Chez Moi

“Are you, Desigirl?”

“Um, yes..”

“Oooh, I thought as much. I read your blog frequently!” *camera flash*

“Oh look, it is that blogger, Desigirl. I read your blog..” *more camera flash*

“So do I…” *you get the pic*

“… me too!”

(Really? How come my blog stats don’t reflect this massive fanbase?)

Anyways, this isn’t my major fantasy come to life. It was what happened to me this Saturday. Ok, ok, so I exaggerated a bit (give me a break, I am a blogger after all!) but it was heady when someone actually came up to me and asked me if I was the blogger who masquerades under a strange name. Well, as it was a group I had found thanks to couple of fellow bloggers, I shouldn’t be too surprised but can you blame me for my surprise / shock ? After all, I am not one of those A-list bloggers we keep hearing about. Heck, I can list my five readers in a flash.

And now, it seems like I have a multitude reading my blog.

So I query again, what the hell are you doing Blog Stats? Why aren’t they registering? Is this a conspiracy you hatched with AdSense?

S and I generally steer clear of desi groups and get-togethers. Regular readers of my blog (yes, you five) know my feelings regarding such do’s. But when I learnt that about a 100+ of them were going to gather under one roof, I was more than a bit intrigued. When further enquiries suggested most of them might even be from the same neck of the woods as me, it was the work of a moment to send a ‘yeah, count me in’ e-mail to the mahanubhavs who were organising the shindig.

Further e-mails detailing party events mixed tamarind in my tummy. Parties with themes of ‘Voluntary participation is mandatory’ scare the jeebies out of me. After a major part of my teen years spent making an ass of myself on stage, I have a healthy aversion to giving a repeat performance in front of random folk. ‘Don’t worry, it is a group thing’ was NOT the words that put balm on my soul. Still, I was desperate to give an airing to one of my newly acquired saris, if only to justify its presence.

So, off to H Hempstead we went. The adulation started off almost straightaway.

“Are you so-and-so?” queried the lady at the front desk.

“Can we have little P on the stage please?” shouted another over the PA system.

Boy have we arrived or what?!

Apart from random niggles like an unpalatable lunch (par for the course where HSB, London is concerned!) and a failure to win the Snacks competition (match fixing, sez I!), much fun was had by all. Though we hardly had time to do any major networking, S and I managed to make friends with a lovely family, meet the better half of a long-lost mate from the hometown and in S’s case, corner the only other golt bloke in the whole gathering. Not a bad result, I say.

Maybe the next time the party bandwagon can roll into our corner of Essex. Maybe THEN my kesari will win!