A few truisms - the posh citizenry of Mumbai is more punctual than Delhi's; its cosmopolitanism is in contrast to the NCR's parochialism; and it is more civilised in matters of drinking and dining than Gurgaon's glossier clubs. This last is the reason to look forward to a Mumbai "tour". In the capital, you're more likely to be invited home for a meal; to ask someone out to a restaurant would imply that (a) you've had a fight with your spouse, (b) the cook has run away, or (c) the bootlegger has failed to deliver supplies. In Mumbai, I'm rarely invited to friends' flats; even close relatives are apprehensive about cracking open the front door. What everyone does instead is meet up where it's most convenient, whether at a local coffee shop or bar. "Be sure to invite my brother," my wife reminds me on my way to the airport though he's yet to return the favour, which is why I've no idea where he lives even when he's drinking another Laphrohaig at my expense. This is only for the record, not a complaint - my wife reads this column.
Delhi does its food better but Mumbai is leaps ahead on ambience. True, there isn't a Trishna in Delhi, but the average takeaway does kebabs that would put Mumbai's five-stars to shame. Yet the capital doesn't have the equivalent of a Cafe Mondegar, or Leopold's, inexpensive dives where you can meet friends, chat up strangers, drink, get drunk without any fuss about the cheese toast (burnt), the chicken tikkas (dry), or the chilli prawns (er, pass). Maybe the good people of Mumbai keep better health because they eat less - to live on what most popular restaurants serve would be a travesty, and in Mumbai apartments, the kitchens - like the family Wedgwood - are for show, not for use. I'm assured they do breakfast, provided you're okay with cereal on the run - and please wash the bowls and put them away before you leave, thank you.
To invent another cliche, Delhi is republican, Mumbai democrat. A head of finance couldn't care less about sharing a table with an HR rookie at The Pantry in Mumbai, something that hierarchy-conscious Delhi could never dream of. In Mumbai, you hail cabs off the street without giving it a thought; in Delhi, well, you'd rather walk than get into one, making sure to remind your audience that while you're getting into a Renault Duster, the other car in your garage is an Audi. In Mumbai, splitting a bill is par for the course - everyone hands over their credit cards without a thought. In Delhi, you fight to prove that you can pay, and then charge it to the company, explaining away the industrial quantities of alcohol consumed as "client development".
"People here dress differently," a colleague marvels into his second bottle of wine - there's little fear, for instance, that you've walked into a pre-wedding party, which is how Delhi dresses even on work. After some time, you can make out the Dilliwallahs at a table - like Americans, they're likely to be talking the loudest. Only they and a few tourists are left. The Mumbaikars have long retired to their homes where they may or not have dinner. I call my wife in Delhi to tell her to organise dinner at home the following night "Be sure to invite my brother," she remonstrates. Mumbaikars, she recaps, will go any distance to cadge a meal - punctually - as long as it comes from some other kitchen.
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