Wednesday, 21 September 2011

Jack of all trades OR Master of one

Contradictory to the original English adage, the title to this article seems more realistic, at least to me. Lemme explain how…When my dad was a kid, novels and comics were the most sort after forms of indoor entertainment apart from the gentleman’s sport called ‘ गोटी’ or marbles. Be it cowboy stories or Rudlum classics, they enthralled kids back in the day and gave them something to believe in. The good guys in each of those stories were these ‘know it all’, ‘been there done that’ dudes who at the end of the day rode off into the sunset with either bags of gold or a really hot latino damsel in distress. My dad doesn’t admit it, but I bet sometime in the course of his ‘black n white to color’ transforming childhood, he must have wanted to be the cowboy he so admired and adored. Not literally with horses and magnums but the whole ‘Be good at everything’ trait every muchacho he read about sported. Those were the 70s; but after the cowboys giddy-upped into history, the Beatles took over and then we had Elvis and the music revolution that followed. But the bottom line of any star that people looked up to with bated breath was the fact that they were damn good at something and that success rubbed on to other stuff. Gradually the common man no longer wanted to be the Jack of one trade. The good guys were now expected to be good at everything. Master of all…is it possible?

Take Captain Kirk for example. The dude was Star Fleets youngest commander and yet he had to take on flimsy Spacemen, become the fleet’s best navigator, hug a certain Vulcan (but Spock was epicJ) and hell he even managed to fly through a Black Hole once. I wonder what Steven Hawking has to say about that… (*computer voice “The universe is big…blah blah...”). 

I grew up alongside Harry Potter and honestly I got through high school faster than he learned *expeeecto patronum…! But even Potter was expected to do a whole lot of stuff other than just wizard voodoo. I always wondered why like a lousy pansy he’d faint immediately after he took out the bad guy, but I guess he needed a break. If the pressure of being the ‘boy who lived’ (LOL) wasn’t enough he had to be a pro Seeker, darn good at portions (that was thanks to Snape’s book but still…), beat the dark bald ‘you know who’, fall in love…twice, hectic don’t you think! But at Hogwarts he pulled it off, try doing it in the Muggle world Mr. Potter…

I’m ‘trying’ my hand at engineering and it’s by far the most agony inducing 4 years of academics a man can endure especially when you’ve got the Mumbai University watching your back. Any MU engineering undergrads reading, *fistpump. Regardless of what I was told before I got into it, I tried the same formula of all round awesomeness that I applied all through school. And how did that pan out…3 KTs in my first semester (facepalm). An audiophile that I am, gigs are an important part of my scheme of things and so are debates and publicity events and Musicals um…and Malhar…your getting it right! Also I was dating, so life seemed bliss. At the time, my girlfriend was way more sensible and mature than I ever was so she did her bit to keep me sane. They told me so, but I didn’t listen. A good all round student in school, I thought I could pull it off in college, man was I mistaken. You see much like the cowboys in my dad’s novels, Capt. Kirk or even Potter, when I got one thing right, people expected me to be good at other stuff too. And to be honest, I thought I could catch em all (“BULBASAUR…attack!”).

As a student, there comes a time when no matter how good you are at something, you begin to doubt yourself. Your friend’s opinions beg to differ but you just don’t feel right. There must have been times in the past when everything seemed gettable and nothing was beyond reach. You had belief and the will to slay any dragons along the way to get to your goal locked up in some god forsaken castle (Shrek moment alert). How do you describe that ball of stress in your tummy that just won’t let you fire up and reach for glory, something you would normally do? You’d be surprised how often this happens…in fact I’m going through a similar phase right now. When you achieve something noteworthy, something not a lot of people have tried their hand at, it feels good and makes you wanna go for more. Well at the time, it seems doable and since nothing succeeds like success, you go ahead and nail em all. Much like the old English Kings, you conquer kingdom after kingdom and soon you have an empire, a mighty one that too whose citizens love you. What you forget is keeping the people happy isn’t as easy as winning them over. When you’re good at a whole list of stuff, staying good at all of it is just impossible. I highlighted ‘all of it’ for a reason.

