From the editor

It isn’t a nice feeling, being compared to a younger man. It’s a bit like wearing a nifty new suit, walking up on stage and making what you believe was an interesting presentation that people seemingly enjoyed. They smiled at you all through and you even saw them laugh when you said something you felt was funny. Then when you walk off stage, hoping to be feted, they all gather around you, shaking with contained mirth, and just when you expect them to pat you on the back and tell you how good you were, one of them points at your crotch and says, “….you left your fly open”, and it’s like a dam that breaks and the whole house bursts out laughing.

And you stand there feeling helpless, humiliated and vulnerable.  That’s how it feels to be compared to a younger man.

And the knife corkscrews in deeper when the woman making the comparison happens to be your own wife and you are practically bleeding away your last drop of hope and pride when you realise the younger man you are being compared to is one you have no hope of catching up with…

At a film premiere not too long ago, I happened to be primping myself in the washroom while my wife was waiting outside (and she hates waiting on her own) when the biggest draw of the evening, a certain Ranbir Kapoor, sauntered in, posed for pictures, spread smiles, autographs and good cheer and then walked into the auditorium just as I emerged from the cloakroom. My wife and friends were sitting by a table talking animatedly about something when I walked up and asked, “So, did I miss him?” My wife turned and nodded. This wasn’t looking good. “So how was he?” I asked. “My height? Or shorter?” I inquired hopefully, as I stretched out my spine to its full length and then some. The lady was feeling exceptionally ruthless though and so she  looked into my eyes with a glint of cold steel and said, “He was taller, sexier and built way better!” And then looked away. Darn, I shouldn’t have left her waiting. Crushed, I asked her if there was anything she felt I had more of than the obviously rather fetching Mr Kapoor. “Of course you do, honey...”, she smiled at me, and said, “You are a lot older and your paunch is a lot bigger!” And with that, she walked into the auditorium to catch the film. I followed her into the darkness, shrinking noticeably with each step and by the time I reached my seat, I had been reduced to a squelchy puddle of hurt and embarrassment.

That day I realised I could do very little about the advancing years or my height, but my (nearly non-existent, really!) paunch, my build or even my sexiness were really all up to me, and so over the last three months, I have been working hard putting this magazine together and working pretty hard on reducing the first, balancing the second and stoking up a whole tsunami with the third parameter.

And it seems to be working too. The other day, I was in Bhubaneshwar looking for a breakfast joint and I went up to this group of middle-aged men discussing the affairs of the world, and asked for directions. After talking to them for a while, one of them asked me if I ever acted in films. I fluffed my feathers, smiled at the world and then asked the man if I reminded him of someone. The man squinted at me for a while and then said, “Bipasha Basu!” slapped his thigh and burst into peals of laughter and his friends joined in. So it wasn’t just comparisons with younger men that could leave one red-faced. Still you’ve gotta admit, it’s a start…