Randy Andy in Mumbai...

This appeared in the Asian Age yesterday... and I am glad it amused Soli Sorabjee (one of my favourite men!) sufficiently, for him to call on a Sunday morning to share a few laughs. He asked me in his utterly charming Parsee -Marathi why I didn't visit Delhi more often( he lives there). I told him in my Marathi-Marathi that I didn't LIKE Delhi. Being a Mumbai boy himself, he understood the sentiment perfectly!

I drove to Pune and back with my son, Aditya , yesterday. I needed him to guide me on some 'man work' - not what you are thinking - just dull, routine municipal stuff - and we spent a wonderful day in that oven. Topping it off, as always, with a quick lunch at the Blue Diamond coffee shop - and again, as always, I packed the world's best kheema pao to take home for dinner with the rest of the family. Awaiting me was a pleasant, delicious surprise - nulen goorey ice cream. Ask your Bong friends to decode!!!

My faithful old laptop finally gave up the struggle to keep going and quietly died on me. Arundhati promptly got me a new one, but all my precious data remains trapped in the old work horse - including the promised images from Monaco, and the manuscript of the new novel I have just completed.Aah well,tomorrow is another De!

**************

The Prince and the Showgirls…

Okay, so Prince Andrew is no Lawrence Olivier, and there wasn’t a Marilyn Monroe clone in sight, but the ‘vilayati rajkumar’ does have an… ummm, reputation with the ladies. And Mumbai has countless fetching ladies.Perhaps he was smarting from the Capital’s response to his visit. Unkind Delhi journos (after being at the receiving end of a right royal snub), had described him as having the personality of a ‘traveling salesman’. But in Mumbai, the Queen of England’s colourful son (better known as Randy Andy), was treated to a super swish soiree in his honour, at which he happily mingled with glamourous stars from Bollywood and of course, a few billionaires from the corporate world. From spending time with humble potters in Kumbharwadi, to making the mandatory chakkar of Dharavi, and staging a photo-op in full naval regalia while visiting the docks, our friendly prince had a packed schedule in aamchi Mumbai. Fortunately for him ( and us ), the tedium of officialdom was happily broken by a few light hearted interruptions. Like the time he was working the crowds at the official reception hosted by Peter Beckingham ( the Deputy High Commissioner), and a breathless, young, saree-clad lady rushed upto shake his hand and gush, “ I just wanted to tell you I had the biggest crush on you for years… and at the royal wedding, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you!” Somewhat startled by this very public and very candid confession, the obviously flattered Prince, blushed, shrugged, smiled and swiftly moved on. Reminded about the comment at the private dinner that followed the reception, he was more relaxed about the incident and joked, “I wonder if she was referring to my wedding…” The earlier stiffness was gone, as he surveyed the spectacular beach villa of his hosts ( Adi and Parmeshwar Godrej) and handled Mumbai’s society queens and kings with supreme aplomb. Unusually,most of the movie stars had dutifully followed the stipulated dress code and turned up in pristine white. They looked exceptionally stylish. Especially the ladies. A few undoubtedly caught the Prince’s roving eye. But were they equally interested? Naah. They hadn’t heard of him! It was their big night out, and they were happy to party with one another. That’s Mumbai. Ill-mannered and crass. Each person for himself /herself. No ‘faltu time-waste’ on some Prince… from whichever country. Was he offering any of them a role? Anything else? No, na? Then why bother? Social propriety be damned.

The local presswallas left him pretty much alone as well. Those who turned up at the Reception, looked bored and restless when they realized no Bollywood celebs were likely to saunter in. One photographer asked loudly, “That man in a grey suit… is he the Prince? Of which country?” Nobody was embarrassed. His buddy replied, “Woh Prince Charles hai na… Diana-walla? Yeh uska bhai hai…” Poor Andrew. Nobody has ever called him ‘Bonny’. And everybody has mocked his choice of wife, even though Fergie the Redhead, remains her original feisty, bold and brazen self through various trials and tribulations that tabloids on both sides of the Atlantic love to expose. Her ex- insists they remain the best of friends. Which is very civilized of him. It’s actually pretty damn wonderful to have a ‘major’ Royal who is as unstuffy and regular as Andrew. Today, the poor guy has to go out and earn his keep. Gamely perform ‘royal duties’. Shake hands with people he isn’t likely to meet ever again in his busy life. Make polite noises and feign deep interest in subjects ranging from the tattered state of the economy to the grim future of potters in a Mumbai slum. It’s a tough life! At one point during the Reception, I saw the poor man collared by one of Mumbai’s biggest bores, who didn’t give him a chance to greet several others waiting in a long line to meet the Queen’s emissary. Later at the elegant Godrej soiree, a group of Japanese invitees surrounded him and asked him to sign copies of some books they’d brought along. Being Japanese, they clicked several pictures while they were at it. Once again, my heart went out to Bechara Andrew. There were so many alluring single ladies floating around… and there was this single guy not being allowed to hang with any of them. I am sure he would have found Sushmita Sen’s company most fascinating. Or Sushma Reddy’s for that matter. Both are beautiful and have a lot to say for themselves.

