All aam, no khaas

Whether it is because they're no longer in power, or to feign a veneer of modesty, it's entertaining to see former netas stand in immigration queues, put a brave face to standard security procedures, and pull their own carry-on trolleys at airports without hangers-on fawning over them, or airline staff being obsequiously sycophantic. Or it might be because instructions have filtered down that, given cameras on mobile phones, politicians going abroad need to conduct themselves like aam people in public spaces. Whatever the reason, it makes a chastening sight, which is more than one can say of the actual mango people.
 

That's because some aam people are khaas - sports icons, actors past and present, industrialists and their scions, daughters-in-law and co-bros, none of whom seem to have the stamina to carry their own overnighters, or buy their own duty-free liquor, or stow away their baggage, or fill out the customs forms. Hangers-on not only, er, hang on, they also accompany them to take care of their needs. They're the ones who oversee their menus and manage their babies, order cabs, iron their crushed jackets, check them in at hotels or get the coffee perking in their apartments. They receive per diems and overtime allowances, and are invaluable for being better informed than even hotel concierges, thanks to an underground circuit that keeps them tapped into the happeningest parties and unannounced get-togethers.

Once, it used to be bureaucrats whose flunkies carried their sahib's coat in one hand, briefcase in the other, making you wonder at their inability to manage their own affairs, leave alone the country's business. Sadly, the babus now have to fend for themselves, which is why they look miserable without an entourage. To add to their woes, media watchdogs and whistle-blowers have made it difficult for them to fraternise with the rich and powerful on their international pit stops, beyond the obligatory but boring official banquets.

But those who can, party. Some in Montenegro, others at underground dives and bars in London and New York where they live out their secret fantasies, kept in rein back home for reasons of family respectability. The truly stylish get measured for bespoke Savile Row suits, fashionable again thanks to a certain Kingsman, while the majority traipse through uptown high streets looking for bargains, whether at discount designer stores or in mainstream brands. At the theatre and in museums, Indians now seek a diet of culture after they're shopped out. They also like to dine tres chic, pulling rank to get reservations at restaurants that are sold out for the hoi polloi. Social climbing is no longer about where you shop so much as where you're seen to eat - never mind that you hate the food.

How do you get in with a city's bold and beautiful? Even if you're a celebrity, but especially if you're not, a little networking helps. And the power brokers are not other celebs, but those who "support" charities. Their big-ticket events are galas and banquets, and a little backing by way of a donation can go a long way to melt a social smile, the green bucks helping push your hostess up the social ladder and you on to a table where you can rub shoulders with ageing actors and fading stars. And, if you're lucky, you might even find yourself next to the former mantriji whose mortification at having to pick up his own bags at the carousel you were delightfully witness to.