I’m sitting outside, beside a crystal clear blue pool, the sun is beating its way through the thick Delhi pollution and the banana plantation leaves are fanned by a gentle breeze.
Rosie, one of the many domestic servants brings me a beer, smiles warmly and returns to the kitchen. The reason for all this; the paid-for club class flights, the room in a mansion (so impressive that it’s been used in Bollywood films), the access to a private jet and chauffer, is because we’re staying with one of the 10 richest men in India. Unfortunately, this is all I can say about my host because he is understandably nervous about a hobbyist writer saying something stupid about him or his global, billion-dollar business. Nevertheless, it is from this detached, affluent vantage point that I get to see India for the first time.
