To Bee or Not to Bee - The Booty Pageant
17 November 2018
Non-statistically speaking, a girl’s childhood dream revolves around one of the following clichés:
- Being the perfect wife/mother [hence, the classic pretence play : ghar-ghar Khelein?]
- A Bollywood heroine [that explains dancing in front of the mirror to Madhuri Dixit’s Ek Do Teen or Sridevi’s classic Hawa Hawaii]
- A beauty pageant winner [Practicing that overwhelming crowning moment almost everyday, just in case!]
And if you are as lucky as the gorgeous Mrs Ash Bachchan, you get to tick all three, in reverse order that is! Destiny’s child, blue-eyed at that! No, it’s not a girl crush, just a case in point to emphasis that good things CAN happen in big doses. It happened to me too, but in much smaller doses. Tiny ones, in fact. Minuscule in comparison but worth mentioning.
In school, I was a big girl—not in the Big Big Girl in a Big Big world way— but in the 'broad' sense of the word. My father would reluctantly suggest to avoid jeans as they didn’t quite suit me. My mother was told to cut down on my food portions. Classmates would make frivolous comments to highlight the fact that I wasn’t the quintessential ‘babe’.
“Hey, we are doing a rendition of Pretty Woman next month. Would you like to act in it?” I was once asked.
“Really! Me? Which part?” Questioned my excited self.
“Pretty Woman of course, HA HA HA !” The gang would have a hearty laugh and pass me by “Pretty Woman, walking down the street, Pretty woman who thinks her name is Supreet!” I could hear their giggles fade along the long corridor as I wiped a tear in rage. Little did I know, I was living a fairytale: Ahem...The Ugly Duckling. Turns out, my hormones were playing up. Once the time of the month kicked in, it was time for the excessive pounds to be mysteriously kicked out. Coloured contact lenses were the latest fad then and I chose a lovely blue-grey that looked quite real, thanks to my father’s light eyes that made people assume it was all in the genes. As was I…in the jeans I mean. With freshly permed hair and a new found attitude; Swan-preet had arrived.
Years went by, and the new found attention had me thinking— was I ready for the big glorious game? The sanctity of vanity affairs…the holy grail…the forbidden fruit…a beauty pageant! Yes, Yes, Yes! No, No, No, said mother. “As supportive as I’d like to be, your dad isn’t well and this clearly isn’t the best time to play princess. Moreover, the family would be taken a back with this decision.” She was right. My crowning moment would have to wait.
(In my head, I’d win it just by being in it!)
Unexpected turn of events introduced us to a life without our beloved father. This dreaded experience of losing a life so precious came with a strange silver lining— we learnt to live it to the fullest. It was clearly too short to curb dreams and reflect on what-ifs. It was time to grab the reigns and fly— no regrets, just experiences. It was during this phase that I chanced upon the poster of a nationwide model hunt. I was heading the family business at the time and had stepped out for a work-lunch at the hotel that was coincidentally hosting the regionals for this pageant. Mummy dearest was the first recipient of my dream (still lingering in the background) so her’s was the only approval necessary. “The poster is staring at me mum! It’s now or never. What say?” Ten-seconds pause that felt like eternity. “It’s NOW!” She exclaimed, to my relief. For the rest of that evening I was number 21 - Filling forms, standing in queues, giving intros, being vocal in group discussions, strutting back and forth in front of judging eyes and just being Supa. Seven tiring hours later, name calling began— literally. Between “Thanks for trying” / “Better Luck next time”; it was a somersault moment when they announced “Supreet Bedi you have made the cut.” Wooohoooo! I got home at 10pm to non-judgemental eyes and a long hug. “The pageant will be in Mumbai with a month long training mum.” My gaze lowered. “Don’t let guilt seep in even for a second! I’ll manage the business in your absence,” said mother convincingly.
