I am riveted to news of Will and
Kate’s baby (married) and Rob and Kirsten’s baby (not married). The
parents-to-be are not married, not the baby! Well, the baby too is not married,
and not yet born actually. Or may never be. It’s just a maybe. A maybe of product
of a maybe couple I’ll never meet. But it’s delicious news anyway!
‘Neha and Karthik split!’ shouts
the newspaper headline, and I make a bee-line once more to dig out each juicy
detail. Including who they are. I haven’t got a clue, but there’s something
about gossip hard-wired into the female brain.
And the newspaper supplement
thrives on our need to know. Hey, a need to know is supposed to be a great
thing. Columbus needed to know what was on the other side of the ocean. Newton
needed to know why the apple bonked his head. I need to know why Arbit is
having a nose job! I don’t need to know so much who Arbit is, unless she’s
having Random’s baby.
Of course, if we women love
gossip about random strangers in another corner of the world, how much more would
we drool over those we know! Who’s having a baby? Who’s running off with whom?
Tell me, and I won’t tell a soul, I promise.
When I slogged in advertising
over how to get my brand noticed by everybody, I should really have called a
girlfriend somewhere late at night, ‘Hey, let me tell you something no one
knows!’ And by break of dawn, Random, Arbit, Will and Kate and their maybe baby
would have known about my brand!
