Angry rant against Ayeshah Alam
I don’t care about Shobha’s day.
And I care even less about Ayesha Alam.
I don’t think either of these individuals is particularly brilliant, or that they have some wonderfully earth-shaking insights to impart on us lesser-mortal/women (since I doubt any self respecting guy would admit to reading Shobha’s Day) and I especially do not think they should be foisted down our throats as much as they are.
Today for instance, half of the last page in Dawn’s Magazine was- shall we call it dedicated?- to a pin up of Ayesha with her answers to such wonderfully thought-provoking questions like (drumroll please!)
And here it is!
What qualities should Condoleeza Rice look for in her would-be-husband?
Ayesha’s answer: If she was in the market for a husband…patience…a lot of patience.
I’m sorry, but I think she’s overrated, fake and irritating. I’ve tried listening to her show on FM 89, a radio channel I consider as overrated, fake and irritating as she is, and though I’m sure she couldn’t give less of a shit about what I think of her, I’ll still say it:
Ayeshah Alam, you are not witty.
And Shobha De, you need to get a life.
As do I. It’s ridiculous that I’m wasting time and space on my blog writing about them.
No actually, it’s not. It’s ridiculous that mundane replies to idiotic questions are given so much print space just because a media fed socialite was the one to give them. It’s equally ridiculous that her introduction makes her out to be George Bernard Shaw’s reincarnation in a sleeveless shalwar kameez, making me actually WANT to read anything she has to say, only to find questions like “Which one of these is more likely to join a monastery and why: Demi Moore or Malika Sherawat?”
Anyway, to this Ayeshah Alam replies (another drumroll please): Demi Moore…why? Given the choices…I mean…come on!”
Like Poirot would utter, softly under his breath, “Nom du un nom du un nom du un nom…”
But then of course Ayesha Alam must seem horribly witty to people who think Amna Haq and Anoushey are perfectly capable of hosting their own talk shows
“I love your chappals dahlink! Where did you get them?”
“Uff meri jaan, we went to the Prada launching show, you know, the one near that city near the Eiffel tower, uff what was it called again dahlink, you know, that one?”
Remember that extremely crappy but hilariously funny Rupert Everett movie, St. Trinians?
Remember those beautifully brainless doll-like creatures named Peaches, Chloe and Chelsea?
Remember how they learned, albeit a bit late in the movie, that smart really is sexy?
I wonder when our media learns that.
Once again, Ayeshah Alam, you’re not witty.