Third World, and others

Moving house is as traumatic as kicking a useless boyfriend to the curb. In fact, if you're living in the third world, it's probably more emotionally agonising. You get sucked into renovation and hire plumbers who aren't plumbers, electricians who aren't electricians, tile-layers who wouldn't recognise an Anthangudi handcrafted beauty if it suddenly came to life and bit them in their collective, untutored asses.

I have never quite figured out how India survives. There are various techniques, sure, like for example, driving and switching on the left signal. Never, ever, then turn left. Oh, no. Wait for that one bozo who will try and overtake just to beat you to the turn. Where is he going in such a hurry, you wonder? Nowhere. It's just the way he is.

But this is just one of the few tricks you figure out, the rest is a mystery box to beat any on Masterchef. We survive by dumb luck more often than not.

Not the best of times to visit one of the most startling countries in the world: China. So efficient and effortlessly beautiful it made my heart hurt. I always knew democracy was overrated. If anyone has had the misfortune to visit Bangalore and travel on the ugliest metro ever built, you will understand my rage thinking of the money we wasted on things other than an engineer/architect worthy of the name. That, at least, we wouldn't have minded if we had then built a metro that looked like Dubai's.

Anyone who tells you India is a poor country, by the way, is either ignorant or a bullshit artist. What we are is a rich country that is completely mismanaged by a bunch of people who have never understood the concept of either shame or patriotism. They are much like most teenagers, clueless and living for the day. Vision-less. Indifferent to any other concerns but their own.

Here's a vision other than a teenager's:

More pearls that called my name

Up a little staircase on Commercial Street, you will find a lovely little jewellery store called BIA with the most creative bits and bobs in rings, lockets, ear-rings, chains and bracelets. Much of it is in an Indian motif, but there are some fusion pieces that are hard to resist. (The fact that the owner was playing Ray Charles when I walked in told me immediately I was in the right place at the right time, something I cannot say very often.)

The semi-precious pearl and ruby nugget here took my breath away and I intend to pair it with my boyfriend jeans and black shirt, never mind that it was made for churidars. Nothing like mixing and matching to come up with your own look, it's what fashion is all about. I mean, where do you think pairing a Chanel jacket with pearls and blue jeans came from. Oh, stop. If there's one thing that makes me groan it's the lack of fabulous boutiques in this sad little town I have never been able to call my own.