JOIN USI have heard and read that the daily life for celebrities is quite tough what with having to balance a perfectly human existence along with the dyspepsia caused by having paparazzi following them around with enlarged lens.
Sometimes the existence itself is snuffed out; Princess Diana’s accident is a case in point. No wonder that the celebrities live in bungalows which are at an Olympic sprint-worthy distance from very high walled compounds. High trees near and outside the compound are ruthlessly cut down as adventurers can take good, zoomed in snapshots from vantage positions on tree branches.
But it is also true that environmentalists can sniff a tree being cut down from miles away. So, when the celebrity is faced with such a tree hugging activist and is prevented from wielding the axe, what could he or she do?
Whenever he or she ventures out of the bungalow, identical coloured dress and dark big sun glasses could be worn by the celeb along with one or more of the umpteen companions or helpers residing therein, to delude the camera-happy-tree-top hungry shopper.
This would be somewhat similar to VVIPs travelling in one of the numerous similar looking motor cars. But being the ordinary mortal that I am, any length of my imagination could not help me visualise myself in a day similar to that of a celebrity. Little did I know that the omniscient ruler would actualise my innocuous thinking.
Some months ago I began to notice late night activity in the house under construction opposite our own. I was informed that skilled labourers had been brought in for specialised work. Their presence was noticed by the neighbourhood as they were wont to talk in raucous voices, yawn loudly, belch loudly, wash utensils noisily, etc. Their anonymity at the locale and consequent indifference made them behave so, I concluded.
I was soon to discover that at any point in time I was under observation as soon as I stepped on to the balcony or garden. My daughter, who was here on a temporary visit, got the same treatment. One early morning after much coaxing the husband, who is averse to parking a four-wheeler in congested spaces, agreed to drive the car in the pouring rain instead of his old rickety scooty.
But as I had promised to clean the car as part of the deal, I rushed out to the compound in my nightwear pajama suit, and hurriedly did the needful before he dashed off on his daily mission, his work.
It was only then I happened to see three pairs of eyes along with their full forms taking in everything of what was happening around my house. I realised then that I had become akin to a celebrity.
As I stay alone with the husband I cannot take recourse to the celeb’s method of dodging prying eyes, by wearing big sun glasses and pretending to be any one of my various companions! I am learning to bear it and waiting to say goodbye to the motley lot. Meanwhile my sympathies are with the celebs.