I sat overlooking the swimming pool devastated by the headline that Simon Cowell does not wear any underwear. Mrs Kapoor laboured across the breadth of the swimming pool gasping through her journey like a beached whale. Mr Kapoor was having an affair with his secretary and Mrs. Kapoor had decided to get back into shape to seek revenge.
Ours was a very esoteric and closed community. We lived in five star flats which overlooked the swimming pool on the inside and the dazzling modern bazaar of the IT Park of our city on the outside. The building had three storeys only and was built in a square shape with an inner courtyard of immense proportions. This inner courtyard held the swimming pool and a vast garden for parties and taking recreational walks.
This had been a hotel but it had to close down because it had opened a year or two too early. If it had been opened during the boom time of the early 21st century it would have prospered. Instead it collapsed financially and the owners sold the superb five star suites as flats to the rich people of Delhi. All of us were lucky inheritors of this good fortune. I lived in these flats while my parents lived in their posh haveli in New Delhi. My job was to obey my father and look after the numerous properties he had bought around the National Capital Region. I was a denizen of night clubs, five star hotels and celebrity party venues.