Thursday, February 24, 2005
I have almost stopped bitching about my life. I have almost stopped wishing for vodka shots to dull the pain of boredom. I have almost become a better man. The operative word here is 'almost'.
But there's a new story on the block. It's called An Important Night, and it's posted on Gabbles. The customary excerpt is as follows:
Abhi sipped on his double vodka and smiled at Irfaan's busy back. He's pretty cute, and maybe he was coming on to me. Was he...? He laughed then, and took another drink. I'm so frikkin' strange I keep on imagining men are coming onto me, when they'd probably want to keep me at arms' length first thing, if they find out I'm gay, he laughed - pathetic! He turned to see that Chandni was apparently having a whale of a time, and Deb was making bull-faces at her with his index fingers, while she pretended to be some virtuous (?) Italian Madonna-cum-matador. On a wildly vindictive level, he wished with all his might that Mr and Mrs Chatterjee would suddenly appear out of thin air to see their daughter in the act - maybe the old fart would get a heart attack, he grinned - and was disappointed to see that God had denied him special powers. Or maybe, he had given him those special powers after all: Abhi grinned to himself, as a smiling Irfaan came back to him, after delivering the martini.
Nothing much new on the horizon. I have been devouring TOI from cover to cover, and ET too for that matter, and have come to the insane conclusion that I actually like TOI better than either The Statesman or The Telegraph, the two institutional newspapers here in Calcutta. I'm a newfound convert. I wonder if that means the Jains will give me a hyper-paying job with a lot of glamour and a lot of fame and an instant book contract with Penguin or Picador. I'm not holding in my breath in hope, though. A little birdie twitters in my ears, that my time will definitely come soon enough... hehehehe.
Adios, nonexistant adoring public.
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