Vajeena Monologues from Palika Bazaar

Social Commentary

Vajeena Monologues from Palika Bazaar

Illustration: Akshita Monga

T

he mid-2000s were simpler times. I was a mere teenager; a small bottle of coke would set you back by only ₹5. And for sexy time, you watched a guy pull the covers down a naked girl for ten full minutes. The soundtrack to the whole affair was the whirring “treeeee-tik-tik-tik” of the glacial dial-up internet connection. More often than not, this resulted in many young ’uns like me, screaming “refresh” at the computer just as the bumpy bits were about to begin. Ask any Indian teenager the definition of “coitus interruptus” and they will tell you a personal tale with tearful eyes.

In this barren landscape, there was only one oasis: The circuitous lanes of Palika Bazaar, whose location and content were both underground. This central Delhi market occupied a substantial corner in every Dilli male’s heart. This is where dudes – weak, weary, and hot under the collar – stumbled around shops, employing secret handshakes, and buying “seedies”. This dramatically changed how we got off. Suddenly, buffering went out of the picture, the flow became unstoppable, and the server never once breathed “Error 404”.

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