Tuesday, January 4, 2011
When I drop on the floor, a human being cleans after me
The aforementioned adage holds such relevance in our day to day hourly life. These holy words transpired and inspired my way of living, thinking and “standing”. If you are confused then hold your horses and continue reading to eschew obfuscation. It will revolutionize the way you think while “standing” if you embrace it to your DNA level.
It was the time to inaugurate the new innings in my career. It was the time to pop the champagne cork. I landed on Bangalore International Airport in the evening, very much disappointed, rejected, dejected with the 'Metallic Kite' experience. The name Spice Jet is as oxymoronic as Ghulam Nabi Azad’s name for the food was never spicy nor was the air-hostess.Pointlessly pointing to my pointed gayer side, the flight stewards were smoking hot. I felt chicaned by the blatant fact: they took 6000 bucks just for showing me the hanger of nebulous clouds levitating that reminiscence the chimera of the paintings I used to make during my huggies days.
It was at 10 am in the morning, I went to have my breakfast near the vicinity of, which is known modern temple to the Spunkers of Bangalore, National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT).
Who said there are so few pretty girls in this world? haan? haan?
Touché!! Well whoever said he was veridically correct in his assumptions as destiny has mustered all the pretty and ‘opulent’ girls into NIFT. Don’t read too much in that single quote after all more the opulence, more is the embellishment :)
What Bhawanipore college is for Calcutta, NIFT is for Bangalore though the difference here is the girls are more open by virtue of their top(s), bottom(s) and ofcourse mind. The former attributes are attributed to the romanticization with the Occidental culture while the latter is implicitly bestowed upon them by The Almighty since eons.*okie for all smarties who could fathom, I accept there was some pun intended in the latter attribute*.
Voila!! She was sitting in the staircase at the infamous “Chandu Dhaba”, softly holding a jam bun cushioned in her beautiful palms, surrounded by ‘gray desert’ of people. She was wearing a casual black tee with a printed Panda sardonically smiling; almost mocking at every guy on this planet Earth for the ‘Throne’ he was ushered in. Even the Panda tee read “I am coveted, you are orphaned”. Her white shorts, slightly smaller than my roomy’s underwear which he frequently wears inside out(ulta), drew out her long-legs properly pedicured , nails painted with pulverized diamond mixed in pinkish nail enamel.
I went inside the dhaba carrying the grotesque image of her leg constantly oscillating in the lush green garden of my mind until I saw a gargantuan aunty staring at me. I looked at the menu and was befuddled by the exorbitant price of the menu items. It seemed rather she was charging her customers for NSP (NyanSukhPrapti) than for food. I covered the menu item column with my left hand and focused on the right-rate column. After extrapolating, I ordered the cheapest item available in Bangalore- a plate of Idly. The aunty pretty much disappointment with my extrapolation gave me a scary look and went inside while I continued with, which was planned by the Holy Lord for the men: to adore beauty.
Her long topsy-turvy hair was like uninterrupted snow fall though light brown that stuck to her head like duck-fluff, making drape curves propelled by gentle warm breeze. Perennial Beauty!!... My dexterous mind confided to my sycophant heart. One quintessential of her panache was her nose-ring, which was adding fuel to the fire…hot pe hot tantamount to super hhott with 2 h’s and 2 t’s. The world has never been fair to the stronger sex. If a guy longs to become hot, he needs to get a six pack(I meant the abs :p). If a girl wants to become hot, all she needs is a nose-ring?...omg I almost said Dabaang…phew!!
“Idly...Idly..Idlyyyy” someone hollered from behind interrupting my adoration of the surreal lady. I took the plate, came back and put it on the round table. I saw the Idlys then the girl…then the girl and again Idlys. A huge tension plagued in some of my organs. It was the battle between the eyes and stomach. The stomach was craving for Idlys and the eyes for beauty. It was epic and became the battle between unstoppable muscle forces against immovable eye objects. I coaxed my mind to turn interlocutor hence it kicked the stomach to peace and my triumphed eyes perpetuated to look at the object.
Her brilliant radiant eyes looked, depending on the sunlight, gold, green and even sometimes sapphire. Indeed Beauty lies within the Eyes. Such Pulchritude!!.. Her physical beauty must have tempted countless men to sin or ‘restroom’ for sure. Her moist luscious lips shinning with a tinge of extra lip-gloss gave me an illusion as if saliva of ‘honey’ gushed out of her mouth and was hanging to the lower lips. I touched my lips, they were dry, broad and as rough as usual with no sign of honey.
She took the bite of the jam bun slowly; scintilla of jam stuck to her lower lip. It was not her nature to brutalise the jam bun as we guys do while eating, she was like a poet caressing the bun with a delicate touch by her fragile long fingers. Her left hand nails were long, imperial and had creamy finish. During my school days even I once had long nails but was immediately slacked off by: friends baptizing me with hindi version of ‘fool’, my cousin sister christening me as ‘jaanwar’ and my mom went to the extent of exemplifying my sisters comment ‘reech’.
All in all she was looking as young and fresh as this very moment and I was as old as universe. Her taste was particular and style peculiar. Her physical vitality and ‘mouth agility’ exuded great confidence while I stood as dumb as a doorpost. I have always wondered how the femmes accost so fluently while for me to speak, first I have to cultivate the thoughts, search for words in my brain museum and then frame the sentences, in the meanwhile the other person doze off. It looked so effortless while for me it takes tons of effort to appear effortless.
Coming back to the oasis of charm, she was like a dew drop in the gray desert-so exotic..so rare. The providential warm breeze planted kisses on her cheeks killing the luminosity of the glow. For the first time I cursed my existence of being human. I wished I were a tornado, would have taken her in my arms and like swirling Shaktimaan …off to paradise.
She was talking to her classmate who was sitting infront of her in a plastic chair. Her classmate’s apparel started from her ‘betel leaf’ like assets with a strap on each shoulder and ended just two inches below the hip. The unfathomable design of the tattoo on her back was looking more like a printed sticker that came free with bubble gums. Her fashion faux pas suggests she was a complete misfit in fashion industry like I am in engineering; probably as misfit as a square pin in a round hole. Talking more about the population of the gray desert was a bleak guy, so weak could even pass through an eye of a needle. If she was misfit to fashion, this guy was misfit to the world. He seemed to be freshly squeezed out of pastry tube and was probably the result of copy-paste sex. He looked like a cross between a sick fragile black goat and a filthy old mutt.
The cross-guy was furiously trying to make her understand something. I overheard; it was on electrons and protons. How can anyone…I mean seriously anyone even talk about physics with such a Damsel. Well if it was biology I would have known his ‘intensions’ but physics…argss?? It’s Felony!! If it were in times of Caesar (my alter ego), he was doomed to be roasted and thrown to the Lions!! My nimble pea nut brain so wanted to employ an epigram in the terminology of physics which was quite common during our school days.. ”If electricity comes from electrons then moron-ity comes from morons” As expected she was least interested in his forceful conversion and almost gave a big “fake yawn”. It was clearly a euphemism for “Phuck off” (femmes are so multitasking they can fake anything.. from fake Y to fake O ;)
She stood up-heaving looking after her cell phone every minute. Her relationship with her cell phone was as unassailable as ‘Man-Hand’ relationship.With both feet pointing away from me she walked away and disappeared in thin air.
P.S : 1) The quote mentioned at the start is scribed on the wall of my company's restroom.Everytime I read, it makes me move a little forward..
Click to see the IMAGE here.
2)Ghulam and Azad in same name is itself contradictory..