And so began my tryst with the city of dreams— a step closer to fulfilling mine. I checked into the pageant base— a swanky suburban hotel in Mumbai which was to be my home for the next month; mingled with the fellow contestants, mentors, chaperons and was finally introduced to the Queen Bee—the head of this pageant. She was pretty, petite, polite and very posh. Behind all that perfection, stood a harsh spectator; nothing could escape her peering hazel eyes. “I’ve heard someone has checked in with 3 large suitcases! Never returning home, are we?” She chuckled. “Ummm that would be me, Queen.” I smiled sheepishly. Her smile disappeared. “It’s Mrs Bee or Ma’am for you!” She ordered. “I apologise. I’ve just returned after 8 years in the UK; so my lingo is reflective of that exposure. There, we used to address our senior faculty on a first name basis.” I explained. “This isn’t the UK.” Pat came the reply. Ah! What a marvellous beginning! NOT! “First thing is first: contracts!” she declared and her minion handed them over to all the contestants; who got into a signing spree straightaway. Being a thorough businessman, my dad had always insisted upon reading documents carefully before signing. Needless to say, I took my time perusing the lengthy doc. All eyes were on me; including the hazel. After much consideration, I raised my hand and some concerns “Ma’am, I understand you are giving us a lifetime opportunity and the top three winners shall therefore share a certain percentage with you from all future earnings. However, what happens if one doesn’t win? Why is it still a mandate to give you a considerable chunk of our income?” I was genuinely perplexed while Queen Bee seemed genuinely peeved off. “This is a beauty pageant. You should have kept your brains at home.” She roared. “No disrespect Ma’am but I feel slightly uncomfortable signing this. May I get some time to think about it pls?” “I want this contract on my table by end of day.” She was firm in her demand. Lady minion came to me once everyone had left the room, took my hand comfortingly and said, “You have a great chance. Don’t ruin it, sleep over it and give me the contract first thing in the morning.”
At 1am, loud banging on the door startled my fast asleep room mate and me. I opened the door to a flustered Lady Minion who handed over her mobile phone. It was Queen Bee in all her wrath “I clearly said ALL contracts to be submitted by the end of the day! Who do you think you are, giving me such attitude? Out of my pageant, NOW! Pack your bags and you shall be dropped to the airport first thing in the morning.” She hung up. This untimely conversation was just like the contract — one sided. Turns out, Lady Minion was too scared to confess to Queen Bee that giving me an extension was, in fact, HER idea. I cried my eyes out until the sun shone. Everyone had reached rehearsal grounds for dance practice, barring me. I was headed in the opposite direction with uncontrollable tears rolling down my cheeks. So much for a dream! Just then, my phone rang. It was Queen Bee again. “I thought you had potential! You have the qualities of a winner but you are too stubborn. I’m ready to give you a second chance if, from here on, you just listen to me. ” Hmmm, park my brain and give her the reign? “I hope there wouldn’t be any personal grudges based on this sour experience?” “None at all, we shall start afresh!”, Mrs. Bee assured.
The Bee lied. It was a trap. A power game. A silent war.
Day 2 : We were practicing our introductions when Queen Bee entered the room and commanded, “Who said 'Managing Director’ in their intro?” The silence was deafening. I stood up taking responsibility for that statement which seemed to have annoyed her further, “Do you have a 100 employees working under you?” Her sarcasm pierced my bones as I honestly replied, “257 to be precise”. She left the room with an order “Change it right away!” [Supa: 0, Bee: 1]
Day 9: I requested the chaperons and Lady minion to give me a longer top instead of the ‘Model Hunt’ bralet we were supposed to wear everyday to dance practice. My torso and lower back had noticeable stretch marks from significant weight loss that left me slightly uncomfortable. A TV crew was filming the making of the contest. My request must have reached Queen Bee as she instructed the eager lot. “ Girls! When you see cameras around, take your tops off and let the branded sports bras be seen!" She smirked looking straight at me. Great! Being on TV makes the situation even better! I cringed at this low blow in the name of promotion! [Supa: 0, Bee: 2]
Day 13: The TV crew suggested pole dancing to make for glamorous footage. They needed only two volunteers. “Ummm Kareena & Supreet?” smiled Mrs Bee, ignoring a swarm of other keen hands. I may have rolled my eyes but decided to prove my mental strength. Let’s do this! [Supa: 1, Bee: 2]
While Kareena owned the pole with her moves; I hesitantly moved around mine— swaying my booty side to side—clearly lost for choreography. I looked at my audience for a confidence boost! “Look sexy, not CONSTIPATED!” Mrs Bee ridiculed my sultry attempt while my spectators had a meanie laugh. [Supa: 1, Bee: 3]
