A fun read from Hong Kong!

Just in case you find it a strain to read the piece that appeared in the South China Morning Post ( shall we call it the Times of India of the region? ), there is also a link to the journo's blog at the end of this post ....
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Last night, friends had a strange experience at a swish new Bandra restaurant called 'Bungalow 9' , when they handed over their car keys to the valet who offered to park their car. When they finished dinner and emerged from the restaurant, they were told their keys were missing! One of the ladies from the small group is at an advanced stage of pregnancy.... twenty minutes of standing on the footpath later, it was decided she should be dropped home by cab and the spare set of keys to their car procured from the owner's flat in South Mumbai! It doesn't end here.... a stranger called 'Bungalow 9' much later to say someone else's car keys were in his car! How did they get there?? After all this inconvenience, the poor pregnant lady suffered some more and was sure she was going to deliver prematurely the same night ( turned out to be a mild case of food poisoning - to add further insult to injury). Am interested to know how someone in New York would have handled a similar situation. I'd say the aggrieved customers would have phoned their lawyers and sued the restaurant for mental and physical trauma. Justifiably so.
Seems like we have become a country of Lame Ducks! Don't worry, Manmohanji... you are not alone..... you have company! Lots of it!!!!
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http://ramarights.blogspot.com/2011/02/de-in-hong-kong.html

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Happy Dhak Dhak Day!

This is my 'proud mommy' moment on the golf course with my son Aditya. Yes, my heart definitely went dhak dhak as his club ( Willingdon) battled it out with rivals United Services Club last sunday.
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This appeared in Bombay Times on Valentine's Day....



Happy Dhak Dhak Day!

It’s time to rename Valentine’s Day, don’t you think? Why not desify it like we desify nearly everything else? I suggest ‘Dhak Dhak Day’! It sounds catchier, and perfectly echoes the heartbeats of millions of sweethearts as they pine for or pamper the objects of their desire. Thank God Mumbaikars successfully won that war against political bullies who had once tried to derail lovers by vandalizing shops and beating up couples. Today, there is an explosion of pyar –vyar out there – so, go celebrate!
Is it just a coincidence that I watched two Hindi movies that dealt with the business of love during this mushy-gushy season? With two hours to kill in Baroda last week, I stepped into a multiplex and watched ‘Dil toh Bachcha…” and it worked like an instant mood booster! Tonic for my tired mind. I laughed at the stupidest of jokes ( loved the office guys in Devgun’s bank.And liked Shahzaan Padamsee a lot - such freshness and charm, especially during the ‘V-question’ scene, when she cheekily asks her boss at which age he lost his virginity!). I especially enjoyed Tisca Chopra’s gold- digger \ socialite performance – she brought some class and