Tuesday, April 7, 2009

My experiments with truth. Actually with many things. Some of them not really experiments. Or findings. Or truth.

Ok my blog template is officially fuc-ked. I can’t seem to do anything with it apart from choosing a standard template and changing background colours. It doesn’t let me do anything else. Can’t add links, can’t change font, can’t use customized template, can’t upload pics, can’t change header. Just a load of cants (say that last line in your head in a 7Eleven FOB American accent really fast to hear the hidden slur)



My mum left yesterday. In her time here I got 5 marriage proposals. All of them called Krishna. Is that a sign. And if it is, Of what pray? Should I become Mirabai and marry idol and sing bhajans? Which the universe is driving me to rather surely.


Over the past 6 years in Bombay there has been a definitive shift in the way the city behaves. Maybe 7/11 and consequently the 26/11 events made us cautious, insular even. Maybe the politically instigated feuds between the indigenous population and the ever immigrant influx have people trust each other a little less. Hate each other a little more.

Look at Bangalore. All it took was a ridiculous incident on Rest House road, to instigate more such random acts of misogynistic glee and leave the entire female populi in morbid fear, not just of being safe after dark, but of being safe alone, of actually not throwing on a pair of jeans and a sleeveless top lest she be unjustly arrested on Museum Inn Road. Imagine that. Imagine how a cosmopolitan, pub loving, hard rock loving, get drunk in the afternoon at Pecos and stroll down to Corner House for Death by chocolate like chillax Bangalore can transform into this talibanised monster overnight. So when Jemima calls me about my Bangalore itinerary for her wedding later this month and says – don’t pack any party wear man, or pack full sleeved tops and pants, I’m totally miffed. All that unjust anger we should have felt but laughed off in college when that loser sod Father Verghese took all us girls aside in class one day and said in his thick horny accent “if you wear sleeveless it is like you are selling yuwar body” came back with the right emotion of rage this time.


I’ve gone through most of my life being pretty happy with what god gave me. Apart from my iyengar nose maybe…. And I wish I was taller…. And of course he was stupid to make me a dusky Indian girl born in India instead of say in the Uk where the men would’ve loved me. But I digress. I’m talking of course of my Breasts. Knockers, Rack, Boobs, Tits, yes that’s about the breast lingo I know. So, I’ve been rather indifferent about ‘my rack’ for most of my life, they were never too small or too big or too perky or too umm not perky. Men seemed to like them enough. They didn’t look god-awfully huge in tight tops and make me squirm. In short they were practically invisible. Until now.

Now, the closest I’ve got to breast enhancements has been the ubiquitous underwire bra. Which of course I had to buy secretly aside from the cotton comfort ones my mother insisted I wear. But very recently I decided to buy the heavily padded bra. You know the ones with real silicone stitched into the cup. And voila!

Suddenly I am getting second about turn type glances, suddenly my guy friends are not bossing me around or slapping my back but looking at me rather reverentially, suddenly my boss is being very nice to me, suddenly finance department isn’t holding onto my payments and bills, suddenly everything is moving like clockwork, I snap my finger and its done. I’m not joking.

And I feel like a total idiot for not having known this glaring secret to a successful life. Every big boobed woman rules a little universe around her. No kidding. Implants, here I come.


NM said...

I am deeply offended by your stereotypical representation of the m. of the s. !

Will you go out for a dinner with me ?

Murphy said...

You forgot melons and jugs. You should also please post more often.

Your Sistah said...

"beautiful women stand in shorter Qs" goes the 'brand insight' of Lakme.
Reckon the same goes for women with larger ...er... jugs. Now you know.

As for those proposals, act on them. Praying ain't enough in these dark times.

La vida Loca said...

Hooters. I don't know if you said that.

Wish I had known this too. I wouldn't have been so quick to hide my rather large boobies.

Anonymous said...


Note to self : Never comment when not sober.

Anonymous said...

Also, fun balls, gazoongas. And a personal favorite which my ex-GFs & wife love is 'squeeze somethings'.

Please do get the implants. I swear, 90% of the women I have dated were 34B. It's like the desi bra size. So seeing a chic goto 34C or even wilder 32C (I'm assuming of course that you are 34B or 32B already) would be plain awesome. One last word: Hate the artificial look that looks like you just put a rubber ball underneath...goto a skilled plastic surgeon who can make them look real. OK, enough with this lest the wifey find out!

Mister Crowley said...

Sweater Puppies :D

mem said...

the number of google searches you are going to land on with this post.

Coo said...

@ NM - now what pray is M of the S? what what what

@Murphy - ahh yes, i see lots of ppl have added to the original

@sistah - now i know why all the boys used to cycle around our house waiting to catch a glimpse of you

@LVV - ok i did not know this word! new things im learnings.

@Anon 1 - are you maybe commenter 1? if yes, what what what is m of s?

@ anon 2 - see some other men ppls are saying they hate the feel of implants. very divided this argument is. ill stick to padded ones for the mo.

@Crowls - i knew you'd say that soon enough. wlah gross it sounds.

@Mem - yessah? wait im googling to check

Chronicus Skepticus said...

Big-boobed women rule the universe?? I am obviously, obviously living in the wrong corner of it.

All I *ever* get is uncle-type lechers and bra-shopping trauma!

P.S. I think by m. of the s., the anonymii are indicating The Male of the Species.

I could be wrong though.

NM said...

@Coo : Yes male of the species indeed. Not a Fan of Wodehouse are we ?

The dinner invitation still hands btw.

mem said...

you install some stat counter and see pavam peoples looking for boobies on the net will land up on post.

Sirop said...

Krishna... Mira... Radha... Big boobs! Happy accountants.

Accountants are happy with anything. Talk to them sweetly with a smile and your work is done. Serious.