Greetings from Taipei...

Taipei is hysterical! That's the good news. It is like Singapore on substance. There is a wild , frenzied energy that fuels Taiwan, with a young population, and a President called 'Ma'. Poor guy. He isn't in a terribly happy spot as newspaper surveys describe him as 'an over-packaged product'. He begins his second term later this month.

Last night, after a sumptuous Chinese dinner at a restaurant on the 85th floor of the iconic 101 building, I was taken to a nightclub called Myst ( classy but dead), and then to a frenetic place called Perfume, which was, fortunately, far more colourful , with lovely, beautifully groomed escort girls whose sole duty was to make sure guests consumed gallons of Cognac, and made total idiots of themselves at the Karaoke hub. The delicate young girl I spoke to insisted her name was 'Perfume' as well. Right! I stayed for an hour... would have stayed longer, but figured it wasn't fair, given the high spirits of the the men in the group .... us ladies were seriously ruining their night out and cramping their style.

Back at the very high tech W Hotel, the WET Bar was still rocking. But I had to wake up at some ghastly hour to take the bullet train to Sun Moon Lake and the lovely Lalu Hotel... which is where I am right now. I did make the time to visit the gigantic Museum in Taipei, which houses the biggest and most impressive collection of Chinese Art in the world. The Ming vases, especially the ones with the India-inspired pink lotus motifs took my breath away! Then it was time for a little retail therapy at the 101 Mall. What struck me about Taiwan were the smiles! And the courtesy. People are kind and helpful at all times. And they look genuinely relaxed and happy with life. Must be the fish diet! Though tonight, I have ordered Wagyu beef.... yummmmy.

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Aapla Sachin, Aapli Rekha as M.P.s

Am rushing off to catch this season's sleeper hit 'Vicky Donor'. My daughters had a tough time getting tickets for it at a multiplex even though it isn't the newest movie in town. It is a part of their Mother's Day treat for me, since I will be away in distant Taipei on SUNDAY, when mothers the world over will be pampered by their kids - if the kids remember and are sweet enough to show their moms a li'l bit of pyaar-vyaar.My treat begins tonight.... and carries on once I get back. The weather in Taipei says, "Thunder storms". A little ominous. But it is my first time and I am looking forward to it!! Wish me 'Bon Voyage' abhi se. Tomorrow is another De... kyon?

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This appeared in Bombay Times...

Really don’t understand what the fuss is about. A legendary cricketer and a reclusive actress make it to the Rajya Sabha … and all hell breaks loose? Par kyon? We have had worse people from Mumbai occupying those coveted seats. Why not these two? Sachin, if I remember correctly, was being pushed as the right choice , baby, for the Bharat Ratna, no less. Nobody protested. This nomination is nothing in comparison. If people thought he was worthy enough to get the nation’s highest civilian recognition, becoming an M.P. is a piece of toast. Now… fighting an election and getting into parliament through people’s votes, is a different story. A difficult one. And far more admirable. That takes guts and stamina. To say nothing of money power. But a Rajya Sabha nomination these days is a matter of the right people lobbying for their chosen candidates by ‘influencing’ decisions. If there is a powerful person backing someone, and that powerful person cannot be snubbed… bingo! A seat in parliament awaits. Sachin is way too smart ( or shaaina, as we Maharashtrians would put it) to let criticism get to him.He has already issued a statement saying he is a sportsman and not a politician. An unnecessary comment, since the Rajya Sabha is meant for achievers from diverse fields…. and is not exclusively reserved for politicians. That is the whole idea of having an Upper House. Sachin has also described his nomination as a ‘bouncer’! Which is a bit strange , as such a nomination is not a surprise, but something that is pre-decided and accepted by the nominee before the name is announced. Let’s just wait and see what sort of Googlies our Master Blaster bowls in parliament, as and when he finds the time between matches and endorsements , to actually attend a few sessions.

As for Rekha, well… she should consider herself hugely blessed. Nobody remembers which movie she last acted in. Decades later,she still remains the ‘Umrao Jaan’ courtesan in the public’s imagination. This latest Rajya Sabha role, will provide a fresh lease of celebrity to the lovely lady who has made a career out of her ‘I am Garbo’ reputation. Undoubtedly, the Bollywood -crazy Delhi media will go nuts when Rekha shows up in parliament, clad in gorgeous Kanjeevaram sarees, eyes appropriately downcast. If she does run into Jaya Bachchan, my guess is she will fall at Jaya’s feet ‘to show respect towards elders’ . That will be the ultimate photo-op, which will make it to the front pages of every major newspaper. Exciting times ahead, whichever way we look at it. The Indian Parliament was about the only platform left that did not rely heavily on Bollywood or Sports celebrities to make itself heard. Now that the last bastion has fallen to the cult of Page 3, let’s wait for product placements to debut in those hallowed walls next.

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A bit late in the day to be commenting on Tara Sharma’s original and charming baby show on television, but the ‘Diaries of a New Mum’ is pretty disarming and the last episode of the season ( Sunday), features her father, the much- admired Pratap Sharma, who tragically passed away five months ago. Catch it!

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Hotel de Paris, Monte Carlo

Guys, this is just a test run for my new laptop, selected by Arundhati and configured by a certain Arvind Kumar, who gave me a really hard time by asking complex technical questions I had no answers to. So, I played the dumb housewife to the hilt.... threw up my hands and basically told him to wing it solo. Do what a guy's got to do.... and all that fake macho spiel. Well, I guess he's done something right, Jai ho! I feel like i earned the sinful falooda I enjoyed at the Sea Lounge with my namesake, one Vikram Rajadhyaksha, who is an Ohio based millionaire ( Hydro-electric power). I was told by over-awed friends that Al Gore pops by for dinner at his home whenever he's in the vicinity. That definitely justified the Sea Lounge falooda. No regrets, no guilt.

Errrrrr, I am still looking for my stored columns. Was dying to attach a couple of the ones that had appeared while I was luxuriating in this outstandingly opulent hotel. Perhaps tomorrow? For now, I have a date with John Makinson, my publisher. It's back to the Taj. This time to another favourite haunt - the old-fashioned and entirely civilised Harbour Bar.

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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!

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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??

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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!

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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??

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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....!

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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.
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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

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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??????

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