conviction to a poorly written, shallow role. Omi needs to watch his career choices or else this talented actor is going to get stuck in roles that project him as a bumbling idiot , forever lusting after impossible- to- get- chicks. If Bhandarkar’s confused film was an ode to elusive love. Sudhir Mishra’s ‘Yeh Saali Zindagi’ turned out to be a poem dedicated to unrequited, obsessive love. The biggest problem with the movie was Chitrangada Singh – the object of Irffan Khan’s passion.We know love is irrational and crazy, but audiences need to be convinced about that. In this case, Chitrangada’s stiff acting and strange Delhi memsaab accent ( when she plays a down and out crooner), took away from the movie’s otherwise gritty appeal. She reminded me of a three-in-one combo – Koel Purie, Feroze Gujral and Ritu Beri – coincidentally, all three happen to be richie rich Delhi glam gals. But the real star of the film by far was the absolutely gorgeous Arunodaya Singh, last seen in that turkey ‘Aisha’ ( I didn’t watch ‘Mirch’ ). This chap is pure testosterone on screen – great looks, great body lingo, competent acting skills. Mercifully ( and I do hope I am right), he will continue to steer clear of irritating filmi mannerisms. The sort most star sons project – they can’t help it – it’s in their genes. As Kuldeep, his raw appeal comes through in every scene, especially those with Aditi Rao who plays his lovely wife ( now, she’s a real find – spirited, sexy, super confident). Kuldeep has a marvelous solution to every domestic crisis – when things get hot, he grabs his woman and kisses her into submission! One of the most inventive screen kisses of all time is the one in the back seat of an autorik , when Kuldeep jumps in, holds a gun to the driver’s head with one hand, covers his kid’s eyes with the other, and engages in a prolonged lip lock with his furious wife – all this in the middle of Old Delhi’s frenzied traffic! Now, if only Arunodaya would get his jug ears fixed! He is the main man – watch out, Ranveer and other aspirants.
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In keeping with the romantic mood, Bryan Adams crooned ‘Everything I do, I do it for you…’ and 20,000 fans instantly turned into marshmellows ! Adams was predictably amazing during his fifth gig in Mumbai. But it was the young and spunky Mumbai girl Gowri ( works in marketing) who gets my applause. She joined Adams on stage to sing ‘Baby, When You’re Gone…” and did so with such aplomb, she had the crowd roaring in approval. After what is called a ‘bum rub’ with Adams, plus a warm clinch, a lady standing next to me quizzed, “I wonder what Gowri’s mom will think of all this?” Gowri’s mom, if you are reading this, please let us know!
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To sign off on a note of genuine love, I met a delightful 11- year- old girl called Mahima Aggarwal
( recently relocated from Cleveland), who crochets colorful caps for cancer patients undergoing chemo therapy. You can meet Mahima and buy one of her ‘Rainbow Caps’ at the V-Care Foundation’s Victor Awards on Saturday , 19th Feb.This is founder Vandana Gupta’s 17th Cancer Survivors’ Day celebration - come… show your love. And do pick up a cap.

