A Joke Gone Wrong

Christmas came and passed us all. I was in a sombre mood so it didn’t affect me much. But it seemed to have a rather unusual effect on my sister. Initially,  she threw herself in the festive cheer of the season and baked cakes, stirred up some delightful fudge, and then also lost several pounds pounding away on the milk cream dough.  So far so good.

A few days later, she lost her cool because I joked about her putting on weight. It was a simple harmless joke. It did border on being a little risqué, but I contained it well within the limits of decent humour. Yet, she frowned, told me to get lost, and talk like that at a certain relative’s place – a relative quite known for such ‘rubbish’.

The moment she castigated me for that, I had no idea how to react. There I was all smiles and animated about what I was telling her. And there she was icy and as sharp as a knife in her word choice. I did not let go of my smile – I remember – as I turned back from her room to the hall, but I do remember I fell silent rather too suddenly for my own comfort.  I sat on a chair and looked out of the window at no object in particular.

More than being insulted, I was surprised, really. Yes, surprised. I wasn’t feeling humiliated at all. That I no longer let myself experience. But yes, I was surprised.

She called the joke vulgar. It was about how she had put on weight on her behind. And yet, she saw no vulgarity in poking fun at my weak stomach and the number of times I hung out in the loo.  That apparently was all in good taste, but my joke about her hips reeked of garbage.

Well, I was quiet for a while till I could contain my anger. Anger – when in me – boils to a volcanic temperature and tries to burn down everyone around.  Luckily, I don’t let it do so these days for after the burning, I and I alone have to face the brunt. Anger avoids such confrontations.

So once my anger died down, I let myself talk. And lo and behold! I wasn’t talking, I realized I was quarreling. I told her in no uncertain terms I did not see what she found vulgar in what I said just as she was blissfully unaware that her taunts about my hangouts in the loo could be vulgar.

Well, needless to say, she refused to accept that. But of course, she did not say so. Instead, she put on her face of disagreement and yelled, “Fine! I will not joke about it then! Happy?”

I merely shut up.

No point in arguing, really, when the crime had already been committed.

On Men…

I don’t know what is it with homosexual men. There’s always a propensity in them to like an extremely handsome yet dumb bloke – all because he is an extremely handsome dumb bloke.

Of course, the liking is stymied to their having sex with them. And once that’s done with, out flies every liking for the bloke. I have seen this happening often. In fact, it’s happened so regularly, I am rather wary when men approach me. Not to say I am handsome, but I do pretend to be dumb and I am not half as bad in the looks department.

A friend of mine did mention the same thing to me the other day. “You know,” he said, “it is so heartbreaking to know that all I am good at is the sex. They never seem to want to know me beyond the bed.”

I find it difficult to decide on whom to date for this reason. I need to be called after the sex and I want to be treated well. I think it’s hardly anything to expect when I am reciprocating the man’s urge in bed.

But well, expecting a need to be fulfilled and fulfilling it in reality are two very very different events. And I doubt they ever show a tendency of meeting at the same table!

That Time of The Year

My phone’s screen morphs into an electric pink. It’s the wallpaper that I set without much thought. My colleague seated just a desk away is seriously considering some e-mails though he appears to be staring at nothing in particular.

People walk by in the corridor blissfully unaware I even exists. Of course, the ones who know me peer into my cabin – that I share with my colleague – and nod or just stare and move on.

My boss sits next door. He’s all set to wind down for the day – just like me. MY head aches and my neck wants to tilt to my right side. I tilt it and my neck begins to hurt as well.

I am bored as you can make out from the paragraphs above. And this Christmas, I seem to have presented myself with tonnes and tonnes of boredom. I will not be going anywhere, will not be entertaining anyone – in short – will not be doing anything worth screaming from the balcony about.

And to think I was the one way back in the 1990s to be very very excited about the most wonderful time of the year. I don’t feel anything about it at all this year. Perhaps, the recession took its toll and robbed my enthusiasm. Perhaps I am fed up of my job and am disgusted that I cannot – despite my abilities and talents – find another to make me happy.

Oh this Christmas chugs in with ennui written on its mistletoe. I am neither happy nor sad that it’s here. It’s here because it’s that time of the year when it just has to arrive and make way for the New Year.

I don’t seem to have hopped onto its bandwagon of cheer and joy though. I feel tired, worn out, and seem to carry a whole truckload of fatigue along with me.

