New Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Kolkata, Chennai, Ahmedabad, Hyderabad, Chandigarh, Pune
www.livemint.com
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Vol. 7 No. 29
LOUNGE THE WEEKEND MAGAZINE Ravinder Singh at the launch of his new book in Bangalore.
BUSINESS LOUNGE WITH OTIS’ SEBI JOSEPH >Page 8
THE RETURN OF THE HALFSARI
Chennai unfurls its updated answer to north India’s ‘ghagracholi’. Deepika Padukone gives it the thumbs up >Page 7
IN THE REPUBLIC OF UŽUPIS
This selfdeclared independent republic in Lithuania promises easytoget passports, a quixotic constitution, and a hopeful worldview >Page 12
Do you have a tale to tell? Try writing your own love story, and you may be the next bestselling sensation like these men >Pages 1011
THE SCHOOL OF SINGH REPLY TO ALL
AAKAR PATEL
TEN TRAITS THAT DEFINED NARENDRA
T
he first thing is that Narendra always loved dressing up. It is not easy to find a photograph of his where he is not fully kitted out. Second, he was always chubby and in some angles appears rotund, but that did not embarrass him and it doesn’t take away from the fact that the dressing is deliberate. His clothes, not inexpensive, were made so that they hid his lack of fitness. To him the externals mattered. Third, there was an end to this sense of style, and this end was posing for the camera. >Page 4
THE GOOD LIFE
OUR DAILY BREAD
SHOBA NARAYAN
SAMAR HALARNKAR
LOVE AND OTHER DEMONS
IndianAmerican author Rajesh Parameswaran on talking tigers, barmy executioners, and the abiding link between love and violence >Page 14
DON’T MISS
in today’s edition of
NIRUPA ROY OVER THE HOUSE ON JIMMY CHOO SERPENTINE STREET
W
ith my first salary, I will buy a pair of Jimmy Choos,” said the teenager. I stared at her crestfallen. “What happened to giving your first salary to your mother?” I asked. “It is a great Indian tradition. Watch any Nirupa Roy movie.” “Who is Nirupa Roy?” she asked. This then is what is called the generation gap. With her question, my daughter had effectively removed one of the perks of motherhood... >Page 4
P
erhaps it is a yearning for childhood innocence, a golden past—real or imagined, I cannot say. Perhaps it is an olfactory whisper that crept through a cranial nerve at the back of my mouth sometime in the 1970s and lodged itself in the temporal lobe, seat of my memory. Every Ramzan, I cannot help but think of “Didi aunty”, a robust woman, neatly clad in a sari, her hair plaited and a smile that never seemed to leave her... >Page 5
FILM REVIEW
DDAY