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18 Till I die....! That's a threat!

With daughter Radhika and nephew Amartya at the Bryan Adams' concert. Please note my poor wrist in its smart and snug sling!
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This appears in the current issue of Hi! Blitz....




The Godzilla called Bollywood…

It’s official : Bollywood rules. Bollywood to the right of you.Bollywood to the left of you. Bollywood, Bollywood everywhere! Bollywood has grown into a monster that has devoured every conceivable space in sight – from fashion , sports, media, society, lifestyle,politics… you name it and it’s right there. In your face? You bet!Nothing else matters.And nobody comes anywhere close to competing with our super glam stars – not even our super-super glam socialites who once held sway as undisputed empresses of all they surveyed – which was mainly , men with money. These fading Divas stood for all that was aspirational, desirable, sexy. Today, it’s Bollywood or bust…. and to hell with Mrs. Money Bags and those stylish parties that used to be the hottest ticket in town. Today, these same ladies are the ones chasing Bollywood royalty. When did this surreptitious palace coup take place? Why? How? By whom? And what will happen to our society swans if nobody bothers with them anymore? Okay, let’s get a quick fix first – Delhi was always hopelessly Bollywood- struck, even back in those days when national calamities saw film stars getting roped in to raise funds ( to the film industry’s credit , all those invited to contribute time, effort and money, did so generously and won the hearts of their audience forever ). But what one witnesses in Delhi today is unadulterated hysteria – a demented level of obsession - over any and every Bollywood name ( zero quality control in the Capital) with brazen groupies from sarkari and corporate backgrounds getting orgasmic at the thought of hanging out and most importantly, being clicked with minor filmi types. Don’t laugh when I tell you that it has come to a stage when even a Koena Mitra will lead to rioting at the venue, and an Abhay Deol ( I love him, but he isn’t exactly Aamir Khan) would require police protection – yes – it’s that insane. The only topic of conversation that gets Dilliwallas going is Bollywood gossip, especially if it involves ‘The Bitches of Bandra’ ( that’s what this high profile gal gang of spoilt filmi wives calls itself with unadulterated pride) and ‘The Gay Club’ featuring top directors and their toy boys. The questions rarely go beyond, “Is it true that so-and-so is doing that slut?” And yes, ‘slut’ is now a unisex putdown….or a term of endearment - take your pick!
The Bollywood onslaught started with stars taking over the modeling world and ad agencies opting for Bollywood biggies over top models. If in the old days, only a Vinod Khanna would be seen bathing with Parmeshwar Godrej’s Cinthol soap, today there is hardly any product category left that does not hire movie stars to peddle its wares. Ditto for show stoppers at fashion shows. Clients insist the returns are there for all to see – brands which sign on top stars , see sales figures going through the roof within months. Designers with zero talent establish their credentials as soon as a nubile starlet struts down the cat walk in one of their hideous creations. From paan masala to snazzy cars, from booze to balms – Bollywood is the flavour of the decade. Which is why it comes as no surprise that event managers, party organizers and those dodgy ‘charity queens ( whose favourite charity is themselves!)’ from both cities fervently court Bollywood, knowing that without the stars , they won’t make it to Page 3 or even Page 30. It’s turned out to be a win- win situation for everybody. Not a single medium has been spared the ultra- aggressive Bollywood attack – not even Bollywood’s arch rival - television! The top ranking shows feature most of the Khans, plus Amitabh Bachchan. Less prestigious reality shows thrive on the presence of B-grade upstarts to C-grade imports from Pakistan. All the mighty movie stars who’d once sniffed derisively at the idea of appearing on the small screen are lining up in droves, attracted by the mega bucks being thrown their way by canny channel heads. Why, even the legendary Madhuri Dixit has taken ‘chhuti’ from her hausfrau routine in America to sign up as a judge for a dance show.
That leaves politics – India’s alternative entertainment show. Somehow Bollywood has still to crack the big time in national politics. The few who dared to venture into this murky terrain came away wounded ( Amitabh Bachchan being the best example). Others who flirted with netagiri ( Govinda, Sanjay Dutt) realized soon enough that histrionics and politics are not the best combo. Not even a Shatrughan Sinha or Raj Babber could get to the top of the pile in quite the same way as those superstars-with-shades from Down South. Jaya Bachchan is no Jayalalitha and as for Jaya Prada, her status remains nebulous so many years after taking the plunge. Perhaps we should consider ourselves lucky that at least one key territory (politics) remains Bollywood -free so far. For soon the business of sports (IPL, anyone?) will be entirely swamped by Bollywood as well… and before long , so will real estate (most successful builders are happy to act as fronts for movie stars). Ironical that the very film industry that was once looked down upon and shunned by true blue snobs, is being actively courted by the same lot and their party loving bachcha log who are best buddies with the ‘cool set’ in Bollywood. That leaves just our snooty private clubs and gymkhanas, most of which refuse to entertain stars as either members or guests. Plus, a few building societies which just about stop short of putting up signs reading: ‘Stars and dogs not allowed’. Pity. Imagine living cheek-by-jowl with someone as hot and adventurous as our Piggy Chops.
Life mein aur kya mangta?
Errrrrr…. a reality check, perhaps??

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Battle Hymn of the Pussycat Mom.....

My right wrist continues to be tender and sore. In fact, it is in a smart, black sling with the words McDavid inscribed in white. Farhad T. a supremely capable orthopaedic surgeon has given me a week to get my act together and rest the blessed wrist .... or else!! As you can tell, there's no off- day for either my poor over-worked wrist or my restless brain. I am at it ... relentlessly. Stupidly. Like Bryan Adams, I 'll be singing "18 till I die" !!

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This appeared in The Week.....

