Heylo, my roshogullas and sandeshs. It’s a
Monday for me after all the sweetness and light of Dusshera Sunday. My weighing scales are tilting alarmingly after the weekend binge. I’ve vowed to go on a salad diet, pronto.
But Madhu My Mottu Maid as usual is playing dumb. She’s just walked in with a café mocha, topped with a froth of cream and chocolate flakes. I was ready to scream murder. Mots has scurried away as fast as her girth will take her. Oof!
I wish she would take a lesson or two from my Vidya Balan. Viddy is in the City of Joy shooting for Sujoy Ghosh’s not-so-joyous
. And the smile-a-mile VB is loving it in oh-Kolkata even though friends wonder how she can be away from
Mumbai for two whole months.
“I can’t explain this connect with Bengal and Bengalis,” says my sunshine gal, who in less than two weeks is speaking ‘bangla’ like a local, without a trace of accent. Hey, even her SMSes to me now are in Bengali. Does she want me to roll my aas and oos too?
Mots is back and talking
. She wants to know why Viddy didn’t express deliver some. She didn’t want the scales to crash altogether, Mottu.
In fact, the gal is showing great character and staying away from the
dois herself. But she's vowed to get me some nolen gurer sandesh when she returns.
It’s a local delicacy, I’m told, and so yummmmmmyyyyy. Mottu is already turning cartwheels, silly girl!