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Thursday, March 17, 2011

It's a gas, gas, gas!


Dude, I was just hanging around giving the sexy Bong intellectual vibe


when this chicklet says she wants to "do serious cinema".

Er, I'm the sorta guy who likes the girls-who-read types. You know the Simone de Beauvoirs,


the Amrita Shergils,


the Arundhatis...


Basically, arty, tortured, hand-wringy feminists.

Oh, I can be all that, she whispered huskily.


So then we become buddies. No, no, not Bollywood 'good friends' buddies, just buddies, OK? She tells me about her broken heart. I tell her about my marriage. We bond.

No, not like that. I swear.

Soon, we're having these long-long conversations about feelings and stuff and we exchange secrets. I get a free extra therapist, she's trying for a role in my next flick. I think she'll be perfect as the sexy corpse who dies in Scene 1 and she's working hard to perfect her sexy-corpseness. And we're texting and chatting and poking on Facebook and all.

Oops, wrong picture.

Where was I? Ya, we were at the borderline sex-text ha-blah stage, whoops, did I say that? and one day, after she gives this brilliant performance as the corpse in Scene 1, I land up at her house and we gravitate towards the couch.


So I say to her, "Let me see your stomach ya... just to see if you'll make a nice corpse. I want a special sort of corpse, you know? Just any old corpse won't do.


But she had some stomach problem that day. I was wondering if I should offer her Digene or Pudin hara but then I had to rush off. The wife was calling,


my therapist, the one I pay shitloads to, was calling,


my personal assistant was calling.


Who the fuck invented the smartphone?

Then I'm thinking corpse in Scene 1 with stomach problems not happening, boss, so I cut chicklet from the script. Arre, I'm the creator, no? I'm the master of my universe, no? What's the point of being a big shit director if I can't drop a couple of corpses here and there?

Next thing I know, I'm the new Madhur Bhandarkar in town.

I hate the guy's movies.

Now, I'm afraid to go home cos the wife's pissed off ("Whaddya mean you can't stay faithful, jerk? Tell me all their names NOW!")

That is some serious shit, that sword.

And my mum's pissed off as well.

"I laabh you but I am bheri disappointed," she said.

But you know what breaks my heart? No intellectual babe's gonna look in my direction after this... for a whole damn week maybe.


FML, felled by a farting corpse, just when I really had it made!




(Nope, Manjula Narayan didn't take any of these pictures. She's not even the one talking in the piece though these are her words)




2 comments:

  1. freaking hillarious post. coughed out a lung laughing.

    ReplyDelete