Then the doors of that hunky toy opened, and the Ranibaghs, all of them, save for HRH Navya Mrinalini, walked out looking sharper than Bengaluru’s January sun. Stamped in royal sheen.
The Prince was in an ice-blue tuxedo, while his mother, HRH Gauri Elena, was in a vanilla-hued silk suit with thread embroidery in a dull gold, and his father wore a sherwani of a similar hue.
They touched down at about 10 a.m. and shortly after disappeared into the city, we think.
The Ranibaghs were overdressed, which is the norm for them, but… And, why Bengaluru? The poor dears, don’t even know what dress up means down there.
Who or what do you think the Rathores of Ranibagh were dressed for? Extremely sus, wouldn’t you say?
TT is tempted to declare they’re here to close a business deal, maybe an IT project they’re looking at. We hear they’re leaving this evening.
According to Palace insiders, the gorgeous heiress from Jodhpur, Kairi Gaur, is still the lady in the dashing Prince’s life. There’s talk in society circles of an engagement announcement this month.
Kairi Gaur, who walked the ramp for luxury brands when studying in Paris, is HRH Navya Mrinalini’s bestie and has been the constant on the Prince’s sculpted arms this past year. Kairi is a fashion icon and looking to take over the family’s engineering business.
TT wonders if there’s a clue right there, darlings?
The last time the delicious love birds were spotted together was at the Four Hundred Club in Delhi, where they were seen leaving with a group of friends. Kairi was in a red dress that outlined her body, and they looked quite the pair with the Prince’s arm wrapped lightly around her tiny waist.
4.
Vedveer
All-Action Day in Bengaluru!
I’m lounging in the Presidential Suite on the nineteenth floor of Kempe Crown, the iconic hotel that also houses the flagship Prathap’s Café. I’m considering a run.
The January sun is unusually sharp this afternoon; late evening may just be right. I could go to Cubbon Park, take a couple of loops around the park and run back. It looks good on the map.
I message Ratan Singh, my secretary, who taps on the open door a few seconds later.
‘Give me thirty minutes, Yuvrajji. I have to organize the support riders,’ he says.
Is that a threat?
I glance at Ratan, who has known me since I was a boy. He’s staring at his phone, clearly trying not to laugh.
Any remaining ambition to go for a run vanishes at the mention ofsupport riders. I want to run, not headline a circus parade.
I start scrolling through my phone, looking for options that don’t involve an entourage, when aTittleTattlealert pops up, a photo of me arriving in Bengaluru. Perfect.
I toss the phone aside just as the doorbell chimes. The green smoothie, probably.
Ratan looks irritated when he appears at my door with a serving tray in hand a couple of minutes later.
‘Yuvrajji,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘There are two female staffmembers outside, requesting a photograph with you.’
Ratan knows I don’t encourage this kind of attention when I’m on personal work. If he’s bringing it up anyway, it must be for a good reason. I follow him to the door.
‘Just one photograph, please, and off you go!’ Ratan says to the beaming duo outside. ‘I’ll take it on my phone and share it with one of you.’
He’s authoritative and clearly in charge. I stay back.
‘Do you like it here in Bengaluru, sir?’ one of the girls asks brightly.
Ratan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t enjoy being spoken over mid-logistics.
‘You’re so nice, sir. Is this your first visit to our Bengaluru?’ the other adds, grinning.
