Sunday, November 26, 2017

Enigmas and Dogmas

As teenagers, all of us dream of becoming something.

Since the age of 13 or so, I have been in the pursuit of becoming this enigma... the mystery woman that the boys die to get close to, someone who everybody is eager to know about. The woman doesn't talk much, smiles just a little, has eyes that can draw you deep into their dark depths. The woman who will attract you but will never let you come close to her. She will leave your wondering. And she comes with a special brand of beauty and grace.

Today, at 4 decades of existence, I do have Enigma but only on my retro playlist - (even that once famous band of the 90s has now faded into oblivion). The mystery happens when I wonder how I ended up wearing the old pair of jeans when I was actually planning to wear a chiffon salwar kameez, with a chiffon dupatta, chiffon scarf, and chiffon bangles. (Ah! Manish Malhotra and Yash Chopra didn't think of chiffon bangles #LostOpportunity)
Leave alone an enigma, I couldn't even manage to become a lady, that I had dreamt of becoming.

Oh! I did get an anonymous love-note slipped into my desk when I was Class VIII. It said "I love Priya." I should have blushed. Should have acted coy. But what did I do? I let out a loud guffaw and bellowed "Hey who's that?", frightening enough for the anonymous lover to shrink further into anonymity. Well, he wanted an intimate date and all I did was INTIMIDATE. #LostOpportunity

The problem with me is that I can't leave anything to suspense. Anything I feel, I have to express it. Be it love, anger or disappointment. If there is an itch, it has to be scratched, so to speak. (I can't ever imagine Aishwarya Rai scratching.)

The other problem is my compulsive need to talk. If people have been out of touch, I don't wait for them to text first. I do. And then I talk and talk and talk (them actually listening is usually not a prerequisite.) So what's left for them to wonder about? As if that were not enough my gutter mouth can make the husband blush even after so many years.

Oh and those meaningful smiles. I tried. I practiced. Two hours in front of the mirror every day (there were times when I actually had 2 hours of my own for such creative pursuits). Nope. I only ended up with pursed lips and flared nostrils. Well, at least that checks off 'deep-dark' in the list.


For the love of god have I've tried to peck like a hen when I eat with men but what do I do when I have an appetite larger than theirs? So people around me do wonder. Wonder how I did it.

I've been trying to write poetry with a feather-tipped pen but the family tells me to try Stand-up Comedy. Lo karlo baat! I've been trying to grow long, luscious tresses but the girl at the parlour, every time she sees me, she chops off the 3/4th of an inch that took 6 months to grow. She shakes her head and tch-tches "too dry ma'm" (And I'm hoping there are no other hidden references there). Talking about references, I've been subjected to the range - from the extremely rude "Tom Boy" to the more gentle, "gruff voice, good for western music". Well, I've learnt to take all of that with a pinch of chat masala and a peg of whiskey. See, even that's not a lady's drink.

Forget me. Even my lady-parts are not ladylike anymore.
Hey! But I AM sensitive, extremely touchy and hopelessly romantic. Yes, I can't blush but that's okay, I suppose.

So what do I do now? At this ripe age, all I can do is....give up? No! Never! I will try and try and try. Only time will tell if I will end up like Rajmata Gayatri Devi of Jaipur or the famous Cuban lady with the Cigar.




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Pic Courtesy:
http://nobleyreal.blogspot.in
Lorrie Cramer via Flickr