Finding The 'I'

The other day I had lunch with a friend in her bungalow in Lutyens’ Delhi.

- Madhu Jain

We sat under a sprightly garden umbrella, near towering neem trees and surrounded by idiosyncratic shrubbery. I suppose I am rapidly becoming one of the ladies who lunch. Earlier that week I had been to a luncheon party in an almost neighbouring garden. It was peopled by women in heels. One pair of teetering heels had threatening-looking red soles. The lady who belonged to them kept crossing and uncrossing her long legs so that we would notice her Christian Louboutins. Perhaps, these red-bottomed designer heels are not the ideal footwear for walking on the deep green grass which had obviously been watered the day before. Nor did the sparkling clutch bags or the long diamond earrings quite go with the sylvan surroundings.

The luncheon party guests tried to avoid the sun and flitted from one white wrought iron table (duly protected by garden umbrellas with floral patterns) to the next, in pursuit of the more happening guests. At least those who announced their place in the hierarchy of the branded, almost wearing-labels-inside-out to make it easier for those trying to zoom in on the ‘arrived’. The crockery and the cutlery were perfectly matched, as were the serving dishes. Similarly, the garden with its neat rows of flowers and manicured lawn was picture-perfect. But there was something that jarred. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it — there was a reason, perhaps, why I was not transported t