We'll Always Have Paris

“Let’s do a shopping weekend in Paris. Just you and me.”

And within minutes I had reserved our first class tickets on the Thalys and a room at Axial Beaubourg, a tiny yet chic hotel Rue du Temple in the Marais. That is one of my preferred hotels to stay in Paris. The Thalys arrives at Gare du Nord and it is a quick connection to the number 4 metro downstairs, change at Chatelet and catch line 1 for the one stop to Hotel de Ville. Once off the metro it is less than a minute’s walk to the hotel. Catching the train for the 10:03 arrival meant being checked in and having first cocktails in hand by 10:30.

Ann and I met when we both had our first day together at new company and I instantly took a liking to her. But we really bonded over a misunderstanding. I walked into her office one day and asked if she felt it was inappropriate to invite someone from the office out for a drink. A date, really. I assumed she had me figured out and she assumed I was talking about her. She assumed that I was hinting around, trying to figure out if she would say yes before I asked. After about fifteen minutes of awkward conversation we bridged that communication gap and she discovered I was really interested in the student she had hired on her team.

His name was Daniel and he had just arrived from Paris to work with us for a few months. A few months which would ultimately be a couple of years, and I did invite him out and he accepted and we spent the evening at de Paap drinking oversized beers, listening to music and talking about his girlfriend. Even though the evening seemed to be a total waste of brand new Dolce and Gabbana, we became friends. But before that, when she discovered I was not into her, at least not that way, she breathed a deep, audible sigh of relief and I wasn’t sure whether I should be insulted or not. But it didn’t matter. From then on, we were pretty much joined at the hip. She was fabulous and I was just happy to orbit.

Thursday evenings quickly became ours. We had very busy work schedules and it was the only evening when shops were open late. Normally everything was shut tight before we even thought about leaving the office, but Thursday evenings we tried to keep our date. We would load ourselves up with bags full of Dolce and Gabbana, Prada, Gucci and Chanel and then head over to H&M café for a glass of beer or wine while waiting for Ulco to arrive. We would all have dinner and Horace, one of the owners would make us go through our bags showing all of our new purchases. One by one the shoes and handbags, shirts, sweaters, scarves and whatever else caught our attention would get looked over and he would give us his blessing while Ulco rolled his eyes and tried to be supportive.

We had talked several times about going to Paris. A year earlier I had been going about every two weeks to see friends, taking the train after work and arriving in Paris in time for pre-dinner drinks followed by a night of great food and champagne. I rarely went with anyone else. I had my friends there, a bit of a life that would be reborn every other Friday evening. And suddenly Ann wanted to go with me.

But she was also on a secret mission. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had major lust in her heart. Lust for the silver Louis Vuitton Monogram Vernis Houston handbag and I was to be her accomplice, her usual partner in crime. Whenever we went shopping, Ann would pick something out and I would give my honest opinion, we would debate and deliberate, argue and concur before anything was ever purchased. It was our thing. It as what we did.

We woke up that Saturday morning with our goal in mind and made our way to Avenue Montaigne and before I knew it, I was walking staring into the Louis Vuitton windows which were tastefully decorated with the coveted handbag in every color possible. We walked in and Ann marched up to the counter and caught the temporary attention of the saleswoman.

“I’ll take that silver one.”
“I can’t help you right now. There is a list. You need to be on the list.”
“Excuse me? The list?”
“Find the man with the clipboard. He will put you on the list.”

We went to find the man with the list, the short little man holding the passport to the kingdom Ann was so desperate to enter and he informed us that we had to wait just to get wait-listed. The list was full. It was not yet lunch-time. We were basically on luxury purchase stand-by. The store, as usual, was full of Japanese shoppers with seemingly bottomless wallets who bought up everything in sight. The air was tense. Beneath her cool exterior, I could feel Ann’s fear. A fear they would sell out before we even made it to the bottom of the list. I wanted to be supportive but I started complaining.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You are seriously going to make us wait so we can put our names on a list so we can wait some more so that you can spend a ton of money on a handbag? A handbag?”
“It’s not a handbag. It’s the Vernis Houston. It’s not a handbag. It’s a work of art.”
“Seriously?”
“Heather Locklear has one. It was in Vogue.”
“Oh.”

It was a dirty low-down trick to play the “Amanda Woodward” card and she knew it. If Heather Locklear had one, I knew there was no way she was leaving Paris empty armed. She knew I would have nothing to say and no choice but to wait it out with her. An hour or so later, they were kind enough to let her hand over an absurd sum of money for, I have to admit, a rather fabulous bag which spent the rest of the trip hanging off the arm of a glowing Ann who would every now and again get a far off look in her eye as she stopped to pet the new love of her life.

An Evening With Royalty

Thursday evening there was a little do at The Claridges. It was a party in for Leiber, which is all about the crystal encrusted clutches coveted and carried by women in the know everywhere. From Sarah Jessica to Eva Longoria to Heidi Klum, crystal clutches seem to be the new pastel Louis Vuitton. I received an invitation today – hand delivered to my office, I might add - and decided to break out the white wing-tipped Gucci sneakers, which in Delhi are as practical as, let’s say, white wing-tipped Gucci sneakers in Delhi. I almost never wear them and in between their limited excursions around the various five-star hotels and restaurants in Delhi, they stay in their little individual cloth shoe bags tucked snugly in the brown box with the word Gucci written in gold letters across the top. And there they sit, waiting for some glamorous invitation that warrants pulling them out of their individual pouches and dusting them off for a night on the town. So given the fact that this party was being thrown by their Highnesses Maharaja Sawai Bhaani Singh MVC, Maharani Padmini Devi and Princess Diya Kumari, all of Jaipur, I decided I should pull out the sparkly white sneaks and parade them around Delhi for a few hours. I was bored and an evening with royalty seemed to be just what the doctor ordered.

I had phoned Ankit hours before and he assured me he would be there as well, and so off I went, full speed ahead to the garden at The Claridges. I walked into the party, a vision in Paul Smith and Gucci and took a look around. And what a sight it was. I almost fell into a coma, but instead ordered a glass of champagne. I decided to entertain myself by taking a tour of the new collection and the few vintage pieces they had on display. My favorite piece was the reason for the party. A sparkly Ganesh that made me wish I could carry off a cocktail dress and glittery clutch, but I am afraid there just would not be a pair of Christian Louboutin’s in my size. I walked around the party in awe at how entertained people can appear in even the most boring and numbing of occasions. Ankit had a change of plans and didn’t think it at all necessary to let me know, so I hung around waiting for his camera crew to arrive.

Contrary to popular belief, I get very shy in situations like this. I simply have no idea how to break the ice. If is a situation of a conference where someone has expressed an opinion or talked in an educated way about a topic, that opens up a door to engage a complete stranger. But being a guy at a party for handbags, I didn’t really know what to say. Fortunately for me a glittery Ganesh smiled down on the party and just as I was about to trip over the shoelace of boredom and stumble into a glitterless coma, I met three fabulous women who came to my rescue. Fiona, Caroline and a tiny stylist for Elle. We chatted, we toasted and we compared notes on our boredom and all too soon it was time for us to part ways. But not before getting invited to Fiona’s Luxury Vagabond book launch party which promises to be a spectacular affair.

And after 2 hours of jewels, champagne and camera crews, I walked out of the party and was handed the parting gift. A copy of the current Indian Vogue, a gift worthy of royalty.