under the blanket

I believe I have met the most shameless fame whore in my three-year career of interviewing these so-called stars.

On Monday, I went in to work to find an email waiting for me, saying something like: “My friend, who is a famous Bollywood star, is in Singapore. Would you like to interview him? Call me.” And there was a handphone number given at the bottom.

So the ed asked me to check it out. My phone conversation with the fame whore went something like this:

Me: Hi, I’m calling about your friend who is in town. Who is he?
Him: Hrithik Roshan.
Me: Sorry, who?
Him: Hrithik Roshan.
Me: Sorry, can you spell that for me please?
Him: You don’t watch Bollywood movies?
Me: Erm, no.
Him: Don’t you have any Indian colleagues?
Me: Erm, no.
Him: He’s as big as Shah Rukh Khan. You’ve heard of Shah Rukh Khan?
Me: Erm, yes. May be you can spell his name for me and I can ask someone from another department.
Him: H-R-I-T-H-I-K R-O-S-H-A-N.
Me: Can I ask which are some of the movies he’s been in?

About 10 minutes, later, I was still copying down titles of movies such as Koi Mil Gaya and Kabhi Khusi Kabhi Gham. Then I hung up and turned to the small gay boy who sits next to me and asked: “Eh, who is Hrithik Roshan? Is he big?”

“Oh my god, he’s huge,” he exclaimed. “He’s very good-looking and he can dance.”

Next, I went up to the only Indian colleague I have, and pretty much got the same response: “He is not the next big thing. He is already a big thing.”

So I went up to my ed and told her that the mystery Bollywood star in town is Hrithik Roshan. And she squealed: “Hrithik Roshan! Go interview him lah.”

I called the guy again, and acted all contrite for being so ignorant about Bollywood and asked him to arrange an interview for me please.

Him: I have two conditions for arranging for the interview. The producer of his latest movie is also here and I want you to interview him too. And I want a photo of me and Hrithik to be in the papers together.
Me: Erm, OK, can I check with my editor and let me get back to you.
Him: I just want to have my 30 seconds of fame in the newspaper.
Me: Erm, OK. Have you told any other newspapers that he is here?
Him: No, I only told you guys because you are the biggest.
Me: OK, can you not tell anyone? We want to have the exclusive.
Him: Sure, if you can get my photo in the newspaper.

So, after a lot of to and fro about the timing, date and venue of the interview -- I absolutely refused a 10pm interview in his hotel room -- we set up something for the next morning in the hotel lobby. I stressed that my photographer would be with me.

At this point in time, the newsroom was quite abuzz, not only because we were scooping The New Paper, but also because there was a possibility that he was a fraudster.

When I met his “friend” before the interview, he kept stressing to me that I should not tell Hrithik Roshan that he had alerted the papers and that I should just say I heard about it because we had friends in common. And it turned out they were not even friends, just that they both knew the producer guy.

Finally, after a lot of anxious waiting -- “Hrithik is taking a shower” -- the star arrived. And ohmigod, he was not just the handsomest Indian man I’ve ever met, he was pretty darned charming too. Good looks, I can resist, but charm! As the small gay boy needled me later: “You regret not going to his hotel room last night, right?”

As I struggled to maintain my professionalism, the hotel staff forgot all about theirs and went mad taking photos of him.

The interview went very well, he was obliging to a fault, if not exactly giving exciting answers. But just gazing into those mesmerising ice-blue eyes was enough. Those who know me well enough know by now that I seldom gush and was unimpressed even by Brad Pitt in person.

So, as I was finishing up the interview, I shook his hand and noticed that he had an extra thumb. I filed that info away to check out later, to see if he was indeed the real thing or a very convincing look-a-like.

Rushed back to the office and pounded out the story in two hours, and made sure his shameless “friend” got his wish of appearing in the papers. During the interview, he even brought his wife along to join in the photo taking, so in the end, we had gorgeous photos of Hrithik alone [which we used really big], ugloo photos of Hrithik, the produer and the fame whore together [which we used small] and useless photos of Hrithik, the fame whore and his wife [which we had no reason to use].

And after checking with his No. 1 fan in the office, who also happened to be the department’s office assistant, I ascertained that Hrithik Roshan did indeed have an extra thumb on his right hand. So, there was confirmation that he was the real McCoy and we could run the story without worries. Phew.

The story appeared on Wednesday, but as I expected, the fame whore called me up in the morning. His name was misspelt on the Internet version of the story, and he demanded a correction immediately, so he could ask all his relatives in India to log on to read it.

Then came the most shameless part: “By the way, my wife is very upset that her photo didn’t appear.”

I gave him some weak-assed excuse that there were space constraints and hung up abruptly. I hope Hrithik Roshan never returns to Singapore, because if he ever does, this fame whore is sure to bug me again. And I never want to deal with him again, even if it is to meet someone as gorgeous as Hrithik Roshan.