Encountering the Punjabis

Having spent all my living years here in Delhi, I’ve learnt to know a Punjabi when I see one. In fact, more often than not, it’s a case of know one, know all—all of them tend to have the same five members with all the same traits. So here today, meet the Khuranas (or the Khannas, the Kapoors, the Marwahs—whatever you please, they’re all essentially the same Punjabi blood anyway!)

Mrs. Khurana a.k.a. Mummyji: This is the aunty you dread meeting at family weddings. The one who will pull your cheeks three inches away from where they belong and drool wildly, saying “Kitna bada ho gaya hai!” She’s short and stout, clad in a fitted salwar kameez (preferably with a deep, deep neck) that glitters from every imaginable angle. Mummyji steps out of the house early in the morning to greet the doodhwala, wearing a printed dupatta over her crinkled cotton nighty (the dupatta protects a woman’s modesty and hence must be religiously worn at all times). She fusses over Goldy losing too much weight and Sweety gaining too much of it. Mummyji is the pride of all kitty parties. She’s always got the scoop, gossip from the culohny and elsewhere, her source of credible information being none other than Mr. Khurana, a.k.a. Daddyji.

Mr. Khurana a.k.a. Daddyji: Daddyji is the typical glittery, hairy Punjabi Puttar that everyone’s been witness to at least once. He wears a shiny shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his bear chest, and jewellery to put Bappi Lahiri to shame and make Micromax sign him on as brand ambassador for Bling 3. Daddyji is a binnisman, and money flows easy. The ekdum latest Iphone is held at an angle of sixty-degrees from his hairy ears, as he blabbers on in Punjabi at full volume. Once in a while he’ll loudly say something apparently very imposing, then casually look around at you to figure if you’ve been impressed. He’s rich, he’s famous. And he’s utterly AWESOME at all things worth it. He’s been there, done that. And he will be there, doing that, the next time something hotshot happens. He’s always kind enough to put in a word of advice about fiscal deficits to Manmohan Singh or a quick tip about a perfect doosra to sadda Bhajji. After all, Punjabi hi punjabiyon ke kaam nahin ayenge, toh kaun ayega?

Gurdeep Khurana a.k.a. Goldy: Daddyji’s obsession with all things gold led to this inconspicuous naming. And Goldy is doing all he can to live up to his name—albeit in a style slightly different from that of his flaunting father. The Goldys of the world are characterized by spiked, heavily gelled hair, low waist jeans that struggle to hang on for dear life, a flashy phone, a couple of abuses per sentence, a pierced ear decorated with a glimmering solitaire, and most importantly, a badi gaadi. The gaadi is a MUST (though it may, at times, be replaced by a bike—no less than a royal Enfield). The gaadi must be long and red/black, with loads of stickers (luv hurtzzz, punjabiyan di shaan, I’m-lost-take-me-home-with-you, a cupid’s arrow through a heart, a football, babaji di full full kripa..), gaudy blue lights, and a sound system that makes the whole road go dhikchik dhikchik. Goldy dons tight body hugging t-shirts that accentuate his unmistakable Punjabi paunch, coupled with gold rimmed aviators to match Chulbul Pandey’s (sans the glowing golden hearts, thankfully. Hopefully.). The aviators must never be taken off, even at night, how else are the girls to know he’s arrived?

Sweety Khurana a.k.a. Switty: Switty is the girl who gets whistled at when she steps out of her Rajouri Garden house. The one who fulfils the not-so-modest standards set by the Delhi boys and manages to turn their heads a second time. Though more often than not for the wrong reasons. She’s pretty, and slim. VERY slim. If there ever was a size (-1), Switty would be it. And she’s proud of it, and walks with a thumka so fierce that you’d fall if you tried. But it’s her dressing that takes the cake. Switty dresses to kill. She’s the epitome of the Punjabi matching-matching syndrome. Matching bindi, matching bangles, matching bag, matching 4-inch high heels, matching hairpins, matching lipstick, matching eye shadow, matching earrings, matching necklace, and if at all there’s anything more to match with her dress, she’ll put it on all right. Switty dresses in a splash of solitary shades, an avatar of one colour from tip to toe, a jhaanki. Her hair is long, rebonded and poker straight, streaked through with shades of golden brown or blonde. Its Switty who makes the neighbourhood beauty parlour waalis earn their living, who are all currently waiting for her wedding at the age of 23, when many more such Swittys will land in Rajouri Garden to splurge their Daddyji’s money. After all, when you’re Switty, it’s all about looking fattak.

Doggie: The doggie is essential. The family must own a hep doggie, even if it’s only a tiny Pekinese. The doggie (irrespective of its breed) must be named as one of the following: Tiger, Shera or Tuffy. (Imagine a tiny fluff ball of a Pomeranian being named Tiger—and we thought we were the only ones dealing with others’ sadly high hopes.). The doggie must bark and climb halfway up your chest when you dare to enter the house. But then, it’s probably just a warning in disguise—not everyone can handle the Punjabis!