We’ve moved to new lodgings, from the dump-tastic Benazeer to a flat overlooking the sea. The address on Marine Drive is apparently a much envied luxury, and as we walked into the hipster, Artiste digs, all clean lines and contemporary art, aircon blasting, I felt like a bit of a cheat.

We managed to scrounge a room with a couple connected to us through a colleague of our father’s. I’d feel uncomfortable about it except that now I’m cut myself off from the purse strings and have a bad case of Delhi belly, I’ll take all the free comforts I can get!!

Our gracious hosts are away and letting us use the flat in their absence so we have yet to meet them. They have an eye for photography though, and the minimalist art, coffee table books and lack of any personal photos betray something of the people we may not meet for a few weeks yet.

On one wall is an art display that puts my heart (and perhaps the ‘pseudo-intellectual liberal snob’ in me) at ease, 20 odd metal book covers emulating those of famous texts published under pseudonyms and engraved on each the reason for the author’s choice of anonymity, clearly they don’t mind the controversial… I’ll have to find out who the artist is.




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