If celebrities were to be held accountable for jumping in and hurling themselves into the herd instinct, most would be paying hefty fines. But we never expected Ranbir Kapoor and Alia Bhatt—both we deem sparklingly intelligent individuals, notwithstanding the public ridicule of the general state of her eneral knowledge—to make common cause with the uncommon ruck. Yet there they were, at the Mumbai airport, slipping away to where everyone beautiful is going, to sunny Maldives, as the nation sinks into a series of curfews. But then, as both have beaten back Covid in recent days, they deserve a break. Prominent black masks and the colour white dominate their attire. That and the clutched phones—why don’t celebrities ever put them in the bag or in their pockets like the rest of us?
Another couple who schlepped off to the isles so favoured by those who fan the flames of fame through Instagram is Disha Patani, news of whose gorgeousness needs no reiteration and ‘rumoured’ beau Tiger Shroff, he of the chiseled trunk. No sooner had they plonked their bags on the bamboo floor of their beach shack than they started posing pictures, as if fans had crowd-funded their trip. But let us not cavil over trivialities. Shut in for days, we turn our bilious gaze towards the finest of sands, the bluest of skies and that figure holding centrestage—the breeze catching her tresses like it does a billowing sail, blowing it across her face, into our parched beings. For the pleasure of beholding perfect symmetry we overlook, for now, the hideous tassels that threatened to spoil, even for an instant, the effect only Disha can create.
If Father Time laid its sobering fingers on the original party animals of the Rat Pack (Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis jr, Dean Martin…), it would lay hands on the brat pack of the noughties—fresh-faced pop darlings behaving like the rowdiest of boys. Lindsay Lohan, a bona fide moviestar then (Meryl Streep vouched for her talent once) raised hell along with paid-up members of the club like Paris Hilton and Britney Spears. Later, they all swam ashore from pap-infested waters as other prey turned up. Content with TV shows, the odd movie and predicting a greater role for cyptocurrency in showbiz, she was bored stiff and longed to escape dreariness. Lo and behold, where does she end up but…our own Maldives. There she is, in a fire engine red swimsuit, hand s and arms raised towards the sun, greedily drinking in its warmth. We shudder to think what she might teach our innocent Alia and Disha if they bump into her.
Yes, we know, you’re soaked through with images of Kim Kardashian and her extended family of celebrity grotesques—image that replicate themselves as if on an assembly line of Ford Model Ts (everyone has to ride one). But then, some pictures buck the trend. Here, Kim, in an understated bikini, isn’t the loudly made up diva out to grab you, but an unmade-up girl, shorn of even her shades, letting her hair down in unkempt strings and splaying her celebrated body on the marble steps of some grand edifice. ‘Queen of selfies’, reality star, fashion entrepreneur and dabbler in acting, dancing, modeling, singing, Kim has just been named in Forbes’s list of billionaires. “Not bad for a girl with no talent,” she writes. Surely, she can take a day off.