Now I’m not saying it’s bad to be an all rounder, in fact I urge people to try new stuff. It’s just that critics need to cut the good guys some slack. Just coz your good at something need not mean you can nail the other. And people need to realize that. We’re just busy hounding good students to be good musicians or killa musicians to get an A+ in Algebra or get a soccer forward to play the flute…WHY? I hate it when people compare your good traits to your bad ones and ask you to whisk the latter away with a meaningless explanation like “Beta, you play soccer so well and you got a C- in math, shame on you”…Sigh. A vocalist who topped the college can miss a goal in a match. That does not mean he’s not as committed to football as he is to his band or his books. Well that’s in his defense!

I am now talking to any of you readers who have been college reps at events, members of bands, debate team champions, parts of college teams, good students and all rounders who dared to defy the shackles of the system, follow your heart and do what you love. I have immense respect for each of you coz I kinda am the same breed. When you do something different, when you win, you try and make it a habit. And mind you, people notice. So it is natural for them to raise their level of expectations and matching up to that level every time, day in and day out is hard. They take no pause in criticizing you just as they didn’t hold back their applause. You may pull off an impossible save and keep everyone happy once or may be for years, but trust me, you will crack. The weight of being numero uno at a list of things is heavy and like holding a wet brick, your arms are going to cramp at some point. So hold on while you can, but gradually start clicking off and reducing the number of things on that list or the pressure will get to you. I realized this the hard way.

Now since I’m talking about a college scenario being the Jack of all trades in college is something everyone should try and achieve. I mean it’s awesome, you just can’t deny it. The attention, the popularity, the girls- every boys dream. Enjoy it, but don’t make it a way of life. If you’re good at something, stick with it, master it and don’t let people tell you different. Coz at the end of the day people remember you for what you achieved not what you tried out. Jack of all trades or Master of one…You choose…

Wednesday, 14 September 2011

6 Apps i wish the Samsung Galaxy Tab had

US Open ’11, Federer lost again! But Nadal followed suit, so I’m happy. The Djoker’s ripping serve, impossible service returns and his uncanny unpredictable on-court presence sure has made tennis forecasting even more difficult. Speaking of forecasting, far from Flushing Meadows, the number of Indian consumers surfing the TAB-loid wave has reached an all time high. Be it Apple’s beloved iPad or Samsung’s range of Tabloids and smart phones, the word ‘Android’ seems to be the most sort after product description feature. Now I for one am a hardcore indulgent Apple fan and my iTouch pretty much does the trick for me. But as the Tab revolution rallies its troops in India, it’s safe to say more and more computing giants have begun ‘Apple’-izing their toys. The features and Apps (short for Applications) that are loaded onto a Tab or smart phone, has rendered even the versatile Swiss army knife obsolete. But how cool really are Tabs? Can they tame all realms of realism? Well here are 6 Apps I wish the Samsung Galaxy tab had…(*I Photoshop'ed the pictures below myself and the modifications are original) 

1. Peek-a-Boo

Now, if James Bond has goggles that scan through clothing ‘checking for weapons’ (Yea right), imagine an app that could do it for you. Who knows you just as well might die another day.

2. Jarvis

O yea, Tony Stark aka Iron Man’s kickass artificial intelligence program that does most of the work behind the suit. Any boys dream, imagine how awesome it would be to have a similar system on your TAB, one that not only talks to you but has a gangsta attitude and a sarcastic spunk…
3. What the Fart

Like the iFart satires all over the internet how about an App that not only detects the stinky sly culprits around you, but also breaks down the contents of the wiff.

