Old men, new men, dead men
"Old men
Bangalore seems to have suddenly been overrun by the leery middle-aged voyeur-types. They are everywhere on the roads, even in the supposedly more civilized St Marks and Church Street and MG. And unlike the young ones who you can maybe shame with a glare or with the "You no have sister or mother, you little rat?" line, these oily men sidle up to you with no warning, whisper something creepy and immediately disappear. Their favorite phrase? "Tasty". Pronounced, Tay-stayyy. Ugh!
New men
A yuppie in my office who is admittedly cute is offering corny come-on lines my way, but he is unacceptable - he wears more perfume than I do and is way too impeccable.
He is the kind of guy who can wear a pink shirt and get away with it.. but I suspect the too-stylish male (okay, the term metrosexual is too hideous to use). The pretty outfits and slicked hair look like they are compensating for something, and I think these overly swanky types are the ones who are probably into swinging and who will tie you up - without asking. I don't think I am in the minority here - most women prefer the slightly grimy guys anyday. Except to look at from a distance, which explains our passion for Arjun Rampal.
Dead men
After a long time I got to talk to my grandmother, who is adorably eccentric (she diets and then sneaks food from the refrigerator, she spends ages in front of the mirror, and she talks compulsively of the latest fashions. Just like my other girl friends.)
She was upset because she had spotted a good friend of hers (a lot of her friends are male widowers. A lot. Yes, I worry.) in the Indian Express obituary.
"Why don't you just not read that thing, why do you want to look at those warty old men anyway?" I asked, and I know I am terrible and I am insensitive. But then she pointed out that if she didn't know who died, she would keep the phone number in her address book, and would mistakenly call the bereaved house sometime. And that's when my self-esteem tanked to below zero.
My grandmother has a little black book and I don't. How sad am I."
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