Bollywood

I seem to be making considerable strides here in my Indian adventure. I feel not unlike a male Kathering Hepburn in “The African Queen”, only without the boat, the grouchy old man, the big floppy hat or the gravelly deep voice. Not to mention I am on a different continent, and a sub-continent at that. But those little meaningless tidbits aside, I am totally taking her place in the adventure genre.

Yesterday I made my Bollywood debut. Well, not Bollywood actually, but I did have a part in a small video for one of our clients to use internally. Unfortunately, due to contractual restrictions, I can’t post it here, but take my word for it when I say I was spectacular. Even without lines, I managed to steal the show. Like Norma Desmond, I can say anything I want with my eyes, and they were belting it out to the balcony yesterday afternoon. I even gave a visual shout-out to my peeps. If only it could be made public, I am certain that both Bollywood, Cannes and some of the lesser festivals would be beating my door down begging for an encore. I got to play a villain, carry a gun, flex my biceps and shake a stick, while outfitted in jeans, a sleeveless black t-shirt and tikka (I am sure I just slaughtered the spelling, but it was basically a smudge of black ink on my forehead, so who cares about spelling… I was a star!)

It was all very Tomb Raider and I hope I get to play myself in the video game franchise. We filmed all 46 seconds of the video on the roof of the building and before long had attracted a small audience of what I assume are my sub-continental fans and groupies who watched from the streets below. I can just imagine the chatter… Look at skinny white boy with tikka and gun. Oh well, even Tom Cruise has his off day… Sofa surfing with Oprah, anyone?

So here I am, midway through my 3rd week in Delhi and have decided it is time for some drastic action. When in Rome, do as the Romans… Beware the Ides of March and never befriend anyone named Brutus. Just look at what happened to poor little Julius when he came back from lunch. But at least he got his 15 minutes of fame. More than he might of gotten had his friend not done what so many friends do and stabbed him in the back. So, as I was saying before I got lost on a Shakespeare tangent, I have decided to brush the duty off my glamorous side and do what anyone in my situation would do, look for ways to make glamour happen, preferable without wearing pointy juttis and PJs.

There I was this morning, reading Vanity Fair, all about Tory Burch and how she once worked for Ralph Lauren and suddenly the dots were connected. Ralph Lauren has a clothing line branded Polo. Polo was actually invented in India. Delhi happens to have a polo club and it just so happens there is still over a month left in the polo season. Can anyone guess where I am going here? That’s right, the Delhi Polo Club. Or rather the Army Polo and Riding Club. And not only that, but I saw that for a reasonable sum (and a few horseback riding lessons) I can actually take polo lessons. I am assuming that one would not need to bring one’s own horses, which works well for me as I seem to have misplaced my string of ponies. So yes, I am going to attend a few matches of polo, have some bubbles and just ooze fabulousness all over the grounds.

Speaking of Vanity Fair, I was reading the article about Chris Black and the little missus when I came across a quote so astounding, I was actually upset I had not made it up myself. It was all about why one needs two jets, and I quote “No matter how well one plans ahead, one always finds that one is on the wrong continent”. Now I know what has been missing from my life these days, while I feel so under accessorized. Private planes are obviously the new Louis Vuitton climate controlled steamer trunk and here I have been so unabashedly traveling commercial… And with Samsonite. Thanks Miss Black for pointing out the error of my ways. I feel so enlightened now, if not slightly embarrassed.

I also saw a disturbing article in the Delhi Times today and I am hoping I can sleep. I didn’t have the energy or courage to read it, but will try to do so tomorrow. It was a rather lengthy article complete with shocking images and a the disturbing title: “Thin ain't in anymore” I immediately held out my hand for a Razzito and then realized I am in the wrong city. Where’s Nik when you need a good shake