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I am convinced Amy Chua, the Chinese- American author of this season’s best seller, ‘The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother’, wrote the book to make other moms insecure and jealous. Well, she certainly made me wonder where I’d gone wrong raising my six children.Amy, a Yale professor , married to an American-Jewish husband who is a novelist, has come up with a theory about parenting that is not just daunting but positively terrifying! She has a one point mission: to make her two daughters into super achievers, no matter what it takes. Amy was raised by exceedingly frugal Chinese parents who stressed on the virtues of hard work – well, the results are there for all to see. The reason why her book has generated so much heat is because of her contention that American parents are a bit too laid back and liberal with their own kids. The typical American style of parenting , she argues , leads to the kind of self-indulgent children who take life for granted and willingly settle for second best . Her own daughters were raised in the ‘traditional Chinese’ style, which involved a punishing regimen bordering on the cruel. She did not allow them to watch television, access computers, go on dates or participate in plays or sports at school. Instead, they were forced to practice music and slog over their text books , with Amy unwilling to settle for anything less than A+ grades. Amy criticizes the ‘Western’ style of parenting, which only fosters mediocre thinking that leads to self-esteem issues in later life.
Since the publication of the book, mothers the world over are asking themselves where they have failed and which category they belong to. After digesting the contents of Amy’s memoir, I dealt with my own self esteem issues, I figured I fell into the Pussycat category of mothering. Or worse, the benign cow. My own mother would have been a meek lamb. Both of us were naïve enough to believe all that a child ever needed was an abundance of love and understanding - that’s it! Advocating achievements came really low down on the parenting scale. If the children did well at school and college ( surprise, surprise – they did!), then that was a huge bonus. But we weren’t there to either push or judge them. I remember attending all those dreary Open Days at school and meeting parents who knew every half-mark lost by their genius child. They’d aggressively demand an explanation from the teacher as to why that measly half-mark was cut. I’d be the one who’d spend no more than five minutes per teacher and ask breezily, “Any serious complaints? No? Oh good! Have a great day.” If the kids wanted to spend hours and hours learning something thoroughly ‘useless’ ( according to other parents), I’d encourage them to pursue that passion till they tired of it and discovered another. Exams? Well… so long as they got through and enjoyed their studies, I left them alone. Their adventures on the sports field interested me much more, and I liked their flirtations with music, movies, singing, art. Amy would have thoroughly disapproved of my casual behaviour and accused me of being ‘brainwashed’ by the Western pattern of parenting. Her own rather extreme responses to her children’s lapses ( she threatened to burn all their soft toys for a minor lapse) are honestly documented, which is what makes it such a compelling book. She is honest enough to admit one of the girls rebelled openly and got into tennis. Her husband’s reservations clearly didn’t count since Amy was so certain about and hell bent on her mommy objectives. She may be bang on, given the stupendous track record of Chinese-American kids in the U.S.
Another book that is also creating waves by taking an entirely different route to parenting is ‘Love in Two Languages: Lessons on Mothering in a Culture of Individuality’ by Bonnie Ohye. Now this one seems more in tune with sensible parenting as opposed to tyrannical. Ohye talks about non-verbal communication, which according to her ( and I entirely agree), is far more significant to understanding children than anything they say. Ohye’s Japanese upbringing focuses more on a child’s psychological needs, which are subtle, fragile and delicate. She talks about the power of a glance, a touch, gazes and gestures that often convey much more than the Western habit of mechanically repeating, “ I love you.’’ The language of silence can be potent and comforting at the same time, for through silence one appreciates serenity and grace. Ohye writes persuasively and convincingly. I recommend both books…brute force wins wars but loses battles. Peace and love foster trust over a lifetime.
Sigh! I confess I’ve failed the Tiger Mum test. But there’s hope for me as a Pussycat whose kittens aren’t faring too badly in the big ,bad world out there. Meoow!

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Mumbai ko Macau Banao......!

Okay guys.... these are some of the images I clicked in Hong Kong and Macau. Like???

And here's the column that goes with it....

Macau is so pacau….!

