Journalism of Courage
I’d never quite understood the fascination Indians hold for London as a summer holiday destination and why so many of them choose to go back to the same place,rather than discover other unexplored,equally fascinating cities in Europe. Because even the British don’t holiday in England: they consider it too expensive and opt for places like Spain and Portugal,that are sunny and cheaper. But for Indians,London remains numero uno. It feels like home,clearly an essential requirement to truly let your hair down. They go there to shop and party with who else,but other Indians,whom they hang out with back home. The guest list is pretty much the same with only a barely perceptible shift in venue: instead of a swanky home in South Delhi or South Bombay,the location is a trendy pad in Knightsbridge.
Fans of Georgette Heyer and Jane Austen,who wrote extensively about social hierarchy in Regency England,will recall how an aristocratic birth (no matter how impoverished) got you entry anywhere,(a gentlemen’s bar or a good marriage),but how vulgarity and an ostentatious display of wealth made you a pariah. There has been a 360 degree turn in the two centuries since and,thankfully,now nobody gives a hoot about where anybody is from. In the post recession era,high society all over the world,London especially,is more open than ever before. It’s not about breeding or having the degree from Harvard,the single,most important entry criteria is money. Fashionable connections help certainly,but only in addition to money. It’s very cool to be rich. So Indians are extremely sought after tourists,after the Arabs and Russian billionaires. The lot of desis flocking here every year isn’t consumed by stacking up funds for future generations,the wealth is to be lavishly enjoyed,and,to be seen spending it. So dropping 500 pounds per head on a night out at Annabel’s (Prince Harry’s favourite spot),is no big deal.
In my brief ten days it wasn’t difficult figuring out the places to be seen ordering champagne and caviar,or foie gras,perhaps. Nobu,at Berkeley Square,is a must visit for new wave Japanese cuisine (50 pounds per head,minus alcohol) though I preferred Zuma,an equally trendy,far more buzzing restaurant also serving Japanese,in Knightsbridge. Mews,a night club (allegedly frequented by Shah Rukh Khan),is in a dodgy basement in Mayfair and a popular spot. Shopping isn’t shopping unless you’ve visited the iconic store Harrod’s or checked out the fancy flea at Portobello Road on a Saturday. At Harrods,the least visited section,the pet grooming centre and pet store,is an absolute delight for animal lovers. Through a huge looking glass,shoppers can see all the fancy pooches of London who have come in for a shower,blow dry and manicure. There’s a huge area devoted to frivolous but adorable accessories,like leather couches for pets and an unending variety of biscuits and toys. If you’re not a shopper,try the high tea at the Harrod’s Georgian restaurant.
On my return,a Delhi friend,appalled at my choice of destination for a holiday,asked me sarcastically whether I stumbled upon any Delhi socialites fighting over Miu Miu handbags at Harvey Nichols. According to him,Indians go to London to network and accidentally bump into (or accost) potential high net worth investors,whom they won’t get access to so easily in India. Agendas aside,the real beauty of London in summer is that the sun doesn’t set till 9 pm. It’s dusk only at 10. On a sunny day,Hyde Park has terrific atmosphere,almost beach like,since the entire sun starved city lands up to tan themselves in swimwear. You can hire cycles,go boating,or listen to strains of a concert invariably in a section of the park. Surprise,surprise. Some of the good things in life do come free. (hutkayfilms@gmail.com)
