Archive for October 3rd, 2008

I had the most awesome Thursday. Ever. Or so I thought at first. First a senior correspondent from a leading women’s magazine called me and asked me if I’d be open to lunch with her that day. She said she wanted to interview me for the forthcoming issue. “And prepare to be shot,” she added ominously. I had a fleeting but perfectly ridiculous image of myself running gracefully, in slow mo, alongside deers at Masai Mara while some heartless hunters took potshots at me. Till she clarified she meant photographed.

And then Ashok Banker called me. Yes, the one of Ramayana fame. And he told me to keep at it and that I was on the right track with my career. And that very soon I would be able to make more money from writing books than I ever would by writing for TV. Now that was music to my ears and rekindled my dreams of a beach side property and snow clad mountain tops and virgin beaches.

I have arrived I thought with satisfaction. Surely if journalists were calling me for interviews and I was chitchatting with elite writers, I was a bona fide writer in my own right?

Pleasurable as it was, I had to cut my reverie short. Time was of essence. I had a lunch date in two hours and I still didn’t know what I was going to wear. And then there was make-up to think about. And I had no idea how to go about, I thought fingering an unopened two year old bottle of foundation. So I called my sister. She advised me to take a blob in my palm, mix it with a blob of moisturizer and apply it like cream, all over my face and neck.

So I opened the bottle and tipped it onto my palm. Shit! Too much. But then, she did say blob right? It looked like a blob.  If she wanted me to take out less, surely she would have said dash or tad? So I did as told and had to rub it in for hours! At the end of all that effort I looked like Dracula’s victim.

So I washed off my face and called my best friend instead. She suggested I take a little bit onto a wet sponge and spread it evenly all over my face and then pat it down with a compact. “Do you have a sponge?” she asked.

“Of course I do!” I retorted. In the kitchen! But I didn’t say that. A sponge is a sponge and she didn’t need to know everything.

So I fetched the sponge and tipped some foundation on it. And applied it all over my face in an outward motion, as advised. Next, compact. I didn’t have one but surely talcum powder, used sparingly of course, would do just as well? Then I stood back and surveyed the result in my dingy bedroom. Hmmm, it didn’t look too bad, I thought exultantly.

Now, I’m anal about being on time. Which, in some cultures is taken as a sign of good manners. Here it just means you’ve got nothing better to do. So I forced myself to be ten minutes late. Which turned out to be far too early anyway.

As I entered, everyone stared at me. At last, I’m being recognized. I preened inwardly but outwardly maintained a benign smile like it was all very routine. And I wondered if I should invest in a pair of sunglasses like celebs do.

But something was wrong. They were…sniggering. And then I had an anxiety attack. Maybe my make-up had all come off. It was hot.

I got up to go to the loo to check on it when in breezed my lunch date with a photographer in tow.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. And stared. And stared. Meanwhile, I was dying of mortification.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said finally. “If you don’t mind we’ll finish the photographs first? Rakesh has to go.”

“Okay, can I just go to the loo first?”

“This won’t take time,” Rakesh said fiddling with his camera.


“Aishwarya Rai is waiting for me,” he snapped impatiently.

Only then did he deign to look at me. His lips twitched. “Perhaps you’d like to wash your face first?” he suggested.

It was the worst Thursday ever.

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