4. Autobot

Your TABs not gonna transform don’t worry; I’m not that unrealistic (but hell, what if it did). Picture this- your all cozy in the back seat of your car with your sweetheart and you just have to get somewhere. You can’t steer the car and a kiss all at once! Well, how about an App that drives your car while you take care of business (get what I mean). Your own personal Auto drive…

5. Wingman

Ahem, gentlemen, sometimes shady pickup lines back fire and you can’t always get her drunk. So let technology do it for you with an App that wings em straight toward you. For once you’ll know what she wants with the Wing-o-meter.

6. Cloudentity

Remember the last time you saw a cloud that so reminded you of something…Well, Cloudentity uses a high tech cross referencing system to narrow down those resemblances for you.

In conclusion, firstly I apologize for the rusty but original Photoshop work; it’s been a while since I used it. But just imagine a world with Apps like these. As Angry Birds replaced Monopoly, even kids today speak in ‘Tab’; The Nintendo of old is passé. The sky’s the limit for creative applications, so dare to dream and do comment with any brilliant ideas for revolutionary Apps. I’d love to hear them …;)

Friday, 9 September 2011

Decoding the Terrorism cipher

*Disclaimer: Sadly, no terrorists were harmed in the writing of this article… *

Firstly, happy Onam to any mallu readers!  Today morning, my neighbor-Mr. Iyer , came over with this massive bowl of payasam and as usual bragged about his absurdly nerdy son getting into some top notch B-school in the city and blabbered about how the building secretary should do something about the rick stand opposite my place coz Mr. Iyer’s pampered brat “Doesn’t get ann Otto to go to hees Yem Bee Yae Ko-liage”. Yenna Rascalla! Anyway, coming back…On this overcast and drippy Friday as the city wraps its lungees and some walk up to Mount Mary’s, the festivities sure are doing their bit to level out the ‘antagonizing turmoil’ the recent terror attacks added to the government’s woes. As I skimmed through today’s Times of India, I must say I was disgusted by the way the whole aftermath of the Delhi blast was portrayed. Dramatic pictures of a young Rishabh watching his father’s cremation or even a wounded niece consoled by her family as the doctors try to salvage her Uncle’s life. What is the media trying to convey? I’d say it’s an outrageous stint to let each reader re-live the blast; something that we honestly don’t need to be doing.

Ahead of the 10th anniversary of the horrific 9/11 twin tower disasters, US security forces take guard as the threat of an eminent attack has sent America hurling into flash back to those live news feeds of planes thrusting into the World Trade Centre. Ironic isn’t it, coz earlier this year Obama himself ‘suited up’ in a designer tux and proclaimed that America had done the world a favor by taking out Osama. The speculation that followed the mysterious ‘snatch n grab’ op those Navy Seals carried out on that moonless night in Abbottabad, probably could be one of the reasons that raised serious doubts in the minds of US investors. Well nearer to home, in terms of geopolitics, a new era began post the 26/11 Mumbai attacks. The city cracked down on security flaws and the vested interests of most civilians was taken in hindsight. But alas, it was just that initial knee jerk adrenaline that saw a few additional cops around with visually bigger guns and what appeared to be camouflage bulletproof gear.

Russel Peters in one of his many brilliantly thought through pieces broke the ‘Arab’ stereotype and left an American audience stunned when he rubbished the ‘crazy terrorist’ notion most people have about Arabs. If you look closely, terrorists aren’t that hard to figure out. Now most people portray them as these religious fanatics, clad in black, a chequerred cloth around their faces just revealing their blood shot eyes, an AK-47 in their hands and them going ‘Akhllllamada kallldh…Boom’. Their motives are wrong, agreed, but the code they live by, is something India’s cops should admire and if possible adopt. I don’t mean strapping 5 blocks of C4 to your chest and blow up a criminal hideout but the sheer dedication these menaces have. Beating a terrorist on his home turf isn’t too hard. Coz believe it or not they are freakishly dumb and some, certified nincompoops. Oh, I almost forgot cyber terror. God, terrorists can be stupid. Sending a threatening email is like the height of how naïve terror groups are today. Counter Terrorism isn’t about fighting fire with fire; it’s about dousing a raging inferno and Obama’s glorious ‘Operation Geronimo’ has just pissed off a whole new generation of terrorists. Graduating from terror school is just as hard as getting into the IITs or the IIMs. But ask yourself how smart really is a terrorist. Well it may shock you, but wiki leaks reveal major terror screw ups that for once didn’t cost lives. America sure is the land of Burger King, Hollywood and Playboy but their premier universities, am sorry to say have educated most of the world’s terrorists. Wonder what graduation day for a terrorist batch would be like… But the truth remains coz in the nuclear winter like aftermath of the failed US economic policies as countless Americans try and claw out of bankruptcy, terrorism is again ringing her death knell as the 11th of September draws near.

