So we all know Bombay is a city that just doesn't let you breathe. And even if it does give you a window to breathe, the smells could land up killing you anyway. The pace of the city is frantic. Everybody's on the move. Everybody's rushing to get to somewhere - their workplaces, their lunches, their plastic surgeons. Everybody's catching a bus, train or plane. And everyday there's someone falling off each one of them. No one stops for anything. Except perhaps to bribe a traffic cop for jumping a red light so they can hurriedly be on their way again.
There's breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings, drinks with clients, drinks with potential clients, drinks with ex-clients, even drinks with colleagues to discuss your constant drinking.
And then there's the partying. It just don't stop.
There's parties for everything - a movie launch, a movie flop, a new fairness cream, a tanning lotion, a new wine, an old wine in a new bottle, a new designer, an old designer with a new face - and the beat goes on and on. Whatever free time used to be there has been usurped by twitter, facebook, linkedin, google chat, angry birds and mafia wars.