Don't let us get sick...Sonam amazing Interview..must read

*Gibigianna (n.) - a woman who flaunts her charm or who wishes to dazzle you with her elegance. 

And the dance continues, right into the carnal desires of Midsummer Nights of hosting dinner parties and water fights. We're April fools for not dropping out at 14. Schools' a cesspool of bad dreams and H2SO4. You can make that shit at home with some Copper Sulfate.

But we're takin' it nice and slow, like first sex. 

"Close the escrow"... she says... "Open a Bordeaux". 

     And I do - forsaking the coffee alibied talk show for reruns of The X Files to catch a mid-90s VFX-ed U.F.O. Scully was doing the driving, which she preferred. Mulder knew only two speeds: fast and faster. 

"What do you think Mulder?"... Scully said.

"I think we should sleep with the lights on Scully"... he replied.

     But it was them you know; Fox and Dana, Tommy and Gina, Sid and Nancy, Kurt and Courtney. Something told me I was typing out the last of the love scenes for the last of the great movies. 

"The movies"... I say to myself..."The cinema, where dreams were made on."

     And so I start typing. Had to be sensual and flirty more than rough and dirty. We were together tonight. Phones were turned off. My answering machine gets my messages: ex-girlfriends, coach T, the friend who wants cocaine, cat who lost on a jugular vein, the kid who never got laid and pines a blowjob on that dream train, and Rumi, who's been dead for centuries. He says there's a field out there, beyond rightdoings and wrongdoings. 

"I'll meet you there"... he says.

     I'll you THIS: it's either the end of the f**kin' world or the best damn block party since 1969. The organ of corti is sensitive to political parties and narcotics. But you gotta bring a date right? Someone to circumnavigate through the callings of fate. So I ask Sonam Kapoor.

The full tilt diva says yes. 

"Engage me in conversation"... she says.

"I'll marry you"... I reply.

     She doesn't know it, but I'm practically down on one knee, proposing metaphorically, as yet another evening fell on yet another city that's too strung out to sleep. Cities on dope, wide awake as BBC; can't sleep no matter how many drinks its has or how much Propofol you shoot in its veins. Never figured cities to be insomniacs. But they are. And we wonder why Rome is burning. But Sonam is my date, my chance, the Butch to my Sundance. 
     She's is an inefficient liar, that's her kryptonite. She WILL die if her life depends on it. She's every kind of misunderstood, like Robin of the hood. The movie business is a Gulf Stream of bad dreams - arguments, settlements, indictment; enhancements in the breast area. When you're born famous you turn into the world kind of person. But she didn't; must have been a freak.

     Kalki Koechlin steps in and says, "The time for being wounded is over". But she's hangin' out in the U.S.A at the moment; probably trying on silk shirts and cigars. She's pretty badass. 

So is Sonam. 

     She wears her celebrity like a sunscreen; to protect herself from ultraviolet rays and stuff. She's no bimbette; or a love-struck Juliet, waiting on an Alfa-Romeo. She's all heart. And no, you can't peek into her blouse. Her Kung Fu is strong.

"Why me?"... She asks.

"Why not?"... I reply.  

     Sure she makes terrific copy; sounds standoffish each time she says, "That's all rubbish". But that's because her hearts' unpublished. 

     She's a spider Lily flower, swaying many miles an hour; smelling like a baby shower, leaning like a watch tower. When her time comes, she won't rest in peace like the rest of us; she'll rest in our stories. These pages will show, and the world it will know, she was here once. But dying is unbecoming, let's not talk of it. There is too much living yet to be done. So we're returning to the blank page a little braver, and a whole lot sober.

     I'm in her fan-club now. She's pretty f**kin' magic. And I'm claiming her. Her dads' not gonna like that, but running from him is an option. You cant mess with Anil Kapoor. He'll kick your ass ten ways to Sunday. 

     But Sonam, she wants to grab a hip, give it a slow kiss, smudge her own mascara and do it in the French Riviera to add to the hysteria of movie-star dating rituals. Its megalomania vs. Wrestle Mania.

Sonam invited me to her set; she was filming her next; sticking to text messages over calls.

I say yes, and arrive fashionably late.

That's supposed to be her job; right out of "How to be a movie star for dummies".

Her manager Tina walks me inside.

     I'm expecting Diet Pepsi, lights, doobies, boobies, long-drawn confessions, breakdown, megaphones, cigarettes, condoms, whiskey, pet snakes, a monkey named "Bubbles", salads, oysters, avocados, genuine leather, artificial weather, stationary, plug points, hair dryers, kohl, cocaine, Hip Hop, talc, novels, jeans, thongs, Aloe Vera plants, The Beatles, Mercedes Benz, and machine guns loaded with depleted Uranium shells. 
I sat in Sonam's trailer for a bit: mineral water and taking a piss. 

     She walked in dressed as a bride looking unbearable beautiful. Her hand is unusually warm - she's probably avoided drinking water. But sing this in the tune of the Bohemian Rhapsody: "Trendy little darling; very, very charming". 
     We were going to paint the sky with as much silver as we could use. The stars were shining on. She lifts her pallet knife and starts work on our still-life. We get into the back seat of her BMW and drive off home. She's chirpy, like a bird. Scary little creatures; minions of the Antichrist. But it's better than movie stars showing up in Cashmere.  Bet Sonam has a collection of shoes, and garter belts, everything that caters to the fairer sex.
I pulled out an old Dictaphone and pushed in a micro-cassette. 
     Sonam takes a moment. I'm an analogue guy, she's a digital girl. But the Universe had fortunately bent over backwards for us. 

     Common friends were tenderly remembered. "Jitsu, my Jitsu"... she said, remembering Jitesh Pillai. He on the other hand had come down with the f**king Bubonic plague, and was freezing at a film trial. "I'm f**ked"... he texts... "f**k. f**k. f**k"; illustrating the power and versatility of the word.