What can you do with, say, Rs 15 crores?
- Lifesaving heart surgeries for one thousand children @ Rs 1,50,000 per child
- School tuition for a year of Rs 10,000 for 15,000 children (we're talking about a less-than-middling school, nothing fancy)
- Splurge it on a luxury condominium with seven-level security, personal elevators, designer sanitary and bath fittings, gym, terrace pool with jacuzzi, a panic room and a quick-safe room (I don't even know what the last two are for; maybe sanctuaries to quickly escape to when you're paralyzed by terror at the thought of what will happen when the Revolution comes for you?)
(In case it wasn't clear by now, this is post #17384 on what's wrong with our country).
The full front-page ad in The Hindu yesterday shows an airport runway with a just landed aircraft, and a well-heeled lady climbing out of a limousine, with a concierge/butler type helping her out, holding her gloved -- naturally -- hand while protecting her from the elements with an umbrella (disclosure: I do not know for sure whether the umbrella is diamond encrusted). Oh, and in the background you can see a highrise, no doubt housing the above condominium with the panic room.
The sad part is that these condominiums will probably be overbooked and will anyway be on an invitation-only basis to keep out the mere millionaires. You can try having your secretary call the numbers provided (they actually say this in the ad: 'Have your secretary call us at ..."), but unless your net worth is in three figures (we're not talking rupees here, but crores) be prepared to take a number and wait.
The other ridiculous aspect of the whole thing is that, when you step out to your balcony in the morning, with the platinum cup of coffee made from beans shat out by an endangered civet, Central Park you ain't getting: on a lucky day, there will not be any street dogs crapping (if you're feeling bored, you can amuse yourself by wondering what kind of beans you'll find in their poo) in front of your building; on an unlucky (or extra-lucky, if you're into that sort of thing) day the canines might very well be replaced by a member of homo sapiens.
The full front-page ad in The Hindu yesterday shows an airport runway with a just landed aircraft, and a well-heeled lady climbing out of a limousine, with a concierge/butler type helping her out, holding her gloved -- naturally -- hand while protecting her from the elements with an umbrella (disclosure: I do not know for sure whether the umbrella is diamond encrusted). Oh, and in the background you can see a highrise, no doubt housing the above condominium with the panic room.
The sad part is that these condominiums will probably be overbooked and will anyway be on an invitation-only basis to keep out the mere millionaires. You can try having your secretary call the numbers provided (they actually say this in the ad: 'Have your secretary call us at ..."), but unless your net worth is in three figures (we're not talking rupees here, but crores) be prepared to take a number and wait.
The other ridiculous aspect of the whole thing is that, when you step out to your balcony in the morning, with the platinum cup of coffee made from beans shat out by an endangered civet, Central Park you ain't getting: on a lucky day, there will not be any street dogs crapping (if you're feeling bored, you can amuse yourself by wondering what kind of beans you'll find in their poo) in front of your building; on an unlucky (or extra-lucky, if you're into that sort of thing) day the canines might very well be replaced by a member of homo sapiens.