Day 17: It was the happiest pageant day for me as I WON the Talent round! Yippee! I wrote and recited a poem titled ‘Love is an Orange’; where I compared the stages of love, lust, infatuation to various ways of devouring an orange. A quick fix juice was ‘lust’ while carefully peeling, deseeding and separating the slices was pure ‘love’. “Love is an orange: To feel the real taste, you have to peel the waste.” I bowed to a cheering crowd wearing a long white flared skirt with fake oranges stitched on it for effect; complete with a fruity sun hat (thanks to my mother for fixing the laborious costume). [Supa: 2 ; Bee 3]
Day 19: The D-day had arrived! Dressed in a lush blue, fishtail sequinned, halter neck, backless gown; I was both excited and nervous. I’d heard the best-dressed would get extra points. Hence, taking no chances, I had asked a fashion guru to design mine. It was expensive at the time but once donned, the sight was well worth it! I was tagged ‘the mermaid’. I had a good feeling about this. Queen Bee and I may have had our differences but it kept the excitement going. May be she was just testing my determination and now came the time to prove my mettle. After all, a rough diamond needs rigorous polishing to get its brilliance! Breathe! The first round should be easy: introduction. I had helped fellow contestants write theirs so I was extremely confident with mine. I knew I had nailed it sashaying to centre stage in that gorgeous number with matching gloves. “If achieving is believing; I believe!” I ended on a passionate note, took a bow and confidently strutted back to the music of a thunderous applause and a few whistles. I bet the hooting came from my mum and sister sat in the third row cheering me on! I couldn’t stop smiling and started getting ready for the swimsuit round. Only 2 girls were to be taken out in the intro round and I was convinced I wouldn’t be one of them. I couldn’t be more wrong. All the other girls brushed past me while I stood in Zombie mode : from stunning to stunned — bowled over by the first ball— FINITO! [Supa: Lost; Bee: Won]
An announcement for the subtitles was made; at least I get to receive the ‘Miss Talented’ sash on stage…or so I thought. All the other titles were given out except for mine. I was heartbroken. I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder…it was mum. I cried like a little girl who had her toy snatched away by a mean toddler. She said all the right things to make me feel better but this soldier was well wounded.
The head of the TV crew (now a very dear friend) found me backstage and said that he strongly felt that I was best suited to anchoring and should look into being a presenter. Queen Bee walked over to us with her entourage and passed me by nonchalantly, “Well tried! Do come to the after party!”
“Of course, I will come and celebrate your victory. But one day, I hope to be called by you. May be I will be the anchor for your show!” I smiled, defeated by destiny.
Destiny had other plans. I did become a TV presenter. Not only do I host beauty pageants now; I prepare contestants for international representation. Each time I’m faced with a new candidate; I revisit my own pageant days and vow not to be a Bee to them. :)
Ironically, four years ago, I received a call from Queen Bee’s new minion to potentially host their pageant. I shared my professional charges (almost with a hearty revenge laugh). Too expensive, I was told. “Queen Bee can’t afford me?” Ha, I’ve found my closure. [Supa: WON; Game Over]
Pageant or not, I feel like a winner each time I read your comments, so pls do keep them coming.
COMMENTS
Fantastic..👍👍👍👍
Fabulous.👍👍👍👍
Thanks much! 🙂
Very well expressed, enjoyed reading it. But there you got your path and the rest just followed…
True that! At the time, one doesn’t realise the mystery behind destiny’s work, and then it all takes shape! 🙂 Thank you for giving it your time! x
Love you girl for your magic with the words. Beautifully expressed…couldn’t have been better 🙂
Love you for making me this girl! x
Usually I don’t have the patience to read through the blogs but the ones you write, I can easily visualize every situation & that’s what makes it interesting. Keep going. Good luck Big Boss 😊👍👏🍻
Now that’s a huge compliment! Thank you! I understand reading isn’t everyone’s cup of tea…therefore, visualising is my tool. I’m so glad that it’s effective, as intended! Pls keep showering your support Tall Boss!;) xx
Fantastic….I just loved it….very well expressed…..😘😘❤️❤️…… what’s next
Always amazing 👍👍👍👍👍
Supa, you’ve made so much buzz despite evil queen beds trying to slow you down. More power to you! Shine on!
It’s been a rough ride but I’m glad for the wonderful support system I have in family and friends…You probably know this about me: when in doubt, I talk it out! 😉 Hehe Thank you for being an integral part of my strength. Much love!