In India too, days after Delhi bled, where do we stand today? How safe really are our cities? Trust me; better weapons for our cops will only blanket a sudden outburst. We need a kickass intel group that just focuses on tapping the hell out of suspects and going down right CIA style espionage with them. Our computer grids and networks with game-boy like security firewalls lure hackers in. With most of our defense secrets out on the internet, each time we buy a new ‘Star Trek’-like tech loaded jet, the media blows the story to the world, defeating the whole purpose of the bold CONFIDENTIAL stamp on military tactics.

 I was in the bus the other day and this guy reading a news paper was gloating about an article on Katy Perrys’s pair of soft luscious massive…ahem…(go ahead, Google her)…and right next to that retarded article, read a headline “IAF secures stealth bomber”…that guy didn’t even look at it. The government is trying to do its bit; coz in an enormous country like ours twined in a maze of streets and villages it’s near to impossible to have a camera monitoring every corner. So instead of crying foul why not stop acting dumb and craving for more attention which the media like sly wolves are just waiting to unleash. Coz they sometimes are doing it at the risk of national security.

In the words of Mr. Iyer “We mallus are Yevery where, call cenders, muldi naashionelle kompaanis, you nyame it“, kudos to the malayalies ya. Must say. They’ve beaten everyone to it. I always feel if our country could be run just the way Mr. Iyer runs his household, we’d have out a man on Pluto by now. There always is something ravishingly pleasant and euphemism-ically speaking laid-back about any mallu family not to mention the strong smell of coconut oil you get when you step into their houses. They are never too critical and tend to see the bright side of everything. Now that’s something the majority of India’s society just can’t do. We just gape with dropped jaws at the facts and suspect which side the spinning top of a problem may land instead of tipping it over and ending the pointless wait. So why not try a mallu approach with terrorism too; instead of the regular charade - The media blows the news out of proportion, the opposition erupts in the immediate session of parliament quiet ‘photogenically’ if I must add, out of the blue you find articles on CCTV cameras flooding print media, a few exclusive interviews on prime time news with the home minister or in synch with the ‘In-thing’, some random guy starts fasting in his quest to become a newly minted Gandhi. Where is Anna Hazare by the way…?

Loosing someone you love is never easy. Terrorism has a gory reality no amount of humor can mask. First Mumbai and now as the terror masterminds proudly cross out Delhi from their story boards they do it not with traditional red felt but with the blood of the innocent victims whose lives they ruthlessly took. As the country tries to switch on the festive mood and fight back, picking up the pieces after every bomb that went off, India marches on. But unless the domestic problems and petty differences are sorted out, the terrorists will always have a field day. They aren’t geniuses or indestructible soldiers. We can beat them but only if we save the country from ourselves first. But it is the true grit and zest of an Indian that no terrorist bomb can blow away. My heart goes out to the victims' families in Delhi. Keep the faith, keep fighting back!

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

“But dude, I can’t defend…!"

That’s what our now college team striker Duane told the coach at soccer trials two years back. It paid off, coz he went on to score in crucial championship games bringing us home more often than not.

