The Bourgeoisie and the Rebel

Love. Sex. Liberation. In the Paris demimonde, the secrets felt personal.

- AATISH TASEER

I discovered Paris in my twenties through my Indian godmother, an ex-model who had been a muse of Yves Saint Laurent in the 1980s. Kirat (or qui ne rate rien, as she was known locally: “she who misses nothing”) was exhaustingly social. Her circle of friends consisted of a deposed Georgian prince, a French countess, a Portuguese heiress, and a Charlusian character of ill repute (I’ll call him Umero). It was the last of these who, after he had given up trying to seduce me in the health club of the Ritz, let me into a dark Parisian secret: a BDSM dungeon called Transfert, within spitting distance of Place Vendôme.