Somewhere in my crazed Twitterfeed, I found Priyanka Chopra being trolled for smoking a cigarette - in what should have been a private moment - by triggered woke-folk and pious-pricks because she had once come out against air pollution during Diwali.
And then, there were some tweets about her being asthmatic, from the I-don't-believe-in-religion-but-I-am-spiritual types, pretending to be genuinely concerned about her well-being. You know, the ones with rudraksha malas and wristbands, khadi kurtas and jute tote bags and calloused feet from ill-fitting juttis because they're oh so hip. Yeah right.
For the latter, let me assure you, Alex Parrish probably has the best health-care money can buy or prayers can bestow. She knows more about being fit and healthy than the varicose-veined Mr Tiwari of Pune, the potbellied-silo-of-cholesterol Mr Kapoor of Delhi, the whiskey-jaundiced Mr Kishore of Amritsar, the Mr Green-Tea-Will-Save-Me Mr Manik of Gurgaon, and the paan-beedi-stained lips of Mr Tyagi of Agra.
For the former, perhaps she was better off lighting lead and mercury and phosphorus infused fireworks, burning candles of stinky paraffin, or diyas doused in desi ghee, while adorning the parting of her married hair with bright-red lead-oxide to help along with the slow poisoning that is akilation (not sure how this is spelled), and burning incense or dhoop around the house 24/7, in case the likes you choose to drop in.
There's no need to get your dhotis and chaddies or kachéras in a twist. Stop it.
Leave my desi girl alone.
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