Mumbai kids enjoy literature and storytelling at this children's festival. Sudha Murty unveils her new book in the city. Mumbaikars sneak out of town to enjoy a 'pawsome' weekend. Delhi International Arts Festival comes to a grand close. Swedish embassy celebrates Saint Lucia's Day in Delhi. Delhiites enjoy shaam-e-ghazal with Anita Singhvi. Stamp to honour late Sarangi maestro Ustad Sabri Khan released. Delhi gets festive at the German Christmas Market. From kalamkari to Kanjeevaram: Delhi women bond over six yards of elegance. Bollywood and Punjabi nights at Output Bengaluru.
Santosh Hegde calls on the need for good governance. Getting down with Bollywood beats at Output Bengaluru. Cheering a swanky new venue in Bengaluru. When Sunidhi Chauhan performed in Bengaluru. Celebration of a journey of arts. Sudarshan to represent the nation in Indonesia. A classical dance festival in the city. Have you tasted these nolen gur temptations yet? Kolkata, are you ready to party till 3 am?
Freedom of expression is what makes the arts strong: Sahithya looked pretty at the launch of Page 3 salon at LB road in Chennai. See all results matching 'mub'. Aquaman 'Kedarnath' box office. The adrenaline of speed, the ferocity of competition, and the strategic challenge of the game all suited his alpha-male temperament.
- The Polo Affair - Sean Hennessy - by Orville Roso - Issuu.
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- The Polo Affair.
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Becoming a competent rider was the only aspect that initially tested his abilities. The rest was innate. His friends laughed at his insolence. He did himself, and he knew only too well why polo earned its title. Fernando is not making money with this particular junkie but he still sponsors his habit.
Bad business, but then Fernando is hooked more than anyone.
The Polo Affair by Sean Hennessy (Paperback) - Lulu
In his glory days, he was one of the Mexican greats and had played with the best of them. Even the Argentineans respected him—and they own polo. Fernando is now approaching seventy and still plays, though rarely in the last few months. He looks tired lately, the pressures of keeping the club open, David supposes, and the failed attempt to turn his hacienda into a polo resort. Less than a year or two ago credit was as easy as the climate in Cancun, but then came the economic meltdown.
The hacienda is still a valuable asset, but not a money maker. Paint peels off the stone walls, broken fences are left untended, and the grandeur of the place is wilting fast in the unforgiving tropical sunshine, as what was once charming slowly becomes simply rundown. The Royal Cancun Polo Club is losing its glitz as surely as if no royal had ever played there.
Argentina's love affair with polo
While some of the new hoteliers and foreign rich have joined the club in recent years, Fernando watches in dismay as his older more trusted fraternity pass on. David starts to see Continental baggage tags carried by arriving passengers and keeps his eyes peeled for Stephen.
Stephen likes to play the gay stereotype for the first five minutes with people, and then drops it as soon as he begins to feel more comfortable. Downing the last of his beer, David is feeling good about the weeks of companionship that lie ahead. Maria Isabel Castilla Patron, her full title, is the most arrogant and beautiful woman he has had the misfortune to meet.
She is also the only niece of Fernando and his ward since childhood. David had been reading the night before of a famous Indian polo player from Mumbai who said his two greatest loves were women and polo, and that when he died he hoped his skin could be turned into hide to be used on a saddle that married the two.
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David is unsure he can match the passion of the man, but is certain whose horse would get his saddle. Isabel has definitely driven him to distraction. They exchange a big welcome hug, and decide to stay and have another beer at the bar before heading for home. If talking were an Olympic sport, he would be a gold medallist. Stephen is thirty, blond and good-looking with an easy smile. In the last six months, he has lost his job, some of his hair and his long-time boyfriend. He remains positive and upbeat. With what he had left of his severance pay, he decided to enjoy the Cancun sunshine instead of filling in job applications in the dreary Irish winter.
David knows very little about information technology full-stop, even though most of his Irish friends are involved in it in one way or another. I might have to think of something else too. The last commission cheque will only tide David over for another month. Why is it different now, he wonders? Stephen becomes Stephanie, look at these long theatrical legs, darling.
David saw Stephen once in drag at a party a few years back and it was scary how good he looked. It was not the usual man-in-a-dress thing. The memory makes him smile. Nobody here is who he or she says they are…a lot of artists here. It meant people who were pretentious rather than artistic. David had had a meeting yesterday with a New York interior designer, who he later found out through the office secretary, had merely read a book on interior design on the flight down to Mexico, after ten years as a sales associate at the Gap.
Could David really criticise? His last job prior to arriving in Cancun had been three years as a bar manager.
