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Once upon a time there lived a diligent, thirty year old investment banker who was known to do little other than work. More than handsomely rewarded by the investment bank for his contributions, he was never short of money and had a penchant for luxurious living. In fact, he demanded the very best of all things. The finest French wine, Savile Row tailored suits and watches only the very best Swiss watchmakers could concoct. He divided his time working between London and New York. It was commonplace to believe that he was living the life.

The investment banker was in Mumbai on business.

It’s Friday night and, having spent the last three days working from before sunrise until well past sunset, he decides to abandon the palatial Taj Mahal Palace hotel and go out for a drink. The polished concierge enthusiastically recommends a well-known Mumbai institution only steps away from the hotel called Leopold Cafe.

“The restaurant serves delectable dishes and popular drinks and is frequented by writers, artists, travellers, business people, Bollywood actors and even escaped convicts,” says the concierge with a head bobble.

Wearing his Navy Blue jacket, khakis and burgundy loafers, the investment banker sets out to enjoy a drink or two and unwind a bit.

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