ITCH GUARD

How to put a Giraffe in to the fridge in three steps?

How to put an elephant into the fridge in four steps?

And so on.

What is the height of stupidity?

A moron looking through the key hole of a glass door.

Few jokes or smart one liners fit around long enough from school to filter through the age barrier.Sound stupid as you bring them out to air them,but then just for Humor.

Answer me this, what I asked myself today. the joke suddenly springing to surface.

What is the height of confidence?

A moron scratching a straight line across his crack with an itchy hand while conducting an audience

Do I need to mention the sex of the offender?

To break it down,A lanky man walking in front of a beautiful girl(obvious reference being me,do remember it is a joke;)) tentatively scratches his butt Crack,looks back over his shoulder,shrugs looks ahead and continues walking with his hand firmly taking out a grudge with the obvious Itch.

To view this encounter,the sun hid firmly behind the horizon ,leaving the stage for the moon, who was obviously not having any of it from behind the clouds,that left me walking with this man in front.Alone!

His shirt blue and pants darker still. Belt, obviously hanging on a crowded peg in his guard’s office after a long day out.Shirt having a nice easy unrestrained time creating a loose V pointing to the area of crime,as the scene sets itself.

Picture me an unsuspecting audience.Head phones, Pounding music,fast paced walk.

Picture him,a thin shadow,a rear that you would miss as it does not stand out.No ear phones on his head just the loud thought in his mind, repeatedly going,'Scratch me','Scratch meeee'.

And in that look he gives me before the show,I am sure he crossed the inhibitive point of no return, where the voice, drowned out the stage fright he felt as it rose in crescendo. Propelling our man in blue to continue his slow swagger,while positioning his hand over his posterior,even as I drew closer.

And as I crossed him, along with three other people in quick succession, I noticed that his hand was still being conducted by the symphony in his head,and a desire that literally had his A** on fire.

Confidence.Full marks.

Is that a male thing?or would I ever find myself crossing a woman who doesn't need to even look around to scratch that itch beneath her B***s?

Not one.

I look twice before I even loosen my bra strap away from where it pinches.

And would probably die two deaths by embarrassment were I to find my dress in between my Ahem!posterior vertical crevice,as I stood up and walked off.And it took a third person to pull it out.

Basically were I to do anything that diminishes the perceived goddess status?I would take out my surveillance cameras and if I see a bogey approaching I would instantly abort the mission.which however leaves me to speculate at the mystery of this man. Any man.

And probably salute him,and through him all men and their kingly assuredness!

Yes men have been known to waddle past with potbellies and hanging gardens for rears in birthday suits,past women who elegantly drape their sheets around strategic mounds,that could rival Venus,Did I say drape?

I should have said hide.A quick cover up,as the spectacle returns to cross our orbit,with ‘ball’ed up confidence that need obvious priming with a little scratching.

I was told this ballsy event was the most pleasurable thing for a guy, and the Ecstasy derived,unrivaled!!

My admiration lies in the fact that for men to perfect the art of self pleasuring to an audience,not for the spectators but despite the gaspers,is a self effacing act bowing hundred percent only to feeling.

So in Men Vs. Women,what stops the manicured talons??Is it the social conditioning of the popular media??The race for perfectionism?The stage set to hide and protect the image we portend??and men technically ,literally give Balls to it??

But that is a debate for another moon hiding phase.

Till then I say,

Guys,The itch in the rear garden is great,humorous even.But when the party gets transferred to the front lawns,that’s when the itch turns contagious,transferring to my hands.

And yes you are definitely god’s creation ‘butt’ whatever creates that itch,funny admirable,Your Don Juan Moment,its STILL like a sneeze and you have got to cover it up.

Till then Ladies,lets keep our eyes alerted and smiles strategically averted to these wayward disasters,I salute and call  ITCH GUARDS.

Home SWEET Home

Fact:  India has the largest cases of diabetes, sitting preeningly sweet above China, USA ,Brazil,Russia and Japan, and every other country in the world. And under the age of 35,3/4ths of the deaths are attributed to Diabetes.

It’s a disease that blows out candles as fast as AIDS, 3.2 million a year.

Controllable,predictable,preventable,yet,Why? The reasons could be enumerable. From genetic to Lifestyle, but mainly boil down to the sweet tooth we possess as a nation. A thread that ties us as strongly as innumerable boundaries divide regionally. Maybe it comes down to us genetically encoded and wrapped as a hand me down gift of traditional seasons greetings sweets box.

Could it be that as a nation we are genetically predisposed to the slayer?long generations being exposed to the culture of nothing can be too sweet,slowly creeping its way from habits to silent trickle me downs in the wills??

We have all heard tales about how our ancestors, okay this one is purely mine, could have a box of ghee and used to drink their tea half full with sugar, he also used to ride a horse across hundreds of bighas of land a day, probably burning it all off, he died as healthy as his horse at 94.

(Could it also be that losing all our horses to the lazy winds of time we are just left muddling about in the sugar,tilling land in Farmville or building cities in CityVille with no horses to pull us out of this quagmire? )

If you do not remember any such stories and you pick at sweets delicately and probably just hand out platitudes of ‘I don’t like them’ when someone offers it to you while secretly salivating, then you will probably not relate to what I write, because you are already on the path to emancipation. A generation separate from the greedy that is the underlying definition for the rest of us and maybe eventually the plague in you shall spread and dethrone us from our highly placed spot in diabetic hall of fame.

