When I overhear people speaking Spanish on the Delhi Metro, I find myself accosting unsuspecting foreigners who always react the same way.
Their eyes grow big, their minds go into flight-or-fight mode as they decide whether I am a tout, a thief, a Tourette’s patient, or worse - I could be one of those crazy Indians demanding a selfie with fair-skinned Caucasian strangers.
When they finally decipher the words I am uttering (Hola! De donde eres?) they are flabbergasted to hear someone speaking their tongue (albeit in a weird accent) in this alien land.
Overwrought nerves relax, faces break into smiles and the questions come pouring forth. Who? What? Where? Why? How?
It's fodder for a comic routine, how predictable it all gets. I apologise for mixing up my tenses. They brush aside my protestations and insist I speak Spanish con fluidez.
The Delhi Metro’s Airport Express has been a happy hunting ground for hispanohablantes. On its hallowed platforms, I have bumped into tourists from Buenos Aires to Bilbao.
I wish my newfound Hispanic brethren a happy journey (in Spanish, of course), exchange mutual adioses and let them loose in the city.
Vignettes from a trip to Spain
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