Unbelievable as this sounds,it was not all that easy to forget Balwa ka Jalwa and A.Raja’s manifold deals in distant Macau. I mean, I gawked at all those impressive buildings, the eye popping flyovers – the infamous casinos that are the size of mini-cities, and wondered who ran this show… and how many Balwas were lurking in the shadows of this surrealistic destination that is giving Las Vegas a serious complex, plus a run for its money. Macau has a compelling, almost sinister charm about it. Even for idiots like me – someone who doesn’t know her Baccarat from Black Jack. And hates to use the word ‘Craps’ because it sounds dirty. I am not poker faced enough to attempt the game. And roulette is something I associate with Russians holding a gun to a victim’s head. Macau is not meant to be my kind of town – but guess what? I loved it! On a much needed break after months of majdoori, we decided to spend Chinese New Year in Hong Kong ( yes….Kung Hai Fat Choy to you, too ). While In Hong Kong, a friendly ghoul suggested a decadent weekend in Macau. It’s only a one hour turbo jet ride away, we were told. Just go! That was it… off we went to check out this high roller’s den, which saw the best and brightest from Bollywood at the fabled, entirely OTT ‘The Venetian’ for an awards’ ceremony a while ago. But here in Macau nobody cares a fig about movie stars, no matter how big. This is a destination for people with a single point agenda – gambling. Forget the bizarre, surrealistic architecture ( come on…. Venice in China?), the vast , vaulted ceilings of the casino with gaudy versions of the Sistine chapel - and focus on the people working those tables and slot machines. They never take their eyes off the main game and barely look up from the cards they clutch on to like their lives depend on the hand that’s been dealt . In fact, some of them forget to go to the loo, drink water, eat or sleep for hours at a stretch. They wouldn’t blink if Kim Kardashian roller bladed into the place, wearing nothing but a sexy fragrance. Better still, if Amar Singh performed the full monty as he threatened to this week ( but seriously, in case of such a calamity, we would all need to shield our eyes). As we strolled through those garish halls, watched by beady eyed bouncers and maybe thousands of cctv cameras, it was a liberal education of sorts. Macau is the perfect example of how the Chinese execute mega projects - emphasis on ‘execute’) . Macau is the apt symbol of mean Chinese ambition.
I have no doubt modern day Macau was created by a Chinese Kalmadi. Someone who saw a gigantic opportunity in positioning this tiny island as a heaven and haven for good time gamblers with enough lolly to blow up a nuclear plant. The financials were obviously calibrated to the last Yuan or Hong Kong dollar. The humungous investments are there for all to see…. and enjoy. From the crazily constructed Grand Lisboa, to the super swish ‘The Wynn’, and the magnificent MGM Grand, Macau has put up monumental, futuristic buildings ( many more coming up) that rival the best in neighbouring HK. The infrastructure is faultless – from the time visitors show up at the busy jetty in those bright red turbo jets that ferry them to and from HK every half an hour, to the limo pick- up at the airport as Russian tycoons ( molls in tow) arrive in spiffy private jets. Floor length minks complement limited edition bags and serious rocks, as pampered ladies float into the dazzling lobbies of these monstrous hotels ( ‘The Wynn’ plays wrap around Frank Sinatra through cleverly concealed speakers in the shrubbery … his velvety voice catching visitors off guard).I swear I saw several Chinese men sporting Fedoras and resembling Oriental Bogarts from another zamaana. Yup, it’s that lunatic! The main thing about Macau is that everything works! It’s all good and tickety-boo at every level. Perhaps we should have packed off Kalmadi and gang to Macau before handing over the CWG on a platter to them … and getting royally ripped off. Not that it would have helped…. mainly because Kalmadi would still have messed up. You and I know why. Chinese bosses are not pussycats and weaklings . Had Kalmadi’s counterpart in Macau not delivered, he would have been chopped up and fed to the sharks in the South China Sea. So would his cronies and contractors. You really don’t want to mess with those guys… the level of efficiency and security one encounters at every stage, is evidence enough of that.There are water tight systems in place… the message is loud and clear. The place bristles with menacing looking cops ( the only people who understand English), who are constantly on the move through those unbelievably crowded shopping areas in central Macau. Talkng of security in India, just two days after I got back from HK, I traveled to Baroda. Idly, I looked at my boarding card and saw to my horror that I was identified as a male and my name appeared as Mr. S. De. Not a single person noticed it – not the airline staff , not the cops ( who often stare intently at boarding cards they are holding upside down ). My ID was nothing more than a club membership card with a blurred, old picture in a corner. No problem. I was waved through regardless.
I remember Vilasrao Deshmukh’s constant band – baaja about converting Mumbai into Shanghai. Unfortunately for Maharshtra’s ex-C.M. he ran straight into me a few days after I’d returned from Shanghai ( this was a few years ago). I pounced on him and asked how he could make such outrageous comparisons. He smiled and smiled ( the man is amazing – he smiles through any and every embarrassment), and answered calmly, “ But madam, I have never been to Shanghai myself!”
I rest my case.
Just hoping and praying Prithviraj Chavan doesn’t talk about making Mumbai into another Macau. Though… why not? If we can get great roads, clean public spaces, super efficient policing, dynamic bureaucrats, no water and power cuts…. plus, casinos!! Hey… that’s a good plan.
Chalo Chavanji… Mumbai ko Macau banao!

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The Gay Prince from India...

This appeared in Bombay Times on monday....
Gay Pride and rainbows ….

