To begin with, let me be frank. Being famous feels great! Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. It is like you have captured eternity in a single second, and live it to the full. Just think about this. How many times have thought about your dead relative or a lost love today? The chances are, zilch! Shunya. Zero. Nil! Now think about how many times a celebrity crossed your mind? Ah! So you get it instantly, isn't it? Whoever said blood is thicker than fame was wrong! Period.

Doesn't Kareena's new look rock? And all that swim suit numbers in 'Tashan.' Phew!! Though I sure think Bebu needs to eat a little bit. And Saif, man, I have great respect for that guy! Look what he has done to his body and career. Sculpted both to such perfection. Amitab, Arudanthi Rai, Princess Diana (May her soul rest in peace), Britney Spears (The most searched word/person on the net!), Rahul Gandhi, Tom Cruise, Cameron Diaz, Father Desmond Tutu, Jay Leno, Smriti Irani, Sting, Bryan Adams, Mel Gibson, Merlyn Monroe, these are the names that set our hearts and minds on flame. Live forever in our fantasies. That is fame. That is it's lure and it's power. Immortality in a second.

However, I must say, being famous isn't a easy thing. It's not a regular cup of tea. Not is it for everybody. You need to be tough as nail to survive the pressure. Fame demands extreme dexterity and tact at all times. Extraordinary cleverness, understanding of human psychology and a great smile are minimum qualifications. You got to maintain your image, isn't it? Live up to people's expectations, without over-doing it or looking shallow. Remember to smile, making it look real all the while. It is an uphill task even for the most accomplished, I admit. Now that I'm famous I can tell you all about it. But before that, let me tell you one more thing. I'm enjoying it. You see, I was born to be famous.

I knew my world had changed when absolute strangers started stopping to wish me, and ask 'How I am?' When they call me by name with a familiarity that only a friend or family member can have. When kids of all age insist that I join in their fun and games. The phone rings off the hook, the mail box bursts at it's seams, the door bell has no rest and my maid is tired of making beverages for all the well-wishers who want to personally come over and meet me. Why, it feels like the whole world is watching me, waiting for me to say something, do something, anything. To acknowledge it with my presence. It is an elating feeling, I must say.

Of course, a person of less modesty and character would let all this go to his head. But not me. I am as grounded as ever. A son of the soil with no false airs. One should not become blinded by one's superiority in the society. Other people's inferior status is just a way of life, isn't it? I accept it. Poor guys! By the way, I am planning to change my wardrobe. I want to look my part. I told you, fame is very demanding.

Before I tell you all about the designers I have picked up, let me tell you what I should have told you in the very beginning – the beginning. How all this started! How I became famous.

It was all because of a dog! Not just any dog. But a real scum bag of a dog, a wretched life that preyed mercilessly on innocent pedestrians and speeding cars in the early hours of morning. A mongrel of the lowest order! One with a deep sense of inadequateness that he expressed as a uncontrollable hate towards breed dogs of all kind.

He pounced on me two days post I have moved into the new neighbourhood. Unaware of the dangers that lurked in the misty darkness of a Chennai dawn, I was out with my labrador, enjoying my usual fitness routine. Out of nowhere came this cannonball of a thing, teeth barred and eyes glaring, shaking my faith from the very core.

Gypsy, my large Labrador bitch did what large Labrador bitches do in such situations. With tail between her legs, she ran for her life, without nay a concern for her master's well-being or life. To avoid the embarrassment of being seen ditched by a bitch who I spend thousands of rupees a month to feed, I followed suit with equal speed. I assumed that, to a casual observer, the whole thing would appear to be a 'chase the dog' sort of exercise. I forgot we were running at 180kmph.

It would have all ended well if our canine perpetrator, like all good mongrels, had slowed down and left us once we had moved away from his 'territory.' Nope! This devil in disguise had no such intentions. He was on my heels, barking like mad and running like Carl Lewis in top form.

Well, at 5:30 in the morning, when a calm, laid back residential colony is mostly in bed expecting to wake up to another peaceful day ahead, but instead finds one of their best friends furiously barking and chasing a stranger through the dark streets, only one thing crosses their mind – an unwanted intruder!

It was no wonder I soon found myself facing a large bunch of extremely unfriendly faces of different shapes, sizes and stages of sleep, looking at me enquiringly. But that was not before I slipped and fell, and not the one to miss an opportunity like that, the son of a bitch on my tail dug his unhygienic jaws into my thankfully fleshy behind, thankfully avoiding considerable tissue damage thereby. I must have howled in pain but for pride.

To cut the story short, in the next 20 minutes, I was introduced as the good fella who had moved in two days back, to about 60 odd people all at the same time. Everybody wanted to come and shake my hands and tell me how sorry they were. It sure was not a great way to welcome a new neighbour, I know. Scared to death, chased by a mad dog and minus a piece of well-fed ass! Shaken, stirred and totally humiliated.

I guess by morning 10am the story of my little escapade had spread like wild fire. People from as far as the fourth street came to see my bandaged backside and offer their condolences. I was the new celebrity of our neighbourhood.

Young and old women alike invite me home when they see my stumble by, more than happy for an opportunity to display their refined and sympathetic nature. Kids, the rowdiest of all, are genteel when I pass by. The Milkmen, watchmen, postmen, the cable guys, newspaper fellows, courier boys, electricians, car mechanics, grocery store attendants, why, even the road side flower sellers know me by name. I can feel every single house, apartment, flat, villa, cottage, bungalow and condo in the neighbourhood smile as I pass by.

The whole neighbourhood treats me special. Everybody wants to know if I'm doing OK, how I like the neighbourhood, if I have any problems, is there anything they can do, is the weather all right, how my bitch is and so on and so forth. People seem genuinely interested in my welfare. In my happiness. In me. Everybody has something to say to me. I am famous beyond my dreams!

At the bottom of all this love, I think, could be a feeling that my little accident was somehow their fault. Well, if they want to work away their guilt by making up for it to me, I can only let them. After all, there is something called humility, isn't it?

Now that I'm famous I cannot be stupid.