Being seen as a broke Prince can’t be easy. But this guy makes it appear effortless. We have quite a few kadka maharajahs in India. But they appear pretty pathetic as they scrounge around for freebies. They have yet not woken up to India’s new realities where their own stock is seriously low and our billionaires are the real, 21^st century Maharajahs.There were at least four of them ( billionaires) at the Godrej villa that night. And the royal aura they’d appropriated for themselves was too dazzling to miss. As awe struck diplomats walked around the spectacular premises, taking in the priceless art and marveling at the extravagance of it all , it was really a snapshot of today’s aggressive new India – unapologetic about its wealth and position. If the buffet tables groaned under monstrously large lobsters and massive crabs, if the hors d’oeuvres featured caviar, and the champagne was Dom, it was an indication of more than just the high net worth of the billionaire hosts. It was a taste of what is possible, of what is taking place…. just 63 years after the sun set on the Indian empire, and we had our own national anthem in place of ‘God Save the Queen’. If the Prince was aware of the irony, he camouflaged it well. He was, after all, a mere messenger. Why shoot the messenger??

Manohar P....while the Goa-ing is good.

Blogdosts... I have gone back to the old format. Jai ho! Am looking for other columns that I'd written during my Monaco break. It's going to be a steamy summer in more ways than one!

Randy Andy ( Prince Andrew) is older and appears like a middle-aged traveling salesman ( well, at least to Delhi's miffed journos after he refused to speak to them). At the glittering soiree I'd mentioned in an earlier post, the Prince was minus any Showgirls ( no Marilyn Monroe clones that night!), but in terrific spirits. Must have been the Dom.

Last night at Mumbai's most loved, most coveted club, the posh and snooty Willingdon, I enjoyed a relaxed and delicious dinner with the children. And then came the pleasant surprise - we spotted Magna ( and my former) boss, Nari Hira having dinner at one of the tables overlooking the golf course. He was looking wonderful, and has promised to make a date with us next week. I so love him!

************

This appeared in Sunday Times...

While the Goa-ing is good….

“ Can you believe it? He came to this dinner by cab!Yes, he actually took one of our Mumbai taxis. Oh, that’s him… the guy in that simple, blue linen shirt.No body guards, no entourage.” The ‘him’ in question was Goa’s newly minted Chief Minister, Manohar Parrikar. And the reason Mumbai was gasping is easy to understand. Shri Parrikar travels light. In every sense of the word. This was his coming out party, in a way. He was to be introduced to the movers and shakers of Mumbai by Shaina N.C. at a high profile dinner on the lawns of her father,Nana Chudasama’s seaside bungalow. While other guests rolled up in swanky cars, dressed in their party finery, Manohar Parrikar’s well calculated move to dress down and hop into a local cab, did not go unnoticed. Invitees fawned over the chief guest, exclaiming in wonderment, “ This is so refreshing. He is so informal and approachable.” A starlet gushed, “He’s really cute… and so real!” If Manohar Parrikar was aware of all the flattering comments floating around, he did a pretty good job of playing dumb, mixing easily with a cross section of Mumbai’s elite. Businessmen and brokers made a beeline for the man who is expected to clean up the sorry state of Goa. Everyone was looking for a few seconds of face time with a person who comes to the job with good credentials. But what Mumbai’s groupie-style, near-delirious response to Parrikar established is the rather unfortunate but fixed image people have of politicians across the board . We expect politicians to be sleazy, pompous and corrupt. Most of them live up to their terrible reputations. Then along comes someone who breaks the mould and defies the stereotype. That’s enough for the jaded junta to go into raptures over the person.It’s sad that citizens have such a low opinion about their leaders.

