Stars big and small

This blog is supposed to record all the earth-shattering events that take place in my life so it's unforgivable how I haven't written about the recent spate of celebrity spotting that has taken place.

I know London happened quite a few weeks back but in my excitement at seeing Bono and the boys, I missed writing about the other stars of the firmament, a strange synonym for the sky, I am told.

Rani Mukherjee was seen as we wandered up and down Oxford Street, trying to find a pair of shoes for M. Finding an agreeable pair of shoes for M is less likely than finding Rani Mukherjee, I will have you know. Now, I am not clued into fashion like the girls at High Heel Confidential but I did notice that she was wearing an electric blue sleeveless dress and looking darker and shorter and thinner and much more attractive than she had led me to believe all these years. It's a good thing she got her shopping done then. After the stupendously stupid Dil Bole Hadippa, am sure her heart is not in it anyway. But both she and I like boys called Adi, so we are all good.

Moving on, we were looking for a place to eat among the several roadside eateries around the area and sitting inconspicuously at a table were Boman Irani and Ritesh Deshmukh. One cannot really be too inconspicuous when one is as dazzlingly handsome and leaking star appeal from all pores like Ritesh D but you know how it is. Also, Ritesh and us, we are practically best friends, after Goa where one sat next to him, frozen in the mortal fear that the little one, overexposed to Bollywood from a very tender age, would burst into Dekha Jo Tujhe Yaar, Dil Mein Baji Guitaar, a timeless classic of Hindi cinema, rendered by superstar Mika. That reminds me, anyone else following Kurkure Desi Beats Rock On on MTV? I am totally hooked, not least because Mika was guest judge on one of the rounds, working the Singh is King look.

I would have considered this a good haul for one trip but no, another day, the same eatery, we see a tall neck sticking out from a table. On closer notice, one sees that the tall neck is attached to an unfairly good looking face. Deepika Padukone, we whisper happily and nudge each other furiously. About seventy-five per cent of her face was covered with her sunglasses but what was remaining was very pleasing to the eye. I wish I hadn't seen Love Aaj Kal. It really spoilt it between us. Achha, poori family aayi hai, M and I said understandingly to each other, having spotted daddy Padukone at Hyde Park on a previous occasion.

That was London, clearly quite a Bollywood magnet.

When we were checking in for Singapore, we saw a creature in harem pants that had been coaxed to show a little bit of skin, harem pants not usually known to do that sort of thing. Arrey, Jiah Khan, with full make-up on, I recognized in an instant. Most thrilling, what with her being our own Lolita to Amit ji. When we were returning from Sing, I spotted a lady with a huge LV bag. But see who her husband is, said Mahesh when I pointed out this little fact to him. Err, it was a certain Mr Kamath.

The Jet lounge on our way back from Delhi this last trip was also teeming with mini-celebrities. The food was excellent so I focused on that. That is Nafisa Joseph, said M, nodding wisely as he saw an attractive, glamorous girl with mummy ji and friend with effeminate mannerisms in tow. A tad difficult, my boy, given that Nafisa has been dead for a few years, I told him. Ah, then who is this, he asked. That is Sophie, I informed him. Hain, who? was his intelligent reaction. I gave up. Deepak Tijori was surprisingly accompanied by Tisca Chopra (I admit I had to google her name, remembering her only as the leading lady of Platform, first-class film, released circa 2005. What? I grew up in the eighties, I have to know these things.)

In other news, I found some excellent hardback novels by my beloved author Shivani at a Reliance store in Amby Mall in Gurgaon. As usual, M lost absolutely no time in sauntering upto a salesperson and asking for this amazing book called Bringing Up Vasu. Normally, sales people look a little confused and ask for the author at which M proudly proclaims - Parul Sharma, causing me to dive behind the nearest DVD display and turn beetroot red in embarrassment. Then they shake their heads and M launches into how they need to be better stocked with this fantastic bestseller. People should be careful when they wish for spousal encouragement. Anyway, this time, surprise, the guy pointed to a whole stack of the books. M looked through them very happily and then told the guy - Main toh aise hi pooch raha that, leni nahin hai. Hey prabhu a thousand times over.

I am thrilled at having found Shivani's books though, given that they are not very easily available. I bought four of them but the idea is to collect the whole set, every word that she has ever written. She is extremely inspiring. Four generations of Sharma women have read her and loved her to distraction. Yeah, that's right, four. My mom would return from college to find her grandmother reading one of Shivani's books and shedding copious tears. Kya hua, Amma, Mom would ask. Krishnakali dies, Amma would sob. I can empathise. Last evening I had to lock myself up in my bathroom and cry for quite sometime as I finished a story.

Bookstores are teeming with Chetan Bhagat's Two States, sure to sell a gazillion copies in the first week of release, sure to be made into a Bollywood film starring Salman, Aamir and SRK with Deepika, Katrina and Priyanka playing respective love interests, sure to get him offers for Hollywood adaptations that pay him only a trillion dollars for the rights, sure to get him mobbed at literary festivals by frantic fans wanting a sample of the charno ki dhool, sure to inspire envy in other struggling writers.

Who, me, envious? Naah!

Now repeat to yourself, Ms Sharma - no, it's not just dumb luck, it's not clever strategising, it's not about cleverly playing into an existing need gap in the market, it's not catering to the lowest common multiple of readers. The fellow is hugely talented. Now that should set some good karma flowing your way and open the writer's block that you have been trying unsuccessfully to clear with mental images of Drainex doing the rounds of your creative pipes.