"Haven't you been spending a lot of time here?" asked B. "You soak in here with all those wonderful smelling aromatherapic oils...heck! even I am beginning to smell like lavendar or bergamot or nutmeg or patchouli or whatever...and I am not particularly proud of that. Quite frankly my dear, I prefer my own pheromones to dominate"
"Oh?"
"Come now, while you languish in the warm soothing aqua tub, ...er...jacuzzi with eighteen jets seductively massaging the muscle fibres in your body (and I am wondering if its massaging seductively your moral fibres as well) I notice that look of deep sensual pleasure expressed without any shame on your face. And those soft moans, they don't escape me either...And when you flutter open your eyes, I have seen that look in them ....perhaps I should morph into one of those Epicurean Forms.....errr....a man .... like Mr Pitt or Mr Clooney or Mr Bond....?"
"Oh shaddup and leave me alone. Do you have to analyse the simple pleasures of my life...it's so dammm hot outside and I don't see that an extra hour of soaking in my very own personal space could harm anybody...""
"Tsk, tsk, did I wake you rudely from one of your corporeal makebelief bohemian somatic sensually gratyfying flights of fancy?"
"Wait. Did I hear pheromones?!....B you don't have a gland or even a pore in your body that can produce anything that can even vaguely excite me....Oh NO! ..what's that glint in your eyes....."
This is where B usually imitates the truimphant laugh of a villain and starts morphing into ..... well, it's about the best time to retreat and call for peace and declare vanquished, or one would have to battle B's phallic form...mocking the intellect as much as the body!!!
I say, "A margarita for me and a vodka for you, my dear B and let's toast to my Unending Laundary Rendevouz," to distract B from any induced malice.....
"You smell good, delicious even....these pheremones...doesn't anyone market these...I have seen some of your spam mails...gives me ideas...."
"B, sometime ago I wrote to a very special friend about a draught season - no rain and scorching heat.... hot, very hot ...while in college. Let me share this ...." *Sigh* Must have been the late 70s...how time flies...
.... I remember one year in Madras (for it was Madras then, not Chennai) when it was an awfully hot summer and there was no sign of rain for entire months. Most of us were afflicted with prickly heat and we would, after classes, strip down to our undies and coat ourselves with calamine lotion....its here we learnt the rudiments of wall painting. This was of course at an all female hostel and any male who dared to venture where no other had, would do it at his own risk! We were such terrors collectively and I bet the guy who did dare enter our holy territory - one Mr Nath, who was in fact a Dirty Old Man - never had another erection in his entire life! And rightfully so too. He was tormented with words no man should hear.
Eventually on this particular occasion when we were all at an extreme low point and were contemplating a tribal rain dance ...a dramatic sweep of black foreboding darkness appeared as if from nowhere and in an equally dramatic explosion of loud thunder brought forth torrents of huge raindrops the size of wine goblets. The sight of these ... falling on a ground which was already gasping with thirst, right before our eyes drove us to irrational lenghts. We were intoxicated with euphoria. As the leader of the pack, I forgot myself and dashed out into the rain...everyone else followed suit. We forgot ourselves and like kids were drenching ourselves, falling on the ground, muddying our bodies and creating a blissfull ruckus that went on for a while under its own momentum....until....UNTIL the old hag of a warden came out and almost fainted at the sight she saw. Thankfully the mud had clothed most of our nakedness but she was scandalised nevertheless. Her shreiking brought us down to earth. We feigned a shame that was definitely never felt.... just so her wrath would be lessened.
Well, we were suspended for two days but it was of no consequence because we were all sick to the bones for almost the whole week! It was probably due to Acid Rain.
If Van Gogh had been there, he would have understood the Sane Madness of Nymphs and captured it all on canvass......and it would have been a masterpiece.
"Would I dare repeat this dance in the streets of my housing estate now ? Good Grief, never...No, not because of some hoity-toity position in society but simply because the neighbours should be spared the visual impact of my scantily-clothedness..."
B quickly added, "No my dear, you are perfect the way you are." And I was waiting for the not-so-innocent rejoinder "at least for me"
But it never came. "You are perfect too B. What will I ever do without you?" Yes, what will I ever do?