It’s much too early in the game to go gaga over Parrikar.That he means business, is evident. That he is well-educated (IIT) and erudite is equally obvious. As good leaders ought to be! Since that isn’t the case in India, a Manohar Parrikar attracts extra attention.Combine that with the silly ‘People Like Us’ urban syndrome, and you get the drift.Overheard that evening were comments like, “ He speaks good English! He is articulate and soft spoken. He doesn’t chew paan or pop paan masala into his mouth. Why, he even drinks beer! He is one of us.” The verdict was unanimous : Parrikar is kosher - a man of the world. A sophisticate. Someone who can be safely invited to a glamourous soiree without the hosts worrying about any faux pas being committed. Plus, he has a sense of humour - he joked about the billionaire quotient on the lawns. Manohar Parrikar was the surprise package for a lot of the invitees that night, most of whom had not heard of him till they arrived at the party to socialize and schmooze. That Parrikar was happy to be just another guest, and made no attempt to network with the VIPs present, added to his appeal. Some of the other politicos present must have felt diminished in his presence, since nobody bothered with them and their hefty bodyguards.

Shouldn’t Parrikar’s conduct be the norm in any case?Should we really be astonished to meet a regular, no fuss, no frills chap who is confident enough to discard outdated protocol?Isn’t it about time we dumped this ridiculous and very expensive drill? It’s tax payers’ money that goes into those massive security operations. It is we who pay for the half-a-dozen escort cars and cops. These extravagant privileges belong to a bygone era.Today’s leaders should be treated like professionals from any other field. They are there to do a job, and deliver results .That’s it. Why treat them like demi-Gods? If Manohar Parrikar behaved ‘normally’, we should not be surprised, nor should we applaud. If anything, we should insist on all the other high-and-mighty C.M’s behaving ‘normally’, too. We are equally to blame if we fawn and fall over backwards in their presence… using social opportunities to suck up to elected representatives, like they are royalty, and we their humble subjects. Manohar Parrikar has shown the way. It’s a class act worth emulating. Are other netas listening??

Manohar Parrikar, Goa's latest poster boy...

Blogdosts.... this is seriously annoying. Here I am all set to attach the Sunday Times column about Manohar Parrikar in this space, and what do I get? A newly designed site which is far from user friendly. I cannot see the familiar symbols, nor do I know where to look for them. There is a basic rule that I scrupulously follow in life ( it applies her!), if it ain't broken, don't fix it! The previous format was just fine. Now I have to unlearn all that I had mastered so strenuously, and begin again. Ditto for the Monaco / Paris pics I was dying to show off and share. Phut!
No obliging daughters at home to help poor, struggling mom. One has gone to a yoga class, the other is at her old Principal's funeral. Well, the legendary Miss Darasha, was a very special lady, and one of the best teachers in Mumbai. Tough, brusque, no-nonsense,  she ran J.B.Petit Girls' High School with an iron fist, a steel glove... but a heart of gold. She was feared, revered and respected by three generations of students. My daughters were lucky to have been in the school while she was still the Principal.
 But this post was going to be about Manohar Parrikar, the IIT  boy who is now the chief minister of Goa. Perhaps tomorrow?? There are several more columns waiting to be shared... and the pictures, of course.
But for now, I am getting into my finery to join the British Deputy High Commissioner, Peter Beckingham, and his royal guest, Prince Andrew, as we sing 'God Save the Queen' and 'Jana Gana Mana', to mark the Queen's Golden Jubilee. After the grand reception, there will be an even grander dinner hosted by Parmeshwar Godrej, Mumbai's.... no, India's Hostess with the Mostest, at her oomphy seaside villa in Juhu. It's going to be a long, fun night folks..... sigh! What a tough life some of us lead....!

May Day! May Day!

Scary title! But we need to feel a little scared. There is nothing but bad or ridiculous news in the papers today.I have not bothered to watch television. Last night, I was asked to participate in Arnab's panel discussion on the Aarushi murder case. I thought about it, and opted out. Okay, so now the mother has been marched off to jail. Well, this is hardly the place or the right moment to gloat and say, "I told you so!" But really, I HAD told everybody so right after the murder took place. And invited wrath. Major wrath. Friends of Mama Talwar and Papa Talwar hyper- ventilated and retaliated across channels, and my hate mails multiplied five times over. I was called all manner of vile names for daring to suggest Aarushi's grieving mother could well have been the accused. All because I made a reference to her body language and cold expression when she addressed the media. Today, the story has changed dramatically, and Nupur is cooling her heels in a stinky jail in Ghaziabad. No point rubbing it in. There is justice in the world after all. But one still wonders what that poor little girl must have done that made her mother insane with rage. Insane enough to kill her own flesh and blood. What sin did Aarushi commit to warrant such a grisly end? Perhaps, we shall never know.... perhaps, it's better this way.
                                                                         **********
Maharashtra Day, and the papers are full of Ashok Chavan's misdeeds. 'Aadarsh' is going to be his albatross. But what about the others? Kalmadi did nine months inside. Just nine. Months, not years. Chavan may not do even nine hours. Hey Devaaaaaaa

                                                                          **********
The daughters who did not accompany Avantikka and me on this trip are glaring at the carefully picked gifts  for them in a rather hostile way. They love the presents. But they would have loved to be with us in Monaco and Paris even more. How should I make it up to them??? Advice? Suggestions?
I am terrified enough (of the two) right now to refrain from sharing all those wonderful pictures I have shot.... including aerial views from the helicopter  (HeliAir) that took us from Nice to Monte Carlo. You guys want to see them, right??????

