I remember going to a party hosted by my aunt and uncle when I was around 13 years old. They are British citizens and live six months in London and six months in Mumbai. They have an apartment in a building on Nepean Sea Road, one of the poshest areas in town. A Nepean Sea Road residence even today signifies affluence and snootiness.

My cousin was two years older than I. Apart from some relatives, a few of her friends had also been invited to the party. So, there I was, a "country bumpkin", coming from the central suburbs to mix with the "townies".

"Where are you from?"
"Matunga."
"Where's that?"
"Between Dadar and Sion."
"Uh, huh!!"
Silence. I cease to exist.

Obviously, I am nowhere in this conversation.

"Have you seen SNF?"
"Yes. Isn't Travolta the mostest."
"I could just die watching him."
"I have seen it twenty times."
"Didn't you start learning those steps?"
"Yep. I know most of them. Do you want to see?" A display of pelvic thrusts.

I just about manage to figure out that they are talking of Saturday Night Fever, the latest rage. I obviously haven't seen the movie.

I pipe in.

"Have you seen MKS?"

Silence. My cousin then tries to help out and asks, "No, what is it?"
"Muqaddar ka Sikander". I name a Hindi movie starring the current hot hero, Amitabh Bachchan.
"Yes."
"No."
"Chee! I don't see Hindi movies. They are all 'bakwas' (useless)".
"But it is a major hit. And Amitabh is the best. And all of us call it MKS for short." I try to be one up on them.

Silence. Again, I cease to exist.

"Have you heard the latest Abba?"
"Yes, but I prefer Clapton and Led Zep. Abba is too soft and syrupy."
"I don't know. I have just rediscovered the Beatles."
"Yeah, but Boney M isn't too bad either."

Me again.

"I like KK a lot."

Silence.

My cousin again, "KK?"
"Kishore Kumar (a very popular Hindi film playback singer).
"You mean you actually listen to Hindi film songs?"
"They are so crass."
"I only listen to old Hindi songs of the 50s. The new ones are just not worth it."
"The only real music is rock."
"But Kishore Kumar is the best right now." I manage to get in the last word.

I got back home that night with a massive complex, feeling completely inadequate.

Within a year, I had mastered all of Travolta's moves, bought or copied and memorized most of the Beatles numbers and along with Led Zep had become an expert on Jethro Tull and Pink Floyd. I yearned to upstage my cousin and her friends for many years, but had no opportunity to meet her friends again for a long time, until last year when a set of coincidental events brought my wife and I in close contact with two of them. We get along well now and meet often. But they have no idea about what they had wrought that night.

I wonder if everybody has had the cousin experience? I know my husband has, and I know that I have been similarly blessed. The Man's moment involved a time in the seventies (that's the nineteen seventies for all you very young whippersnappers). My moment involved the fifties, and an involvement with an equally cool dude from the entertainment industry.

In my case, I had a thing for a blond guy on television who also used to comb his long, luxurious hair every chance he got. In fact, they made a stupid song out of it, and I remember that song was one of the first "things" I thought I would "just die" if I didn't have. My rich cousin, of course, practically got the first pressing of the song -- and I was consumed with jealousy at her good fortune.

Her good fortune didn't just stop at music. She was also blessed with the dark good looks that are especially prized in a large Italian family, and she had wonderful clothing and toys, the love and admiration of all the cool people, and her own room at home. But when she wanted (and got!) this stupid little record, my patience was sorely taxed. I campaigned; I pleaded, I begged ... and eventually I prevailed.

Soon I, too, was playing "Kookie, Kookie, Lend Me Your Comb" over and over again. That was the actual name of the song. I don't even remember who the singer was -- but I do recall that Kookie was the name of the young, handsome second banana on a popular show called "77 Sunset Strip." Oddly, I now live not too far from the actual location named in the song, and believe me, if you were to visit the real 77 Sunset Strip these days, you'd better bring along a 45, and I don't mean the record.

Times change. The actor, known forever as Edward "Kookie" Byrnes, never really worked much after that one small part of his. Ironically, my husband and I have specialized at times in packaging a certain type of book known as the celebrity retrospective and we've worked with lots of actors who have been known for one (and only one) role that defined their career and then left them high and dry after that.

Fans will sometimes buy a cookbook from such a celebrity, or maybe a short autobiography. We've worked with Bob Denver, who was "Gilligan" and "Maynard G. Krebbs" on TV; Dawn Wells, who was "Maryann" on "Gilligan's Island," and Dwayne Hickman, who was "Dobie Gillis," best friend to the aforementioned Maynard. Eventually, we lived in a rented house owned by Tina Louise, the woman who played "Ginger" on the same deserted tropical island.

My cousin grew up and married a doctor and lives happily these days in a big house full of fabulous clothes and beautiful furniture, even more wonderful than the house she grew up in. The Boy from Matunga grew up to become a doctor, too. I ended up marrying a guy named Birnes, who also once had long, luxurious hair that he used to comb endlessly until it all came out in the comb. The Byrnes named Ed hasn't done a retrospective yet, as far as I know, but it's only a matter of time. Kookie, ain't it?

It can be such a small world, sometimes.