Long flowing hair. Well shaped body. Tight fitting clothes. Carefully trimmed eyebrows. Facials. A conscious effort to pick the right clothes - the fit, the colour and most important of all, check for conformity. No one wants to buy outdated fashion.
Is that a good looking city girl or a metrosexual guy ?? I cant tell anymore. Uugghh.
I dont know which is more scary - guys actually indulging in this kind of stuff or there are so many guys who do this, there is actually a term for it.
Where have I been all this while ? What exactly happened ?
One day I get out wearing this faded shirt, old pair of jeans, a week old beard, devil may care attitude and I notice guys looking at me sideways. I pause to take a closer look at where I am. I always thought this is how guys are supposed to look like - rugged, like they have just been through hell and raring to go through it all over again, without as much as a second thought. Make no mistake, I still think that.
Did I skip a generation or something ? Did I have a star trek moment and find myself teleported to another dimension ?
I'm 25 years of age and I feel I am so much older. I cant recognise the kids who are entering adulthood. You know that age when you are still considering exactly what 19 - 20 years old means. When did generation gap shrink to a mere 5-6 years ?
Well, you let these kids open their mouth and you are happy to realise they still think their age. They certainly dont seem to dress their age.
Why is this happening all of a sudden ? Maybe its been slow and I was too distracted to notice it. Or I noticed it sometime back but was just too damn lazy to post it in here.
Is it the presence of certain men in mass media - models, actors, athletes ? I dont see this happening as much down south as up north. Hrithik Roshan in Dhoom, Shah Rukh Khan in Om Shanthi Om, Shekar Suman on TV saying he's working hard to have a 6 pack like the 6 pack Khan. Typing that was so difficult, jeezzz. I dont understand this, really.
What is different in say, Abishek Bachan or Amitabh Bachan or Sanjay Dutt ? When was the last time any of these guys were clean shaven or tried flaunting their bodies ?
They are still popular right. How many people think these guys are handsome ? Exactly what is their sex appeal ? I'm guessing you know the answer. That is how guys are supposed to look.
I think every guy who tries to look otherwise needs medical attention. They are suffering from harmonal imbalance.
Too much Estrogen.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Velinaatu experience
Edward I LongShanks. Something he said comes to mind.
"The problem with Scotland is, its full of scots"
For those who don't know this guy, see here and here. What, still don't know who this guy is ? Go watch Mel Gibson's Braveheart. Again. Only this time, watch the movie and not only Mel Gibson. If you haven't watched it once before, you are even more hopeless than I thought.
Well, I have something to say myself.
"The problem with Britain today is, it's missing the Brits"
It took me less than 2 days of walking around the streets of London to figure that out. Trust me, you can't walk for more than five minutes on the road without seeing at least 5-10 people who are not Brits. They may be from anywhere - India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Finland or any of the Muslim nations. There are so many immigrants. Sure looks like they are stuck with memories of the colonies forever - a constant reminder of what they once were. Now they can stand aside and watch the world roll right pass them. I saw a mosque and a Hindu temple but never a church. So much for a country which once played protagonist to the Holy Crusades.
It caught me a little off guard. Not once did I feel like I was in a truly foreign country. Rice and dal, roti and chicken tikka are never far away. Neither is unlimited chettinad meals, or nethali fry, vanjaram fry, squid masala. If you look hard enough you will probably find an odd sign which says "fish n chips" or "steak house". Don't get me wrong, now, I don't mind a steak house, especially if its well done and marinated in some fine red wine.
Maybe my observations are slightly skewed because my eyes were looking for familiar signs and remembered the ones I liked. But I can state with certainty there is an undeniable element of truth in what I just said. I'm not going to dwell into the reasons, economic and political, behind this phenomenon because I don't really care.
I like London city.
I was lucky to be received by pleasant weather and sunlight which was just enough to light the horizon. Enough to take photographs out in the open without a flash. The chill breeze late in the evening, the crisp air in your lungs when you take a deep breath, makes you want to walk - Along the Thames, around Hyde park, through Covent market, all around Oxford street and Piccadilly circus, all the way from Tower Bridge to Buckingham Palace, past westminister abbey and victoria station.
And walk I did. Not because I had to, not because there was no other way to get to where I was going. But because, that is how I think you should see London.
On foot, with just enough clothing so you can feel the cold and not be all warm and cosy. Without an umbrella in hand and the sight of impending rain every step of the way.
It was a good experience. It would have been even more fun had I worn the right pair of shoes which didn't kill my feet after the first thirty minutes. Nevertheless, it was worth the pain.
After a productive three weeks, professionally speaking, I am on my way back to Singara Chennai. I realise I am on my way home. Feeling glad about it. Couldn't wait to end my journey and get home. But it never really truly hit me until I got to Frankfurt airport.