Ghar ki Murgi...

While it feels good to be home, my heart continues to go dhak dhak for Paris. We loved our very special boutique hotel . It is called Hotel Bel-Ami and like its name, it is full of friends, or rather friendly staff. Friendly.... and the French? That's a rarity. Plus, all the guys speak a version of English, so one doesn't have to go into that annoying 'Parlez vous L'Anglaise' routine just to ask where the bloody breakfast room is. BTW, that bloody breakfast room is so popular, it attracts non-residents from 6.30 a.m. It must be the buttery , freshly baked croissants and the golden brioche.
Avantikka is fine with all the extra calories, and insists we have walked them off  pounding the pavements of Paris. Our 'Mission Goyard' was successful... if frightfully expensive. Just as we had agreed on what to pick from this historic store (1853) just off the Place Vendome , I heard a polite greeting in chaste Marathi. It was aapla Riteish Deshmukh, and his brand new missus, aapli Genelia. Both were still in honeymoon mode and were really sweet.... Riteish with his brolly, in particular. We chatted animatedly in Marathi for a good 15 minutes in that super snooty store. And just after Riteish said his 'namaskars', I asked Guillaume, who was assisting us whether he knew a Bollywood star had just left the place. He looked slightly blank but sportingly added, " Yes.... he looked familiar."
 With Avantikka's Goyard under her arm, we decided to go for a coffee break to my favourite place - Cafe de la Paix. It was a good plan ( we love the elegant loo there). I was feeling like a Fat Duck ( the bird , not the restaurant), with all the foie gras we had been happily walloping with our Sancerre. But it was our Goyard moment.... so, we recklessly ordered more foie gras ( it is served in an exceptionally imaginative way here).
To make me feel less guilty, Avantikka suggested we walk back to the hotel - in Saint Germaine des Pres??? Not a chance! So, I am still feeling like a Fat Duck. By tonight, I shall be transformed into a ghar ki murgi.
All in a De's work.
Kal May Day hai.... dekha jayega....

Paris is always a good idea....

It is drizzling in Paris. Do I care. Naah. I am in Paris. And the weather does not matter. It is cold. But then my heart is warm and my spirits high. I am told by concerned friends back home that they are shocked out of their skulls about Rekha being nominated to the Rajya Sabha. Why, why,why. If Jaya B is making an impact as an M.P. Can Rekha be far behind. The age old competition continues. And it would be an absolute treat to watch the Silsila Episode 2, so many decades later. Meanwhile, I shall pull on my boots, carry by parapluie and sing in the rain. My daughter is taking me to dinner at one of our favourite restaurants here, Costes. We are in full Paree mode. But a bit of us has been left behind in Monaco. The last night there in one of the great restaurants of the world, Alain Ducassse driven Le Louis Quinze, was truly a moveable feast.... The memory of which will no doubt linger and linger.... What that genius Ducasse does with vegetables from Provence, is so delicate and refined, it is as if an angel is working in the kitchens after tending personally to the petit pois and the asparagus. A bientot. Avantikka is on a mission. It has a name. I believe it is Goyard. Au revoir, mes amies.

Hotel de Paris, Monaco

Blogdosts I am at a destination one can only dream about or watch in super glam Hollywood movies from another era.I. am astonished Bollywood has not discovered this locale so far. Or perhaps I should feel relieved. Imagine a full on Bollywood production taking over this tiny Principality and converting it into a garish nightmare. Though, IIAFA would be an excellent idea. And perhaps Monaco Tourism should pitch for the awards . Right now, the place is getting geared up for the Grand Prix, and am happy to report Force India and Vijay Mallya are both well established in this playground for billionaires. There is a Saudi Prince floating around on a yacht that is a mansion on the ink blue bay.As for the Opera House, I can only describe it as a jewel of such vivid brilliance and beauty, one almost forgets the world famous casino attached to it. Ah well.... I am sounding euphoric after ages.... And feeling it, too. Cannot be the Sancerre..... It has to be Monte Carlo.