The Elusive Lords And Ladies Of Bombay

The aristocrats of Bandra West, Bombay can be easily identified by their fawning staff and splendid lifestyle. They tend to sport soft coats of well-groomed fur, enjoy a bout of ‘string’ hunting every now and then and speak fluent poetry. We caught up with a few of the elusive Lords and Ladies (they deigned to give us an interview) and learnt about their lives and all that they love.

Photographed by Aishwarya Arumbakkam, written by Meera Ganapathi for thesoup.website

Lord Kobo The Traveller, Almeida Park

Under the dark of sofas

O’er the twist and bend

of curtain rod

a brave white shadow

stalks the unknown.

Amidst tangles of unsuspecting feet

with ne’er a care for cooing ladies

or eager petting hands,

this journeyman, this traveller,

this Monkey,

this Cat,

seeks life and its meaning.

Lord Kobo Of Union Park

He’s mollycoddled and mussed

fussed over and discussed.

Because, he is no commoner

or alley cat, you see.

No ser,

The Archduke Of Union Park is he.

For lunch they serve him,

shiny apple and cinnamon pears

with poached egg and three hares.

But he is no glutton,

or gourmand you see.

No ser,

The Archduke Of Union Park is he.

Lady Apple on a windy Sunday afternoon at her residence.

She’s haughty and polite

observant of your slightest slight.

But ever the lady,

she’ll never let you know,

exactly why,

she hates you so.

Sir Jax, the jester of Pali Hill

Jax was once full of funnies

full of love and laughter.

Sparkling with wit

and bursting with song

he was so funny.

Oh so funny!

But Life is a cruel sort of jester

one who laughs with slit eyes.

And one day,

wearing a hat trimmed with

ominously tinkling bells

Life stole his lady love away.

Ever since,

Jax the Jester

got a bit funny.

Not that kind of funny,

But that kind of funny!

His jokes are dipped in darkness now.

People laugh,

but later,

Jax’s jokes stick with them,

in their heads

in their beds,

filling them with utter dread

as they toss and turn

sleepless and awake.

Because that kind of funny is contagious.

Madam Poocha and Lady Nikko of Reclamation

Madam Poocha

She doesn’t talk much.

But she always

has something to say.

Lady Nikko

From a dark alley

peeked the dark head

of she who would soon become,

The Knight of umm…Darkness.

With a golden eye, a sharpened claw,

and the gentle swipe of a very sure paw,

she will grab your eye,

your attention

and eventually feast

on the warm cockles of your heart.

Don’t blame her,

you gave your heart quite willingly.

Lady Miso the Fair of Chapel Road

Miso the cat

is fair and lovely.

But she doesn’t believe in fairness creams.

All that lightening, brightening, whitening,

she really finds,

quite frightening.

She prefers instead

to soak up the sun

run up a stair

and groom herself

here and there.

(And quite honestly,

everywhere).

Lord Norman Francis owns an enviable collection of cat nip. Here, he is photographed with a fish variant he plans to patent.

Lord Norman Francis,

he worried a lot,

he worried so much

that sometimes,

he worried about worrying.

Miss Truffle, the miracle baby of Rizvi

When a whispered prayer

comes through,

when a song

of hope

comes true,

you start believing in believing.

And a cat named after

lunch-time dessert

seems quite normal.

And perfectly plausible.

Because you see

this little Truffle,

really is,

the sweetest thing there could be.

Lady Mimi of Hill Road spends her afternoons reading correspondence from her beaux.

The belle of the ball

isn’t always the prettiest girl in the room.

She’s the meanest.

You’ll never know

if she’s laughing with you

or at you.

She drops her hanky

quite accidently,

but pointedly

where you can pick it up.

When you bring it to her,

stuttering, stammering

hoping to win her favour,

she enjoys your distress

and feigns ignorance.

But quite unexpectedly,

she saves you with a peck.

A peck so fleeting, so chaste

it could never be called kiss.

But you’re mollified,

somewhat.

And quite a bit in love.

And as you write her your 100th letter

drenched in perfume and saccharine,

she’s already bored of you.

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