I sit on the heavily cushioned leather seat of my Limousine, gazing past the crowd clamoring to catch a glimpse of my face. My eyes blinded with every annoying camera flash. I look away, adjust my Rolex and look back again at the heart shaped hoardings with my name on it. The hoardings fade away, behind hundreds of faces sticking their cheeks and lips against my window. I swirl my finger around lazily, carving a smiley against the glass that separates me from that vast aquarium of mediocrity. I'm past that phase of wondering why these people love me so much. All these faces swimming around me like fish, and I'll never see them again. My people warn me of that impending time when all this fame will be taken away from me. Once that time comes, I'm sure I'll feel like a kid who's suddenly lost his favorite toy. I need to keep my arrogance in check; I can't afford to burn any bridges with the people whom I have to live with every day later when this fun ride's over. My gold plated iPhone delivers a text, my super hot, extremely paranoid girlfriend is asking me to join her and her friends on my private boat "Summer Sand" to celebrate her birthday. I'm too tired to think about work, this seems like a perfect getaway. I text her back telling her I'm coming, and maybe I'll get time with Asha, her elder sister. My mind's clouded with thoughts. That first time I found Asha by the poolside, slowly stirring her martini, looking right at me from above her eyewear; hinting at a world of possibilities between us.
"Back to the Villa, sir?" My thoughts are interrupted by the sure voice of my chauffeur. His white hair and scales on his face tell me that I'll probably need to look for a new driver by the end of the year. "Yep, and use the quieter streets this time" I was in no mood to entertain another horde of strangers. The perennial grump on his face is the last thing i notice before he acknowledged and turned around to rev up the engine. The thick scent of Gucci on my suit makes me feel dizzy. Life with my Chauffeur makes me want to think of myself as Bruce Wayne with his butler Alfred. This guy was no Alfred. He doesn't like me, even after all that money I throw at him. Does he not remember last evening when I shared some of my expensive Champaign with him? Each glass alone cost over a 1000$. Look at him, acting as if he owes me naught. Some consideration would've been nice.
'I don't have time for this' I say to myself as i look out to the crowd one final time. I play my own game to single out a few faces in that crowd, and build a story around them. That bald guy standing at the back carrying that kid on his shoulders, maybe a divorcee who's only hope he has left is this child on his shoulders. That girl screaming my name in the front? An anemic with anxiety issues, staring at my poster every night before going to bed. I wonder how she'd react if she found me at her doorstep the next morning. Imagine me giving that bald guy and his kid a personal tour of my Villa, a ride on my private jet and maybe get them to visit the studio. Sometimes i wish i could do these things without bearing the consequences. Not for making anyone happy, but just for myself; to see that rush of adrenaline they get when experiencing tiny morsels of my mundane life. Most people living in that deprived world tell themselves that I have my own problems. That i can't walk openly in the streets without being flogged with people, or that i can't sip on coffee from Starbucks that's only a few blocks away from my house. These very people cry themselves to bed when things cant go the way they want because money doesn't permit them to. That money they have been saving to buy that house they've always dreamed of is nothing but pocket change for me.
Here's my middle finger to all these people whining, and trying to look for faults in my perfect world.