There was to be no Kailash Kher. The wooden girls simply jiggled, like trees in a light wind storm, to his playback recording. We now feared the worst. Most likely the ghosts would wave their arms to the CD recording of Abida Parveen. The Sufi singer would not be here in flesh and blood. That would be an insult not to be borne.

Look, But Don't Touch

He came. He saw. But we were not conquered. This was Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan, the son of legendary musician Ustad Amanat Ali Khan Sahib of Pakistan. Could this be the lone surprise the infuriating radio jockey was talking about?

We were in love with "Mitwa" (loosely translated: "My love"), the song sung by Mr. Ali Khan and filmed on Bollywood heartthrob Shahrukh Khan in the recent song-and-dance blockbuster Kabi Alvida Na Kehna. We had imagined Mr. Ali Khan to be a deep, somber, good-looking person. But he looked like a whiskey-drinking, gold-chain wearing, Honda City driving, Butter Chicken-eating man from the Delhi's more middle-class and inartistic neighborhood. There was an 'oh-no' groan rising up inside us. We mourned that from now onwards whenever we listened to the beautiful "Mitwa" track, our mind's eye would see the real singer and the song would never be the same again. It was an unfortunate development.

Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan - Does He Look Like a Sufi Mystic?

But those were the first impressions. When Mr. Ali Khan started singing Yeh Honsla (loosely translated: "This courage"), a very poignant song, we rebuked ourselves. How does it matter if he does not look the way we had expected him to be? For God's sake, don't judge the man by his appearance. Look at his talent! We felt nice with such noble thoughts. When Mr. Ali Khan touched our heart with a mellowed Mora Sayya (loosely translated: "My beloved") we mutually agreed that the flowery shirt and the torn jeans did not look bad on him and that his paunch was cute.

Shafqat Ali Khan - Killing Us Softly With His Song

And when Mr. Ali Khan climbed down the stage, came towards us, and burst into "Mere mann ye bata de tu; Kis or chala hai tu" (loosely translated: "O my thoughts tell me this; Which direction are you drifting towards"), not before exhorting us to sing with him, we discovered how appealing he was. Now being so close to him, he looked extremely handsome. We fell in love with him.

The next thunder was not an item girl. It was an item boy - Shehzad Roy, a Pakistani pop star from Karachi. We had never heard of him before but some girls behind us screamed and sighed. We distinctly heard one of them moaning - "Oh, these Pakistani men, I tell you...."

Shehzad Roy - These Pakistani Boys

Mr. Shehzad was brash and full of freshness. He seemed pregnant with greater stardom. Before jumping into his number, he dedicated the song to US President George Bush and hoped that one day Dubya would sing it to Condoleezza Rice. The lyrics were - Saali tu maney nahi (loosely translated: "Hey bitch why refuse?"). We laughed with all our heart.

Shehzad Roy - Pop Star for a Sufi Night!

Our fears soon materialized. Abida Parveen never came. The concert concluded with an insipid qawwali (devotional music of the Sufis sung by a group of people). Fortunately, there were two fairies in the team and we spent the time trying to guess which Pakistani province they hailed from.

Qawwali that Failed to Excite

As the curtains draped down over the evening, we had to concede that Pakistan could at least be envied for possessing such divine looking maidens. All their girls were beautiful and delicately built. Alas, here too we were for a rude shock. It was later revealed that the Pakistani singers — there were very few in any case — had outsourced their dance numbers to a Delhi-based dancing school. All those girls, both the wooden ghosts and the Qawwali beauties, were from Delhi!

This was not exotic at all. This was cheating and we were fooled. It was not people-to-people contact. It was client-to-client contact!

These Were Indian Ghosts!

But, as usual, we Delhites were over-reacting. The sight of the subtly-lit Red Fort at midnight and the magic of Mr. Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan were actually worth the price of the free passes.

Goodnight and be good.

Live From Jantar Mantar - The Iron Lady of Manipur Comes to Delhi

Far away from New Delhi, beyond the heart of mainstream India, forgotten in the eastern corner of the country, close to the Burmese border, lies a troubled Himalayan province with a population of around 2.2 million people, less than even Delhi. No, we are not talking about Kashmir. This is a tragedy in the remote Indian state of Manipur.

