of Tollywood 'stars' and radioactive fish

Our dear Mr. Basu lends the celeb touch (ironical, that. as you shall soon perceive) to this blog by gracing us with this article of his, posted here for general entertainment. so you'd better be entertained.

or else!!!

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The emergence of a distinct new species usually takes millennia of
careful evolution – unless (and listen carefully) there's a drastic
change, a sudden mutation in the original species or its environment.
In which case, there's reason to believe that there's some new
neon-green radioactive sludge that's being eaten by the fish that we
consume with manic efficiency every day. Because over the last few
years, a new breed of human has waded out of the traffic-swamps of the
City of Joy – the Calcuttan Celebrity (Pirmanentli Fotoshute)

Calcutta's not a city which had any kind of P3 list until very
recently – yes, we were always insanely proud of our icons, but never
wanted to know what they did on their weekends, or what they really
felt about global warming. But now, thanks to thriving city
supplements, retail explosions (and radioactive fish), the discerning
Calcuttan is able to watch with a fond eye as June Maliah or Raima Sen
(or, on a slow day, Bikram Ghosh) pirouettes in a new designer
creation in the morning, fights for world peace in a bookstore at
noon, opens a household gadgets store in the afternoon and addresses a
conference on modern women in the evening.

It's all harmless, mindless fun, and I like my daily fix of What They
Did Today as much as anyone else. But behind the glittering enamels,
the tittering PR people and the flashing flashes there's a serious
problem.

We don't have enough celebrities. The legitimately talented ones will
only play along when there's an actual reason to appear in a
photograph. Even the most pliant of celebs occasionally has to take
time off to (shudder) work. Plenty of Tollywood stars have time on
their hands, but not too many can be seen with the naked eye without
causing grievous mental damage. And the real celebs – TV astrologers –
would have drawn huge crowds, but those chart-busting, wild-haired
megalomaniacs are far too busy making piles of money. All our business
tycoons and politicians are old or ugly.

Thus, thanks to endless shuttling between malls and studios and
overexposure to harmful flashbulbs, our small but dedicated
professional celebrity class is beginning to lose its shine. They
laugh hollowly while battling poverty; they weep silent tears as they
point at paintings.

In desperation, photographers have taken to turning innocent
bystanders into celebs by simply putting their names and pictures on
the page – but how long can a cerebral, culture-fixated city be
sustained on the knowledge that Dolly and Gautam preferred to hang out
by the bar instead of getting into the groove with Neha (sexy in red)
and Daniel? Reporters do their best too, but except when well-known
Mumbai types drop in and they can write thrilling articles on the
lines of ‘11.30 Saif scratches his thigh. 11.35 Saif yawns. 11.36 Saif
goes to the loo’ the going gets really tough.

So I'd like to appeal to everyone in my beloved city, here and now, to
join my campaign to Save Our Celebrities. We'll march from Forum to
Tantra, very slowly, dressed in designer lingerie, chanting new-age
slogans for TV cameras. Join me. I've called up all the photographers.
Hell, we'll make Page 3, even if nothing else happens.
And eat more fish, just in case I was right about the nuclear sludge.

****

I think i'll pass the last, though, thanks you very much. and let the guest blogging continue!!!