Monday, May 18, 2009

What Women Want

We all want the cherry on top,
The silver lining,
The cream of the crop

The eyes of a tiger
The wit of a muse
Hair black as a raven
A distinctive mark, or scar, or bruise

The intelligence of my dad
The mischief of a lad
Integrity and the ethics,
But adventures like Sindbad

But what else could he say or do to please me?
Here’s a few recommendations, how hard could it possibly be?

Every month, a week-full of fresh flowers
The ability to talk (i.e. mostly listen) till the wee hours,
Sweet tooth ESP would work quite well
Handmade birthday cards are also swell

Perfection; but just the right amount
‘Your’ vs. ‘you’re’ certainly does count
For instance, your accent on crème brulee
Could really (really) make my day

The speed of Bailey, the skill of Z
A good luck charm, a 4-leafed clover (not three)
Acquired tastes, for let’s say, Jazz
The acoustic voice of Jason Mraz

A best friend and listener like the Zs
Uses unleaded petrol and likes to hug trees
An advisor, discerning between right and wrong
Picks up on obscure references like, El-Kabong

Could don a dhoti, or even a suit
Clean as a whistle, not necessarily a flute
Cooks chicken karahi in (less than) half an hour
Smells great all the time and loves to shower

Bug, reptile and moth exterminator
Profound; perhaps a poet or orator
Planner to the tee, yet a spontaneous spirit
Decent features, stable health, and good genes to inherit

Pokes some fun, cracks a joke, pays an honest compliment
A believer, not a sinner; yet grateful and content
Wise and calm like the sages
Yet pays the bills, earns the wages

I don’t really ask for much at all
Just someone to catch me when I fall
Grab my elbow, lest I trip
Pull me back up, when I begin to slip

Did I mention he should be brave?
And be my loyal and worthy slave
If so, I shall try and reciprocate
But till that time, I must wait.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Everything is Average Nowadays

Being a cheapster has become a novelty; today I heard a car with booming speakers after many months or perhaps years. It was almost pleasant, as if I missed the woofer which was previously inherent to civics with tinted windows, on any given main boulevard. With everyone having access to the latest fashions, accessories, electronics, you can’t really tell people apart, unless you hear them speak. Not that I am making a value judgment, it being a change for better or worse, but everything is so easy nowadays. Including a personality makeover. Alternative is the new mainstream.

Even being random, as Z says, has become clichéd.

This is why I make no effort to join the bandwagon. I will not replace my three year old phone (with a weak battery), because it gives me character; what would I be in an endless pool of blackberrys and iphones? Another you, you (you, and you, recurring decimal), with a piece of metal glued to my ear. I’ll pass.

Even being heartbroken, hurt or twisted is clichéd, or overdone. What to be next? For the time being I’ll click my heels down the cement-tiled road, while you glide in your pins and stripes, with a sparkle in your palm.

I like come undone by Robbie Williams, when it randomly played on my itunes. You should listen to it, if you want. Don’t if you don’t want to. The new fad will probably be indifference, but till it takes the centerstage (center/centre?) I shall sing songs.

So get your coats were leaving
We’ll just do something else.

Friday, May 08, 2009

Models and Backbenchers

Both are usually in the same category, either too dumb or too bored to bother. Their smile is usually the same, fake, pasty and white. Every single yearbook/facebook/wedding album has the same tilt of the head, smile, flick of the bangs, and slight squint of the eyes (to add character, they think). They like to ride bicycles without sitting on the seat and flirt without shame. But this also might hold true for the Assholes. While the Repulsives wear shorts too long, and have their socks up till their knees (one blue and one red stripe), the Assholes usually wear all black, and have their iPhones (Pods are so retro) plugged into their ears. They listen to house or trance, because they’re either too dumb to get the lyrics of real songs, or went to college in Canada and think Tiesto is God. They are obviously too cool for the Dostana soundtrack.

The clique likes to hang out in groups of 5 so God forbid you break the treadmill chain. How could you possibly not see their mobile in the towel slot to mullofy the machine, like the playground swing in primary school? My bad once, twice, thrice…I’ll just go to the other end, grandma(s).

The case in point (conventional ridiculously good-looking) bikes for 30 minutes across the butterfly press and then decides to join you on the other bike next to you, the conversation trigger being:

“It’s so hard to lose weight nowadays!”

“Err….are you implying I’m fat?”

Reply. “No, I am fat” (The model speaks)

(Great pickup line!)

I kinda forgot your name within the next 30 seconds till you added me on facebook with your modeling display picture.

Moral of the story: A waistcoat can really make or break you.

Monday, May 04, 2009

The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plain.

“Master Sahab Sitaron Ko Nahin Mantay”, exclaimed Mian Jee, in his general distaste for a relative who had turned into an atheist after his exposure to the ‘West’. It was true, master sahib didn’t believe in the sea and the sky and the blue that runs through it (yeah), his explanation was that the sky is not the sky, but merely a manifestation of the limitations of ones sight. I suppose when people sing it’s a lie, they are probably right. And just because you don’t believe in the stars, doesn’t make you a non-believer. Just unfortunate, I would suppose.

Anyhow, although most of the audience did not get the urdu lehja and most of the jokes, (yes you, who was wearing the white kurta and aara pajama, fakie fakester), it was better than the usual high society fests one tends to land up at. And the fact that a real parrot was involved was a plus 5. This, coming from someone who isn’t very fond of birds, apart from parrots, flamingos and toucans, is obviously a big deal.

It rained on the way back from dinner, and I initially cowered in the rain (first instinct), making my way towards the car in the puddle-y parking lot. Then all of a sudden I thought, what would you do if you were in my place? (‘you’ in this case being your average happy go lucky, ‘high on life’ {I know paindoo cliché but whatever} person), so I straightened my back, flipped back my hair and skipped all the way to the car, singing whatever rhymed with my mood at that point in time, without a care for my painstakingly blow-dried hair frizzing up.

And guess what? It didn’t.