At a recent coffee meet with “like-minded” “chaddi buddies” – who actually are, in a very long and curvedly steep “Champa Relationship Staircase”, just a little above the “acquaintance friend” step and just below the “friend” rung – Champa realized how different and a bit removed she really is from this current set of girlfriends.
While her blissfully unaware of a lamenting group of chatty estrogenites were in a serious nostalgic and mature discussion about how they spent what seemed to Champa to be colorless and mundane month of work, entertainment, more work, men, best selling “in” books, family commitments, and more work , Champa was transported – yet again – into her dazzling subconscious realm of the world as it should be.
Yup! That’s daydream mode to you folk who like the bottom line and in bullet form in “talking points” format.
Welcome to ChampaVille.
The world where Champa escapes to with skill and grace, and without anyone knowing it!
She could be dancing, flirting, arguing, acting, singing, or even having a proper conversation with whoever is fortunate enough to be invited into ChampaVille, all the while, in RealWorld, looking all engaged and raring to go with an in whatever is going on outside of ChampaVille.
For those unfortunate souls that have never been invited to ChampaVille, here’s a brief glimpse. First, everything that happens in ChampaVille is in super duper Technicolor – envision a movie in the latest and best digital laser quality. You know, like the Bollywood picturisation of that Prem Leela song. The one with Salman Khan wearing that amazingly blue kurta? Like that. Exactly like that!
Second, and most important is that at any given time, as per requirement of daydream of that second, minute, hour or day – things like flawless dance, dazzlingly ambiguous gooey romance, perfect pitch singing and music, Champa-style fashion and just everything that is required for that particular nano-second, or day could happen.
Absolutely anything is possible in ChampaVille.
And everything is real in ChampaVille.
You could be in the midst of Chulbul Pandeyji.
Or Jason Bourne.
Or even Achilles (exactly as he was seen in the movie Troy).
Or Virendra Pratap Singh AKA Kunwarji (name gungunayed in Sreedevi’s high thin lilt).
Or Harvey Specter (P.S – without any Donnas! Donna does not exist in ChampaVille).
To partner with Hero Of The Moment In ChampaVille, is the most qualified of heroines, one that has the chameleon effect of fitting into any physical or emotional character.
One, who knows, understands and lives the storyline.
The only one who can improvise at a drop of a hat and can engineer, guide, change, manipulate… live… the course of the dream….
The One and Only….
And everyone else invited into ChampaVille is deemed a supporting character, or a Daiyan!
Except for vamp! Sexy, gorgeous vamp also belongs to Champa.
Yes, it’s true. Hand on Heart… Crossed and committed to Death…
Champa sometimes takes the Vamp role!
Champa the Vamp is the quintessential curvy, sexy, sultry-eyed goddess, with long black tresses long enough just to kiss the top of her derrier, and adorned in a simple translucent saree of the finest chiffon. The perfect formula to win over Gorgeous Looking Male Species (GLMS) of a Hero of the current daydream.
And after song and dance full of seductive jatka’s and matka’s, with flowers quivering in a lightly drizzling shower of unseasoned rain, and the perfectly timed entrance of a couple of bees “madraaing” around said quivering “guldaste”, Hero has no hope, chance or inclination to resist Champa the Vamp and is bowled over.
And finally, Champa the Vamp lives happily every after….
Or at least till the time she decides to revive – sooner or later in the future – this particular day dream.
Though, make no assumption … Vamp is not always adorned in sexy Indian Ethnic garb.
Just last week, Champa the Vamp made a dramatic “HaiHaai…” (HaiHaai said – regardless of sex, faith, ethnicity or denomination – like an enviously stretched out “oooooohhhh” rolling glance from head to toe) sexy entrance in these fabulous form fitting matte metallic shorts and bra-halter top that would make that RealWorld Desi-Girl Priyanka (roll eyes disdainly) swoon!
No…, really….. It’s true…. P.C would get a complex and definitely want entry into ChampaVille, if only to prove she can do it better.
But alas, as we all know, she can’t. Champa cannot be beat.
Because Champa in ChampaVille is always, well…
No one can beat Champa at her game. Oh! Many have tried. But alas, all have failed.
Whether in Pakeezah’s Meena Kumari’s “Thade Rahiyo” avatar.
Or Pretty Woman’s blood red gown, opera venturing Julia Roberts.
Parveen Babi in that saliva generating, eye roll to the back of the head inducing sexy as hell, shimmering gold cat suit.
Marilyn Monroe in that sophisticatedly flawless candy pink gown and gloves, effortlessly hypnotizing mere male mortals to be diamond-showering pilgrims of life.
Simply no one can beat Champa.
In ChampaVille at least…
Sipping her double espresso, with her favorite shortbread biscuits (she always orders extra), Champa makes the bumpy journey back from constructing a dance sequence scenario in ChampaVille to the beautiful hip and happening 5Star Hotel Café armchair she was comfortably ensconced in, and entered RealWorld , where the current topic seemed to be something about someone doing something….
Looking out the café window into the beautiful lush garden, Champa wondered when would be acceptable to start making the “I have to leave” noises. Today was a day she really did not want to be here, amongst a mix of dynamic peers, all of whom enjoyed success in their own right, and somehow meshed together so well.
All “like-minded”, “same-goals-minded”.
All grown up!
Suddenly, a murmur starts escalating within estroginites. “It’s starting to rain!” notices one.
“Oh God! I’ve just had my hair done! It better not last long!” exclaims another picture perfect estroginite. The Rain God takes on the dare and opens up the clouds to release his collection of cats and dogs. By the looks of it, he’s collected a lot of them.
And predictably, ensues a cacophony of passionate moans and groans, complains and with details of the hazards of the rain in the city thrown into the mix with some honest to goodness curse words.
Rain God now also takes responsibility of obliterating to smithereens the Ms. Primly Proper Estrogenites to Ready To Go To War Testosteronites.
Champa, looking on and obviously missing the point of distress mentions, very cheerfully, and with her signature ditzy smile (which is not a put on and actually very natural), proclaims dreamily,
“This is perfect weather to wrap on a saree and dance in the rain. Wouldn’t it be so romantic! We just need to convince Gorgeous Male Species to join you! Right?”
Champa, slumps with the speed of light realization of her mistake, and braces herself for the onslaught from the now going-to-war-mass-of-testosteronites.
And with the realization, comes a quick prayer to the 33 million gods for the quick, speedy, fast, return of the more patronizingly tolerant estroginites. The Gods, of course, are busy at the moment….
Aaaannd here it comes….
“Champa, how silly!…” multiple exclaimed response with “are you crazy?” looks.
Not a first for Champa.
Champa has faced the “silly” comment many times over the years.
And on days like this, Champa yet again notices how different a person she is, how bizarre, and yes… how fanciful.
But life is so full of reality, with hard decisions of the world engulfing both one’s professional and personal spaces, that surely a little dreamy fancifulness should be allowed in?
With open arms.
Champa perks up…
And gives both Universe, and Estroginites-Turned-Testosterone-Body-Masses the best answer,
A relaxed, nonchalant, graceful shrug.
Her dreamy, secretive, Madonna style smile…
Welcome to ChampaVille.