Uff!!
Mrs. XXL couldn’t believe her eyes. An invitation to a book launch! At a happening place! She had never been to one. She had to go and see what the fuss was all about and then name drop later. Her new solitaires had been waiting for an apt occasion. Now she could flaunt them with swag!
On the D-Day, Mrs. XXL’s bulbous arms squeezed themselves into a black satin number which showed off her ample curves in their bounteous glory. “Orange is the new black” she cooed happily as she sparkled in her solitaires. She borrowed a notepad and a pen from her Pappu who rolled his eyes and she then set off to the venue in her new Audi ('hawdi' as she called the tyre roller)
As luck would have it, Mrs. XXL found an empty seat next to Mrs. Tambaram, the neatly coiffed, jasmine adorned, cotton saree clad crisp lady.
The clannish set on the dais, sporting carefully constructed bedside threads and visage, was spouting elegant verbose prose on how pristine words were being sent out to space to heal and find closure - something like that.
Poor Mrs. XXL couldn’t figure out much which direction this erudite conversation was headed, though Mrs. Tambaram nodded vigorously and vociferously in tandem with the proceedings on the stage. Mrs. Tambaram was totally in tune and was blissed out.
Unable to stomach the Rapidex robustness of the language, Mrs. XXL decided to check out the crowd.
Everyone was dressed in black—mourning black, happy black, black-black, white-black, generally black and black with specs of colour.
Soon, the book cover was unveiled and before the host could utter the monosyllabic Tea, everyone made a beeline to the refreshments stand.
One look at the fare, Mrs. XXL was stricken. ‘Eeek, what Ghaas-phoos! Winter is in and yet no wine shine, no chicken tikka! Only chai! For this, I had taken out my “going-out Solitaires”? Plus, I bought a copy too. What will I do with this book? Where will I find a guinea pig to offload this horror?’ She wailed to her friend Mrs. MediumLarge, who nodded understandingly.
Mrs. Tambaram whose petite frame was overshadowed by the massiveness of Mrs. XXL overheard this tacit exchange of views. She was livid, to say the least. ‘Such Hoi-Polloi land at these literary meets! Philistines! What do they know about Goddess Saraswati’s blessings on the chosen few? Must tell Ms. VodkaMartini to be careful with the guest list.’
Mrs. Tambaram had every right to be indignant. After all, her little Javitri’s story was also part of the new anthology. Hell hath no fury as a mother scorned!
Mrs. Tambaram then declared haughtily to Mrs. XXL, ‘Read! That is if you can understand what is written on those pages!’
Mrs. XXL rose to her full height. She would have crushed Mrs. Tambaram, but for the foresight of Mrs. MediumLarge.
‘Leave her alone. We have to catch Ms. VodkaMartini, the mistress of ceremonies. I have to ask her if she can compere our next Kitty.’
Ms. VodkaMartini, the seasoned hostess, was luckily very busy tending to the guests of various hues and attitudes. However, she had two impending gyaan sessions looming in the immediate future. One from Mrs. XXL and one from Mrs. Tambaram—ironically, both were about the importance of scrutinizing the guest list.
Book launches are special. Not for all!
At least these two agreed on something!
AJ wants to know what is the Tharoorish word for this?
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