The Asian businessman from India grew up with Bhangra, and mixes from Bally Sagoo, that combined traditional and smooth and sleek beats polished to a finish, were his background. He grew up with DJs, and when he couldn’t get to a set, he would be chilling listening to weekend radio shows. He read widely the spirituality of India, with it’s gurus and teachings. In camaraderie friends held hands in India, as they walked along taking in the sights.
Girls wore dresses that were colourful and elaborate, and the celebratory movies were akin to Mary Poppins and the musicals in England. She didn’t buy into the melodramas of the old Hindhi films that made her forbears similarly melodramatic in their expressions, instead of a strong attitude towards life and it’s living.
On his mantelpiece was an Indian Elephant, dhol drum, and his ipod player mounted on a cream leather stand. His watch was Seiko, he watched carefully, it was water resistant. He kept his wits about him when others were swayed by the emotional theatrics of it all.
His blog had his watched displayed as a jpeg, and the car keys to his Mercedez Benz, showing people how his blogs catered to the clientele’s lifestyle and preferences.
He tailored sites for international clientele, busy folks who brought light paperwork into fancy restaurants they ate in as they picked and chose from the assortment of dishes that were crammed neatly onto the table. Types who laid out their keys, phone and credit card on the table.
On their laptops they clicked and bought shares, travelling the world with a portable office alot more zen.
The girl spoke in American English and had read the English Classics of Pride and Prejudice and the Bronte sisters. You wondered how people in India could relate to such provincial attitudes that lay in literature. Perhaps in their magninimity they were innocent in their appreciation of those works. Perhaps it reminded them of their own provinciality. Great works come from people of all kinds. A great person and a great artist do not necessarily go hand in hand.
They had a classical education in the greats, while they watched Bollywood actresses, who were followed by the crown in tandem in public life and in the dances on the film’s set, in key parts, at set times.
The actress wore large earrings and dressed in the style of East meeting West. She listened to the interviewer and all the fans as if their ‘words’ were ‘worlds’. She lived in two worlds, inner and outer, a perfect circle, encompassing all.
Her dressing table had make-up, her complexion even from the outset, was enhanced.
Her actress friend from England wore a leopard print dress.
She drove away from the moustache wearing uncle who always reprimanded her behind a smile. She bought a sports car, after great strides in her career, breaking from the past when her uncle drove her around for rides around the town as a child. She had her own motivation to drive forward, carrying her bonnet and essentials.
There were mirrors on the car, perfect accessories. Her clothes hangers were on a vintage wardrobe she bought from an antiques fair in Rye, Hastings, England. It was made from oak chopped by lumberjacks in Euopean fields wearing striped shirts with sleeves rolled up, the timber lined up straight in rows.
She had her suit drycleaned, then off she went in a flash, to the waterfront by the promenade to laze around for a while leisurely strolling. Her suit was a remake of the 80s, padded shoulders. She could fend for herself without needing to look back all the time, or a shoulder to lean on.
Lip gloss she wore, she was a fascinating conversationalist. She would furnish stories without concealment only piling on floor by floor, layers of anecdotal detail.
She was clear on who she was, she used to read Jhumpah Lahiri with relish. She cooked the perfect dish with tumeric, paprika, and coriander and basmati rice with mint leaves.
The heavily oily curries, were not her thing, she had a perchant for the lighter dishes like Thai, and Chinese.
She thought the Paris catwalks had great designers of imagination, extragance and vision, but the models were too thin, so that it seeemed to lack the sensousness, worth and feeling it ought to have done.
She loved the Tang dynasty garments in The Albert And Victoria Museum in South Kensington, the long draped sleeves that were majestic and wonderful. Embroidered with cashemere or silk, and generous in the use of colour and material. They were found in museums whilst simultaneously being revived by forward thinking designers.