I'm often asked to compare Delhi and Mumbai: two cities dominated by aggressive warrior clans: the Jats and the Marathas. Honestly, it's like being asked to choose between death by hockey stick (Jats) or being couriered back to Nainital (Shiv Sena).
Either way, I can't make a choice because I like both cities. Even at the risk of death.
It's true: both cities have their share of hotheads, but Delhi wins that battle hands down. I never knew that a traffic signal could be a war zone till I reached Delhi. And, heard the famous Delhi threat, "Tu jaanta hai mera baap kaun hai?" Dude, if you don't know - don't ask me. Maybe that's priority - find your father, log on to Facebook, hire a detective. You have abandonment issues, leading to fighting because I looked at your car!
This is why I love Delhiites though. There are never half-measures. Which is why they make amazing hosts. They show you a great time, sometimes too great a time. One lesson: never have one drink with a Delhiite. It's a trap! You will land up in a farmhouse drinking Mallya's entire company stock. You will miss your flight the next morning, and the week after. You will be bought over by Diageo, you will become a manifestation of Haywards 45000. Sula Vineyards will bottle you and sell you for profit!
Mumbaikars are damn friendly, but we're too busy. We make terrible tour guides for our friends and family: "So, that's Gateway, I think. I don't know. I never saw it before. Acha, just wait five minutes. I have a meeting at Taj for three hours. Now, see Bandra station. I have a meeting in the first class compartment with travelling. And, now I'll show you the most important sight in Mumbai: my office. I love to hate to love this place. Entry is only the cost of your soul."
As a comedian though: I love Mumbai. What a city. The best comedy scene in India. Gregarious, encouraging and raucous. Only Delhi in it's true element can compare. If NCR likes you – they will give full-throated chuckles that could cause an avalanche in the Alps and/or Archana Puran Singh's eardrums to explode. And, usually it's not for the punchline but, because you said something masquerading as a joke and added a MC, BC, KFC, NFDC or one of those gentle reminders of joyful sexism. If they don't like you though: the silence of Manmohan floating in space with noise cancellation headphones will sound like an explosion in comparison.
Whether they're at a show or outside though, Delhi loves to put on a show. Whether it's at weddings or malls, people dress up as if they were going for a wedding to Milan. Putting on a show is also exercised in professional engagements. Every third event manager from Delhi will make me think my life is about to change: "The show will be great. Arrey, you saw Modi at Madison Square Garden? Hah! Kuch nahi tha woh. That will seem like Suresh Raina's nephew's birthday party. Arrey Modi is coming from Amrika himself. Obama also. You will become Miss Universe of comedy in five minutes. Teen Oscars toh 100% confirm. Sir, puri duniya apke naam pe suicide karne ko taiyaar ho jayegi."
In Mumbai it's a little more realistic: "The show? It pays some money. You could sit at home or get paid for making dumb jokes. Your call."
But, in any analysis for the greatness of a city; a glutton like me goes by food habits.
So, I was born in Delhi. Though I have no memory of my birth. Which is probably a good thing. If I did, I'd probably spend my days screaming in Freudian panic. Which I assume is what happened to the folks on Newshour Debate - they're just loud and screaming in the hope that the screams will suppress memories of their birth.
Either way, I loved growing up in Delhi. The weather was either chilly or melting and you walked everywhere you went: so, you lost weight because you either needed warmth or sweated nine kilos per minute. Plus, you wanted to walk: there was greenery and parks everywhere. For the hilly Kumaoni genes inside me - this was ideal. I was fit, thin and happy. I'm pretty sure I had 10 pack abs. I was so damn good-looking that during the 1984 Asian Games I was passed around the Russian Athletic contingent because of my sexiness. They thought I looked like a young Raj Kapoor – who is the only Indian they knew. True story! I was a lady killer. Too bad I was just three at the time. A truly attractive baby. I was the John Abraham of babies. My sexiness peaked as an infant.
Then in 1989, aged eight - with eight packs in tow and the phone numbers of Russian Pole Vaulter Yamonav Seksichix (not a true story) - I ended up in Mumbai. Mumbai had something back then that my family and me had never experienced in such abundance: restaurants. In Delhi - a night out usually involved going to a family friend's house and eating their home food, "Makkhan daal ke" – which is the war cry for any food in Delhi.
Eating Paratha? Makkhan daal de.
Eating Pizza? Makkhan daal de.
Making love to your wife? Makkhan daal de.
It was nice going for house parties because we didn't have to leave a tip. But, Mumbai was an explosion of cuisine. I was introduced to combo-delights like pav bhaji, Mysore masala dosa and Chinese bhel (the first 'Made in China' product in India. It was like the Micromax of fast foods). As a family - we went nuts! We ate everything we could lay our eyes on. I think we may have eaten a few waiters as well. It's as if we had never seen food. We lived in South Mumbai and became as obese as an IMAX dome.
Admittedly, the average Delhi dhaba serves better food than the best Punjabi restaurant in Mumbai. But food in Mumbai islike Bangkok: cheap, quick and easy. And, also willing to do weird things to you. Much like Bangkok.
Both the cities' people are epitomized by their food. Mumbai's food is like their people: open, warm and easily accessible. Delhi food is also like their people: it takes a while to get access, but once you do, you'd gladly commit suicide by cholesterol for them/it.
The people and food cultures in both Mumbai and Delhi are wonderful. So, don't expect me to choose. I'd honestly prefer to unite my love for both cities with a new Mumbai-Delhi coalition dish, the Tangdi Pav: which is a dish whose time has come! I'd eat a Russian Pole Vaulter to get access to that.
(Sorabh Pant is one of India's top comedians. He's also an author and his second novel, Under Delhi is out now. It's an angry/funny story of a woman fighting crime in Delhi. If you enjoy his writing: do pick it up!)
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