Even after a dozen heartbreaks, my indomitable spirit came out of grief and once again, I was willing to be struck by Cupid?s lightening shaft, writes Vikram Kumar.Updated: Feb 14, 2007, 00:06 IST
Even after a dozen heartbreaks, my indomitable spirit came out of grief and once again, I was willing to be struck by Cupid’s lightening shaft — the God of Love has perhaps rarely been as obliging to a single person. I was proud of being one of the privileged few, until I read Himesh Reshammiya’s interview in a section of the press. Despite my miserable failure in the singing arena, I realised I shared quite a few things with him.
Just as the controversy and jokes about his nasal twang refuse to die down, my recondite prose, too, is not easily comprehensible, even to the experts, and I have a hard time selling my creative writings. I hate to be reminded that while this has resulted in bringing him name and fame, they have only spelt a bad patch in my case.
We both take pride in our tragic love lives. Like me, his creativity too sparkles when he is lamenting over the loss of love. I have written a dozen poems in memory of my parted beloveds. He has delivered almost 50 hit songs dedicated to his unfulfilled love. But I have yet to mint millions by selling the heart-wrenching stories of my love life. The third point common between us is the fact that both of us are connoisseurs of food, especially soups.
When I shared these thoughts with an old buddy, he brushed me off, saying, “PP (as my friends lovingly call me), you are simply unique. How can you compare yourself with a Dard-e-dil like Himesh Reshammiya.”
“You two belong to different genres,” he continued, “In his 50 hits, he yearns for his one and only love. He only has one scarf as a souvenir from his beloved. Have you forgotten the dozens of tear-soaked handkerchiefs and scarves that tell the colourful saga of your love life? And the pile of love letters that were the envy of the rest of us?”
My friend had more to say. “Reshammiya has stuck to the French onion soup, and buddy, you have tasted Dal Makhni from Punjab, Utappam from the South and Rosogulla from Bengal.
“Think great, boy! Don’t you ever think of relinquishing the epithet ‘PP’ (Paidaishi Playboy or born playboy)."