Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Looks and Intimacy

As I walked past the dozens of denizens shrouding the walls of a defeated tyrant,
I laid my eyes on something purer than the tranquility of a mortal sea. She stood before me like the ageless corporal form that wizards dreamt of and kings’ killed for. She was not a knockout or anything from a purists’ PoV. However, as usual my literatures regarding looks are somewhat different. No!! Different will not do. How do I classify my taste in girls as some people like to call it? Ahh!! First and foremost has to be my state of mind when I see a girl. What I am conceiving in my head at that time is of utmost importance. Have I seen a romantic movie recently which jeopardize my reason and makes me believe that I’m actually capable of that love you forever theory! That theory however rotten in its thesis does kicks me in the groin sometimes. This is one of the hazards of being an art lover. You are too much sucked up into that vision which the artist is selling. That suction leads to baseless questions, which at large are prodigal at best. Just as a suction pump loses the air with time, the buyer loses its interest in the product that he has bought overtime. Now this vision, as long as it lasts, is one of its kinds. It makes you believe that just the way in which she looks is sufficient to live an eternity. Alternatively, just with the movement of her hand, all my problems shall bury in their graves. She does not have to be perfect or straight out of the texts. It’s just how my insides respond to her movements. That movement does not have to be anything peculiar.
Tarantino’s layered screenplay, the madness of Rock or the pitch of Nusrat, Marquez’s magical realism or just a simple drag of cigarette or a Younis in swinging Yorker. It can be anyone of them or all. Although sometimes I falter on the doors of someone whose mannerisms doesn’t make the slightest inclination towards any of them and that too in quite an unbelievable way. That is a completely different story altogether.
As a child grows up, he has many questions regarding many aspects of his life. Now as the number of questions, start decreasing his evolution process ascends. This evolution leads to satisfaction, which is one important ingredient as far as achieving life’s’ objectives goes. As he gets an answer to a smaller question, he moves on to a bigger one until the process takes a u-turn and he comes back to the same small questions whose answers he earlier had but they seem absurd or inadequate at this juncture. Now his beliefs shatter a bit, as all his previous concepts quash. He holds on to some and rejects others. Now the search again starts from scratch encompassing a never-ending circle. Moreover, the harder you push the farther you move from the answer. (In case my readers have started getting impatient, I would like to inform that I am still within the topic under discussion). This pushing and stretching of thought pulls the muscles of your brain, which leads to dismay. Now if the girl in question is able to ease that tension even in just trickles, it happens sometimes folks, then she fits the bill.
The look that makes me translucent, the movement that sends me in a trance, the aroma that makes me feel that I had a nose in place of eyes, a nose in place mouth, and a nose in place of ears. Close encounters with the dwarf like intimate creatures taking shape in my head is all I look for. Moreover, anyone who feeds those dwarfs through any one or all of the above is what I look for. Indeed, I get to know about the progress later on but the response I get once I know is quite overwhelming.
She has never looked at me enough, just some bits here n there so I do not know whether that look is there. I have never been close enough to sense her aroma or her movements. We have never talked beyond five minutes in person.
The first time I heard her voice, she was on stage. The microphone acted as the glass, and I was taking slow inconspicuous vodka shots. After some time the all the other sounds around me faded as if coming from a distant source and I could just hear hers.
By the time it got over I had been drunk enough on her to know that the voice has accentuated the attraction. Analogous to a certain Lester Burnham watching Angela Hayes transfixed, believing that she is dancing just for him. Like Lester, I didn’t had the slightest clue as to what I was doing there in the midst of a few buffoons watching other buffoons on stage, trying to decide as to which buffoon was funniest.
Just like Lester, I also believed that I had been in a coma for twenty years and I was just waking up.

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