Gosh, it's been a busy, busy, week. My jet lag is now kicking in. My Louis Vuitton trunks are groaning under the stress.
Gosh, it's been a busy, busy, week. My jet lag is now kicking in. My Louis Vuitton trunks are groaning under the stress.
My stomach is hungering for simple daal-chaaval. And my pillow looks the most inviting place to rest my head.
First of all, I simply had to be in Delhi for the swearing-in parties. Of course I skipped the Gandhis': their austere soirees with herbal tea where the only thing sparkling is the conversation are really not my cuppa.
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I hopped over to Mamata's but discovered there was no hope in a crowd that didn't recognise my brand new Rajesh Pratap.
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The inner, inner circle, was at the Scindias'. Good fun, although, not the best I've been to.
Took the next morning flight into Mumbai for KJo's party.
As exes and presents and somewhat exes and probable futures all swished into the place with their Bottegas and Botox, the false eyelashes (on both the men and the women) fluttered as rapidly as the shutterbug flashes.
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The food was adequately good, the conversation appropriately vapid. But a couple of drinks down, the crowd was on the floor to shake a leg and to fight with the DJ over why their specific hit songs had not been played first.
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I beat a retreat at the point when the make-up on the men flows faster than the martinis.
Rumour has it, that the party went on till five am, the Khans flexed their biceps at each other, the Bachchan bahu clung to her father-in-law, and a couple of starlets had a cat fight. Yawn! A typical Bollywood party.
Next, I was on a flight to South Africa for the finals. Though Bangalore did not win, the after party was still worth it.
Kats dimpled at me, Akon stopped over to say hi. And the cricketers stood by on the sidelines (after all, who watches IPL for the action on the field?)
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Now it's back to Bangalore for a breather. Gosh! It's tough when you're the centre point of every do.