Join the club!

There's a club in Bombay called Breach Candy. Right next to the hospital of the same name, it is THE place to be a member if you are a European passport holder in Bombay. Until a few years ago, membership was opened only to Europeans and it was dirt-cheap. But I refused to become a member because the whole concept seemed really racist to me. When I finally woke up and smelt the humungous salt water infinity pool, the first class gym and the crepes counter, membership fees had increased ten fold and the waiting period is a year or more. Anyway, my papers are still waiting for approval, and I had blissfully forgotten about it till last Sunday, when I went there for lunch with Steph, Karine, Jill and Sheerine. Apart from the obvious 'kicking myself' feeling, I realised something funny and surprising. Once again I felt how I juggle my life between two realities. First of all, it seemed that half of Paris has migrated to Breach Candy Club for a day. At the pool, dads in shorts were feeding babies, moms in itsy bitsy bikinis were sunbathing (one of them without qualms displaying a huge scar across her stomach, another couldn't care less that her legs were not waxed) or chatting with their best gay friends. Skins were all possible shades of white and pink. I was surprised to realise that I was in total sensorial shock! Had I become more Indian than I ever thought??? This public display of self freedom and comfort with one's own body suddenly felt so alien, like something from another era. In some corner of my mind something clicked - 'yes, you lived in Paris in the past and yes, that was your everyday!' and 'yes, now you live in a place where you wouldn't even dream of wearing sleeveless if your arms are not waxed, and where you would ask the pool boy to put your chair behind the bushes at the Bombay Gym, so that you can sunbathe in a bikini. Where you would rather pinch yourself before displaying affection publicly to your husband, forget about asking him to feed the baby while you are having a chocolate crepe with your friends'.
Then the conversation went about where to find organic beef, frozen blueberries and some complicated cheese. And about going back to Paris followed by tearful reunions with stilettos and clean streets.
I almost felt dizzy trying to juggle the conflicting feelings in my head. It was like I was hearing someone from the past, who was yet in my present and part of my present, yet my present could not be more different. Did you get it? Neither did I! Let's just say it was a funny reverse cultural shock.