Kishore Singh: The migrant glitterati

You know winter is setting in when the migrants return to roost in Delhi's salubrious season. Not the city's natives, who forced themselves back from their European villas and Dubai mansions while the sultry weather was still "wretched", but the out-of-towners who make it their temporary perch for the soirees and events that have established Delhi as India's first city of "culture" - however argumentative that coinage. That it is also the country's political cauldron is merely coincidental, the migrants in that category opting not so much for seasonal appearance as for permanent residence.

The early invitations this year have set off a trend in acknowledging the city's debt to its migrant glitterati. We're already raising toasts to those whose winter homes are rapidly being set in order by a housekeeping staff that's been sent ahead to ensure that everything from their choice of water - Perrier, Evian, Voss, but not the local municipal supply - to the comforts of their own pillows, is in place.

The first in are the unemployed rich, those of aristocratic families whose playgrounds include the Riviera and Argentina, and who are likely to be on more invitation lists in London than in their native backwater, come to air their "tiny apartment, dear". They bring the latest gossip about the royal baby and "Kate - she's a lovely mum", and trade accounts of the impropriety of the masses hobnobbing in the luxury stores where their forebears once had the household linen and cutlery customised with the family crest. "Such a vulgar obsession with brands," one says with a delicate shudder, inviting sympathy for being upstaged by - ugh! - commoners.

Next in are those whose work and family homes are likely to be in the country, but who get their adrenaline jolt from Delhi. Mostly, they have branches of the family here, and the reason they're keen to transplant themselves is because of the annual shaadi spell that will soon be underway, and for which they need to begin trousseau shopping. They're every retailer's delight, ordering outfits and accoutrements in multiples. "Excess is so satisfying," says one entrepreneur who runs a chain of home stores. No wonder he is first off the mark to invite these wealthy, if slightly gauche, migrants to his magnificent farmhouse amid a plethora of amused local celebrity.

There are others from Mumbai and Paris, Bangalore and Milan, who find Delhi conducive to their businesses - whether it's growing the market for a brand, or networking amid the "right sort". They're most likely to operate from their suites in the city's luxury hotels, ghostly residents who're gone but back so frequently, you'd never guess they'd been away. As A-listers at fashion shows and art rendezvous, they add international glamour to the cocktail circuit and are on everyone's RSVP list.

But if you're only passing through, Delhi can be snooty with a cold-shoulder enough to freeze your sinuses. There isn't sufficient bootlegged whisky to warm the cockles of the local citizenry to these wayfarers. I've been "presented" to dynastic heads and "introduced" to writers, been formally seated beside industrialists, dined "sharply" with international personalities, but never once in these years have the city elite thought fit to wine and dine the Bollywood stars. They may make their appearance on the city pages, but are unlikely to be see the inside of Delhi's power homes. To aspire to that status, they'll have to spend time and invest in an abode of their own in Delhi before they earn the grudging respect of Delhi's provincial hostesses.