Could it also be that our 'will power 'courtesy being dipped in sugar over centuries has become porous to popular healthy notions of sweetness and are blinded into letting the saccharine slip through,unawares??

Many reasons, but I can only extrapolate from what I feel.

Let me start by introducing you to my personal battle field where recently,only two contenders are alluring me away from reality, the fight between cookies and chocolate fondant .Explaining me, a small digit in the billion denominations, but still a part of the majority that places us at the top of the charts.

Small steps to the right,big steps back in reverse,my body perfects a rhythm,eyes disciplined in their aversion of the cookies that display the RAID THE LARDER,a space jammed with chocolates icecreams,cookies,chocolate covered Raisins…now imagine a more attractive corner at 35,000 feet. This is my work altitude.My work space limited, my imagination with the hyperactive switch on.

I do this regulary,you know.Not flying I mean,just dancing around the Larder.

I have this image that plants itself in my mind and then the dance begins.

The theory being that the image supplanted in my mind translates to repeat telecasts, making the hologram med image a delightfully succulent treat for the tongue.

Tea Coffee???As I pour along, POP comes in the image of me munching that shortcake.

Nibbling the corners to reach the strawberry core,which needs a hundred percent attention,rubbery yet full of gummy strawberriness.Snap out!!!!

Row two,Would you like some dessert? Or cheese??and remaining correct to theory fruits???

This sluggish drama unfolds and my mind provides the background score,the word dessert,desssssssert rapping mindlessly soundlessly on.Rapping on it while the product lies tangibly close is pure agony for my senses, the spoonful of chocolate dreams are dancing tittilatingly up.

My conscious mind will never let me live,were I to eat both.

However the ability of the mind to placate the belief system, lulling it to mute by replacing it with a temporary relief patch is an art that we subconsciously practice to perfection.Basically I am all about zero control.

Desitny,It was meant to happen,Uncontrollable,sab bhagwaan ki kripa hai (God’s will) are all gateways to heavenly mouthfuls,brushing aside all scientific data.So may be its god’s will or psycho kinesis that I find a cookie,then another, in my hand to go along with the hot Chai.

Also my sweet jaw needs a little nourishment to revert to sweet status post a savoury lunch.For which the star attraction is the Fondant(I can even feel the molten chocolate in the centre move lavaishily past the crumble of the cake,and into the river of caramel,where i scoop it all lovingly and enjoy my piece heaven.now that is what i equate the golden gates to,I don't know about you..)

Justification?reality?Fact?whatever.

This is how I came to perfect the dance around the RAID THE LARDER.The really professional dancers have written guilt out of the equation.For me this is such a hindering factor,because then guilt turns to self admonishment , as the size of the coulis reduces with each walk-past. and the self admonishment only goes when the memory is written over by an overly concerned call bell,or a nice and scandalous chat over a cup of peppermint tea which I savour.

The question that I answer most frequently,why do Indians have soooooo much sugar in their tea,or put in milk bottles for children?? I guiltily answer in between my bites of the short bread or the chocolate coulis.I don’t know what I say,I hate justifying to self righteousness, or regional or palate perceived superiority, I need to find a great come back.(If i start to explain the orgasmic pleasures derived by our genetically primed tongues,it could be leaking an open state secret,plus it will take practical demonstration,which the salad part of the world is deprived of,as it is wont to do.)

(But what I should tell you is my heart bleeds when the rotation of meals changes, that is the depth of emotion an Indian can feel towards a piece of sweet.)

And as we come totally religiously programmed, with ingrained knowledge of  the circle of life ,(you may even buy bracelets depicting it celebrating the eastern-ness of the concept )and if I am blasé about it, In life what comes must go, what begins must end, and if it’s a circle the end is just the beginning. and if it has to be never ending and what it calls for is devotion dedication to the finer things in life, well who am I kidding its actually ambling along sweetening the unbearable bumpy never ending ride, enjoying it while watching the cirque of life.

So for Indians basically life is a Jalebi ,(roughly a crooked sweet doughnut) and we rise in it like a cake.(which we now, bowing to changing times, make with sugar-free.)(and its a fine way to be,but as we stare at computer screens all day long,we just need to figure out a way to balance the missing horse riding for hundreds of bighas in the equation of Sweets+horseriding= Long healthy life,because sweets+computer+god's will=Fast Track to God)

WE LIVE IN SWEETNESS.WE THINK SWEETS.WE ARE SWEET.

How else is it that pan India you wouldn't find a person who doesn't smile at you, as you ask for directions in broken Hindi, in the worst possible accents we may have ever heard in our lives? What makes us still smile when you turn around and poke a jibe at the poor unkempt fellow who just waved you along? What makes that smile so sweet? Religiously awakened tolerant enlightenment? Or just five sugars dissolved in the mid-afternoon brew?? You will never know.

As for me I am part of the unquestioning sweet parade with just a smidgen of self flagellatory tendencies and a very bad case of Selective short term Amnesia.

WELCOME UNQUESTIONINGLY TO INDIA.

Till the neo- savory healthy underdogs overthrow us and  bleed out the sweet .Then we would brush past a questioning you with the blank polite stares of New Yorkers,munching salad and sipping Americano.