Weirdos again

There IS something about Delhi. Full-on Weirdo Watch. Like the guy who sits in the lobby of my hotel, next to the elevators. I see him sitting there at least once on every visit. And always, ALWAYS, dictating into a Nokia Communicator. This last time, I realised he had THREE of the damn phones – one in his hand and two on the table next to his open laptop. Except that he looks more like a deadbeat than a tycoon. Overwashed T-shirt, rumpled slacks, a salt-and-pepper stubble. Not a designer stubble either, just a scruffy one. But then there are those phones.

Or the old gent at the airport (Delhi airport again) in his white cotton suit. Which is OK in summer, kind of old-world charm. My grandfather had a white suit. Only this gent wore a RED tie with it. THIS LOUD. Weirdoso grandoso was the fact that inside the collar and the tie, he wore a red silk band. Embroidered zari kind of thingy, a little like a cravat but much narrower. And on his feet, white Reebok basketball shoes. Ye gods.

The fat Bong on the flight wasn’t exactly weird, just gross. I can commiserate with obesity, but to get as fat as this guy you just have to be a greedy slob. I know, it could be a glandular disorder, it could be depression. But at the end of the day he’s still a greedy pig who can’t keep food out of his mouth.

And he stank. And his clothes rucked up obscenely. And he kept turning round to talk to the guy in the seat behind him. And he had bad breath and huffed like a grampus. I pitied the guy next to him – Fat Slob was in the aisle seat, I (not-SO-fat slob?) was by the window and the guy in the middle had the worst deal.

The weird part was that, when they served the meal, Fat Slob drew a polythene pack out of his pocket and carefully emptied the food into that. For why?!