In a dazzling display of pyrotechnic incompetence, New Delhi has outdone itself by torching a building to the tune of 21 souls, including a smattering of international visitors. The British Embassy, ever vigilant, has advised its citizens to adopt the national pastime of 'extreme caution'. Perhaps they should also issue pith helmets and asbestos suits, just to be thorough.
The fire, a magnificent testament to urban planning, erupted in a commercial complex that apparently doubled as a giant matchbox. Details remain as hazy as the smoke that no doubt choked the local parakeets, but early reports suggest a short circuit, a lack of exits, and a surplus of flammable dreams. The foreign nationals, presumably lured by the charm of Delhi's chaotic ambience, found themselves in a decidedly literal 'hotspot'.
One can only hope they had updated their travel insurance, as the UK Foreign Office's 'advice' is about as useful as a chocolate fire extinguisher. Meanwhile, local authorities are promising an inquiry, which in bureaucratic parlance means they'll form a committee, hold meetings, and produce a report that will gather dust faster than a Delhi traffic warden can fine a rickshaw. The British, of course, will continue to visit, armed with nothing but a stiff upper lip and a reckless disregard for their own safety.
After all, what's a holiday without a near-death experience? As the bodies are counted and the diplomats tsk-tsk, one thing is clear: in the great theatre of global absurdity, the Indian capital has once again stolen the show. Curtain call, please.
