By Kahini Iyer Jun. 13, 2018
My name is Taimur Ali Khan. I may be just a baby, but I still get jealous. My fans are chasing some new baby-faced chikna, who goes by the name Nick Jonas. I’m having a toddler-life crisis though I keep repeating to myself, “Main mera favourite hoon.”
y dear, adoring fans,
As I’ve just completed a year in this strange and wonderful world, I have many questions. Like, why is the sky blue, but mama’s eyes are green? Am I related to Janhvi Kapoor, and if so, will I be forced to say something nice about her performance in Dhadak? And what is the difference between business class and economy class? Isn’t business just a part of the economy?
But I think the biggest one is: what the heck is going on, guys? For the past year, I’ve become used to being Baby Taimur Pataudi, Prince of Hearts and a bunch of land in Gurgaon. (Btw, I’m also an Instagram celeb and the cutest viral sensation since that video of a Golden Retriever puppy trying to eat a lemon.) I thought we had a deal: I wear candy-coloured rompers with my adorable baby fat and you keep drooling over me.
Well, I’ve kept my end of the bargain with a steady diet of laddoos shaped like my head, but now, I turn around and see my so-called fans chasing some new baby-faced chikna. Traitor, thy name is Jonas! Ever since Aunty Piggy Chops started dating Nick Jonas, it’s all anyone can talk about. Look at the two lovebirds attending a wedding! Here they are at the Met Gala! Watch a grainy video of them strolling through New York!
I ask, what about the videos of me, strollering through London? What’s so special about Nick Jonas anyway? Is he even the best Jonas? His older brother Joe sang 2015’s summer anthem “Cake by the Ocean” and got engaged to Sansa Stark, after all. What has Nick done with his life, besides a pretty decent episode of Carpool Karaoke? I feel I have achieved more in my one year than he has in his 25.
What I do have is a very uncomfortable case of stress-induced diarrhoea, and, to add insult to injury, I’m running out of my favourite organic silk diapers that are hand-embroidered by Spanish nuns.
Despite my best efforts, I am met only with base ingratitude from my fairweather fans. Even the paparazzi, for whom my family has done so much, refuse to focus solely on me. They are too busy running behind this Jonas fellow. As if we didn’t have enough foreign interlopers incessantly featured in the media this year. (Yes, Iulia Aunty, I’m looking at you.)
Already, I’m faced with the daunting prospect of reevaluating my whole career. I think I’m having a toddler-life crisis though I keep repeating to myself “Main mera favourite hoon.” Mommy said it would help me calm down, but this isn’t working. If I’m no longer the darling of millions, what is my identity? And do I still get to be a Princeling, or will the cruel masses take that from me also?
I don’t have any answers. What I do have is a very uncomfortable case of stress-induced diarrhoea, and, to add insult to injury, I’m running out of my favourite organic silk diapers that are hand-embroidered by Spanish nuns. Soon, I’ll be forced to wear Pampers and suffer diaper rash like that commoner Misha Kapoor.
Oh, is that TMI? Well, #sorrynotsorry. If you can’t accept Baby Tim-Tim at his worst, you don’t deserve him at his best. You’re better off swooning over Nick like all the other basic bitches. I bet he can’t curl his lips like mine.
From a very grumpy,
Taimur Ali Khan