Sunday, June 20, 2010

Spelling B

If the letter B were a person, it would certainly be an eight-year-old hyperactive kid. For some reason.
No. On second thoughts, it would rather be a curvy woman -- the nouns that make up the curves both start with B.
My association with B, however, is not because of my love for the things those nouns denote; it's primarily due to the pompous nickname I have. But I am not telling it, and would issue a denial if it were to be revealed by those who know it already.
Here's my list of B-things that I guess are worth writing about here.

Of people, there's Brishi. He used to be a great friend till Class VII before I was thrown out of the school. The he left town too. Many insignificant details later, he found me on Facebook's ancestor Orkut. We have each other's numbers, but don't go beyond deciding to meet. He is in the same town now, and I made another promise the other day. I never showed up though, and neither did he call. Times change people. You possibly knew that already. Anyways, I will call him again tomorrow.

Then there's that strong-headed child-woman who has layers and layers, but still puts up a needless act of being mysterious. She is mysterious enough; the needless pretence takes one thin layer off her. Fault-finding aside, the countless other sides keep one intrigued, hooked. It often makes me gaze and gape at her face, that shapeless nose, the lips she takes such care of. The eyes that look at you with a kid’s distrust in a stranger her mother told her not to talk to. And when she talks, one listens. The admiration of the shapelessness of her nose turns into love, love for the sincerity of her naiveté, the boundless curiosity she claims she does not bother to possess. I haven't named her because she does not like people talking about her in her absence.
But you possibly know her; such a She is there in everyone's life. The shape of the nose may differ.

Bhupinder Utreja. He probably parachooted into this list for the only reason that he was my humsafar in the first big independent trip of my life. We went to Nagpur for a human rights meet with me posing as a teacher at the age of 17. Was as much fun as boring as it sounds. He made me drink in the train; we drank in a cinema hall, in the loo -- 'cause it had 'great climate' as he said -- and we drank in the streets. I had grown up. He was old enough to be my dad then, still is. He is the reason why I am more comfortable with people double my age; I consider that a good thing.

Booze. It needs company; nothing else matters. It could be Rocket, Dhol or Famous Grouse. Conversation is the alcohol content. Peanuts would be nice though.

Tipsy, i'd say bosoms and behinds could be the defining mounds of a woman's personality, and also a man's. I notice them like any other man, and i admire them like any other man. This has distracted me towards porn.

Bimbos. The girls who look beautiful when they don't talk, says the dictionary. And when they talk, all those great talkers with average looks look beautiful. I have a special place for them on the shelf in my heart. They seem to be the brand I attract most, yes with those teeth I still do. And they make me believe my own theory of choosing a good tongue over nice tits (good conversation over physical assets, I mean).

If you read this, let me tell you there's not much to look forward to in C. The sound of it is so hollow.
I might change my opinion though, and could churn out something worthwhile.

By the way, C spells Comment.

1 comment:

nupur M said...