TEN YEARS ago this week, a saree-clad lady with the most beautiful eyelashes and most sonorous high heels clip-clopped into my Spencer's Retail office and introduced herself as Nandini Sethuraman. Thus began countless days and few nights of gleeful conversations over private labels, expatriate life in Kolkata, and why 42 was the new 30. Those discussions were often spiked by reverberating laughter that always threatened global peace down the office hallways.
It is this resonance of personality that kept me from processing the shocking news of Nandini's death today. Mercifully, as time turns on its heels (with the same sound as Nandini's stilettos), it is the same ebullience that will keep her in beautiful memory for a very long time. So long for now, Nandini. You still owe me that Canadian pork recipe.