For my Torch – who is leaving India in search of ‘interesting pastures’ Happy Journey, you shall find what you seek.
I don’t know anyone who does not like a pretty face, a figure enhancing dress, stunning heels or sparkling diamonds. Esp. in the metrosexual world is just as important to look good as it is to be bitchy. There is nothing wrong about it - we are greedy, selfish, superficial people, for whom the packaging surpasses the quality.
Is acceptance the first step to change? Now, not really. Acceptance is a way of comforting our conscience, accepting the satva with tamas. Being beautiful or ugly doesn’t improve the qualities within us. (The other day while walking down the platform, I brushed across a girl in a too obviously fake Versace; I was on the side of the train tracks and as the train approached I urged her to move in, and when she didn't I pushed her as the horn howled in my ears. She turned to call me a fat bitch just before I decided to turn around and apologise. I refrained, glared at her and called her an ugly mare with a fake Versace! I didn’t wait to see whether she was looking. Point is she wasn’t ugly or mare-like but I found her lack of civic sense, judgement and loose tongue - classless. I don’t think her looks compensated for those 45 seconds.)
But looks are very important and one often can get away with a smile. That gets me to befriending beautiful-looking people. A name in history is ‘Plastered face’; since childhood, we all have our knee jerks - mine was being fat, hers was being short and ‘not fair enough’. She pioneered in calling me names on being the fairest/ prettiest chick in class. Starting with chalk, flour, plaster of paris, albino, tube light, etc… needless to say we never became friends. But the colour bar scarred me for life till I entered college. I have crossed many like me; all of them were pretty but seriously flawed in their own way.
At the coffee-skimmed-milk parlour almost half a decade ago, Century slut claimed that I had the guys I wanted because Indian men dream of a ‘white cunt’ – "it’s the colonial hangover, you know!" I took serious offence to it then, coz it wasn’t the truth. I have since then dumped everyone who wanted anything more than what was in the offing. I have lost some really nice people in the bargain - they were left with large question mark and a ‘u don’t exist for me’ look on their face.
Then I met Torch. She was the only chick I knew my ‘all guy’ friend circle. When I saw her, I couldn't help but stare, she was everything a guy wanted, and everything a girl wanted to be. But Torch being tight arsed, eyebrow twitching, nasty remarks expert - was unapproachable. We sat at the same table and I smiled at her, she gave me her ‘what the fuck are u smiling at’ look but seconds later smiled back.
We have since been friends, and the kind that teach each other about life. On our last pajama party, her confession was a stunner, "K i hate to say it but you my bitch are the most beautiful chic in chicland - and I am so f-ing jealous of you.' Coming from her- it was the most insincere, fake but best compliment I have received under d influence of alcohol. “That idiotic smile u have, twinkling eyes and the happy look - compels one to smile back only to be on the safe side. You have been the best bitch I know, bloody bitch, I am so f-ing going to f- your case to not feel the vacuum” and she loves bitches!! The hugs after that were tight warm and filled with more wine screams!
Torch is the in model of the group. There is a bias - I am beautiful not because I look good, I had known that eons now. When in the bevy, I just wait for my turn as they pick out guys for entertainment tonight. Or wait for all the guys to finish staring at the gang and then turn to look at me. I often end up pimping them through the evening and land up alone on my way back home. (No i don't feel bad about it.)
They are pretty women, like d metrosexual genius is a pretty boy. He knows more about botox than most professionals do, he is not gay, doesn’t swing either! And he doesn’t go out with average looking women. (friends r exceptions, thank you!).
Today beautiful is being Gay and being Gay is in vogue. If u are gay, it is taken for granted that u have an amazing sense of style, looks and oomph. The editors of straight men’s magazines are gay; make that obvious- looking closet gays or single cynical men who haven’t had sex for a decade (in the least)! But they are termed genius; like a pretty face is just a pretty face; a gay writer is just good in the columns of fashion and gossip. I don’t deny any of that, but super straight men are also good at this game.
Torch being in the fashion business laughs at gays –‘they are poor souls – and the worse bitches. You can’t help but pity them – they are on no side of the fence and have to serve on both sides of the fence. Imagine watching a naked woman when you could almost puke at that sight or shave a straight model’s crotch. Also they have to follow the rules of being gay – they don’t have the freedom to be themselves. Once you pronounce yourself as gay, you cease to be everything else after that – including human!
That was my first on the other side of the fence perspective of gays. Torch had sensibilities that changed a lot me. One clear instance was after her first hard earned Charles and Keith shoe broke – she cursed, not cried. ‘bastards can't make shoes for humans, can they? She picked up her keds, and threw strappys in the bin – I was shocked, don’t u want to mend them I asked? K its just a fucking shoe, and it frigging hurts to wear it! It was profound, although it may not sound so.
I will miss all the ten min meets – the tight hugs, the ‘bloody bitch’, the smiles, the beauty treatments and most of all I will miss the classy bitch – Torch, have a great life. And don’t call me! Lol, I ain’t gonna cry.
