What You Wear Can Make You Feel Less Fat

Okay, before I forget I’ve had an idea. Instead of Smell cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding you I’ve to write a song with the same tune and rhythm for belly fat! It’s been a two years since I stopped playing college basketball. I recently came back from my Nani’s (maternal grandmother) place. In India, it’s […]

White Underwears Aren’t So Difficult

I had never had white underwears before. I was considerate and cautious after what had happened to all the white things that I ever owned, white shoes, white formal shirts, white G Shock watch (which I still wear after regular Colin scrubs). Since then, I’ve only purchased dark colored ankle shoes, and have stayed fairly away from the white shirts. Until, I purchased a pack of underwears from westside. I was in hurry, I had to go home and cook and sleep because I had to go to office early the next day. I picked up a pack of 3, in which I saw a dark blue and a black colored underwears. What I didn’t see was the white one, cooped up in the middle, invisble to a rushing naked eye.

I came home and I opened the pack asap (because all my other underwears were for washing), and I went whaaaaaaat! I thought of exchanging the pack with another for a split second, but because I’m a super lazy person, even when I had a bike and the westside showroom was like 1 minute bike ride away, I ate and slept.

It’s been two months and the white underwear has been performing super well, given I’ve public hair and there are unemployed days now that I don’t bathe for days at stretch in. I don’t know if it’s the cotton in it or what (I’m a terrible shopper), it gets clean so fast!

From now on white in underwears is A-Okay!

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Hair Hair Everywhere

I was in 10th grade, when my moustache was the talk of the minute. I was told “Look you’ve got a visible moustache now, sutradhar (narrator)!” (We were rehearsing for a play). The point of the comment, was that I was apt to play the narrator, because I had the most hair on the moustache among all of us.

That same year, during the end of it, I’d be studying in the house of the person, who’d become one of the best friends I’ve ever had, along with two other classmates. My moustache, was picked up as a topic of discussion again, by one of them. I didn’t know why, but I was tempted to tell them them a fact that I had lately loved to strike my fingers though, over and over again. I told them that there was this stripe of hair running from the top of the chest towards the lower abdomen (accompanying my weird excitement with hand gestures, running my hand like a hand model over the middle of my chest). They snickered. The teenage me took that as a pride instead of a hint to act embarrassed.

I’m 22 years old now, I live in a 1 BHK apartment, and there are hair all over the place. My bums have hair, my penis is surrounded by hair, like flower surrounded by endless unscrupulous unsolicited plantations of weed. Not that my penis is being compared to a flower, how could it be. It’s black, it’s small, it tilts left in a boner. No flower could ever have those characteristics (or could it?)

Oh about the hair all around the apartment? I’m in my chaddi (underwear / shorts) most of the time, and my hand keeps going inside it, for no particular reason. If you just had your witty sense of utter abysmal thinking at work, think again! Why would I masturbate in my underwear or shorts when I’ve the apartment to myself? My hand just likes to keep itself busy. I wonder, how would it spend time, if I shaved my pubic hair.

I’m sometimes tempted to, just for the sake of it. But I don’t have much problem you know. It gets itchy sometimes yes, but not that itchy. Just that level of itchy, where my hand gets to go inside and scratch gently to relieve it.

The only problem that I face, is when someone is coming over for a visit. That’s when the exercise begins. And especially if that’s a girl friend. The broom’s bristles are untrustworthy. They’d pick up the hair in one swoosh, and throw them down in the next. And because the (hair) is so small, I wouldn’t know what event happened when! And when I’d have a time limited assurance that they have been swept away, just because the floor looks clean, they’d all get wet, stuck to the floor, all the more, when I’d sweep the floor with disinfectant water. That’s some pain to bear, believe me. In those moments I think of ordering a trimmer online. But then laziness dawns and I greet the person, talk, eat, part them well, and sleep, without every asking them if they saw the hair all over the floor when they sat down on the mattress (I’m a bachelor, I don’t have a bed).

There’s one another small problem with hair in general. It’s just a matter of a couple of minutes between bathing – getting ready, and sitting on the bike. I’ve hair all over the body, including the head. It gets difficult to get the body dry, so quickly as to wear clothes that would not be a little wet for a while (I’ve small hair, I do not use a hair dryer). And then there’s the helmet. I go by a by pass route at the start of my office journey, which connects to the main road after 1 km or so, to avoid a little traffic. So get the liberty to go slow with the helmet hanging onto the arm, so as to dry up the hair as much as possible.

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Dimples of Venus and Falling Parrot Coloured Leaves

Dimples Of Venus

I’ve hair on my bums, very thin layer. I like them. Women tend to like swaying when their hands are on them. It was embarrassing the first time, it wasn’t anymore after. The hair reaches up till a little portion of the lower back. My bums are my private property resting peacefully under my pants and underwear when I’m outside. My lower back however, isn’t always. For example when I go swimming.

Recently I took my brother’s trimmer (I’m so lazy I didn’t get my own all these years), and removed it, and I found two most amazing things in the world: Two Dimples of Venus. They are stark! I wish I could put pictures of them, but I wouldn’t, because I only write in this world and I don’t post pictures. Somehow, they at least tend to overcome my jealously for boys and men with cheek dimples who are swooned over.

Falling Parrot Coloured Leaves

I was sitting in a car waiting half a day after dropping my little brother to school. I was scorched in the sun even though it’s winters, dirt was pouring from open windows like Holi colours being thrown by mischievous Indian kids in the streets which are still recovering from the paints of last year’s colour season.

I was writing a tech article for a couple of friends’ viral website, when the tree above me, relieved itself of parrot coloured, glowing in the dusky sun leaves that fainted on the car’s windshield. And this one, just this one, left his last breath out on my sweat shirt. I was seeing all these leaves resting in peace with me, and I felt like smiling. I did, and then I closed my eyes, savouring their presence, like sleeping with your dog, or with a woman in the arms of whom you feel safe and sound.

Those slightly rusted, parrot coloured leaves comforted me even after their death. There was a certain closure in the fact that they were staring at me breathlessly, telling me that they are just in a cycle, that they’ll be soon revived in the soil and relive. Or for the best, they’ll be fossilised, the equivalent of a long peaceful dust and fuss free hibernation, their liberation.

All Blog Posts’ P.S: English is my second language, and I do not write well in my first (Hindi). While reading my blogposts, if you find a sentence or paragraph that can be written in a better way, or find any grammatical mistakes, please feel free to suggest them in the comments. I’d really appreciate it. And you are awesome!