Ok, so I’m not American. I don’t even really like Turkey (it tastes like fake Chicken, if ya ask me). And Cranberry Sauce…er…I can take it or leave it alone.
Anyway, thing is, lately I’ve made some new friends here in Delhi (yes, it’s possible :-p).
They consist of the following – an ABCD woman – S, a regular American dude (white) – M, and a Columbian woman (who’s lived in Washington, DC for awhile) – A.
So the thing is, these crazy foreigners were really missing Thanksgiving (well A wasn’t). So they figured they’d hunt down some place here in Delhi that would be doing a Turkey dinner.
The response wasn’t very encouraging – None of the 5-Star hotels knew what Thanksgiving was, and no turkey dinner there. The American Diner wasn’t hosting anything special for Thanksgiving either. It turns out there are only 2 places in all of Delhi (India?) which serve turkey – The first is Subway. The second is the Oberoi Charcuterie in Vasant Vihar. (Well there may be other places, but these are the only two I know).
So anyway, S succumbed to a viral, so she was out. That left me, M & A. I told them that since they don’t want to be eating Butter Chicken on Thanksgiving, we should go to The Olive Bar & Kitchen (yes, it’s the Delhi version of the Bombay one).
So we get to the Olive Bar & Kitchen place, which happens to be hosting a private party in the outer area.
It is at this point where I shall now discuss WPP – White People Privilege.
My two friends got to the place before me, and on entry, they were asked if they had a reservation, to which they replied that they did. After being asked that question, they were let in to the Olive Bar, and instead of proceeding to their table, they gate-crashed the private party (which was easy to do, because you had walk through the pvt party to get to the inner part of the restaurant). So they were munching on free kebabs and wine for about 10 minutes, until I arrived. Now as fair-skinned and ‘non-Indian-looking’ as I am (there will be a rant about this soon), I’m still Indian enough (is it the beer belly? ). So not only was I asked if I had a reservation, I was escorted to my table personally, so that I could not accidentally get to the free wine/food. Now, my friends had to join me inside, because we weren’t part of the private party, but I lied pretty easily, and told them my friends were from the party, so could we just attend the party first, and then eat dinner later? There were no arguments or anything – this could only be accomplished due to my friends being foreigners. I’m sure I’d be refused if we were all brown!
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So we had a delicious dinner at Olive…and midway through dinner, I spot a North-Eastern-looking shrimpy-boy standing outside, in the private party…. yes, it was my Nemesis – none other than James (Bond) Ranjan Yumnam. So I point him out to my two friends (who read the whole story about this), and M – who is about 6′ 3″ or so, and well-built says “Let’s go and kick his ass dude”. I was a little hesitant at first, wondering what I’d see in the paper tomorrow, but I came around
So me and M walk up to the Old Goat, and my friend proceeds to trash the guy’s ethics, and says how he’s surprised that he can make money out of lying so much, and then terminates things by calling him a cocksucker. (I stood silently by while this happened). We then proceeded to return to our dinner.
An interesting night….