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Harper's Bazaar (India) - - BAZAAR STYLE -

Lunch is at one sharp, and if I’ve been talk­ing non­stop, I pre­fer to have it alone. It’s bet­ter than try­ing to have con­ver­sa­tions while shov­el­ling food into your mouth. Lunch is also a left­over from another di­eti­cian’s plan. It’s nor­mally some brown rice with subzi or a dal, and two more green ro­tis. It’s al­ways In­dian and never non-veg­e­tar­ian. When I tell you this, you’d think I’d be 80 ki­los. But I don’t know what’s go­ing on! Maybe I’m sleep­walk­ing to the fridge at night? I’m in the car, and I some­times take the toiles with me. But of late, I’ve been nod­ding off. So that’s my power nap. My phone is al­ways on silent, so all the calls I need to re­turn get done in the car. There’s a box of pa­pers—th­ese are press queries that I need to an­swer with a Dic­ta­phone. I try and get to the cou­ture stu­dio by 5:30-6:00 p.m. lat­est. I don’t go to the cou­ture stu­dio only to meet clients. There are a cou­ple of things to han­dle there. We have a small ar­chi­tec­tural of­fice where I work on ar­chi­tec­ture and in­te­rior projects. I’m in­volved in a few in Goa at present, and a ho­tel in Sin­ga­pore. The cou­ture team han­dles most of the clients, but I’m needed for big fam­ily meet­ings and to give them re­as­sur­ance. Frankly, when they are spend­ing a cer­tain amount at a go, they want your eye to kind of bless what they’re choos­ing. And we’re old-fash­ioned like that. I want to be able to de­vote time to them and do a proper fit­ting in a toile and tell them what works and what doesn’t.

This is the time I come home. Be­cause of the traf­fic and what our megapolises have be­come, it’s not fea­si­ble to go out post work. If I have to go to a din­ner, I go kick­ing and scream­ing be­cause if you want to get up at 5:45 a.m., a din­ner re­ally doesn’t fea­ture into the plan. Es­pe­cially Delhi din­ners that are served at 11:00 p.m. You tell peo­ple ‘meet me at a restau­rant at 8’, and they look at you like you’re com­pletely mad. At home, Sal (Sailaja, his wife) and I have din­ner to­gether. I rarely see any­one in the week, apart from Sal and my sons Anand and Ja­han, whom I’m al­ways try­ing to guide (more than they want me to, nec­es­sar­ily). And be­fore you ask, din­ner is the same as lunch. It’s very bor­ing. Ac­tu­ally, for the last two months, we’ve been eat­ing th­ese diet meals that are sent home from a di­eti­cian that Apu (chore­og­ra­pher Aparna Bahl) put us in touch with. It’s all about por­tion con­trol. The bane of In­di­ans is that we don’t do plated meals. Look at the French—it’s not like they eat par­tic­u­larly light or lit­tle food. Plus they live in ci­ties where peo­ple walk a lot. But God, when I travel, I just binge! I was at a con­fer­ence where Al­ber El­baz (of Lan­vin) said: “I can take a piece of chif­fon and mas­ter­fully con­trol it, but if I see a gi­ant sand­wich, I have none”. So I’m in the same boat. After din­ner it’s time to sit around, chat, maybe watch a movie. It’s a very chilled time, and the only time I get to read my books. I have many cof­fee-ta­ble books, 700 at least, plus thou­sands of other books that I hope to read some day. Right now, I’m read­ing David Brooks’s The So­cial An­i­mal. It’s fic­tion, but it’s about how we process in­for­ma­tion as hu­mans, and how our con­scious and sub­con­scious minds work. I also read ar­ti­cles on­line. My whole ex­pe­ri­ence of what’s hap­pen­ing in the Mid­dle East changed after I read about the be­head­ing of the Amer­i­can jour­nal­ist James Fo­ley. I sleep be­tween 11:00 p.m. and 12:00 a.m., or 12:30 a.m. lat­est. Like Daphne Guin­ness said: “I just close my eyes and go to sleep!” I get sheets from the White Company, and fine muslin quilts. If I did this col­umn with you 10 years ago, it would have been very dif­fer­ent. I’m try­ing to struc­ture my life­style to be able to do the things I want to when I’m awake. To­day has to be or­gan­ised

for to­mor­row.

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