Last week over 3,000 people turned up at Gowalia Tank to participate in Mumbai’s annual Gay Pride march. The numbers are impressive as compared to the motley crowd that once made up earlier parades. Significantly, this year, most participants chose not to hide behind masks. This is a major shift given the sort of self-consciousness and fear that had marked earlier marches, the first of which kicked off in 2005. This new confidence has a lot to do with the sort of support generated for the Gay community by high profile activists like Prince Manvendra Singh of Rajpipla – a soft spoken, charming and refined man, who has become the main spokesperson for Gay rights from India. The community could not have picked better. Manvendra’s mission is very defined and he works tirelessly towards realizing his dream. After his appearance on Oprah Winfrey’s show a few years ago, Manvendra’s international profile went through the roof. He was one of the hand picked participants to be invited back by Oprah last month for her much anticipated finale which will feature her favourite guests over the years. This is both an honour and a very big deal. Manvendra is well aware of his unique positioning and has made the most of this opportunity to push his agenda for Indian gays.
When I invited him over, he floored me straightaway! His vision is clear, and he feels no sense of anger or bitterness towards anybody who judges him… not even his mother, who stopped talking to him when he decided to come out. He spoke easily and candidly about his life, without over dramatizing any aspect of it. These days he shuttles between Rajpipla ( a few hours drive from Baroda) and Mumbai. That is when he isn’t jetting off to Paris to meet Carla Bruni and other high profile celebrities working for the same cause. I would have liked to join him and the others at the Mumbai march, where pamphlets saying “ One World – One Hope’’ were distributed. Being known the world over as ‘India’s Gay Prince’ may have alienated Manvendra from his own royal relatives, but he has found countless admirers across the globe for his courage and grace.
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I have been looking at all the recent Red Carpet appearances of our super glam movie stars and wondering why we just don’t seem to get it spot on . Is it because this whole business of Red Carpet dressing is itself comparitively new here as compared to Hollywood? Or are we getting oppressed and bogged down by international fashion brands that desperately require the high wattage coverage such events automatically provide? What has happened to individual style statements and some originality, for god’s sake? All the ladies look like clones of one another… and the men? I miss the eccentricity of say, a Raaj (‘Jaani’) Kumar, who’d show up ( if he at all deigned to), in a vivid velvet jacket, boots and his trademark carrot red wig! Those marvelous Divas wore their sarees so stylishly, so sexily… they didn’t reveal an inch, but got all the eyeballs ! That’s class. Today, our Sridevi turns up in a risqué, backless gown….and I think to myself, whatever happened to that blue saree of hers from Mr. India that turned on the nation? As for the younger lot - all those dreadful gowns! The spangles and feathers! Miles of cleavage – and still no sex appeal! Come on, Bollywood. Go back to your roots and floor your fans once more!

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Rahul Ki Jawaani.....

Hong Kong was fun. But Macau was delirious - totally OTT and enjoyable even for people like us ( ha ha ha) who don't gamble and think of casinos as gigantic con shops. Macau over Chinese New Year was bursting at the seams with extraordinarily loaded Chinese tourists from the mainland. Every single hotel was fully booked, and getting tickets for the most spectacular show on earth ( " The House of Dancing Waters' - check out their website) was a major feat ( ably accomplished by Rama - my young journo friend based in HK). This Franco- Dragone production is so techno and terrific, one keeps gasping through those ninety minutes crammed with dance, song, stunts and gushing water that appears and disappears in the blink of an eye. I hear 2 billion dollars have been invested in this mind boggling show that makes the Cirque du Soleil look amateurish!
More on HK and Macau soon. Perhaps with a few images.... I took lots of pics, including a few of the annual fireworks display in the Harbour. We watched the show from an old friend's elegant home on top of The Peak . Since it is the Year of the Rabbit, the patterns formed by the sparklers were of bunnies! Cute....
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This appeared in Sunday Times....

Rahulji….. Will you be my Valentine?

A week from now, lovers the world over will go completely mad on Valentine’s Day – and guess who’ll be laughing all the way to the bank? Florists! While I don’t plan to send guldastas to India’s heartthrob (the Dimpled One, who else?)I am all set to pen him a prem patra reflecting the ardent feelings of his panting admirers….

