People watching

(More from Delhi, a long time ago...)

There is a lot in life that is a dead bore - some parties, some places, some books, some movies, et al, et al, et al. What never fails to interest me is people, even if they themselves are the kinds of bores that crash into the consciousness and make their extremely boring presences felt, grammar and good manners notwithstanding. And, over the past months that I have been away from my home, Mumbai, in the capital milieu that is Delhi, I have come across a number of extremely watchable characters. Not all have been aesthetic experiences, not even of the jolie laide variety, but all have been essentially memorable. The irony, for me, is that I find that I am being watched as much as I watch, probably being dissected as ruthlessly as I dissect and perhaps even being written about as nastily as I am writing now.

But, first, a clue about how it works. I walk into a party, which is inevitably crowded with anyone who is anyone, wants to be, is thought of as being or looks like they should be. There are lots of people standing around, talking animatedly, smiling, nodding, holding glasses containing liquids of assorted origins, reaching out for the ubiquitous munchie offered by morosely wandering waiters, seeming to be absorbed in each other and the event itself. And then you look carefully, walk close by a group, watch the most chatty of people with more than cursory attention, and you find a strange phenomenon happening: No one is really involved with any of the people they are with! There is a self-conscious preening, a furtive looking over the shoulder, an eagle eye or three out for a increasedly satisfying audience, a search for an ear more attentive, more influential, more amenable, more 'in', more useful, perhaps? At an event of sorts - a concert, an exhibition, a book launch, whatever - the behaviour is the same, though constrained in volume and movement by the need to be seated…or at least to be photographed somewhat flatteringly for the gossip press!

As much fun as seeing this happen is to watch people as individuals. At a recent do, I stood by, gazing fascinatedly at a scarlet-clad woman talking loudly, forty to the proverbial dozen, laughing raucously, gulping vampire-like from a glass of red wine. She had a face like a lizard, laterally flattened, with a wide mouth stretching across the expanse from one ear to the other, protuberant, slanted eyes flashing around seeking prey. My eyes widened as I saw her eat - her tongue came out, curled around the passing morsel, pulling it rapidly through parted, darkly red lips into her mouth. I must have looked somewhat odd, because I suddenly caught the attention of a festively turbaned gentleman standing just beyond - he smiled at me benignly, like a tolerant psychiatrist taking notes on a certifiable patient.

A few weeks ago, I was at a performance of classical Indian dance, by a close friend of mine. Which meant that I was not just a member of the audience, but a useful part of the home team, checking for sound balance and viewer reactions, apart from helping with vaguely meandering guests and the recalcitrant unseated. I watched one man - obviously a tourist, judging by the clothing, pedestrian sandals, camera and huge backpack he toted - hop seats through the auditorium, looking for the best vantage view. He tripped over distinguished feet, stepped on the toes of the Honourable Chief Guest, outpaced the pursuing ushers and eventually found a roost in the chair next to mine. "Great stuff!" he said loudly, enthusiastically, cheerfully, every time the dancer made an entrance, a pause or an exit. He clapped with verve, usually at all the most inappropriate moments, until I finally glowered at him and said "Stop!", firmly and decisively. After that, he leaned over every now and then and whispered, at full volume, "Now?" and took his cues from my nods or glares. I watched him as I would a child, with a certain maternal acceptance, a softness induced by his obvious ignorance. And he watched me for help, with a trust I found most touching of all.

This weekend, I do another round of the social interaction thing, all my masks firmly in place and my powers of observation at par. It should give me some more insight into the complex animal that is human. And maybe I will learn, along the way, to know myself.