Beauty with Breasts, Brain!
Guru was not willing to come with
me. After a long cajoling he eventually relented and sat pillion on my
motorcycle.
Guruprasad, in short Guru was the
college playboy and our in-house Love Guru.
Any one with problems in his love life comes to him asking for advice. Guru keeps
a dedicated notebook in his college bag where names of all his girlfriends in
alphabetical order and commitments of dates were entered. An extra pair of
neatly pressed shirt and a good supply of expensive perfume were also kept
ready in that bag.
“Never know when you might need them”
he would say.
Guru had a completely different
method of charming a girl, which trying to copy many realized a suicide mission
would have been far more pleasurable.
Guru was not a chivalrous gentleman,
but quite the opposite. He was always direct in his approach, never flattered
any one and was rather crude. Guru was not a miser; but did not believe
spending money on gifts and birthday cards. Every restaurant bill on a date was
split to the last decimal.
Yet he was a charmer par excellence!
Guru, if not out on a date, loved to
hang out with me at the tea stall near the shopping arcade. He would often
sermon me as we watched the college girls pass by.
“It is very important to know
the right girl for your date”.
And then he would let me have a glimpse of the vast knowledge he had on the subject.
“There are mainly three types of
girls. But there are some avoidable ones.”
He looked around for an example and finding
one he almost shouted pointing at the girl in the nearby shop.
“Aah, Look at that one in that shop!”
The girl in the shop was leaning
over the sales counter with her elbows on the table and giving a boobnosis to the
sales boy. Her voluptuous breasts were plunked on the table. The low buttoned
shirt made almost nothing invisible and the huge breasts were competing with
one another to get out of their suffocating enclosure. The way she stood with
one leg wrapped around the other made her two buns almost rip the seams off her
pant. The sales boy across the table was having a tough time. His bulging eyes wanted
to plunge deep into her cleavage, his body moved and turned but his head remained locked
in one angle. The sexy siren very much aware of this was enjoying it. It was
for sure she had no intention of buying that box of tissues at all. She was
just toying with it.
“That’s the one which
belongs to the attention seekers tribe. She will tease you with
her pushed up boobs and her jerky bums. But you go one step closer
and she will howl for respect”!
Guru sneered and said
“Do you know what I will tell her? Baby,
shove your boobs in, tuck your buttocks and straighten your duck face. May be I
will respect you then.”
He made a face of disgust, lit a
cigarette and continued.
“If you want to spend your time with
any girl then go for one belonging to the fun types. They just want to have fun
and what else do you want? You are not looking for a soul mate for life here.
Just have a fun filled night and in the morning she will squeeze your balls,
get out of your room and say-
“Hey whatever your name was, you
were good””.
Gurus paused for a moment, took a
long puff, blew a ring in his usual contemplative style and continued again.
“But you are not looking for fun girl.
You want the intelligent type. I do not quite agree with your choice. I may not
be studious type like you, but I am intelligicated. In spite of that intelligent
girls don’t excite me. Most of them are fake intellectuals. They go to the
library to read 'Mills and Boon' but will carry a book of quotes with them.
Instead of giving a straight answer to a question they spew quotes after
quotes. The real ones may be are fun given a long shot. She may even be a geek, but brainlicious types
are a boring lot for me and I just ignore them. You want to meet a girl like
that, it’s fine by me. But do you recognize them, No. That is where you fail.
You need my trained eyes for that.
He looked away from me, shrugged and
said-
“But do you ever listen to me.?”
Part 2. Me the Sapiosexual
Guru would of course laugh at me and
say-
“Why don’t you go and date the old
librarian, she the perfect match for you”!
Old Mrs. Joseph was an intelligent
person. But I doubt even in her younger version she would have been my kind of
girl.
And then again I had no entry to the
Library.
My dossier was written in the
library and that too in the history section.
Those huge halls with intoxicating
smell of books were my regular afternoon paradise. Though all my dreams were
made there, the tall racks of books were not my prime interest.
I was in my lookout for Cleopatra in
there, who one day would come desperately trying to reach the book on the
top most shelves. I would march forward, easily take the book out and give
it to her, and our lifelong romance would begin!
My dream did come true one day, and
my romance really began; but unfortunately not with Cleopatra but Marilyn
Monroe.
Bert Stern’s “The
Last Sitting"
was not a book all could comfortably leaf thru in public, so it was
tucked in
the unreachable top shelf.
