Amritsar Calling: Hobnobbers to the core, hamstrung by Covid-19

The Covid years have been hard on the social milieu of Amritsar, its spirit of comradery, its culture of hospitality, and its upbringing of serving with an open heart. The small, but close-knit fraternity has deep connections, spanning over generations and the two years of curtailment have been a slammer for these friendly folks, who have been unable to meet up over a cup of coffee, a papri-chaat, a card-playing session or simply to question the social ignorance of a friend, ‘Tainu kujj patta vi laggaa hai ke nahi…kamaal hai! (Do you get to know anything that’s going on). ’

And when we meet, we make merry. It has to be the boisterous welcome, with tongue-in-cheek comments, harmless jokes, and the hugs, ‘Cherh chaarh, japhi shaphi,’ (Some teasing and warm hugs). The elbow touch is for over-cautious types, handshakes in any case have never been an established term of endearment in these latitudes. “Leh hun tun angrez bann gayain,” (Have you become an Englishman), pops the retort while the fist and the outstretched hand are ignored and the body is pulled into an embrace and thoroughly rowdy back slaps. Sheer blatant love. For an Ambarsari anything else is taboo.

All kinds of sundry excuses are used by children as well. Homework and project work require an urgent consultation, basically just to meet up with a friend regardless of the curbs. Adolescents are so ingenious that it would seem outrageous if the parents cough on and realise their own gullibility. Main abhi aiyee (I’ll be back), is all you will hear as the teenager buns her hair while exiting even before you can answer, she strides her Activa out of the gate in one motion. He waits at the corner shop you see, and as per the SMS received earlier, a satisfying look over, the akh matakka (rolling of the eyes), happens. Definitely a sundry ware, a ballpoint pen perhaps, will be brought home, as justification for the outing.

Women of the city are agile to the core too. They simply cannot sit at home. Sit at home and do what is the common refrain. A friend drops by and out we go for a paan or dhokla. Many stores and shops need visiting as well. After all, retail therapy is the key to a happy maiden’s mind. And we know all the shopkeepers and the assistants by name.

Men are on the move as well, dropping off for lunch while the tiffin from home returns to, “Just was not hungry today,” to the wife. She knows only too well. We all play the same games you see. The tale of an evidentiary restaurant tab, that fell out of his shirt pocket, spills over casually. Secrets are out and smiles are exchanged. Live and let live is the motto of life after all. Another friend packs in a full bar for a selected friend to sozzle with that night. The choicest single malt, the jingle of ice cubes, even a hip flask just in case the supply runs out. All this while driving around with a dost on the bypass. Heaven on earth. And one could always drop by to the kebab shop for a quick bite. Just a walk in the park for an Ambarsari who just cannot be alone. By the time you reach your dwelling with a full belly, you are obviously on a diet, a strict one at that, for the family’s consumption.

For some of us, there is always the double shot, the cappuccino, or the espresso, our favourite joint, even if it entails sitting outdoors. Anything to spend a precious hour with a friend exchanging news about the children, mutual connections, life as such. Gupshup.

And then, of course, there are these kirtan sangats and bhajan mandalis, which provide an equal chance to the domesticated types stuck at home. Regardless of the curbs, how can the call to meditate, with do gaz doori (social distancing), be denied? We take care, is the reply to agitated family members. Senior citizens, even octogenarians, have found ways to hobnob clandestinely as well. Curbed by Canadian and Aussie diktats from their NRI children, warned by doctors, sermonized by netas, they have all but revolted. They just want to meet their friends and neighbours to keep sane, regardless of their comorbidities. “Eh ki navi ballah aa gaye eh?” (now, what’s this new trouble) they complain about this demonic onslaught of viruses and this terminology that keeps getting more complex, yet commonplace.

So, they will stalk the guy next door till he gets into hearing aid-assisted earshot, just to have a chat across the fence. The friendly gwandan (neighbour) will call in to say that she has made jaggery and ginger tea, which shall be shared sheepishly by the gate, while exchanging news of the staff, the husband who is home all the time now and sticks his nose into all things domestic, even bicker about the evil daughters-in-law who are miserably stuck at home too.

Man is indeed a social animal. But our city folks are societal diehards, ravenous for the company, and unhappy to lie low. Talking about animals, never seen so many people out with their dogs than in the Covid times. We all wanted to be out of our homes, even if it meant walking the confused dog six times a day. At least, one got to talk to someone along the way.

The common denominator definitely is the need to meet and greet, talk and listen, smile and share joy, even sadness, and remorse – simple feelings for humanity deterred by the times. So, despite the curbs, when you drove past the tea stalls, the chana kulcha rehris, the coffee shop, or the pakora wala, social engagement was in full swing, if not inside then on the sidewalk with hot, disposable cups or edibles, savory or sweet, in hand. What else does one do when the sun is gloriously warm in winter and warmer still is the company. Working from home? Nah, done that for a couple of hours already.

Oh yes, we are avid social climbers too, so hobnobbing comes naturally. And to that, we leverage the traditions of Amritsar, the open house hospitality. Ask the bureaucrats and the politicos, new commissioners of the wings of governance, the visiting dignitary, the Armed services honchos, or any bigwig in town and he will concede, there is no city that is as warm and obliging as Amritsar. There is almost a competitive urge to please, to win over, and to name-drop into conversations to showcase the proximity thus achieved. The holy city is a prized posting for the public servant, who is placed on a pedestal, wined, and dined, till he finds it almost indigestible to move away. And if the posting elsewhere does ensue, we give farewells to remember, shed our tears, and let flow the barrels to ensure a relationship that sustains.

All in our stride fellow hobnobs. Stoop to conquer, conquer to score, if nothing else works swamp them with food that none can refuse. After all, the way to a person’s heart is through the belly. For us, it’s an art form, mastered to perfection.