The celeb-spotter, then, is left with few options -- they were fewer before Shabana Azmi and Vinod Khanna came on the scene as Delhi's official bubbly-poppers. There's this hairdresser who masquerades as a woman in backless dresses exposing a lot of puppy fat.

Then there are the fashion designers (with plenty of PYTs in tow) who, like shootingstars, have lit up Delhi's night sky as never before. And finally, there are the princelings who still flaunt their titles, their studs (the diamond ones on their ears and the equine variety on the polo grounds), their groupie girlfriends, and, of course, their attitude. Where does that leave politicians, or that reclusive breed you see only at book launches the intellectuals?

Well, the problem with politicians is that they're no longer People Like Us. Proving the classical theory of circulation of elites right, People Like Them have come up the hard way to occupy places in Parliament that rightfully belong to them. But you can't have Laloo Yadav on your guest list, even though Laloo jokes may be the standard ice-breakers (that is, when Monica Lewinsky isn't in the news). Nor, horror of horrors, can you be seen fraternising with Pappu Yadav or Mamata Banerjee. Of course, Phoolan Devi has risen in life -- we've been noticing press releases listing her among the invited celebrities.

There are compensatorypresences in Parliament like the stunning Sangeeta Singh Deo, or the dapper Praful Patel, or the gregarious Akbar `Dumpy' Ahmed, who misses no opportunity to invite you to his Ramganga resort, but they are hard to come by. And anyway, there are many competitors bidding for their time. No wonder Delhi's party animals are dying to see the return of the Congress. Pramod Mahajan's Ray-Bans, after all, cannot stand up to Sonia Gandhi's accent or the charm offensive of her Doon School-educated minions.

Fortunately for us, I was told the other day, the sons and daughters of the Friends of Sonia have grown up (one was seen the other day, backless top and all, at the twentieth birthday bash of Delhi's most happening disco, leading wags to editorialise that her father should retire in her favour), so we needn't despair. But that's small consolation for the party-list provider.

We still have the `intellectuals', though, but they went out of fashion with Indira Gandhi; moreover, they are hardly ever in town. Trycalling up the first ten names on your `intellectuals' list for soundbites and you'll know what I mean. If there's anyone who's available in less than four months, do let me know. These are bleak times for the celeb-seeker.

Luckily, there are at least nine flights and just ninety minutes of flying time separating us from Mumbai. Imagine what life would have been without Mumbai. Delhi's always been a melting-pot culture, accepting friend and invader with equal warmth, so it's Mumbai, the celeb capital, that rules the Capital. Thanks to Mumbai, we got to fraternise in recent weeks with the likes of Vidhu Vinod Chopra, breathing fire and brimstone after the disaster called Kareeb, and Javed Jafferi, lord of the tired one-liner, and Gulshan Grover, a Delhi boy who's made it big in Mumbai, and an army of others who are always setting our nights on fire. God save Mumbai!