And that truckload, that tiredness, and that weariness just doesn’t want me to get onto the Polar Express…

A Blacker Shade of White

Feelings. Does one necessarily have to classify them into good, bad, or dangerous? I’m talking about feelings that arrive when you tend to like a person. True, it’s a good feeling to like a person. But then such a good feeling can be lead to consequences that make you think the feeling was actually bad or dangerous.

Sigh! I don’t know. The manner in which I talk about them – feelings that is – makes them seem very complicated. I had no idea I would be making them seem so ever.

For me, every thing and emotion almost always had two sides to them: black and white. Life was easy then. Shun the black and accept the white. It was expertly done and my mind carried off this separation process in autopilot mode.

Till one day – I regret to mention it, but I must – my entire two-sides system was kicked in the stomach and sent away. In its absence, I panicked and actually began to think. I realized there exists this rather shady colour: grey. It hid the bad within the good and made it seem that bad was actually good but had just strayed away from its holy ground on account of circumstances – inevitable, inescapable circumstances.

I hated this colour outrightedly. It did not look nice, was hardly aesthetic, and never ever found its groove. It was as if it wanted to be a cousin of white and black as well. Middling about in its rather aimless mannerisms, it chose to attract merely on the basis of the fact that it was generous in its acceptance of anything and everything I did. And seriously, easy though this attraction was, it did give me a headache of sorts. It was strange: Here was a shade of colour willing to be responsible for any damn inexplicable deed and yet I would not like it.

Much much later, I realized why: I did not want a colour to be responsible for my deeds.

I wanted to be responsible…

Those Moments Unhindered

At times, I want to just strip and lie naked with several men. The moment I let that thought in my mind, I am all excited and want to not let the vision go away. But the very next second, in walks my rational self and I know the naked vision is a figment of my unbridled lust and passion…

If only lust were thrown in an abyss far far away from Earth, I will have been a monk – a nice gentle holy monk – by now…

Oh What an Ache a Headache is!

My head’s aching but I have to plod on or else, it’ll be apparent I am with a headache. In office, the golden rule is not to have a headache. That way, no one gives you unwarranted attention. But the moment, you get even a slight wrinkle on your head to indicate how horribly your head throbs with pain, you have had it.

Everyone will have an opinion about the way you should deal with it. Everyone will insist you go home, and no one will bother to leave you alone…

I think I am much better now. At least I am much better at pretending to be better. I cannot and will not stand the Grand Opinion and its cast!

A Date after An Era

The guy was goodlooking – almost like an Israeli: dangerous and yet inviting. And so I invited myself to an opportunity that let me ask him out. And he said yes.

We met at Bandra station and then got into a rickshaw that galloped off to Carter Road. Oh it was a date for sure. He went home to change and douse a bottle of perfume before he walked back again to Bandra station. And since, I don’t mind smelling some nice cologne, I pretended to be indifferent, but secretly loved the fragrance that pervaded the rickshaw.

After the rickshaw stopped at Carter Road, we got out and walked. The Israeli – I will call him that for want of another description –  is nice to talk to but is very very sensitive to criticism. Well, he isn’t sensitive to all the criticism you throw his way. He just detests being corrected grammatically.

I noticed that trait the moment I met him and made a conscious effort to keep my mouth shut lest I correct him. After all, he wasn’t offending me and I somehow felt nice in his company.

He is very proud of the fact that he is an editor at the age of 22. The pride swells into the shape of a monster, actually. He began to tell me how much he loves his job, how you need to have several years of experience to be a sub-editor in a newspaper, and how he had landed himself with such a job at an age as tender as 22.

Usually, I when someone goes on like this, I do give them a peace of my mind. But yesterday, I really did not want to argue. Nor did I want to contest the veracity of his statement. I just nodded, smiled, and was my agreeable self. You see I had begun to like him already.

We talked a little more. And then we sat in a cafe and drank some coffee. We got along well. I have a strange feeling I might sleep with him. I don’t know why. You see while we sat at the cafe, I was inexplicably drawn to him and I felt like taking his face in my palms and kissing his lips.

It’s just that I am a stickler for proper behaviour and so refrained from doing anything that stupid. But were I drunk, I would have and that would have been quite a sight.

Anyway, moving on, as I said, I was attracted to him. Perhaps it was the accent that did the trick. It’s exotic and rather East European-esque. And since I am crazy after such accents, I have fallen (slightly) for the boy’s charms.

Half an hour later, as I finished sipping my coffee and we began to walk to the rickshaw stand, I realized I was really pleased that I had asked him out. I was smiling, he was smiling, we were talking and listening to each other, and the manner in which we went about this was akin to a symphony well played by a Philharmonic Orchestra.