The Short Story of Manipur

Manipur, formerly ruled by a Raja, has been a problem state since the time it was annexed to India in 1949. Insurgents have often resorted to violence (terrorism for rest of the Indians) to demand secession from the world's biggest democracy.

In 1958, Indian government introduced a special law — The Armed Forces (Special Powers) Act (AFSPA) — that granted special powers to the Indian armed forces to arrest, detain, interrogate or even kill any person on mere suspicion. This act, operational in the volatile hotspot Jammu and Kashmir, has also been in force in Manipur for 26 years now.

While the Indian government maintains the law is necessary to restore normality in a border-state racked by a militant secessionist movement, civil society groups allege gross human rights violations by the army.

On November 2, 2000, a tragedy took place when the Indian army killed ten innocent civilians at Malon, near Imphal - Manipur's capital. The incident jolted a 28-year-old budding Manipuri poet, Ms. Irom Sharmila Chanu, who resolved to sit for a hunger strike until the controversial law was completely scrapped. However, she was imprisoned on charges of 'attempted suicide' and was kept in a secured ward at Jawaharlal Nehru Hospital in Imphal for more than half a decade where she survived by forced nasal feeding.

On October 3, 2006, the local court at Imphal ordered her release, following which she flew to Delhi.

Ms. Sharmila is presently holding a fast-unto-death at Jantar Mantar - a Delhi landmark, lying close to the nation's parliament, where people from different parts of the country come to stage demonstrations. The term 'Jantar Mantar' is the Hindi language equivalent of the magical charm abracadabra; it is to Delhi what Tiananmen Square is to Beijing.

Here are some of the images taken in the late evening of October 5, 2006. Do not be dazzled by the bright lights. The effect was due to the excellent flashlight of this reporter's camera. The place was actually unlit and felt gloomy in darkness.

A Lonely Crusade

Ms.Sharmila, enclosed within a mosquito net, was lying hidden under the blue blanket. She was being cared for by a volunteer, a young student, whose duties would later be taken over by other volunteers during the course of the night. Interestingly, the first thing Ms. Sharmila did on arriving in Delhi was to visit the memorial of Mahatma Gandhi, the man who had introduced the concept of keeping fasts as a means of peaceful protest.

Ms. Sharmila says, "My fast is on behalf of the people of Manipur. This is not a personal battle - this is symbolic. It is a symbol of truth, love and peace."

A Manipuri Student Questions His Fellow Indians

Mr. Sanaban Gunajit, 27, is a student from Manipur and had come to Jantar Mantar since he identifies with the cause. He described himself as an Indian but wondered why India does not consider him an Indian. He asked why his own country's armed forces exercise unrestrained power and inflict brutalities on his people in Manipur. Mr. Gunajit pointed out that most of the victims of the army's atrocities happen to be those who have nothing to do with the insurgent groups.

Will She Die?

Ms. Sharmila will complete six years of voluntary fasting without food or water later this year. In custody, she was fed a cocktail of vitamins, minerals, laxatives, protein supplements and lentil soup through the nose with a rubber pipe. The Indian government does not want her to die for fear of creating a heroic martyr. Meanwhile, according to doctors, Ms. Sharmila's fasting is now having a direct impact on her body's normal functioning. Her bones have become brittle while the body has developed various other complications.

Not Alone After All

A lady dressed in an ethnic Manipuri costume anxiously glances at Ms. Sharmila. Most of the visitors who were present during the duration of this reporter's visit hailed from her home state. Ms. Sharmila is fondly referred to as Nura Tensingnabi - Iron Lady in Manipuri - by her admirers.

Sacrifices for a Cause

In the state of Manipur, women have always been at the forefront of political and social movements. Ms. Sharmila must be seen as a result of that trend. In an interview to BBC, her brother Mr. Singhajit Singh had noted that she has sacrificed "what could have been the best years of her young life".

