Everybody has problems

There is no country in the world that boasts of a perfect life. Crime and corruption are everywhere. Yeah... I agree. Nobody may have a judiciary that is as fucked up as ours. But hell... there are some who have dictators!

But all that is IA. Not Indian Airlines but internal affairs. Like everyone we have our issues. More or less. But where do we stand as a country?

2 years ago ‘India Shining’ was a four letter word.
You were looked down upon as a bag of air that went bust.
Some accused it. Some chose to ignore it.
All in all the writing was on the wall. India was not shining.


But can a failure of an advertising campaign hide some basic truths?


Before you hear this year’s budget, please give a thought to the following.

~We went from 6000 on the stock markets to 10000 in record time.
~The who’s who of the Forbes top 100 have business interests in India. Take the top 500 for that matter.
~Foreign nations choose to buy defense aircrafts from India.
~The world runs its business processes from India.
~Global carmakers are falling all over themselves to hit the Indian roads.
~When the heads of state of France and India meet, they talk about an Indian steelmaker.
~The purchasing power of the average middle class Indian has skyrocketed.
~India said no to aid when hit by Tsunami.
~India stood aid to Pakistan when the earthquake struck.
~The Indian cricket team is finally a team.

Consider these, and decide for yourself. I’ve already made up my mind.

India is shining.

Alive

I have been visiting a friend who lives in an apartment
block close to my office.
As I walk down the driveway, in the basement to the lift,
I always smiled at the building kids playing cricket.
I remembered my house / tennis ball cricket.

No teams. Individual batsmen. Turns picked on lot.
Last to bat, first to bowl.
If the ball hits a window directly – out.
Runs only on leg side (offside for LHB).
3 overs per batsman maximum.
If the ball is lost, the batsman is liable.
Fast bowling not allowed.
One bounce-one hand catch – out (optional).

I remembered all this and smiled.
It was amazing. The carelessness. The worry free life.
The only major stress being how to extend daily playtime.

Then one fine day ‘30 & happy’ wrote on her childhood.
It was beautiful.
It made me look back long and hard at my childhood
and I was happy that remembered a lot of stuff.
Somehow I was kicked just because I could remember all of it. Clearly.

My fathers Seiko crystal alarm clock with a blue dial. Which I broke.
Putting the prayer room brocade for the Guru Granth Sahib on fire with agarbattis.
Setting a live snake bought from a charmer loose in class.

Watching my first porn movie.
Walking across our village fields in rains.
Milking a cow.
Watching the birth of a calf.
Waiting for my turn to bathe under the tubewell.
Falling off the school bus.
My mother crying because there wasn’t enough money in the house even to buy eggs.
Eating roti with daal, green chilies, salt and onions.
Getting an electric shock.
The 84 riots.
Zia – my standard one classmate from Bombay Scottish.
My horrendous yellow baby dresses with Mickey, Minnie and Donald.

I remembered all of this and a whole lot more.
I was damm kicked. Trust me.
And I silently thanked ‘30 & happy’
for making me think. There are these memories
that need to be re-lived. And thought over.
And ‘happy’, you made me do it. Thank you.

I realized I never wanted to grow up.
Because childhood is the only phase of your life,
where you cannot be judged. You do what you want,
and get loved for it.

But the kids at the building, well,
I couldn’t get the cricket out of my head.
My thinking had made me cry out for a time machine.
I wish I could jump into one and race back
to my standard 6 days in New Delhi.

Every time I watched them play, it hurt.
It hurt that I was not doing it everyday anymore.
I didn’t have the time. Couldn’t.
But I was surprised how much I wanted to.
Could I, still?

But the thinking had made me remember.
The elder kids coming in to play.
The father returning from work wanting to pelt a few shots.
The casual bond, that is ever so easy to create with a kid.
All it takes is a smile and some genuine affection.
So as I was walking out of the building, today evening
I asked them politely if I could play a few shots.
They said sure. And I took the bat.
I was out first ball. Clean bowled.
I threw a tantrum. I wanted another chance.
There were a few voices of dissent but I had my way.
If it was childhood I was visiting I would do the whole deal.
And I got my second chance.
And scored 37 runs. Glory being cut short by a brilliant catch.

