...is inviting unwanted attention, of course. However a 45-minute long traffic jam ridden ride in a somewhat soiled vehicle requires distraction, which is why I dug into my bag, discovered Vogue and proceeded to read about Donald Trump's third wife. I was immersed in the engrossing details of her shopping trip to Paris when some stray comments of the not-so-polite-Hindi kind made me look up. Two men standing next to me were having a good time. The back cover had a model sprawled out in a perfume ad. Fully clothed (by fashion mag standards) but with enough peeking out for the guys to lose their equilibrium. Being the easily-embarassed type, I primly rolled up the offending mag, remembered a friend's tryst with the Financial Times in Germany, though for entirely different reasons, stared out of the window at the endless traffic and tried to ignore the dust. The men didn't give up. They were now looking at my bag.
How I miss the ladies compartment of Bombay locals!
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