Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I knew it was all too good to be true.
I have a gym starer. Ugh!
Now as much as men continuously astound and shock me, this guy takes it up a notch.
Staring is in itself a terrible thing and it makes women feel uncomfortable and it's a violation of space and all, which is true - however gym staring is the worst of them all, I think, though I don't have a very expansive being-stared at experience.
Why gym staring especially sucks:
1. For the woman, you are covered with sweat and wearing gym clothes, which in themselves are figure emphasizing. Lots of women wear loose t shirts and track pants to the gym. I don't believe in that school of thought. Think about it - how will you encourage yourself to work out if you can't see what the problem is? And there's lots to see, thanks to the second issue here -
2. The mirrors. Gyms are wall to wall mirrors, presumably so that exercisers can watch themselves and check posture etc. It is also helpful when your trainer is forced to work a simultaneous double shift thanks to someone being on leave, so he can watch you do your jumbo squats while he's helping someone pump iron on the other side of the room. Unfortunately, your starer can see you too, wherever you are.
3. Workouts often involve strange postures and movements which perhaps can be construed to be sensual, if you're sick in the head and need professional help. Then again, that's probably why you're staring at women with no regard to public decency, 'innit?.
Even so, why you'd want to choose to stalk someone and so obviously stare at them in the gym is beyond me. You see me run 3 kilometers, do 200 ab crunches, pump iron, and you still want to piss me off?
So this hasn't reached the stage where you can complain to the authorities (or even my trainer). He hasn't said anything offensive, or anything at all (till today, that is), or made a pass at me, or feel me up - he just stares. I know plenty of men (and the numbers are rising by the day - isn't that scary?) who'd think that I'm just making a big deal out of nothing and that he probably isn't even staring. Well to all of you - fuck off. Never argue with the chick sense. When a creep stares the stare at you, you can feel his eyes upon you like a red ant. However the sad reality of the Gujju gym is that it isn't quite the right time to get my trainer to dump a 30 kg weight on him.
The stares aren't the lechy kinds, but more like (and you must understand that I've been observing him discreetly, the last thing I want is for him to catch me looking at him in one of the mirrors) soulful looks, which are just as pissing off.
Doesn't take much to guess this guy's athletic capabilities since he has enough time to stare. He uses a small room at the side of the cardio workout area where he does some pansy stretches and yoga (You call that a surya namaskar? Ha!). One day I was reaching for a bottle of water and he made a grab for it as well, our fingers brushed against each other and he turned away in embarrassment.
Seriously. Is this where we're at now?
Today (again at the watering hole, it seems like that's his hunting ground) he waited till I was finished talking to another fellow gymmer about how I stumbled on the treadmill because I was thinking about a case today and NOT because I was dizzy or anorexic or anything (Jesus!). When I turned to drink a sip of water, there he was, in full open mouthed glory. I saw him do his thing through 45 minutes of cardio and I slowly lowered my bottle and looked him straight in the eye.
Not so comfy anymore, are you, buddy?
"You are having very good stamina", he mumbled.
"I know." I muttered, in a "Guess what. Dumbbells can fly." tone of voice.
He looked away as if one was flying right at him.
This guy is not "cute", he's not "sweet", he's an ass. I'm just waiting for him to slip up badly, preferably under a thigh cruncher.
I don't get this new breed of obnoxious men. First there's the serial SMS-er and his assholic friend, and now this - men who are educated, earning well, are exposed to society but enter some random woman and BOOM! They become social spastics.
Someone set up a society for them, please! Or at least classify them as a special class and make them walk around with identity cards which they need to produce when involved in social events, like dating, gymming, pubbing and breathing.
Or else we women will have to take matters into our own (well toned) hands.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
My mom told me this story once, about how she was, as a young girl, laughing at her mother for some archaic practice she was following.
Her mother smiled at her and said “When you grow up, you will understand.”
I’ve never been a very fan of the “when you grow up, you will understand” school of thought. I have been getting it a hell of a lot, and while all of the instances involve the use of this term are devoid of any sense, the most bizarre instance was when as a 11th standard hostelite, I was discussing this new movie, Dil Kya Kare, with my Seniors.