I never thought intelligence
was the Sex Goddess's strong point. She had a nice pair of boobs
and that was her strong point. She often
made her strong points quite visible and allowed
producers in their study room to soften them up a bit while making the scripts juicier.
I too was
a boob lover and this book had plenty of them all over.
This book of booties rather than collecting dust in a forlorn corner
of the library should be to
my collection where it will be more appreciated.
Thus one by one all pages were slowly and neatly cut, removed and replaced by a center-spread of “Debonair” magazine or a blank
paper whenever the magazine was not yet out in
the local book stores.
Almost all pages were skillfully smuggled
out.
But just
when the Marilyn was about to let the silky chiffon slide off her breasts completely, my
artistic endeavor
was discovered and my smuggling carrier came to an end.
A photo of mine was enlarged,
photocopied and placed all on the notice boards with instruction to stop me
from entering the sacred premise.
In spite of not having the last photo,
the book was reassembled, the spine glued and bound. The spare Debonair center-spread
did make a reasonable cover. The newborn book was made to circulate in most of
the rooms of my hostel. It was in great demand and some had to stand in queue
for their turn.
Part 3. Miss India.
Though the library door was
closed for me, my quest for the eternal beauty with brain was not yet
over. Kaki’s tea stall opposite the library became my new watch tower. I of
course had to drink up a good amount tea in Kaki’s ‘half a cup’ size.
And one day I saw her.
She came in the most gracious way
and entered the lane leading to the library. She was the ultimate balance of
beauty and intelligence. There was a sheer radiance in her face; she was one
who seeks knowledge. The thick horn rimmed glasses said it all! She was the one
I was waiting for all of my life! She was the one who make you believe in love,
specially the one that happens in the first sight, one sided of course;
she wasn’t even looking towards me.
Sitting at Kaki’s tea stall I
observed her for days. At exactly four past ten she is at the library
lane, never late. I have to meet her, talk to her. I was sure I will win her
heart and she will be mine!
This is where Guru comes in. I
wanted his support; he was of course not very enthusiastic about it.
Just as we reached Kaki’s make shift
stall, she appeared on the other side of the road, punctual to the last second. She was wearing a white Salwar, a
green Churidar with an orange Dupatta.
Guru had one look and before I could
stop him he commented-
“Aha, There she is, I did not know
you were looking for Mother India”.
“Hey Guru please, don’t be
disrespectful. She is looking nice in that dress”.
“Alright, all right, I would rather
call her Miss India instead”.
I gave up with Guru.
We crossed the road and I stopped my
motorcycle right by her just when she was turning towards the lane. I wanted to say something to her but
couldn’t think of anything. In my mind I had rehearsed thousand times but
at this moment everything came to a blank.
“Hello, do you happen to be Vicky’s
sister”?
What the heck was that?
She turned toward me and with the
sweetest smile asked-
“Who is Vicky”?
Uh so who is Vicky really!
“..That tall muscular chap who
goes to the Gym across the road”.
“Well I know almost all the
muscular guys in that gym, but there is no one called Vicky”.
Shit! Couldn’t there be at least one
by that name? I had to change my strategy.
“Well I know there is no Vicky. I
find you very attractive and just wanted to talk to you”!
That was direct and even Guru pressed
my shoulder giving it a nod of approval.
“Ah that’s a better pick up
line. You should’ve used it in the first place”. She said.
With much daring coming to me I
went ahead with the conversation.
“I see you every day going to the
library. You must be preparing for some important test. Are you planning
to sit for the ICS examination, or may be IAS?
“ICS? IAS? Huh! And who the hell wants to bury
into those stuffy smelly books”? She replied with a sneer.
“It is those football and hockey
players who come to exercise in that open ground behind the library. I am
trying to sell them raffle tickets. You two can also buy a few. I will do even
better than that, I will give you four books to sell, we will split the
profit fifty fifty”!
My motor cycle was shaking; Guru was
trying to control his laughter.
Alright Guru stops laughing. I made
a mistake, wrong temple, and wrong goddess! I will find the right one day!
On our way back, Guru brought his face
near to my ears and said-
“Do you think Goddess Saraswati too could’ve been a raffle player”?
Oh, Just shut up and let me ride
the motorcycle.
Suddenly it began to rain and I ran to shelter myself under the canopy of a big
tree.