It’s funny how many lessons in life you can learn through sports. Be it the nerve racking patience and concentration of a golfer who birdies his way one stroke at a time, the killer instinct of a rookie boxer, an F1 driver sucking up the stomach twisting G-Forces at sharp corners, a 6 foot muscle-clad brawn-imposing dude dunking the hell out of a Spalding basketball or even a soccer forward curving a seemingly impossible angled ball way past the keeper into a now fluttering net. Offensive discourse as sport analysts put it is surprisingly the success story behind many a Wayne Rooney, a certain Shaq or even a really kinky Tiger Woods. These guys today are legends who’ve accomplished heaps and the resounding similarity with all of them is the fact that their playbooks had offensive plan As and few or no defensive plan Bs. But it worked! Well Salman, Anna and Naseer sure are the brave new additions to this cult.

In the blue corner, weighing in a staggering 120 pounds, unbeaten in two general elections, thrashed the BJP via direct knock out, the ‘Turbanator’- MANMOHAN SINGH! 
In the red corner, weighing in a competitive 100 pounds, an amateur with heart, aka the Gandhi of the 21st century, the man with the farmer fists- ANNA HAZARE.

Needless to say it was a revolutionary bout, nothing short of an Ali-Frazer rematch; one that lasted almost two weeks and is still far from final resolution. What started as a lone man’s quest to get a bill passed transformed into a nationwide cry against corruption. Was it called for? Most say yes, I say no. All it did was befuddle an audience much like Inception and it made them suspect a possible end and they eventually picked a side. Frankly I’m sick off all the speculation and it’s about time the ‘I am Anna’ human billboards got back to their old lives. Anna Hazare did the country a favor and pushed for anti corruption, agreed, but I bet he never fathomed the uproar he fuelled. So much like an egoistic football striker he left the midfield aka the country, whirl pooling in debate while he waited for that one cross to score. I never quiet was pro Anna, but the way he went about giving a shit about what the world felt kinda got to me. He wasn’t a defensive guy so to speak. He’d always draw first blood be it with Kiran Bedi singing on the dais or him chatting with Amir Khan who randomly squatted next to him. Like a con artist he sold an idea to his ‘supporters’ and it was their questionable belligerence that helped him make his ninja puff-of-smoke getaway. He even went offensive (not literally) through the media as their camera crews swarmed their lenses over the crowds during the entire fiasco. A cabbie who paid a 250 buck bribe just to get his permit renewed suddenly became the face of what a certain prime time reporter called ‘the 2nd freedom struggle’. Dude…seriously..! Anna’s movement really got to most people so much so, when I was stuck at Bandra station during one of those protester rallys, a group of irate women perched on the ground when the cops asked them to leave and yelled ‘ye andhar ki baat hai, police hamare saath hai’ (LOL). And astonishingly they kept getting louder each time a cop tried to move them. So in like the next 15 minutes, half of the massive crowd at the station hilariously ranted at the cops. That’s what Anna achieved. Here’s a 61 year old man fighting a country’s democratic policy instead of getting cozy near a fire place on his rocking chair. Must say, he just can’t defend…

Salman Khan, a genre in himself. Rumor has it Robin Hood turned in his grave the day Dabangg released. And while I write this, his candid admirers are on a high with the stupendous success of his latest ‘Bodyguard’ where he plays a familiar Kevin Costner’s doppelganger in an old south Indian movie remake. The Salman hangover surged through the country yet again all through last week and the fans are still loathing multiplexes. Though it really is quiet a ridiculous typical Sallu movie, the actor in his own, made it work this time even flexing his biceps to a beat (try that Shiamak). So I hear that his latest venture completes his 100 crore movie hat-trick but the question remains- what makes the fans accept this once prodigal son? I’d say Offensive discourse! Now be it Lovely Singh or the ‘dhinchak’ Chulbul Pande, pretty similar roles if you look at them. Yet Sallu, sets out to kickass-iffy the job of a boring security guard or a corrupt cop with the same zest and flamboyance that Christopher Reeves probably had when he played Superman.

