'Not to forget the tuesday night book club, with wine and cheese, of course', Lola suggested.
Within minutes, I had been invited a pashmina-and-pecorino charity sale, a moms-and-tots pool party, an art soiree to raise fund for the deaf and the blind, a dinner at Souk, a designer launch at Aza, and a champagne brunch at the Grand Hyatt- all in one week!
My word, life was lively in Mumbai, I thought, exhausted even by the thought of all this socialising.
Conversation then turned to shopping and travels, and I absorbed it all- the best places in town for bling dresses and cocktail rings, outfits suitable for mehendi ceremonies versus sangeet evenings, the best designers of jadau sets or makers of Minotti design sofas, and ruing the limited weekend options near Mumbai, not counting the one-flight away destinations for spa or shopping experiences.
Puzzlingly, though, there was no more than a passing mention of the guys in their lives, other than passing mentions of overseas trips and their captains-of-industry type dilemmas. Like forgotten anchors in the deep on which the showboat of life bobs. Like one missing piece in a 400 piece jigsaw puzzle- not there, yet barely denting the overall picture. In this ritzy roulade of Shiraz-sipping and la-di-da shopping, who needed a husband when bling orgasm was to be had? When the real climax was that pave necklace at the Popley's checkout counter?
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