"Oh?"
"Come now, while you languish in the warm soothing aqua tub, ...er...jacuzzi with eighteen jets seductively massaging the muscle fibres in your body (and I am wondering if its massaging seductively your moral fibres as well) I notice that look of deep sensual pleasure expressed without any shame on your face. And those soft moans, they don't escape me either...And when you flutter open your eyes, I have seen that look in them ....perhaps I should morph into one of those Epicurean Forms.....errr....a man .... like Mr Pitt or Mr Clooney or Mr Bond....?"
"Oh shaddup and leave me alone. Do you have to analyse the simple pleasures of my life...it's so dammm hot outside and I don't see that an extra hour of soaking in my very own personal space could harm anybody...""
"Tsk, tsk, did I wake you rudely from one of your corporeal makebelief bohemian somatic sensually gratyfying flights of fancy?"
"Wait. Did I hear pheromones?!....B you don't have a gland or even a pore in your body that can produce anything that can even vaguely excite me....Oh NO! ..what's that glint in your eyes....."
This is where B usually imitates the truimphant laugh of a villain and starts morphing into ..... well, it's about the best time to retreat and call for peace and declare vanquished, or one would have to battle B's phallic form...mocking the intellect as much as the body!!!
I say, "A margarita for me and a vodka for you, my dear B and let's toast to my Unending Laundary Rendevouz," to distract B from any induced malice.....
"You smell good, delicious even....these pheremones...doesn't anyone market these...I have seen some of your spam mails...gives me ideas...."
"B, sometime ago I wrote to a very special friend about a draught season - no rain and scorching heat.... hot, very hot ...while in college. Let me share this ...." *Sigh* Must have been the late 70s...how time flies...
.... I remember one year in Madras (for it was Madras then, not Chennai) when it was an awfully hot summer and there was no sign of rain for entire months. Most of us were afflicted with prickly heat and we would, after classes, strip down to our undies and coat ourselves with calamine lotion....its here we learnt the rudiments of wall painting. This was of course at an all female hostel and any male who dared to venture where no other had, would do it at his own risk! We were such terrors collectively and I bet the guy who did dare enter our holy territory - one Mr Nath, who was in fact a Dirty Old Man - never had another erection in his entire life! And rightfully so too. He was tormented with words no man should hear.
Eventually on this particular occasion when we were all at an extreme low point and were contemplating a tribal rain dance ...a dramatic sweep of black foreboding darkness appeared as if from nowhere and in an equally dramatic explosion of loud thunder brought forth torrents of huge raindrops the size of wine goblets. The sight of these ... falling on a ground which was already gasping with thirst, right before our eyes drove us to irrational lenghts. We were intoxicated with euphoria. As the leader of the pack, I forgot myself and dashed out into the rain...everyone else followed suit. We forgot ourselves and like kids were drenching ourselves, falling on the ground, muddying our bodies and creating a blissfull ruckus that went on for a while under its own momentum....until....UNTIL the old hag of a warden came out and almost fainted at the sight she saw. Thankfully the mud had clothed most of our nakedness but she was scandalised nevertheless. Her shreiking brought us down to earth. We feigned a shame that was definitely never felt.... just so her wrath would be lessened.
Well, we were suspended for two days but it was of no consequence because we were all sick to the bones for almost the whole week! It was probably due to Acid Rain.
If Van Gogh had been there, he would have understood the Sane Madness of Nymphs and captured it all on canvass......and it would have been a masterpiece.
"Would I dare repeat this dance in the streets of my housing estate now ? Good Grief, never...No, not because of some hoity-toity position in society but simply because the neighbours should be spared the visual impact of my scantily-clothedness..."
B quickly added, "No my dear, you are perfect the way you are." And I was waiting for the not-so-innocent rejoinder "at least for me"
But it never came. "You are perfect too B. What will I ever do without you?" Yes, what will I ever do?
2 comments:
I wonder if Madras is actually cooler in Malaysia these days..
When I visited Kerala once on an October month, it was so much cooler and actually, that reminds me that East Africa was also a lot cooler than Malaysia in its recent years.
Correction:
Sorry I meant Madras 'cooler than Malaysia..'
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