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He has spent a lot of time on both sides of the bar. Not exactly the bar his parents had in mind when he dropped out of law school years before. Selling condominiums to American retirees had not been in his curriculum vitae. They finish their beer and head to the parking lot. David loads up the SUV and pulls it out onto the highway. As the sun sets quickly over the lagoon side, David decides to take Stephen on the more scenic route home, through the hotel zone and past the Caribbean beaches.
Cancun is a huge lagoon-filled square of mainly reclaimed land and coral reef protruding out into the most staggering turquoise blue sea. The colour is magical, almost unreal in its perfection. Nearly every hotel chain in the world has a high-rise presence along the eighteen-kilometre route, one hotel more palatial or outlandish than the next. He checks his speed.
This strip is notorious for local police cashing in on unsuspecting tourists and the speed limits change from seventy to forty on hardly-visible signs. The occasional healthy tourist jogs along the wide footpaths.
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Mostly Americans visit at this time of year—the Europeans come later. Mexicans, like most Latinos, dine and party late. David is always surprised to see the restaurants and bars full on the tourist of town at only seven in the evening. He prefers to eat on the old side of the city, where few tourists venture. One of them hits the bonnet of his car and David gives him a well-practiced mean look.
There is still hurt there.
I gave him space all right. They take a left turn toward the old city, passing the luxury yachts moored along the lagoon. The tourist throng starts to thin out at this point and the shops change. Tacky souvenir kiosks become practical hardware shops. All-you-can-eat shrimp bars convert to simple taco stands. He drives faster now though the road becomes narrower, negotiating the steep corners with a well rehearsed ease. Fernando had been trying to build a series of little homes or casitas around the hacienda, in order to open a polo resort, until the money ran out. Only two were completed and he offered one to David.
The rent is less than David has been paying for his condo, and it means he has the stables and polo field right at his doorstep. He feels very much at home. They drive through a wealthy suburb filled with Spanish stucco mansions. David takes a sharp left onto another highway and heads north until they reach a narrow turn-off and just beyond that another lane. The classic entrance of a Yucatecan hacienda beckons. Tall walls painted rustic red with white borders surround the hacienda. The car easily passes through the open side of the wrought-iron gates and up the short royal-palm-lined drive, each thick trunk like a sentry guard standing to attention to greet them.
The main house on the estate stands an impressive two metres above ground with a series of cut-stone steps out front. Although only a single storey, the majestic six-metre-high ceilings dwarf the onlooker. Three main columned arches rise above the lower terrace and then break symmetrically off to either side in a line of smaller terraced arches.
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The scale is daunting and yet softened by the larger-scale wrought-iron lanterns and lush tropical vegetation on its sides. Stephen is clearly enchanted. The house looks most impressive at night—the light is more forgiving, though the garden is spectacular at any time. Impossibly large leaves spring from every corner in shapes of fans and elephant ears. Deep crimson-red heliconia flowers, as big as entire bouquets, drip off the walls.
Others, such as lobster-claw and bird-of-paradise, fan out at unexpected angles. Floral fragrances exude through every pocket of vegetation, so much so that the senses are overwhelmed. David normally eats with Isabel and her uncle on Friday nights but had decided to skip this evening in case Stephen was tired or his flight delayed.
Punctuality is not considered the greatest virtue here. Being a complete bore is much less forgivable. Their dinner conversations often last into the morning and although polo is a favourite topic, they do touch upon others, but never for too long. The tyres give a satisfying crunch on the gravel as he pulls up in front of his ochre-yellow casita.
The porch light is on, and he knows Maria has probably been tidying up since she knows he has a guest. He never did, and the intrusion is welcome. Sure enough, fresh flowers are arranged in a vase he has never seen before and placed on his living room table. In addition, two dishes of sour orange, marinated chicken pibil have been placed on the counter with strict re-heating instructions—she knows he could burn water. It looks like the pizzeria can have the night off. The casita has one guest bedroom off the open living room which opens onto a small terrace, and another bedroom upstairs, which David uses.
It has the advantage of an open balcony, from which purple bougainvillea cascade down toward the driveway. Stephen expresses his approval, as David gives him a quick tour. Give me five minutes, oh, and make mine a G and T. David also decides to take a shower and heads upstairs. He strips off and throws his t-shirt and jeans into a ball on the floor. The more casual the better. His body is toned from daily riding and the few creases around his eyes suit his smile.
After that, let age do its thing. He showers slowly—he has learned to do most things more slowly here. Is it the climate or the people that teach you that wisdom? The need for speed he definitely leaves for the polo field. That was something other players said would happen, and yet when it did he could hardly believe it. It became so natural, and liberated him as a rider.
Except for the club grooms, no one spends as much time riding as he does.