In Delhi, thankfully, the male species is surviving and very visible unlike the good old tiger in Ranthambore and Sariska. But this survival comes with its own perils. The average male is hunted with almost Veerapan-like ferocity and now there is a layering of art to it. For gender clarification, this piece is about women hunting men and not men hunting men which is also true of Delhi but a fact quite alien to me. And in true cosmopolitan style, all kinds of men are hunted: those in Parliament and those outside; those in Government and those outside; heirs to thrones and mere heirlooms; from the ones who are old and rich to those who are young and may well become rich. Over the years, the process of hunting men has undergone a qualitative leap: it is no longer an engagement between the hunter and the prey but involves families, hostile corporate takeovers and even some quaint political mergers. Which for Delhi is a good thing because suddenly the aggression associated with the North Indian male is gently getting transferred to the not-so-genteel woman.
I have attempted to capture the various kinds of hunts: none of which would endanger you like Salman Khan but would only bring you closer to the social bone in Delhi as it were. There is also a style that of late has become so worthy that it is now replicated with ease and vigour. So let's take you down a journey of hunting men that would make Corbett turn in his grave.

THE SOCIAL HUNT
This by far is the most regular and the reasonably secure. The prey is well known. The families have seen the boy 'grow' up: whatever that means in Delhi and what they do not mention is they have also seen his wealth increase. This is a hunt that often ends in marriage (as most social hunts are supposed to) and eventually leads up to a smashingly high-decibel media divorce and if you are lucky, to a tame reconciliation. We in Delhi are now so used to this that we have stopped introducing couples as couples because you never really know their status in life! This hunt is characterised by the ubiquitous common kitty party or for that matter irrelevant and highly dull social chatter and almost everyone in the world knows that the hunt is taking place: even the hunter and prey pretend but then that is part of social graces that hunters of this variety must display. You must be desperate but never eager: now try and figure this one out! The whole process of wooing is laden with goodies which may well include an SLK or for that matter a company so that the boy can do something on his own. Which means he is such an utter jerk that he will need hand-holding all his life. The girl doesn't prey on the man: she preys on his whole family and depending on how wealthy or how good-looking she is, she can tilt the economics to her liking. If she is pretty, then being poor is an advantage. If she is plain, then a great balance sheet is a must. All social hunts in Delhi start in five-star environs and end there. Often in something as unclassy as a coffee shop but there you go.

THE POLITICAL HUNT
Now this is a bit more severe and therefore rather dangerous. This is about uniting people in matrimony to serve a larger cause: which means India. So you will have fashion models aspiring to live in Prime Ministerial residences or for that matter other good lookers who will want to tie the knot with some hoodlum who is in politics. The woman hunter in this case is not looking to merely settle down: she too wants to taste the blood of power: she wants to be that person who does more than ordering around an army of servants. She wants that political sanction; she wants more than a cherry coloured Louis Vuitton bag: she wants a red beacon atop her car. She also wants to be inversely snobbish and drive around in an Ambassador while the others are busy flashing their more expensive duty-evaded cars. She wants more than a hotel doorman saluting her: she wants them all - the Black Cats and the commandos and the police siren. So she hunts differently. She hunts from a position of strength: she talks India and not Chanel. More often than not, she pretends to be some scion of a princely state just in case her potential man wants to be elected. Thus her whole demeanour is different. She will not woo her man on some nightclub floor: instead she will sweep the man off his dirty feet during some election campaign trail: she will be there alongside taking in the dirt tracks and the sweat of a bored electorate and win her spurs. She will pretend to be the one who is being hunted whilst knowing all the while, that the spears are in her hands.

THE BUSINESS HUNT
Why do you think investment banks do poor business in Delhi? The answer rests with the woman who is a business hunter. She is the merger queen only because she understands acquisitions so well and she only targets appreciating assets: she is not interested in how the man looks or what he wears: she sees him in the reflection of his stock price every day: because that is where she believes her future will be. She wants to be the diva of business: she will accompany the poor sod to every conference and to every board meeting only so that she can return and tell her friends back in Delhi that there's more to life than just butter chicken. Her hunting process is fairly unique: she is the kind who will hang out at corporate dinners, often accompanying her father and then get to make all the contacts: typically her father is either a retired bureaucrat or a failed businessman: in both cases desperate for some financial nirvana. And the daughter will know that more than anyone else.
There are of course other sub-hunts as it were, but the three mentioned above are representative of how men get hunted by women in Delhi: women who are focused, who are using an AK 47 when an air rifle could do and who know the value of the prey even before they begin to cook his goose. Whoever said that women in Delhi wear their brains on their solitaires?