Like Vimla, your friendly neighbourhood cat lady, Shendi, your cook, Ritu, your BFF, and Champak, your dog, I have also been waiting for the release of Yeh Jawaani Hain Deewani with bated breath. The songs are fantastic, Ranbir and Deepika are a delight, and I always wanted to know more about what really went down in the Eurotrip part of DDLJ, and who better than Karan Johar to tell us this story because he was THERE! IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW. Even the bit where they give Deepika a pair of glasses and we’re all supposed to pretend that she’s a nerd. That’s exactly like Superman wearing a chasma to become Clark Kent. Everyone bought the latter, so I guess they’ll buy the former, and that’s the pop culture world I am leaving behind for my kids with Ranbir… hmmm I wonder whether he likes boxers or briefs.
Okaaaay, moving on… what happened at the Premiere?
Well, for one, Deepika decided to ignore all our Cannes advice and break my heart.
I sort of like it, and I sort of don’t at the same time. It’s cool that they’ve played with the hemline, but I am of the firm opinion that this much gold and white should be preserved for a South Indian wedding. Also honey, how HOT are you in there? You know that when they say 34 degrees, they don’t mean it like Bachelor of Arts, right? Here, have a mango milkshake.
Well, at least Deepika was better than Kalki.
I imaging this was the result of Kalki’s mom sending her a baby outfit as a hint, and Kalki misinterpreting it and putting it on herself. Because what ELSE could explain this? Would you believe it that SHE, a grown-up woman with a promising career full of smart movies, would step out of her house in her pyjamas-with-matching-jacket? WHAT?
Oh put on a gown, Kalki.
And here’s Mr. Kolhapuri Chappals. Or Mr. NoTime for Jeans-Alteration. Or Mr. Untuck Shirtjones. Or Mr. They Started Promoting Me Here After Ashiqui Became a Hit.
And then there was Ranbir. With his casual yet dapper jeans and blazer plus stubble look. And he even remembered to wear proper shoes! Oh be still, my beating heart.
The internet tells me that this is someone named Evelyn Sharma. My instinct tells me that there’s a very angry naked sofa walking around with a vendetta, somewhere.
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