Dearest , Chweetipie Rahul,

Mwaah! Mwaah!


I’m writing this on behalf of thousands of young girls across India, who are totally fida over you. For now, I’m leaving out the young boys. That is your special appeal. I believe you are known as the Unisex Hottie by your adoring fans. All this is good for any young person’s ego. But as a former Agony Aunt and current Grandma Moses, let me tell you, being a heart throb is not all that easy. Especially for someone in your unique position. Dil Ki Dhadkan is one thing. But you have to deal with Desh ki Dhadkan. And this desh is vast and varied, Rahulji. As you well know.Your helicopter chakkars all over the place must have given you a pretty good idea by now. To say nothing about your impromptu visits to chhota chhota villages, with or without foreign diplomats in tow. In fact , it was your very first photo op in a jhopdi, sharing a frugal meal with the poorest of the poor that broke so many female hearts. ‘Cho Chweet’, chorused all those girls, as they watched you seated awkwardly on a khatiya, before you turned in for the night, wrapped in a rustic razai. Chicks go for such stuff big time! It brings out their motherly instinct. They feel protective and mushy. They love a man who can rough it out - it proves he is made of stern stuff. Your mama must have been worried, but that’s what mamas are for… and even though you do come across as a maa da laadla, the girls who love you believe you are definitely not spoilt (“ bighad nahi gaya”, they coo). Plus, independent minded, too. I mean, at close to forty, mama has not managed to bully you into marriage. That’s unusual in India. A feat!
Now to the crucial question : when is the big day, Rahulji? There are only two bachelor boys left in your super league, and one of them is saying he isn’t interested in getting hitched, since he already has babies! Go figure. Yup. That’s a Salman original, and if Sallu Bhai’s trail of broken hearts gets any longer, there will be a line going up to the Himalayas and beyond. The other eligible bachelor boy is still a baby…. and rumour has it he is taken. Sid Mallya just may beat you in the Valentine stakes this year, especially after Baby Mallya ripped off his ganji, post-Marathon. But there are years to go before he gets hitched. Unless …. There is Ness, of course. But we guess, he has a lot on his errr… mind. The others don’t really count. Pundits ( political and the other astro kind) are predicting a shaadi for you in 2011. In fact, those in the know in Dilli ( which means, everyone) claim the date is set, and the dulhan is getting her trousseau ready even as we speak. Bol Rahul, bol, sangam hoga ki nahi? If wedding bells are about to clang, you’d better beat the British royals to the altar. We don’t want our Prince to receive less international coverage than … what’s his name, again?? Yes, William.
Of late, you have been talking very sensibly. Mothers of prospective brides like that. You want to bring back all the black money stashed away in those secretive Swiss Banks. The money you say belongs to India’s poor. While we don’t really understand how India’s poor were looted of their money which is now accumulating in foreign accounts, it sounds very noble and honourable. We really like noble and honourable young men considering there aren’t too many of them around. We also liked all that stuff about rooting out corruption and cleaning up the system… your father used to say that, too. But a few unfortunate deals got in the way… most of us have forgotten, but not Mr. Ram Jethmalani, God bless his memory. The thing is, our youngsters have what is known as ADS (Attention Deficit Syndrome). They have no time for history-wistory and that is why they love you. You also don’t bother about history and boring stuff like that. You prefer action… like changing the life of that orphan boy in one minute. Niiccce! Looks good. Feels good. Reads good. Lucky boy. And your humility!! Mummyjis really appreciate that quality and keep saying how simple and humble you are even though you belong to such a great family and all that. It’s true. You asked for ten years to clean up corruption. That was simple of you. Another hot headed, impatient, show off politician would have demanded fifty. See?? Indians are sentimental and understanding. They know you are not a magician. But they also know if anybody can do it, it is you.
Rahulji, you have no rival, no equal. Even Rajni can’t match you. If there is one hero Rajni cannot take on, it is you. Mind it! So on behalf of those million hearts going dhak dhak for you this Valentine’s Day, let me wish you a super romantic, pyaar bhara time ahead. Cupid is standing by with several arrows ready. India awaits the most anticipated reality show of all time – ‘Rahul Ka Swayamvar’. All are invited. No presents please. Only blessings!!

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