Every time I’m asked to write about celebrity suicides, one-day makeovers,
talent hunts that will further breed more TV soap kings and queens who go to sleep dressed in wedding clothes & makeup,
campus lingo (I challenge the world to write 800 sensible words on the cultural milieu that spawned "wassup?!"),
a party that must be talk-of-town because a model did an unfortunate Janet Jackson,
what people wear this monsoon (oh who CARES!! just remember to take the jerkin/ raincoat/ umbrella) or other such events that must be chronicled for our grandchildren, I make an explosive mental speech about trashy articles in papers. But bravado takes new meanings as I very articulately stick my lower lip out at my boss, and say the words that reflect the makings of a great revolutionary: "But… but whyyyyy?"
I cannot tell a lie- the pink slip stalks me even in my sleep (well-dressed women walk up to me in busy dream streets and hand me pink files)! So I decide to be a con-artist. Tongue firmly in cheek, I sprinkle synthetic saccharine on every word I write, squeeze every bit of sarcasm into the article and pride myself on not having sold my soul. Then the fashion designer I poked fun at calls me up to say: "Thanks a lot, my girl. We need more write-ups like the one you did. We should lunch sometime…" Oh no! How did I get on HIS side?!! (And how do these people manage to make meals into verbs? "We must tea after we lunch" Ha! English pundits will cringe. I merely grin)
Food too, I hear, has gotten fashionable. As I sit at a 5-star dinner table pretending to be interested in how the miniscule one-spoonful portion of chocolate mousse must be plonked in the centre of a laaarge plate, with a "whiff of" this and a "sprinkling of" that, my fork is ready to take off. (Food Inspector’s orders: Spoons to be prohibited in restaurants where la-di-da is served in greater proportions than yummm…). All the while, my tummy holds a rumbling monologue...
Yet I keep my job. Well, there are perks. Like the occasional interview with madcaps whose endearingly irrational & less talked of lives make more sense than the many gold-plated (or platinum-plated, as trends would have us believe) worlds of the poised. Ok maybe I do love my job...
7 comments:
Ofcourse u love ur job!n they'll love you even more for writing so well..:)
wooaaoowww
Dear Ro,
the joys of creative and evilly delightful sarcasm are no longer to be found in this world filled with instant gratification gurus. you should have known better.when people are as self indulgent as can be, all words are complimetary and all barbs are arrows from a sycophant cupids bow.
watched a reality show last nite (dont ask me why) where a lot of americans contest to become movie actors.finally some get dumped and some make it through. one of the dumpees starts rambling on about what his mindset was and his vision of life...discovering oneself, loses track of his mind and finishes of by saying "its actor-stuff maaaan". I wonder.
The image of a lady stalking you with pink slips reminded me of the matrix. "Were you listening to me Neo...or were you looking at the lady in the red dress?"
I know this comment has exceeded lenghts of decency but was wondering if you've read my article called "Hello"?
kraz.
ro, amuse yrself with the job and gorge at the celeb feast.
dont take it seriously
and dont let everybody in abt what you truly feel, not everybody understands
:)
there's many more perks for doing what you do girl....
like coming back home and laughing over some stupid hilarity that someone thought were words of wisdom...
like discovering a genius, of not ur time but the next...
of eating for free...and don't crib because we all love a free meal....
like listening to the rest of the desk talking of their experiences with other half-baked-brained people who think they rule what we eat, speak, read, and wear....
like listening to what the world has to say, and then say it to the world in your own way....
like coming back from a hard day and knowing that what the world doesn't read in print it can still do on pebblesthrow....
and hey...that cheque every month aint that bad an incentive dont u think???
hey ro,
dnt noe whether i understood wot ur tryin 2 say cuz u really cant trust d sanity of sum1 awake at 3 at nite in d office but yeah dis is wot m doing as well.
getting 2 noe d superficiality n d frivolity of d rich n d famous n d hunger 4 publicity.
just go out, have sum black forrest pastry, few drinks n dance away ur reservations in d disco n prepare urself 4 sum more of d crap.
Hey Ro,
I know exactly what you're going through because thats whats happening to me at Ritz Magazine. Just slowly learning to deal with it and laugh about it afterwards. Like Sumanto said, enjoy bits of it and laugh the rest off. Don't worry--u havent sold out.
Vineeth
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