Repeal the Act

These posters displaying Ms. Sharmila's picture, taken when she was under arrest, also carry a list of some of the victims of arbitrary killing carried out by the Indian Army. One of the dead included the six-month-old Rajenlung who was killed in 2005.

A Concluding Note

It is understandable that many Indians, too sensitive about the sacredness of their venerable national institutions, will be outraged by such serious allegations being leveled against the Indian Army. However, it is a duty for all those Indians, who deeply care about their nation, to patiently and carefully listen to what people like Ms. Sharmila have to say and follow it up by making amends if the allegations are found to be true.

Also, readers must appreciate the greatness of this country when it so freely allows its angry citizens to register their protest right in the heart of the national capital.

Afterward:

In a late night swoop on Friday, the Delhi police arrested Ms Sharmila from Jantar Mantar and took her to the All-India Institute for Medical Sciences, New Delhi, for urgent medical treatment. At the time of her arrest, her pulse was 47 -- compared to the normal range of 60-80 -- and she was running a temperature. More than 100 police personnel arrested her even as Manipuri students and other supporters sang "We shall overcome." "Her condition is critical and we have no option but to take her to hospital," Police said.

Source: hindu.com

Photo Essay: To Delhi or Not To Delhi, That is The Question

A Dutch diplomat calls Delhi filthy, but an American scholar seems more riveted than repulsed.

Mr. James Mutti is a holder of a Master's degree in South Asian Studies. Mr Mutti has made three trips to India. He talked to this writer about his impressions of the Indian capital. Delhi was recently described as filthy by a Dutch diplomat. He lives in Seattle.

Is Delhi Ugly or Colorful?



I don't know that I've ever gone to Delhi willingly. All told, I've been there on four occasions, with my stay there adding up to about two weeks.

I know there are a large number of great things about Delhi: its history, architecture, music, markets, food, nightlife, parks, mosques, temples, and the list could go on and on.

I've experienced many of the great things about Delhi with no regrets. In fact, there are things I've loved about Delhi — whiling away calm sunny afternoons at Lodhi Gardens, travelling in the shiny new Metro train, hearing a rooster crow in Connaught Place, passing by those tiny vegetable stands tucked away in the alleys of Paharganj - the mecca of cheap hostelries for the western backpackers.

Evening Shoppers Relaxing in Connaught Place
Delhi's Premier Shopping District



But all the same, when there is so much to see in India, why stay in Delhi? The problem, if you look at the glass half empty, is that there is just too much — too much of everything. Too much noise, too many people, too many cars, too many scam artists, too many rickshaws, too many dogs, too many shops, too much grinding poverty, too much extravagant wealth, too much garbage. Just too much of so many things!

Too Many Mannequins in a Paharganj Clothes Shop



Too Much Extravagant Wealth
A Family Walks In One of the City's Mushrooming Malls



Yet I confess that I could not be the right person to judge Delhi. I've never been a big-city lover, and Delhi is one of the biggest cities our planet has to offer. But looking at the glass half full, one does have to admire the sheer scale of the city and the huge amounts of anything that can be found here. Let it not be said that Delhi is boring or predictable. The teeming streets of the city, the bustling train stations, and the throbbing markets all exude life and humanity, in their own various ways.

Commuting in Delhi
Close Your Eyes and Pray for This Motorist's Life



It is true that Delhi is a city with somewhat of a bad reputation. Foreigners and Indians alike view it with wariness, intimidated by its size, its constant chaotic busyness, its unpredictable mix of the old and new, east and west. My friends in the U.S. know the stereotypes and are scared off by them. My friends in India know the stereotypes and are scared off by them. Yet, like any big city, Delhi still lures people to it even as it pushes them away. And that includes me, too.

I have glimpsed many faces of Delhi. In my mind, it remains strangely alluring and exciting, while at the same time confronting me with more than I cared to handle. When I could enjoy tranquil evenings in the Himalayan foothills, or relaxing days on the pristine beaches of Kerala, or intimate afternoons in small peaceful towns in the interiors of the country, why should I stay in Delhi?