I said thank you, shook hands with all of them and walked out.
I was so happy this evening. And honestly, despite all kicks
about my rock solid memory, I cannot remember when
was the last time I was so happy.
As I touched the main road I felt a tear in my eye.
I wiped it off before it could trickle down.

I was happy with the child in me. He was alive and kicking.

The panty story

The past few days have brought some revelations.
A few ladies I know have shown an almost unbelievably bad taste in lingerie.
No, don’t get me wrong here, most of them just write about it.
There were some turn off shades like pink, orange, yellow and green. And some bigger turn offs with sparkles and polka dots.
And then, one sweet girl took the cake.
She claimed to fancy cartoon character like lingerie with psychographic descriptions that say ‘mysterious’ or ‘I’m single’.
Though thankfully she doesn’t wear them over her denims. And neither is the graffiti in Braille. But that doesn’t really help.
I cannot, but wonder what purpose they serve.
Besides the hygienic reasons the only other benefit of lingerie is pleasure. Either to yourself, or to another’s. In which case, if you’re lucky, it would boil down to the first.
Net-net, Pleasure...
Now, how in heavens name, does orange or green lingerie give you any form of visual pleasure? Because what you feel has less to do with color and more to do with fabric. So ultimately it is visual pleasure for self (less) and others (more).
(I will not even make a mention of pink here.)
And while we are talking about fabric and texture, how can I forget a few hidden quirks I was privy to. Now nobody wants to hurt themselves with heir own lingerie…right?
Considering, the kinky ones, well yes. There is a possibility. But how can you ‘do up’ your lingerie in a way that it not only stands to permanently harm your privates but bring your already colorless sex life to an end? Kinks are fine, I’m all for them. Hell…I have a few of my own.
But if the kink happens to be related to word games, barb wires or sandpaper… I am surprised you are managing to get some in the first place.
Imagine this. You get into a room (or anywhere you chose) with a babe. Things are going good and she sheds her 501s to reveal a pink and white number with ‘mysterious’ written on the butt!
And says “lets play sexagram – anagram”. Jumble up ‘mysterious’ and come up with a sexy word.
Oooooooffffff! Turn off would be a blessing in such a situation.
Or maybe you hurt your fingers while undoing the barb wire.
Or removing the sandpaper.
If they have not already hurt someone fatally.
(The flip side here is, there will be no make out session. No in-betweens. You either go all the way there, or kiss and hope for lesser hurdles on the way next time. But with such lingerie, please do not attempt a 2nd base make out session. For it will end up in the emergency room of the nearest hospital. And you will have to come up with a convincing, yet baseless story.

But hell, some of these prints still look good. Tiger prints with fur and all. Or barb wire. Or sandpaper. Or some dandy outrageous color with who-knows-why graffiti on them.
But they look good on someone else. Preferably standing next to a pole. Or dancing on it. Under neon lights. And inconsequential music.

Now here it is very important to understand what good lingerie is.
You see, good lingerie is first and foremost simple. And comfortable.
Plain. Without prints.
Because good lingerie either needs to merge with your clothes. Or your skin.
So unless you have natural fur or skin like sandpaper or private parts like the de-forested area 51 that is barb wired (in which case I am surprised you need good lingerie in the first place), please stick to simple and comfortable. They will surely help you get some.

If you’re not planning to make a living out of being whipped or poled, stick to the tried and tested sexy lingerie.
In lace. Satin. At times sexy black leather. Or good old cotton. For a more detailed version please visit www.victoriassecret.com

And yes, the colors in order of sensuality are black, red, white, grey, blue and peach.

And if none of these suggestions sound good to you (you know who all I’m referring to), chuck the whole thing. Forget lingerie. Reduce a step in the process. Get down straight to business.

Pleasure. Thy name is lingerie.
Though if love is blind, I wonder why lingerie is so popular. But that is for another blog…

After thoughts

How does a biker ride a bike with the entire weight he carries resting on his privates? Which in turn rest on sandpaper and barb wire. Or fur for that matter. And pressed against the iron of the fuel tank.

I failed to have an after thought on the purpose of the ‘mysterious’ word game. Was it featured under the ‘10001 sex tips to spice up your life’ in the latest issue of cosmopolitan?

Orange I agree is a ‘happy’ color. But lingerie should make you feel sexy, not happy.

And finally, sparkles are for class 2 coloring projects. Of fancy dress costumes. Or to decorate and liven up boring show pieces. Need I say more?