Dolly's Diary

At first i called it Dolly ki Chaat. That's what happens when you write. You begin to want to sound witty.It's about how you think you should sound. But then I thought of Dolly and I changed her persona completely. No she was not like " Social Butterfly" in Friday Times. She was no fake impersonation of anything 'd read. Instead she was this person who was most unlike the kind of person who would be Dolly. She was a pesron who had subdued who she was for so many years that she didn't know she really existed. Oveshadowed by her flambouyant sister Mridula ( now dead) and her overbearing otehr sister Sita, she just rumbled along saying what she thought teh other person wanted to hear till her husband Humayun retired and they shifted to a small apartment in Nizamuddin, teh one time when she had put her foot down. Now taking a walk in Humayun's Tomb most days, her morning's are the nicest part of her day. That's teh time she muses and puts down what she thinks.

And so we start Dolly's Diary.
Most things I am indifferent to, thinks Dolly as she settles down to read the newspaper, except for one thing...K's column in teh Hindustan Times. His machinations are so obvious, it kind of makes her feel let down. How can a popular journalist like K be so obvious in hsi true intent. Sometime she thinks she should write an obituary for him. Not taht she wants him dead...which eh could very well be at this age, but because she wants to hold a mrror to his face and say, hey you, great commentator of Delhi--this si what i truly think. Talking of Delhi....What a city Delhi has become. dolly went to this party, a book release, she aws not quite sure why she was invited and there aws this young damsel on teh bar counter reading out her first novel, feted in teh press.........and Dolly spent her money buying it ....all Rs 190 of it, and it read just like a blog. Just some trash apper down the drain she thought. But what publicity.........of my god she thought......what is Delhi coming to.