There, north west of Nelson Mandela road: Priya PVR and Basant lok market complex. From the top: a C formed by the north end of the complex, surrounding a fountain. Along the south end of C extends the right rectangular wing and parallel to it the left wing. a spacious walkway runs in between, paved in grey stone. Both the wings are L shaped, the left one having a longer stem. South of the right wing is assortment of cafes and fast food centers. The grey lane leads to a large rectangular building that houses the cinema. Facing the west side of this building is another rectangular slab of market complex. On Priya's south east corner stands Holy angels church. Further south, a little on the west: an impressive building, rectangular in shape-Vasant continental.
You get down from the bus at the juncture of the two streets, your eyes start searching for a market complex. It is there, on the left of the road. you enter through the north west part of the complex, cross the fountain while directing languid glances at a pair of lovers embracing; a kid sitting on his grandfathers’ lap who perhaps is telling him a story; a pretty girl in her mid-teens sitting alone, facing the fountain; a couple eating burgers with bored expression on their faces. You make a mental note of the Axis bank ATM on the corner and move down along the central walkway. on your right: a Citibank, ground floor, the right turn will take you to Adidas showroom, sugar and spice bakery and modern bazaar that sells smoked salmon, food coloring, dried and tinned goods, fish and meat. But you are not interested and pass by the right turn, further south. Your eyes scan for a bookshop. Look towards left, there is a junk food stall selling buttered corn in various flavors and candies. they don’t look too appetizing.
All the top fashionable brands like Allen Solly, Van Heusen, Levi's, Benetton, Lacoste, Reebok, and Nike are here. Take a left turn, move along lower end of the right wing, there are café’s here: somber looking Barista and very chic Hookah. Groups of fashionably dressed youngsters stand before its mahogany doors. Perhaps there is a party, or a jazz performance. A couple comes along, she is dressed in a V neck low cut red T-shirt, a bronze-brown leather jacket with fur collar and cuffs, a crimson mini skirt, cream colored nylon stockings and knee length black leather boots with high heels. The jet black hair complements her pale skin and brown frowning eyes. The man is dressed in off-white designer shirt over which he is wearing a mustard colored cord jacket having brass buttons on cuffs. The faded denim is of a pale blue hue with a touch of ultramarine. His brick-brown leather boots are dusty. They come walking with hands around their waist, his hands slip down provocatively to her hips. They join their friends waiting near the door. From the outside the eatery has a colonial Franco-Arabic look. The evening’s special menu written with multicolored chalk over a black slate board reads:
Chicken Ceaser salad
Chicken in lemon and carrot sauce
Baklava
Baba Ghanoush
Falafel
You have tarried here for long; you will see many more beautiful people dressed in high fashion, rich and flaunting their assets, wearing hundred different styles yet somehow familiar in their alien ness. So move along now towards Priya, crossing the junk food stalls, the crowd listening to a popular DJ mimicking Bollywood stars. A queue has started forming for the evening show of Tare zamen par. Turn left, a narrow alley runs down. On the corner is the theaters exit, dark and shabby. Perhaps this is the only remnant of one time Priya which in pre-liberalized India was one of the few theaters showing Hollywood movies in the capital and was one of the first halls to be converted to a Cineplex. Bellow the exit a street urchin is sitting with around 10 drawings spread before him. They are all done on roughly A4 size white sheets with cheap crayons. One depicts a yellow hut with brick colored roof, beside it stands a tree with both trunk and leaves colored green, though of different shades; above the hut are some blue lines, signifying sky and clouds. Another drawing is of a child having a blank look not unlike the one who is sitting before it, wearing khaki pants and a dirty green pullover which is obviously a couple of sizes too big for him. The urchin is trying to sell them to the audience coming out but none seem interested in these crude sketches of an unknowable poverty. They flow past him, leaving behind traces of perfume, satisfied smiles and sympathetic tears shed on the touching film. He patiently collects his merchandise and goes to a hollow cheeked, sari and tattered shawl clad woman who could be his mother. Both of them are barefoot. It is now, while looking at them that you notice the signboard bearing name of FACT AND FICTION behind. There it is the shop you have been looking for, just around the corner……
to be continued
