So my good friend Andrew Croft is coming to Bombay. I volunteered to book him a room. I got him one at the West End Hotel (which has an awesome bar). I emailed them and they replied saying all is cool. At the bottom of the email, it said this:

Note: We reply to all emails within 24 hours. If you do not get our reply as above it Means we have not received your communication. May we then request You to resend the same or alternatively fax it on: 91 22 22057506.

I think this is the most brilliant thing ever.

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A word about Andrew Croft the accountant:
I once told him that my job is not as glamourous as it seems.
He said, "You know what's really sad? Neither is being an accountant."

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More general stupidity:
My mum is diabetic. Every month, she spends a small fortune on medication at Parel Chemists.
For Diwali, they sent her a token of appreciation for her continuing patronage of their store: A box of 28 chocolate bars.
Fucking idiots.

A meandering rant about various people who get on my nerves. If you’re looking for coherence, I suggest you look elsewhere.

This city is full of idiots. I went to the Hard Rock Café this last Saturday night and was reminded of why I don’t go out on Saturday nights, why I don’t go to Hard Rock and why my circle of friends is growing smaller even as my list of acquaintances grows ever longer.

The thing is, I’m having some trouble putting my finger on what exactly it is about Hard Rock that bugs me so much. It’s very nicely done up, with the right mix of industrial chic and velvety understatement. But dude, the people, man. The people.

The place was packed to capacity with identical yuppies struggling to stay afloat under an ocean of hair gel, women with gorillas in diagonally striped shirts, and the pervasive, sickening-sweet smell of too much money. Oh, the bill’s hit 10k? Pish-tosh, darling, loose change. Here’s my gold card.

It’s not jealousy. I now make enough money to be able to enjoy an occasional expensive evening out without having to think twice. What bugs me is the wanton arrogance with which money is spent for something that, in my opinion, just isn’t worth it. It’s not the music, the shitty food, the lousy cocktails or the sight of Alice Cooper’s kinky leather outfit that people are paying so much money for. If that were it, it would have all been okay (says the self-appointed guardian of what’s cool and what’s not). I have a sneaking suspicion that the attraction, for these people, lies in being able to do something they've already done in London and Vegas and Bali. So they can now go to Hard Rock Mumbai and proudly proclaim: We’re like a major world city, dude. We have a Hard Rock Café.

I think what makes HRC so expensive, and so entirely full of idiots, is that everyone there is on the same trip: the belief that now that a major American franchise has trudged its way onto our shores, it’s some sort of validation of our import on the world stage. A few months ago, I worked as a fixer for a British journalist, tagging along with him for all his interviews and the like. He interviewed the principal of a Santa Cruz “international school” (I don’t know what exactly that means, hence the quotes). She said many stupid things, but the one that has stuck with me was this: “When I was a kid and I walked down the street, all we had were cornerstores to buy day-to-day stuff. Now, when I walk down the street, I see Levi’s and McDonalds and Subway and KFC and Esprit [and so on].”

Holy crap, woman! Are you fucking retarded? This is a sign of India’s fast-growing economy and increasing influence on the world stage? That we’re another market begging to be Coca-Colonised? What about getting our own brands on British high streets? The thought never crossed your mind, did it?

So there’s Hard Rock, which I suspect (although do not know for a fact) is more of a tourist destination than anything else in other cities, but which has become the place to be for Bombay’s millions of rich, young folk. (The older, more sophisticated crowd – or the same crowd on days they’re feeling older and more sophisticated – go next door to Shiro.) I’m told Planet Hollywood plans to start operations in Mumbai soon. I’m sure that will be equally popular. Meanwhile, we can all gaze at Britney Spears’s catsuit and get wildly excited about feeling like we’re in London or Paris.

~fin~

A post-script: I really do think the only way to save this city is to raze [most of] it to the ground and start from scratch.

Illustrations: Scritch