Poonam Pandey i a sunflower. If she doesn’t get attention, she shrivels up. She and her diabolic team of marketing monsters who sit and plot new methods of keeping her visible in the public gaze—it is becoming difficult, I know, as younger more audacious and scheming poseurs have arrived– must have mulled over her latest strategy before going ahead with it.
I believe Poonam even read the fine-print in all the legal documents pertaining to the dos and donts of marketing before taking the plunge. Apparently it is legally okay to fake your own death, unless you are doing it to spare yourself from debt or other financial obligations.
Pandey seems to have no financial or emotional obligations. Her family has more or less washed its hands off her. She once told me as much, admitting that her parents and family don’t approve of her attention-getting antics on social media.
“I am on my own and I am answerable only to myself,” she told me.
Later she was married, and I no longer found her constant need for attention bearable. She was apparently making her spouse privy to her publicity antics. Like Rakhi Sawant, Poonam Pandey writes pulpy narratives to her existence and then proceeds to implement them regardless of the hurt offence or annoyance she causes.
The high moral ground that she has taken over a serious life-threatening illness is so laughably bogus and her concern for societal welfare so misbegotten and belated , it is almost like a mockery of women who fall prey to the ailment.
Cervical cancer will never be the same again.