In recent years, be it humor, drama or gravity defining action, the actor has delivered in his own style. Another thing I’ve noticed is the way a Sallu release comes just time to rescue the aam aadmi from a seemingly uneasy phase. Dabangg was the perfect cocktail to calm a pointless Baba Ramdev fever and today with millions of w’ANNA’bes still sporting their white topees, his Bodyguard is just what this country needs to take some time off from the action packed last couple of weeks. Sallu Bhai is an offensive forward waiting to score; he don’t defend.

The Indian Cricket today is having a really rough run both on and off the field. Sore from the Test series debacle, Dhoni and Co are trying to recoup fast to make a stand in the ODIs (I hope). But the one thing that has always bothered Indian cricket is its fielding. It’s a  known fact few of us care to bring out, but when a known Brit calls our fellow countryman a ‘donkey’ on live TV, yea that gets our attention. It’s funny the number of controversies Nasser Hussain has been a part of. In his latest donkey-gate splat, he once again rubbed Indian fans the wrong way. This came days after his embarrassing roe with fellow commentator Ravi Shastri. Now it is a matter of concern the way Nasser has over the years been prejudiced against Indian players with his hard hitting ‘opinions I am paid to give’. 

There comes a time when old on field unresolved issues seem less daunting but getting back at a team that screwed you over, well that’s just ‘sad and sadistic and sorry to say sissy’ (o hey tongue twister alert…). You don’t just rat out at players like that especially in India. But I wonder what Harsha was doing when Nasser threw his donkey fit...Well some things never change. Yet another example of dudes who can’t hold back, but Nasser is more of the flopside to this.

So while Sallu’s fans ‘Feel the powerrrr’ of Bodyguard, as Nasser deals with his deprived childhood issues and good old Anna recovers from playing Gandhi, I’m gonna call Duane, need to ask him if he’ll cover for the injured defender, but I think you know what he’ll say…;)

Thursday, 1 September 2011


I’ve always wondered what makes a special operations soldier so bad ass. A recruit runs for almost 6 hours a day followed by intense combat training exercises and the all important hours at the shooting range. Much like marines in camouflage battling tanks and blazing bullets, we civilians, survive the brutal war zone each Metropolitan city blasts wide open, coz in a sea of democracy, diplomacy is one fish that just doesn’t take the bait. You need your own Shield of Achilles to help you push through and survive. The bond between a soldier and his rifle is what the blue dudes in Avatar describe as ‘Tahelyu’, once made, the rifle and the soldier are one…of course…the Avatars with absurdly long pony tails bonded with these dinosaur-dragon cross breed creatures but in dark skinned ‘man’ language- the gun saves your ass. “…My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless”, these are a few lines from what the US army refers to as a ‘Rifleman’s Creed’, the code he must live by to stay alive. In urban warfare, more often than not you hit a dead end, are pinned down and are taking fire. You need someone to get you out or a bazooka to blast your way out of your sorrowful, sometimes guilty abyss. A couple of years ago when I was way behind college enemy lines; lost and outa ammo in a gloomy damp July, ‘twas a Saturday as I recall, I made the ‘Rifleman’s Creed’. I found my shield of Achilles, my Cheryl.

