Big, bad manners

People simply don't know how to behave in public. This coming from someone who screeched 'Asshole!' and flipped the bird at an auto-driver yesterday may seem a bit much, but still....I would never do what this woman did at Barista. First of all, she was getting the evil eye from other customers because she was a big woman, and tucking into a cheese croissant and cold coffee with nary a care in the world. Yes, people are like that. 'Honey, really?' were the thought bubbles appearing above several turned heads but I digress. As I tried in vain to catch the server's eye, she had no such compunction. 'Tissues!' she bellowed. Then she stabbed the croissant with a forefinger you couldn't ignore and said, 'Bring butter.' When she next bellowed for the bill, we were better prepared but honestly, what ever happened to using some good, old-fashioned articles prefaced with a 'May I' or some such thing. So okay, I was still struggling with a delicately upraised hand while she had already paid and walked into the sunset to rue someone else's day but I dunno, I don't mind waiting a bit rather than opening my mouth and removing all doubt about my antecedents.

Sunny days

This is one of the very few reasons to like Bangalore, south India. It makes up for having to go home at 11.30pm, dealing with autodrivers who remind you of Sicily in the old days, and drooling over Net-a-Porter because there are two boutiques here where you may find fashionista wear – makes up for it for about 3 minutes, that is.

Walk this way

Catwalk shoes, a sorta modernised Great Gatsby look. Nothing quite like earth tones, no?

Not very tasty

So the Comedy Central channel shows the classic 'Goodness Gracious Me' and 'SNL' and even the cute 'My Boys' but do they all have to remind you of Queen and INXS? The shows are as old as dinosaurs. But where I have to draw the line is at the Quickies clip, where a zipper pulls down and the CC logo pushes up hard and fast against each other. Dear me. Something tells me no Indian censor has quite realised what's going on. Maybe they think Quickies refers to an iced latte or chocolate - both of which would take much longer if used in the bedroom, in any case.

Oh, no, Miuccia

I know the brand name is synonymous with high fashion, but this is the reason why I am amazed at Prada's popularity. If you see a woman dressed as an Italian housewife (no, not of the Sophia Loren variety) or wearing something particularly unflattering on her feet, you know where she got it from. I mean, look at the picture. Need I say more.

Fame: a P&L

Fame: a P&L

At Home with Jorge Elias in São Paulo Homes: architecturaldigest.com

At Home with Jorge Elias in São Paulo Homes: architecturaldigest.com

J'adore. Anything that combines animal and floral prints instantly gets my vote, of course, but it's the overall feel of this room, and much of the house, that is so warming. I love the crowded, homely feel, the thought that went into the personalised choice of artwork, the comfort of the sofas. One can imagine long winter afternoons, and sunny spring days spent in this room as the staff brings in petit fours and tea.

That's what a home essentially is, isn't it: A setting for who you believe you are.

A propos Jaipur and Salman Rushdie

Wow, what a nasty couple of days for civil liberties in India and the rights of writers to, you know, bloody well write. When people talk about religious sentiments being hurt over what someone said in print, surely the only logical question to ask is: So why read it? Please carry on, with our blessings, to Church, the mosque, the temple, the totem pole for all the rest of us care.

If publishers only handled books that did not offend, the only paper we would be handling would be the toilet roll as we mused in the loo. And considering the Jaipur Literary Farce, it would have to be on the story of Pontius Pilate calling for a bowl of water so that he would have no responsibility for crucifying people.....no doubt read out to us at some underground meeting by rebels because, of course, the Bible would have been banned.

Oh dear. Now let me get back to reading Lady Chatterley's Lover.

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.

Oh, these foreign tongues

What in the name of all that's holy is a programme where the characters speak in a foreign tongue doing on the English channel Star World? Is nothing sacred? So ok, the language is Hindi but still – I don't speak it which is why – this is a no-brainer – I watch English channels, get it? get it? And the programme is Survivor India which is as noxious as Minute to Win It (India version), Masterchef India, Indian (gawdhelpus) Idol and so on. I mean, the day McDonald's entered these shores serving only chicken (!!!), I knew the world as I knew it had changed forever. Where's the beef? Where's the meaning of life, more like. Just watch the strange beings on Survivor India and you will soon be asking the same question.  

I've seen these hands before!

This is outrageous. Captivated by something I read which spoke of 'the greatest crime story ever written', I scrambled for Flipkart so I could immediately order The Hands of Mr Ottermole. Turned out to be a 23-page, Rs 438 limited edition imprint which was wonderfully written, yes, but really, if the words 'right under (policemen's) noses' gave the game away, it's a good thing this was written in the 30s – there would be no other excuse for it!

And horror of horrors, Georgette Heyer wrote a terrific whodunit, A Blunt Instrument, which has the same idea at its core. I refuse to believe she stole it, there's no law that says two writers can't have the same spark of genius. I also possess evey single book Ms Heyer ever wrote so obviously she can do no wrong in my eyes. But nevertheless, it was all most disappointing.

Of saints and addicts

Wow, new year and much-improved Blogger. There is a God.

Just finished reading Narcopolis. So clever, some passages unforgettable, like the similarity between saints and addicts, or the very funny Introduction to Aggressive Reincarnation, or the learning from lines like grief being "a deep distraction, like absent-mindedness without the insouciance". And this amidst the hugely disturbing imagery and characters one watches like an impending car crash.
Not a bad impact for a first book of fiction.