A senior reporter of a competing paper who is a good friend flashed a shocked look.
“Don’t tell me boss that you are not going for Paris Hilton press conference. She’s in Dubai and is the talk of the town,” he exclaimed.
“First, it’s not my beat. Second, meeting celebrities has not helped me greatly. Maybe, Orianna Fallaci (God knows whether spelt right!) became well-known as a journalist interviewing famous personalities. (I remember she once wrote that Maomar Gaddafi was eyeing her male photographer when she was trying to grab his attention) But I am no Fallaci,” I started my lecture.
“…!!” he listened.
“Even if I interview Hilton, after the meeting her chauffeur will drive her away to the world’s only seven-star Burj Al Arab Hotel and I will be left searching for the low-priced public bus to Sharjah. Why run after celebrities? Should we ourselves not be celebrities?” I went on.
“Celebrity. Youuu..?” he laughed like a roaring lion, picked up his bag and bade farewell still giggling when he opened the door. He was convinced he was talking to a mad man.
“You darling friend,” I called out. “I got a namesake award for good reporting in Mumbai and the top newspaper flashed the news “Navi Mumbai’s celebrities awarded.’”
After he left, I had a hearty laugh at my own joke.
As for me, I feel every person who enters this blog is a celebrity.