Diary of a Social Butterfly

Diary of a Social Butterfly
Thanks God we live in a big fat kothi and have proper servants’ quarters with around the clock servants living in them. All my show offy friends like Bitta and Teeny who live in mod type, fancy flats and had part time servants who came and went, now they’re stuck up inside with no one to pakao rotis or do hovering on their carpets. Becharis, they’ve all become servants themselves only. Yesterday when I called Teeny – she’s a lawyer in real life – and said chalo let’s do Face Time she said ‘not now, yaar, I’m emailing my clients.’ Jhooti jaisi. I think so she was actually doing taaki. Either that or she was sitting on the pot.

And my divorced cousin Minnie who lives in LA and is always going on and on all the time about her fab single life, trying to make me jay, now she’s also stuck up in her condom all by herself. Serves her right also.

Baby who lives in Defence says there are lots of faujis on the road giving danda to everyone. ‘What’s new?’ I said.  Janoo says that if they’d allowed us to build hospitals and train doctors instead of harhup karoing half our budge it, we would have been like Swizzerland now. So when the rest of the world has big shiny hospitals and millions of doctors, we have big shiny DHAs with millions of kothis. ‘The least they could do is turn their fancy messes into make shift hospitals,’ he grumbled. ‘Thanks Janoo,’ I said, ‘but I’d rather not go to a messy hospital.’

Yesterday when I was lying on my bed and talking to Mulloo on the phone she cuffed. Thanks God, I was wearing a mask at the time. And my dark glasses also. And gloves. And this zip-up plastic raincoat type thing I’d bought from London. With hood. Otherwise Corona could have come swimming down the phone line and attacked me also. Janoo says I’m being ridiculous but I said what about the two suitcases of chlorofill you’ve bought on Donald’s Trump’s advise? I’m crack or you? Haan?