First it was about hosting media brunches and gifting spa passes, next it was sending birthday cakes for reporters at their offices and the latest craze that the ever-glitzy divas of the social circle in Bangalore are addicted to is ufffd including 'us' in 'their' world
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First it was about hosting media brunches and gifting spa passes, next it was sending birthday cakes for reporters at their offices and the latest craze that the ever-glitzy divas of the social circle in Bangalore are addicted to is ufffd including 'us' in 'their' world.
Having entered the party scene five years back, as a complete fresher, I had a lot to learn. 'Do not become one of them' was the advice my boss had given me then, in a rather dramatic tone. I have wondered over the years what she had actually meant. So, after returning to the city after a hiatus ofu00a0 few years, when a rather cranky socialite who holds the status of 'click-me-not' in the circle walked up to me recently and invited me to her circle, I was stunned.
But having returned to the circle, I realise that nothing great has changed. Except that off late socialites have started thinking that the fastest way to plant gossip about their lives on our pages is to start becoming involved in our lives too. In a week I was briefed about which of my colleagues went shopping with which celebrity and where my boss was hanging out over the weekend and even which reporter went home with the oh-so-hot model.
While slipping in short hot tidbits about their lives was the idea before, now it is just laying out bare facts to be picked up and masala-fied by us. Some share stories that are dirty, some lace them with sugary sarcasm and others, after looking at their competitor's faces plastered across our pages, claim that their wounds are still green. Some have started rubbing cheeks with their celeb friends as soon as they spot a shutter bug approaching, others are busy rubbing shoulders with their enemies.
The sooo-hot-happening sister of a Bollywood diva is making her presence felt (hard to miss her) at all the hot dos in the city and the oh-so-gay fashion designer walks past reporters with a girlish ease believing that he has ignored us - when are they going to realise that they are amusing even without trying so hard.
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But the irony of this whole situation is that I still find it weird when a rather large lady sporting a hat at a pub bends down to air kiss me, or when a self proclaimed designer walks up to me to get some gossip about his rival ufffd is it me? Or did I actually take my former boss's advice seriously?
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