In Defence Of Bina Ramani

Every morning, munching Marie biscuits with my tea, I am horrified by the brutal murders in the city: a four-year-old child raped then strangled, a bride burnt alive. I knew Jessica and mourn the death of a bubbly glamour-struck, fun-seeking young woman who dared eye greener pastures. I feel for her family and share their grief, which no one seems to care about in the battle for shock-value press coverage.

Instead, there is the rush to demonise Bina Ramani. This is based solely on the fact that the murder took place at her recently-acquired heritage building, which, the press hints gleefully, she has turned into an upmarket commercial complex selling sexy lingerie and perfumed candles. I've been to the complex, found it fun, elegant and clean, reminiscent of the care given in Europe to heritage-building conservation. Much money was spent on conservation work, overseen by Bina's Canadian husband George Mailhot, who, prior to his marriage to Bina, was attached to the Canadian embassy's development section. George played cards with us during Diwali five years ago and ended up marrying Bina. At that time Bina had wondered if she should marry a crazy press attache from the Israeli embassy. Sonal Mansingh and I had noticed George, gigglingly approved of him and appreciated his impressive plant collection. Bina's earlier marriage to an Air India executive had ended in divorce, allegedly over her proximity to Zubin Mehta. Credit must be given to her for raising two daughters as a single parent and also for having, after her return to India, struggled like any other single woman to survive in Delhi's cold jungle.

Bina is a fun-loving, warmhearted scatterbrain, and could not by herself have set up the colonnade as it stands today. The credit goes to George. I've known her to be a tireless matchmaker with endless energy aimed at perching herself firmly on top of the social ladder. She sees herself as a social queen with a bohemian slant. Entertaining people is her forte, the richer and more powerful the better. But then, there are so many in this game without her trademark elan. I see her as a trendsetter who sincerely wanted to give this often boring city some pure fun.

I've met the most interesting personalities at her parties. I recall the weekend spree she arranged for honeymooners Karl Hapsburg and Francesca Bornamitzia. A reticent Karl noted a guest taking photos and insisted on being given the entire roll as he wasn't sure what some guests were smoking. He told me he had to be careful as the representative of Europe's oldest, if terribly broke, dynasty.

As a politician friend once told me:  There is something about Bina, no one can be like her. She isn't bad, just open to all kinds of people and so gets into trouble.  A friend, who almost married her, gasped:  I couldn't keep up, it doesn't tire her to attend four parties a night. She was born to party. 

It's only fair to note that everybody loved her parties and anybody who mattered was seen at her restaurant. Ministers, Delhi's leading ladies, bureaucrats, top journalists, select industrialists and, yes, models and designers - they've all sipped her deadly potion.

The fact is, parties today are different in purpose and style as compared to the elegant parties in the Delhi of the '80s. Politicians with pot-bellied clout weren't invited then. They wouldn't notice your rare Kashmiri carpet. Worse, they just might burp at your table. Socialites vied with each other to patronise dancers, singers, writers and serve ghar ka khana, not 'by-the-kilo-take-away' disguised today as designer gourmet.

Today, partying is about connecting with power and money, the need to be seen. As power and money are vested in dubious people, usually linked to politics, a few gunshots are not surprising. And Jessica's murder was an incident waiting to be triggered.

The tragedy happened because someone felt he was above the law. Podgy Manu Sharma had probably, since childhood, witnessed people bowing to a liquor baron Congress-boss father. Such youth, hell-bent on enjoying dubious first-generation wealth, lose respect for law and order. And a Ramani's entry-by-coupon evening is a door to the in crowd they desperately want to be part of. While a skimpily-attired Malini Ramani would gladly scoop up the cash for drink coupons, she couldn't help a snooty attitude to such customers.

If Bina had tampered with evidence, the act would be heinous. But that she served liquor without a licence is inconsequential. Most people break this law thanks to out-dated rules and the frustrating system - that involves much bribery - of obtaining a licence. Moth-eaten impractical laws make it impossible to live as law-abiding citizens.

India is going through the pain of rapid change into a consumer society. After burgers and mini-skirts comes the New York ethos a la the Ramanis. As one who celebrates the freedom of individual choice - including the freedom to be a divorcee or bartender - I hope Bina will come out of this with her sunshine smile. And that she'll continue to give us glamour and fun-filled evenings. We've had enough of 'cultural nights' where you lose your favourite sandals at the door and injure your back at squat-on-the-floor evenings that turn us into frauds as we 'appreciate' a mediocre dance recital. I'll buy coupons for drinks any day!