The trip to Delhi was sudden and unexpected. I got a call one morning and my boss said, "Start immediately." After a scramble for tickets, I finally got onto the train that got me to Delhi 36 hours later. I went armed with a list of hotels I could move to (if the office didn't put me in a respectable place) and horror stories of how Delhi was dangerous even for single men (relatives never let you down, when they are given the task of dissuading people).

I stepped out of the train and asked for directions to the main entrance. After much pestering from coolies who wanted to carry my trolley bag, I managed to reach platform 1 from platform 12. A friendly driver of the company was there to pick me up. Guessing it was my first trip to Delhi, he also took on the duty of guiding me.

"Memsaab, yeh hai Sansad bhavan. Aur yeh hai Rashtrapati Bhavan."

I didn't play down my enthusiasm. I stared with pride at the city that was India's capital.
After a twenty-minute drive, the car stopped in front of a bungalow. As I got out, a young man rushed out to carry my bag. On reaching the entrance, I was welcomed by a gracious lady in her mid-sixties.

"Hello. How was your journey? I am Mrs. Ahuja."

After an exchange of pleasantries and some tea, I was guided upstairs to my room for the week.

The room was small and pleasant. It comprised of a bed with an uncomfortably soft mattress, a table and chair, a tiny fridge with juice and water, a phone and a television. The sheets had been freshly changed and everything was perfect. A sliding door on one side led me to a small bathroom.

Turning on the TV, I searched for Channel V before unpacking. The cupboard held a tattered old American newspaper, which I removed before neatly arranging my clothes in it. Then I went in for my bath, humming the song that was playing on TV, after which I left for work.

Mrs. Ahuja was friendly and simple. On my way down, she had introduced me to her other guest, an enthusiastic French Army man who later told me about his fondness for masala dosas. His broken English was occassionally interrupted by Mrs Ahuja who played translator. And if he was too busy with his toast, she'd talk either talk about her grandchildren or her holidays down south.

I met Mr. Ahuja later that day. From work I had to call them and ask for directions back to their place. He gave them to me, amidst, "I still haven't had the pleasure of meeting you. So let's get together in the evening." He assured me that if I got lost in the extensive Vasant Vihar, I could always call him and he'd pick me up from wherever I was. Nevertheless, I got back without any trouble. I ran up to the room that I'd begun to like. After freshening up, I decided to call home from a nearby booth. When I returned I settled down in the front room with the Times of India. That was when Mr Ahuja returned.

"Hello Roopa," he smiled.

We shook hands and he gave me well-practiced compliments about how lucky they were to have my company. After thanking him and refusing the beer he wanted me to share, I explained what I did. He sipped his iced beer with pleasure and listened intently. Then I asked him what he did. He said having guests like myself at their house was their source of income. Apart from good company, he also got to make some money, he explained. Otherwise he supposedly led the hectic life of a bonded labourer. I disguised my shock and asked no further questions about his job. Instead I asked which the cheapest option to Connaught Place was, since I had to go there everyday. He gave me directions to a bus stand and told me which bus I could take.

Mrs. Ahuja walked in then, asking me if I wanted a Pepsi. Noticing her husband, she said "Hi," and he told her that he expected more of a welcome. Slightly embarrassed, she walked back to the kitchen.

Dinner was ready by then and we moved to the dining room. The Frenchman was already settled there. He welcomed us pleasantly, while he filled his plate with some roasted potatoes and chicken. Soon we were all eating amidst discussions on how the army in India fared. Mr. Ahuja explained to me that he'd been in the army as well. He enjoyed telling me about the life that he'd enjoyed when he was a lot younger.

This routine carried on for ten days while I was there.

The Ahujas and the Frenchman got friendlier. Often the topic of discussion was Indo-Pak relations. While we ate, Mr Ahuja would talk about his experiences over a mug of beer. It was during one of those dinners that he spoke about being a bonded labourer again.

They laughed when they saw my puzzled expression and went on to elaborate what the man did.

"I leave my house at 8. I go and play golf for a few hours. Then I have a drink in the club and return in time for lunch. After lunch I take a short nap and go to the club for a drink. I play some bridge and get back by 9."

"This is a lot of hard work for you," said the amused Frenchman.

I was amused as well.

Mr. Ahuja was quite a character. In his 70s, he enjoyed drinking (typical of an ex-army man). Often after a little too much drinking, he would speak about his grandchildren, eventually moving to his busy son and daughter-in-law.

"I don't think the marriage will last," he once told me sadly. I didn't comment and it was forgotten. Another day, he warned me against unruly elements on buses. Mrs. Ahuja had lost some money once. He said that had been a warning after which he keeps very little money in his wallet. Then he went on to show me the contents of his aging wallet. In it were his club membership cards, credit cards, license and ten thousand rupees!

He also hated America. "You are expected to do everything there yourself, and I'm used to three servants," he explained honestly. A trip to America had forced him to wash the bathtub he'd used and in India, Chander the houseboy even performed the task of tying his shoelaces! Mr. Ahuja preferred the latter.

Sometimes we would sit late into the night discussing life. Sometimes we also took walks together, so I'd get my directions in Vasant Vihar right.

Soon the 10 days passed by. The days of eating food with cutlery were over, and I was looking forward to home. Elaborate goodbyes were said before I left for the station. The work in Delhi was done and I doubted if I'd be asked to come again.

I wondered if I'd see the nice couple again. But it was an experience that comes your way once, later transforming itself into a pleasant memory.
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