Traffic. Noise. More traffic. More noise. A skim-through the US-based Dave Prager’s second book might give you a feeling, “Well (grim look), are you telling me I don’t know all that?” Conversely, Delirious Delhi has been written with a certain innocence and lasting memories that have apparently forced the author to put them on paper.
“I have been to many places but Delhi… (gathers words)... is Delhi.” Yes, the half-bald author is still baffled and overwhelmed by the city. “For instance, there is nothing in Singapore. I wasn’t invited to wedding parties there (laughs). Here, if I had even just sneaked a look through one of the pandals, people would come running, invite me and my wife (Jenny) and ask us for food and have photographs with their children!”
The book, is a one time must read. On the face of it, it’s an expat’s journey as an Ad agency employee through the Capital. Over its almost 400 pages, what we have is a hate-turned-love story. But it does demystify Delhi for the author’s brethren while for the Delhiites it’s a chance to get a foreign take.
“A reason why I wrote the book is that in Delhi things have a peculiar arrangement. You tend to make a comment on them — encouraging or otherwise. Besides, Delhi is welcoming,” explains Prager.
He says that when he first came to India he thought that he was going to a place that he would hate. So, quite predictably, Prager is a haunted man, a guy who despises the narrow streets, honking cars and staring men. “It was the case initially, but gradually I figured out how things worked here. The truth of the matter is that there is no problem with India. It’s only that its people have high levels of energy which we can’t match. I was doing twice the work in my office here in half the deadlines. Perhaps, it’s a bad omen in America but people here have an eye for bigger things,” he remarks.
So enchanted did Prager get with the place that he found something unique to see “in whichever direction I looked”. The author says he was taken aback by Delhi’s hospitability but more by its food. “We were eating so well. Thanks to Ganga, our maid, I carried four canisters of food with me to office,” says Prager.
The cover of the book interests the reader — an auto rickshaw with a Bollywood poster of Prager and his wife posing in the background, but its making is equally telling of their experiments in the Capital. “We got a poster made by this guy we found in Daryaganj. He used to paint Bollywood posters once but, with everything going digital, his business now seems smothered. So Jenny and I got a six feet poster built, chasing an auto. That best summarised our time here,” he laughs.
Just like the author who has now found a resolve to his initial perplexed vision of Delhi, the book is unlike how mundane travel pieces turn out to be — critical with details that go over the top. Prager’s is a smooth narrative with a lot of fun. Children are going to laugh at him, adults are going to laugh with him and empathise but we would limit ourselves to suggest, get a copy (even if not follow him on, “each must buy four copies of the book!”) If this isn’t William Dalrymple, well this is Dave Prager.
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