So as the piece came to a close, I played the final movement: “Oh it has been great meeting you. Are you coming this Sunday for the meet?” I asked.

“I don’t know I am not quite sure.”

“Well, do come; that way I get to see you again.”

“Oh all right! I’ll try to. See you soon.”

“You too.”

And we smiled at each other, held hands a little, and then parted.

Not Working At All

Sigh! Don’t feel like working;

But then what’s new.

Feel like lazing around;

And that’s in every sinew.

Oh yes, I want to just laze around you know. I don’t want to do anything at all and yet I want to be paid for it all. Is there such an opportunity anywhere in this world? Were it to be, I doubt the one employed to fill that position ever has tendered in his or her resignation!

At Work and Fending off The Sexy Blue

What am I doing today? Let’s see: I am approving timesheets that have collected in my interface and have been lying there for more than a month.

I am also about to start with a new chapter in the Help file and oh! It makes me sigh and yet I am glad to have work. These days that is most reassuring.

Among other things, I hope to God that the lead writer from Canada doesn’t call today. If he does, I will have to sit back till 7:30 perhaps and so, miss my driving class. But then I don’t seem to mind sitting back once in a while. The Canadian lead writer is charming and so full of verve, it’s always a pleasure to talk to him. Do I have a crush on him? No. Well, probably I do. But I don’t think it’s one of those crushes that waylay your day-to-day activities and make you all mushy and muddled in the head. It’s just a pleasant nice feeling that makes me smile when he calls.

So, probably, I will have to sit back and he is sweet enough to wrap up the call in 30 minutes.

—

I noticed something yesternight as I switched the lights off and got into bed. I had cut down my intake of porn! Oh yes, I am not kidding. Believe you me, I haven’t surfed for the flesh in a while and that is quite an achievement. I had begun to worry whether I was becoming a porn addict. I would spend hours surfing porn and downloading full-length feature films with hardly a storyline and ample amount of naked flesh in every scene. Well, it did make me ecstatic, but you know once I was done with it, the ecstasy would crash onto the floor and a quick violent feeling of ennui would seize me.

Dealing with that was a big big headache and of course dealing with the actual headache that ensued after I had climaxed was even worse. There were times I wanted to skip work the next day after a bout of porn and masturbation. But only because these are tough times and the recession would have leapt in to take advantage of the situation, I would drag myself to office and pretend to be unwell to account for the glazed paralyzed look.

This happened so frequently, I myself was shocked at my behaviour and so, decided to do something about it. I tried – with all my might – to not go to xtube.com and xvideos.com and I put in a truckload of effort to concentrate on a book to fend off the urge.

Well, I will not say I am over it: That will be an outrageous lie. It’s just that I know I have it under control now. And it isn’t the bother it was until a few weeks ago. I just hope it remains this way. After all, I cannot afford to look perpetually spent. Besides, I need to earn to recover money spent as well.:)

The Man Now and The Boy Back Then

Men – they are a fascinating species. At least to me, they are very fascinating. Of course, I am talking of the ones well built and who walk with a swashbuckling style. I never can do all that you know. Nor am I that powerfully built. So that muscular physique has been quite a fixation. I think from that arose my lust and passion for men. I remember the time I was in school, there was this guy who would sit next to me sometime. He did not have much of a face to look at, and yet, he was so sexy. He was well built too – okay not well-built; moderately built and he had the nicest of asses that ever came my way in the ninth standard. It was round and I could make out the shape of his bikini briefs through his trousers.

Oh, I had a crush on him for sure. But even then, I knew it would be futile to waste my time on him. He was a Moslem and he was – for lack of a subtler way to put it – spectacularly dumb.

So, though I loved to imagine we both making love, I knew I would never go beyond the lovemaking.

Fortunately, nothing happened between us. I was shy and worried about the way I was thinking about men back then and he was out and out a romeo of the worst order and degree. So, though he did at times show more than just a flicker of interest in me (He wanted me to come for the overnight school picnic and knowing what he had in mind, I faked an excuse and stayed put at home.), I always pretended to not understand and let the matter fizzle away.

I was thinking of him today. What was it about him that made me imagine him in my bed? I think it was his voice (a heavy bass one) and his countenance. It was a very raw earthy style of walking that he had and that – I remember very well – made my knees knock with excitement the moment he was around.

Oh it was very juvenile of me to think all that then. And very impulsive too. Okay not impulsive, it was more like I having a sudden attack of an obsession for that mass of manly flesh.

Sigh! Well, I am glad to have grown up. After all, I don’t think I’d like to carry around a truckload of mistakes, would I?:)