Ten minutes to boarding time, I'm sitting in the lounge reading Financial Times, weekend edition - there is an interesting article about how Iceland, all of a sudden, has become the centre of attention in the financial world. Out of the blue, there is this mylapore mama's voice. Before I lift my head up to see who it is, I have this mental image of how the mama will look.
I look up and see my imagination in true colour - mama in his immaculately pressed Louie Phillipe Khaki trousers, Sparkling white Reebok sneakers, white and gray striped park avenue sweater and his new stylishly designed spectacles, gleaming in the single ray of sunshine that managed to make its way right on to the tip of the frame. Mama is of course talking to mami and by talking I mean having an animated conversation about how his grandson just cant keep his hands off his bristling white moustache, the life in his voice and the gleam in his eyes, so refreshingly genuine. Another mambalam mami joins the gang, and mama, ever so smoothly, offers his seat to the lady. Who said chivalry is dead. That moment Sean Connery would have been at a loss for charm.
I smile to myself, get back to reading Financial Times. I find out Iceland is interesting because it has one of the highest per capita incomes in Eurpoe and how the banking industry there has done a tremendous job in supporting the economy.
My eyes continue to read. My mind continues to assimilate the information. I feel this warmth spreading through me.
I am going home.
"The problem with Scotland is, its full of scots"
For those who don't know this guy, see here and here. What, still don't know who this guy is ? Go watch Mel Gibson's Braveheart. Again. Only this time, watch the movie and not only Mel Gibson. If you haven't watched it once before, you are even more hopeless than I thought.
Well, I have something to say myself.
"The problem with Britain today is, it's missing the Brits"
It took me less than 2 days of walking around the streets of London to figure that out. Trust me, you can't walk for more than five minutes on the road without seeing at least 5-10 people who are not Brits. They may be from anywhere - India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Finland or any of the Muslim nations. There are so many immigrants. Sure looks like they are stuck with memories of the colonies forever - a constant reminder of what they once were. Now they can stand aside and watch the world roll right pass them. I saw a mosque and a Hindu temple but never a church. So much for a country which once played protagonist to the Holy Crusades.
It caught me a little off guard. Not once did I feel like I was in a truly foreign country. Rice and dal, roti and chicken tikka are never far away. Neither is unlimited chettinad meals, or nethali fry, vanjaram fry, squid masala. If you look hard enough you will probably find an odd sign which says "fish n chips" or "steak house". Don't get me wrong, now, I don't mind a steak house, especially if its well done and marinated in some fine red wine.
Maybe my observations are slightly skewed because my eyes were looking for familiar signs and remembered the ones I liked. But I can state with certainty there is an undeniable element of truth in what I just said. I'm not going to dwell into the reasons, economic and political, behind this phenomenon because I don't really care.
I like London city.
I was lucky to be received by pleasant weather and sunlight which was just enough to light the horizon. Enough to take photographs out in the open without a flash. The chill breeze late in the evening, the crisp air in your lungs when you take a deep breath, makes you want to walk - Along the Thames, around Hyde park, through Covent market, all around Oxford street and Piccadilly circus, all the way from Tower Bridge to Buckingham Palace, past westminister abbey and victoria station.
And walk I did. Not because I had to, not because there was no other way to get to where I was going. But because, that is how I think you should see London.
On foot, with just enough clothing so you can feel the cold and not be all warm and cosy. Without an umbrella in hand and the sight of impending rain every step of the way.
It was a good experience. It would have been even more fun had I worn the right pair of shoes which didn't kill my feet after the first thirty minutes. Nevertheless, it was worth the pain.
After a productive three weeks, professionally speaking, I am on my way back to Singara Chennai. I realise I am on my way home. Feeling glad about it. Couldn't wait to end my journey and get home. But it never really truly hit me until I got to Frankfurt airport.
Ten minutes to boarding time, I'm sitting in the lounge reading Financial Times, weekend edition - there is an interesting article about how Iceland, all of a sudden, has become the centre of attention in the financial world. Out of the blue, there is this mylapore mama's voice. Before I lift my head up to see who it is, I have this mental image of how the mama will look.
I look up and see my imagination in true colour - mama in his immaculately pressed Louie Phillipe Khaki trousers, Sparkling white Reebok sneakers, white and gray striped park avenue sweater and his new stylishly designed spectacles, gleaming in the single ray of sunshine that managed to make its way right on to the tip of the frame. Mama is of course talking to mami and by talking I mean having an animated conversation about how his grandson just cant keep his hands off his bristling white moustache, the life in his voice and the gleam in his eyes, so refreshingly genuine. Another mambalam mami joins the gang, and mama, ever so smoothly, offers his seat to the lady. Who said chivalry is dead. That moment Sean Connery would have been at a loss for charm.
I smile to myself, get back to reading Financial Times. I find out Iceland is interesting because it has one of the highest per capita incomes in Eurpoe and how the banking industry there has done a tremendous job in supporting the economy.
My eyes continue to read. My mind continues to assimilate the information. I feel this warmth spreading through me.
I am going home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)