I’m going to join a gym.
The last time I did that, I just donated ten thousand bucks to the down the drain fund.
This gym is supposed to be very good. Bipasha, Ranbir, Imran, Deepika go there.
And that’s really not helping me. Because they probably invest more in liposuction and tucks than on their gym membership. Yeah, yeah I know. Grapes are sour and all that, but really dude, just take a look at Bip’s chest. It has grown over the years. And no, I don’t think it’s just “bacchi badi ho gayi” growth.
Damn. Why doesn’t it happen to me?
Anyway, sorry to digress. So now the point is what on earth am I going to wear to the gym. The yoga place I used to go to was full of auntyji’s except for a few driver -gadi -lana-ladies. The auntjis wore salwaar kameezs and the driver gadi lana ladies wore track pants with matching T-shirts and solid diamond rings.
I doubt if Bipasha comes to the gym in an old salwaar kameez.
I have nice tracks. Not the furry ones with Bebe on the ass. But really neat black reeboks. And I have a cupboard full of old faded T-shirts.
But I’m worried. I don’t have a glossy shiny pony tail. I don’t have Brazilian work out gear. And I don’t have Mac make up for the gym.
They might think I’m the woman who comes to dust the place.
Such weighty issues on my mind.
On the other hand, let me tell you about airport. This new band. They played a debut show at Del Italia. And they are brilliant. All Hindi stuff mainly, but the singer Arijit Dutta has a voice that’s so groovy.
You remember things like train journeys, playing cards with friends, sitting in a bus and watching the rain, being deliriously in love when he sings. He hits the sweet spot, that boy.
I’m a groupie, in grubby track pants.