A Book Cafe Juts Out Into The Chaotic Street



So, why should I visit Delhi again? Perhaps because it is a great city. Perhaps because there are many sights to see. Perhaps because Delhi offers jobs and opportunities other places don't. But more than that, Delhi seems to be a key to India — a way of getting at and appreciating and seeing the complexity, the diversity, the hopes, and challenges of India in the 21st century.

I do not imagine I can ever avoid Delhi in my travels to India. And little by little, bit by bit, sometimes against my will, Delhi continues to cast its spell around me.

A Commuting Bus Passes by Purana Qila
A Sixteenth Century Fort



Picture Post Card - James Mutti in India*


Mr. Mutti is returning to Delhi this fall as a Fulbright fellow.

* Except Mr Mutti's, all photographs by Mayank Austen Soofi

A Dutch Diplomat Calls Delhi Filthy, and Its People a Nuisance

A Delhi-based Dutch diplomat is apparently so frustrated being a resident of this chaotic Asian capital city that he was moved enough to confess that "New Delhi is the most miserable place I have ever lived in". The venerable diplomat expressed his explosive perceptions to the Dutch newspaper Het Financieele Dagblad.

Mr Arnold Parzer, holding the innocuous title of Agriculture Councilor at New Delhi's Royal Netherlands embassy, but actually being the senior-most Dutch diplomat after the ambassador, is 63 and has been posted in the city for the last three years.

However the diplomat's outburst, perhaps vented out in one of his weaker moments, was not entirely off the mark. His penetrating observation that "anything that can go wrong, does go wrong" in Delhi could actually be true. For instance, a single fused-bulb in one of the traffic lights usually leads to miles-long, hours-long jams resulting in delayed arrival at offices which, in turn, gives way to delayed appointments, cancelled deals, angry bosses, relationship break-ups, hypertension, mood disorders, and occasionaly all of it ending up in a severely upset stomach, popularly known as Delhi Belly.

Reflecting back over his three-year experiences in the city and his encounters with its boisterous people, Mr Parzer claimed that "everyone interferes with everyone else; the people are a darn nuisance".

The diplomat was not completely inaccurate in his social commentary.

Indian society prides itself, albeit hypocritically, in its family values. The Great Indian Family encompasses, within its orbit, something called 'extended family' that consists of relatives as distant as cousins thrice-removed and aunts married to fathers' younger brothers' brothers-in-law.

With such abundance of family members, such choking levels of diabetic love and affection between them, all being so interested in and (more importantly) curious about each other's welfare, it becomes inevitable for everyone to interfere with everyone. This trait often leads to the killing of all individuality, forcing people to a conformity of the worst kind.

Mr Parzen could not be expected to understand and appreciate such familial subtleties. After all, he comes from a kind of society where individuality is taken too far and which, unfortunately, has no concept of the security and comforts of a joint family. It is understandable for him to consider Delhi's uncles and aunties 'a darn nuisance'!

In addition, the Dutch diplomat was quoted cribbing that in Delhi, "the climate is hell". He is right. It can not be denied that Delhiites practically broil during summers and freeze to near-death during the wet-foggy winters. In addition, it now hardly rains during the monsoon season - the only time when the sub-continental farmlands receive its major share of rainfall. Worse, regular power outages shut off the air conditioners. This last, frequently-occurring, man-made disaster must be miserable for a cold-country native like Mr Parzer.

Finally, Mr Parzer described Delhi as "a garbage dump". There could be no shying away from this description. Even a transit airplane passenger, who has never stepped into the heart of the city, and has spent merely a hour in the city's international airport terminal, waiting to switch planes, would have difficulty in disagreeing.

Unfortunately, the Indian government, ever-sensitive to pricks and puns, hasn't taken kindly to such frank, fascinating, and heart-felt impressions. The Dutch ambassador, summoned to the filthy, monkeys-infested, beetle-juice-stained corridors of the foreign ministry, assured the Indian government, however, that Mr Parzer "has been taken to task". To kill the scandal before its bloom, the embassy also released a terse press release insisting that "[Mr Parzer's] statement does not reflect the opinion of the Netherlands government".

That's a pity!