Saying Yes, Yes To Ne, Ne

It’s quite amazing. There we were, a largish group of media-savvy people, maintaining our carefully-constructed facades of ‘we’ve seen it all and done it all’. Well, most of us that night really had. We idly watched a senior editor taking frequent calls on his constantly ringing cellphone. We ribbed him about it. ‘‘Come off it,’’ we teased, ‘‘we know the government will collapse without your minute-by-minute advice, but puhleeze, switch that awful gizmo off. It’s Diwali. Relax, you are off-duty, remember.’’ He’d go off into remote corners of our home and talk furtively into the tiny machine, making sure to cover his mouth. His expression looked grim. There was tension written all over his face. Some of us wondered. ‘‘Another coup in Pakistan?’’ ‘‘Has something happened to Tendulkar?’’ ‘‘Is Vajpayee all right?’’ ‘‘Has Quattarochi been arrested?’’ ‘‘Perhaps, Sonia Gandhi smiled at the wrong person in Parliament?’’ You know — national headlines kind of stuff. The editor refused to sing. It had to be serious.

Ten calls and two hours later, he came back to join the rest of the media gang in analysing millennium plans. He looked ready to tell. We’d been all ears for far too long. ‘‘Tell all,’’ we chorused. After he’d got everybody’s attention, he announced in a sombre voice: ‘‘Madhuri Dixit got married in a secret ceremony last month.’’ After a significant hush, someone broke the silence to ask the one question that had escaped everybody. ‘‘Who’s the man?’’ It was the woman’s turn now. ‘‘Where did she meet him?’’ ‘‘What was she wearing for the ceremony?’’ ‘‘Honeymoon?’’ ‘‘How about her career?’’ ‘‘Is she giving up films?’’ A lone male spoke up: ‘‘What’s your source? Have you confirmed the news?’’ I thought I detected a slightly sad and wistful tone in his voice. The editor seemed equally glum and crest-fallen as he shook his head and said: ‘‘I spoke to her secretary a few minutes ago. It’s true.’’ Those in the know expressed surprise over this unexpected move. For the next half-hour, our guests dissected the phenomenon of star weddings and their impact on the national psyche.

Two high-powered editors representing one of the world’s biggest news magazines (who were listening in) asked curiously. ‘‘By the way, who is Madhuri?’’ Someone replied: ‘‘She is the Marilyn Monroe-Madonna-Meryl Streep of India.’’ ‘‘Wow’’, said the editors jointly. ‘‘Then, that is big news. Stop the presses, guys.’’

Like I said earlier — it’s amazing how one individual’s decision to get married can capture the imagination of such a large country or even the fact that hard-boiled editors turn to jelly with a news flash of this kind. Most of us would like to think of Madhuri’s marriage as a non-issue fit for the film press. Sorry. That isn’t so. It interested everybody, but everybody.

We woke up pretty late the morning after the dinner party. I didn’t need to scan the headlines to know what they’d be. Madhuri had swept ‘‘serious’’ news off the pages completely. As I sipped my first cup of tea, even the illiterate bai in our home asked with much excitement: ‘‘Sach hai, Madhuri Dixit ki shadi ho gayi?’’ I nodded sleepily while the other bai crowed: ‘‘We knew about it last night itself. The neighbour’s bai had heard from her nephew who works for Madhuri Dixit’s cousins.’’

For the next few weeks, more details will trickle in. Dr Shriram Nene, the Los Angeles-based surgeon, who will henceforth be known as Mr Madhuri Dixit, (somehow, it’s hard to imagine India’s dhak dhak sex symbol as a doctor’s wife, going by the name of Mrs Nene, it’s a ne-ne) will become a household name overnight. My support goes out to the fortunate gentleman who has married the country’s No. 1 fantasy figure. May the good doctor love and cherish his gorgeous wife. Out of all the dazzling movie stars, Madhuri is the brightest with her blindingly brilliant smile and incomparable body language. I guess it’s ‘‘goodbye Bollywood’’. At least for now. She joins the ranks of Rajshri (V. Shantaram’s daughter) and more recently, Meenakshi Seshadri. Well, here’s wishing our most glamorous newly-minted NRI a glorious future in the land of plenty. Frankly, I cannot think of a better export package. California dreamin’, dream on.