Tina, Delightful and Shapely Model


My book was lying unread as I sat in my designer cane chair. I watched involuntarily from my high vantage balcony  the women’s hour passing gently in the swimming pool. There was nothing much to look at except Tina. Mrs. Kapoor had pulled herself out of the water and was resting on a beach lounging chair. She seemed exhausted. She was a mountain of flesh. I had my doubts about her eventual conquest of her fat genes. She already held a tall glass of a cool drink. More calories to sabotage her efforts.

The pool was regaining its composure and becoming wave-less and tranquil. A bevy of fat ladies was spread around the swimming pool like derelict ships in a dry dock port. Some were being massaged by men some by women. The days of sexual dichotomy had gone. Men could now massage women at least in the Chawl Hotel. Oh there were great shenanigans here. This was a liberal residence. Anything went. Anything goes. The men have mistresses dotted all over the city and the women had lovers discretely placed in socially camouflaged locations. Everyone from the young to the old was linked to a huge network of infidelity.

Tina stood a little distance from the flock and did her yoga with graceful calm. Tina was the apple of the collective eye of the young (and secretly, elder) men of The Chawl. She sent the blood coursing at an exaggerated pace through the bodies of seniors who instantly reached for their blood pressure pills. Tina was now a famous model. She was a delightful eighteen. She could already be seen in Monri Milk; Staroo Fans; Zither Cola and Divana Bread advertisements. Tina was what all the spread-eagled ladies wanted to look like; alas time was against them. Cruel Chronometers.

The Chawl Hotel

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.