It was pouring that day and we caught ourselves waiting out the lashing shower under this old barn shed. Now Cheryl was new in town so we hadn’t quiet ‘broken the ice’. Yea, it was a little awkward the first time our eyes met. A wreck at the time, I really didn’t make quiet a smooth first impression. But there was something about her that saw right through me but she didn’t say a word. Her eyes, deep and sublime yet brown and indulgent; her cheeks, not too puffy but jiggled gently when she’d smile; a light tint of mascara smudged onto her skin. Her lips were moist and had a natural creamy glossy feel as I hoped she’d nervously smack them (ok… she was HOT). She had a black over coat on which she soon unzipped and like a loose fruit skin, the coat peeled down slowly, all the way to her feet. My throat gulped in eye rubbing disbelief as I saw her in this sexy beige outfit. A lit orange bulb in the barn, gave her silk-like dress this summer sheen as the fabric wrapped around her delicate bosom and curved along her toned waist. A lil drop of rain brushed her forehead as it trickled down her cheeks caving its way down her tender neck deep into her heaving... (36C…I guess). After shamelessly ogling her, I walked up to her, looked her dead straight in eyes, twitched my eyebrows and said “hi, I’m Yorrick”. She didn’t flinch.

 I was having a really rough run at the time. My parents, who’ve always been extremely supportive, did their bit to try and keep me afloat; but nothing seemed to click; I was still off my game. Call it raging testosterone, I just wasn’t playing my cards right. I was bleeding chips; be it with my grades, the band, I lost this all important job interview and my best friend was seriously ill and fighting for her life. I just wanted one bloody thing to go right. To be honest, there were heaps of things bottled up inside me and no one to make sense of it. But when Cheryl walked into my life, things changed. She wouldn’t do much, just patiently sit and listen to me venting out the entire gunk locked down and eventually when I’d figure things out, she’d hang in there and cheer me on. We’ve known each other for a while now and she’s always been the silver lining no matter how dark the cloud. How’d she do it?-I’ll get to it.

Ok, back to the barn shed. Flirting 101 says: if she doesn’t respond, talk about the weather, divert. So I tried it. Cheryl still gave me nothing. As it so happens, she didn’t speak English. Then after about a 30 second awkward moment of silence, nothing, absolutely nothing could prepare me for what happened next. She looked at me and gently held my hand, placed my now numb palm just above her waist and pressed down slowly. Her dress had these six threaded laces running down her chest all the way to her waist. I took a moment just to wrap my head around what was happening. Let’s recall, hot Cheryl, sexy beige outfit, a perfectly curved rack, my hand on her waist, (techno music)… Wuhuuu…yea baby! Ok back to the story…

I gently drew her in and slyly slid my other hand across those laces as I held her tight. Her hair curled around these little hair lugs, and the loose strands flirted with her face as I brushed a tuft around her ear. Her breath got a lil heavy, as I’ve gotta admit, things got really steamy. Now Ted fell for Robin in one date but it seemed like I was head over heels for Cheryl in one glance. Another drop took off from her forehead, this time my finger rode it gently as I rolled it along her neck, down her perky chest. I mowed her neck slowly with my left hand, while my right tickled the laces around her belly. She’d shiver occasionally, but I still kept my fingers going, slowly sending waves of passion (LOL) down her body. I sat down and she coiled around on my lap, as I wrapped my arms around her. She just wouldn’t strip down though, like a weird fetish; she liked it with her clothes on. We lazed around under that shed, the whole night as we ‘calmed each other’s senses’. I didn’t know the language she spoke, but as long as I pulled all her strings right, I’d get what she’d wanna say.

It’s been six years now since that first glance and Cheryl and I are still lost for each other. Our first date was different, we weren’t mushy; in fact we got right down to it. There have been times when my life coaster has derailed and friends have stabbed me right in the back. It happens to the best of us. But no matter how bad things got, she would always see me through. When people ask me how we understand each other, coz we don’t speak the same language, I always tell them about the first time she looked at me. I didn’t know what it was back then but today we have a bond, one that matured with each lean time when she’d stick with me. She knew I was a mess the day she first met me, yet she chose to be the light at the end of the dark tunnel I was stuck in. Riding solo will only get you so far, coz sometimes even Batman needs Robin to bail him out. I found my silver lining the day I met Cheryl and she’s hung in there ever since.

Oh, by the way, Cheryl is my one and only six string acoustic guitar. So yea, you might wanna read this piece again…;)  

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