Snippets

New Delhi is France

 HISTORICAL FACT:  In the mid-18th century England and France were both building overseas empires and fought bitter wars over India. England eventually won and India became a part of the British Empire until 1947.

A/N: This story  is a piece of nonsense written for humour, so don't take it seriously. There is no malice intended and nobody should feel affronted. The humour is what might be described as an 'English style'.  I suspect that many readers living outside of the UK who have not been exposed to this might not understand the humour or the piece itself. If that is the case, drop me a mail and I will reply with an explanation - remember. It is nonsense written for its value in humour only and is not to be taken seriously! India is a fantastic place as are its people- mostly!

Background: This tale arose as a result of our son Andy  carrying on one of his regular teases of his wife Christina on Facebook.

 Will, their son, had asked his dad, ‘where was Mummy’? Andy replied flippantly, ‘She’s missing’. Will (3) asked ‘Why is she missing?’ Andy replied ‘because she’s a blonde and she’s dizzy?’

 Will said ‘I know’ and Andy added to the depth of Christina’s alleged dizziness by saying. ‘She even thinks France is the capital of India’

 This was all too one sided against Christina, they were ganging up on her and she needed help of sorts. So I thought I would make them all cognisant of the following origin and meaning of New Delhi in the dialect local to India’s capital city.

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By the way!

Not a lot of people know that New Delhi translates as France in the local Mejubwana dialect of the suddenly sunburned Sanskrit Hindus who lived on the South Circular Road, just past the traffic lights in what is now New Delhi. It is quite a strange story of how it came about.

You see, it's a legacy from before the Raj days when Clive for England (wearing the white hat - hooray) fought the French under Malplaisant (in the black hat - Booo!)

The armies had formed up for twice-daily military skirmishes between morning coffee and tiffin, and afternoon tea and high tea for several months past. 

Clive gained ground with each skirmish; a yard or two in the mornings and several more in the afternoons. 

Little by little the French fell back until their backs were up against the cactus and bougainvillea hedges of the bungalow owned by the eccentric French model Madame Eleanor des Jeux des Champs in what became a fast developing township subsequent to her arrival. The French had held this territory for a good many years already. They had done nothing with it and so the settlement continued to grow with no official name, but it was popularly referred to as New Delhi in honour of the said, good lady Eleanor. 

Her story is a strange and secret tale that is still officially unconfirmed, but she suddenly appeared under the Indian sun a decade or more before these decisive battles raged. 

Rumour had it that she had been an artiste at the Moulin Rouge in Paris and much in demand for her favours. She had feared premature burn-out and had fled to seek refuge in the anonymity of the Tiller Girl line-up at the Windmill Theatre in London. However, it was not to be, and she suffered the ignominy of rejection on the grounds that her legs were over long for the troupe. Somebody told her a story about Indian punkah-wallahs. The concept intrigued her. Being at a loose end and fearful of returning to Paris, she took passage to India, built her house in this expanding community where Clive and Malplaisant were about to settle their differences, and opened for business as an artist’s model.