Elvis's night out

Hurtling along at shattering speeds of eighty kilometers per hour,and no they wouldn’t shatter anything along the way,its just my jalopy kind of shudders at speeds above this divine threshold.

So shattering elvis’s(my ride) peace, yet taking care of my testy yet reliable drive,and my hosts warm spread which awaited we shuddered along,

As we turned up at the gate,grimy may I add,it had the protesting looks of a sullen piece left out in the rain rolled in mud in defiance kind of look,I had managed to clean his looking glass,but the rest of his Armour well still hid its shine behind the camouflage of brown dust.

So suspiciously eyeing Elvis the guard at the gate approached with his register in hand gingerly,trying to peer in to identify me.

I helpfully pulled down the window, and looked innocently as I could at his slim frame pouring all it had into that register trying to get elvis ‘s number yet avoid any contact with his being, like a compliable citizen I provided my details.And requested for the gates to open to accommodate me and my drive.the gates however remained firmly shut.

I tried the visitors parking card,which was reported to me full,making me feel like I was standing in a blockbuster movie line and the counter just shut in my face.Sigh!

Maybe it was full maybe it wasn’t so I sat awhile and beseechingly again looked at him made him my dearest relative’bhaiya’,usually a card that familiarizes the males in our society with supersonic speed,germinating in them a desire to come to your rescue.

Alas My ‘Bhaiya’ Card flopped ,maybe he had already germinated in his chivalirity,and gotten over with it in the face of over utilization of the term.whichever was the case he smilingly covered the refusal of space for elvis by pointing us in a direction that was just across the road.

My ‘abla naari’ card (defenseless woman),though delivered with a smile and the pointed fact that how will I walk across that great unsafe road alone at night when I do want to drive back,outside the safety of the gate?

A question which actually triggered his protective instincts.No,not enough to open the pearly gates for me,but to provide me manly shelter in my trek across the road at night.

So as we had forwarded ourselves to line the gate ,we smoothly(please note smoothly) peeled back,(hearing reassurances that were a space to fall vacant elvis would be first in they would call) and went sulkingly to stand behind an exceedingly ugly opel.Away from all the BMW’s parked inside the gate whom elvis would have done well to interact with.however now my stomach was leading me on.

Flowers in hand and again helpless where to go ‘abla naari’ question at the gate,I announced my arrival.

There are some men who brag and some men who brag some more.while popping into various groups and listening in on enlightening conversations,in some where the enlightened men were discussing the future trends of property and the next and more interesting group who were discussing Ferraris,Now for elvis’s sake I should know the latest in the field so we parked our feet in that group.in the we is included me and my lively glass.

The gentlemen who was lead bragger in the group happened to be one of my friend’s husband,and having been protestingly dragged to this party he had decided that tales about his latest acquisition(actually I do love that car) audi Q7 ,will light up fires of jealousy in all present quenching his desires, as he himself is always alchohol free.sealing his presence in jealousy,

But I do love trying to wrestle an invitation to drive it out of him,actually at the present stage I have been walled off at the’ may I sit in your car ?’stage.but there is still hope,in the bleak distant future.I grin at the mere thought of feeling the airconditioning blast and curving my hands on its steering.

I still love you Elvis all these commando drops in conversations are so I can drive you better.

The air circling in the group was being breathed in with a doze of how the audi found parking inside the pearly gates.(did I mention these people arrived almost as my Cinderella hour was up? so My ‘bhaiya’ had not delivered.)

There was an outraged cry by all present,actually it may just have been me,making up in volume for the rest of the group.

My chagrin was announced and allayed by tales of money shifting hands.

So not only had the smooth talker blinded my ‘bhaiyas’ with the scrubbed clean by servants at home exterior of his nameless audi,but they were also taped shut by the note that miraculously lined their hands,and automatically motioned them into opening the gates.I can just imagine a smart salute thrown in.I was officially upset that I decided to enroll my friends husband to escort me back,to elvis rather than depend on the money eating guards.

I sometimes wonder how our country could be a porous sponge.held up my money that seeps in from all angles,seeping into the system,clearing an individual path,forming a monetary core that is fragile susceptible to outside rain and yet inflatable like hay when dry and crackling,still inflammable.

The lining of our (pockets) core has become so intrinsic to the functioning and identity of our nation as whole that were it to be vacuumed and cleaned out it would leave a hollow space,and we may just implode or if we don’t ,then we leave ourselves vulnerable to some other kind of filling.

This is our identity,inflammable. And only a leap of faith for total transformation by all ‘bhaiyas’ and ‘behans’(sisters) together ,a desire for all to sit inside the pearly gates ,simultaneously would make a change possible otherwise if it isn’t synchronous we may all land in different places,leaving the fabric of our country irreparably torn.

But for a nation like our mini elephant to be synchronous, needs a common motivation,a spark of which was ignited by the AAM aadmi party,but a spark is not enough to launch a nation into action let alone reformatory action.especially an unstable spark that flickers.

Now what that spark would be I know not the last effective one that smouldered the nation was ‘azadi’

But political reasons aside, me and Elvis still on date were found on the poorer side of the capitalistic fence.

Maybe had I taken time out to clean Elvis,I wonder. But in my job list priority was an hour long bath followed by an equally important hour long beautifying rituals followed by a mad dash to the flower shop leaving precious little time other than clean his glasses.

So in my optimistic Avatar, as I cannot change the register holding guards mind with my wand,and I am definitely not changing elvis for the boasters q7(Ok maybe trade for a week I could be convinced to do)what I can wave magic into, is my schedule and find time to spruce up elvis’s act and hope for the best.

(I shall also in the mean time practice more emotionally moving dialogues that attack the mind and pierce the heart,If I'm to be a lone forager I’d better carry my deadliest skills in a soft glance of helplessness)