Now, for those of you out of touch with early 21st century cinema, DKK’s main plot is about how the happiness of a family (Mahima Choudhary and Ajay Devgan) is shattered when they meet the mother of their adopted child (Kajol) and find out that the child has been fathered by none other than Ajay Devgan himself.
How this comes about is the crux of this movie. Kajol is being dragged by goons who have decided to loot the entire compartment of a train. Ajay steps in, beats up and throws goons off, Kajol weeps and next thing you know, they are at it on the 1st class coupe. To my mind, this didn’t make any sense.
“You’ll understand when you get older”, said our Hostel in Charge, a post graduate student.
I’m 26. I still don’t understand that movie. Like I understand that after a near death experience, it’s easy to crave some physical comfort. But forgetting that you are married and to use a condom? Naah.
I figured out very early in life (i.e. about 2 years after I started getting this ‘when you will grow up” nonsense) that I would never understand (or perhaps never grow up) and so my endeavour always was to train my parents to understand things the way they should be. At the risk of cringing my teeth out, I would address important issues with my parents and even other family members, but particularly my mother, to understand how things should be understood (at least to my generation) and to make peace with the bizarreness of human nature.
And till now I thought I had succeeded.
That is, until I decided to get married.
All pretenses I had of my family being cool and “above all that” have literally been flushed down the toilet. Apparently the approaching light that I saw was the headlight of an oncoming train. Before my very eyes, my parents are turning into the very antithesis of what I painstakingly worked on for the last 10 years, at least. I watch them with the desperation that one feels when you’ve been playing expert level minesweeper for the last 45 minutes and your mouse slips up when you have 2 mines to go, reducing all of your hard work to a dead smiley on the computer screen.
Yes, ladies (and a few gentlemen), welcome to the Bridezilla blog. Watch this space. Or get out of the way.
PS: Inspired my M I spent a valuable part of this Sunday checking out my stats on Statcounter.com. To my horror, I found that my blog has an incredible number of hits from all over the world which have been linked to a post I put up on India’s first graphic porn star (I shall not repeat her name here for obvious reasons. Do the math.) Jesus H. Christ!
Moral of the story: Now all of you know how to increase traffic to your blog.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Last night I went for "Monsters vs. Aliens" at PVR, Lower Parel. We paid a bomb for the tickets (haven't these guys heard of recession?) and were anyway about 10 minutes late (thanks to a messed up order at noodle bar) and as much as I had nothing else to do I didn't think watching an animated movie was the best way to pass time. When we went into the (nearly empty, see, told you so) theatre, however, the screen was slightly blurry and I fumbled in my bag for my glasses, when I realized that I already had them on.
A breathless theatre attendant who chased us in handed us both a pair of what seemed to be sunglasses. Then it hit me.
I hadn't seen anything in 3D in years, decades, even. Faint memories of my childhood in New York reminded me of the few movies that I had seen (which were totally the rage among -10 year olds) and even a few TV programmes (the glasses would be available at Taco Bell, which was the only acceptable eat out joint for my parents, I suppose because it was spicy food. You can't take the mirchi out of the Goan, apparently) I watched the movie open mouthedly - the movie was no great shakes, but who cares! It was in 3D!
That's the great thing about being a kid. All you need to make you happy is things jumping out at you from a screen. But I'm glad to say that it still does.
Other kiddish things that have made me happy recently:
2. Traveling in an open air bus
3. Trying to watch aeroplanes land and take off (without the influence of Marijuna)
Besides that, I find that the things that amuse me most are things that involve people getting screwed over. I love watching Seinfeld, and I love the fake Steve Jobs blog primarily I suppose because he's being mean to people because he can.
Am I turning into the Wicked Witch of the Western Line? I don't know. And to be honest, I don't care. All that much.
But I like the moments of childlike bliss which shows that I'm still a human being capable of enjoying simple and pure pleasures. Phew!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Someone shoot Arnab Goswami.