Bipasha In A Sari!
When semi-clad state has become a cult,
Wearing a sari would be difficult.
Oh, yet they engaged Bipasha
For the sari ramp tamasha.
She would not at all feel it an insult
But some couturiere readily consult;
For if the sari would slip
And if she would trip to strip
Ah, TV cameras would exult
To turn it into a fare adult
That would raise sure tumult
And gift a free ad result
That could the diva to Hollywood catapult.
For any Indian woman of any volt,
Sari wearing is not a science occult.
There are as many styles of being dressed
As the number of dames live, with great zest.
The socialite loves to sail and float
In a diaphanous number to gloat
Wrapping it décolleté with otto sprinkle
With sequins and diamantes atwinkle.
Unlettered in this science or art,
This dark Indian woman upstart
Has become so a ‘Red’ Indian
For she can’t be a brown Indian.
“I do have in my large wardrobe
All garments including foreign and street stuff” -
A slip of tongue under the strobe!
For what she did really mean was only “streak stuff.”
Star Bipasha’s boudoir stacks a whole range of attire,
Yet with the restless sari she set the ramp afire;
And were the sari to catch a spark of fire,
Everyone would stand in line, her to hire.
Aroused, if she kicked off, in her flashy ire,
All of her costumes on to a burning pyre,
Every lad and boy, man and son, or sire
Would be on heat at once with her to wire.
No wonder Bipasha, the dimpled Indian, doesn’t know the key
To the lock of draping a sari that is very much desi.
Isn’t it voguish and de rigueur? when you proclaim
Expansively: “I am a Telugu so tame,
I speak only English, Spanish and Hindi in that very sequence, ”
Or “I am a Bengali, I know nothing of Bengali parlance
Only in, yes, only in English, Chinese and Russian I talk sense.”
Now what’s the moral so
With which I am to go?
Verbal language to the literati
Body language to the glitterati;
Them when you engage
Like this do learn how to gauge.
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