Friday 27 November 2015

The Woman's body.

"Dude ! Look at those boobs !", "What an Ass ! I could totally do her"

While men talk about a woman like this, they only see the outside. Simply what meets the eye. A"do-able" ass, a pair of boobs and a hole between the legs that is crying aloud to them, "Come fill me in" ! That's precisely how much a woman is objectified every day, everywhere. A woman's body is broken down into parts and sections and exposed to the unrestrained voyeurism of a "band of robbers" willing to grab, cup and defile. How feeble and base is the imagination of these men who think of the woman's body as simple a riddle as this that they can solve it in eleven minutes or so. A woman's body is much more than just that. When men say, "It is impossible to understand a woman", they are only referring to the complexity surfacing on the outside. Unaware of the maze of a gazillion complexities going on the inside.

When a woman says, "I love being in a woman's body!", She means it ten times more than a man will ever understand. The initiation of such a remark is generated somewhere behind the forehead that deserves a thousand years of praise, travels through the eyes that widen, look deep into the eyes of the unaware listener and immediately generate a spark, reaches and comes out through the curves of the lips and twirl of the tongue and is heard through the vibrations that are producing the sound effect. But, is that all ? Of course not ! It goes way deep.

Women are beautiful. A woman's body is a beautiful piece of art. We know. But, so are men. Have we forgotten The Dorian Gray and his enigmatic beauty, or Adonis for that matter ? Women are beautiful, their bodies are aesthetic, true. But there is a lot more than that. The body of a woman is a Byzantine when compared to that of a man's. No this isn't about menstruation or child birth, I am not even beginning to hint on menstruation or any biological process. This is about how women feel about their bodies. All women will agree with the declaration of Tiresias that a woman receives much more "pleasure" in the "act" than a man. Even then we find men lusting them and the act more ! That's similar to the insatiable appetite of those who only know half the pleasure of an experience. In this sense men are like the bourgeoisie, who in their pretentious nobility are only partly aware of how the aristocratic nobility actually "feels".

"Feels". Yes that's precisely what I want to reach. Women feel each and every movement of their body parts a lot more than men. They are always conscious. No there is no science behind this but yes , twenty two years of experience. We are always playing a role. Women are constantly acting it out. We know which side of our personality-rich selves have to be switched on and when. Also, please don't take it as a diabolical trait. Because it's not. Women feel every curve of their bodies and are far too aware while curving it than men will ever think about. Each step they take, each movement of their beautifully carved and kept hands, each toss of their head, stretch of their neck and roll of their eyes is carefully calculated. That's not because women fake it but because they know how to make use of it. It being their carefully carved bodies. If the human body was only a cover for the soul why would the Lord take so much pains in making so many different ones, all beautiful in their own way. We women understand that. And obviously we can't disappoint or waste any of our inbuilt talents. So, we use it.


When a woman walks past, people turn their heads to look at her. They appreciate the body, the walk but never the artist behind presenting it in that manner. Women are not only art but also the artists who exhibit their best forms at all times. An artist who knows her best colours, brushes, lines and curves. We enjoy being our own canvas. Men are surprisingly very naive in assuming that women use makeup, they dress and act in a certain way to receive their compliments. I sympathize with all those men who think like that. They fail to comprehend that the first and only person a woman is pleasing by doing all that is herself. Try telling a woman she is beautiful on a day she knows she is looking horrible. She will like the compliment, love you for saying so, but, at the same time know that you are lying, or are simply too much in love. She will never believe you. NEVER. 


The woman's body is as beautiful as a man's is, at least in it's unkempt bare form. They do complete each other. But, women are equipped with the wonderful art of making it much more artistic and heavenly. It's an inherent trait in our nature. We just can't help being beautiful at all times ! ;)




Saturday 7 November 2015

When breaths meet..

Love. What exactly is love? People complicate it. Define and redefine it. Yet, there is not a single answer to that. But does there have to be an answer ? Why can't it be limited to what one feels and what one experiences. Some things are best left unadulterated by thought. When both your body and soul come in sync to respond to their call. Go for it.

So did they. Not only did their hearts respond but their bodies too were in complete sync. He was everything she ever wished for and she was undoubtedly his imagination come to life. When they were together, the atmosphere carried a magnetic field which made his body respond magically to the air she breathed. He was still making mental images of how her hand would feel on his skin, how would the grip of her fingers hold on to him and how will the imprints of her moist lips leave a mark on his bare skin. He was picturing all this, yet there was no rush. He was contended. Life had finally begun to be nice to him.

She was a lady. And a proper one at that, he thought. The first move had to be his and couldn't decide when would be the right time. The fear of spoiling something so beautiful by coming across as a pervert was hanging like a dagger over his head. They met. Spent the whole day together and then he walked her home. She lived alone in the city. She invited him inside thinking it is the right thing to do. How could she let him go? She had not had enough of his company. She wanted more and maybe something more than just his company. The mere thought shuddered her soul. How unthinking have I become, she thought. They came in and she offered him coffee. He sat anxiously on the sofa while she was in the kitchen thinking about what would happen next. She carried a caffeinated drink, a charged body and her drugged soul on the platter and served them to him. 

Their eyes met, he stood up and before she knew her lips had made way to his. A sudden flux of passion engulfed them both and they were one. He grabbed her waist and his grip on her body immediately erased all scepticisms and unfamiliarity from their minds. They belonged to each other at that very moment and for many more to come. She held him tight close to her and continued to kiss him locking his firm lips with her beautified pink ones. They stopped kissing to only look at each other and laughed. They held each other for about a couple of hours and days passed before they knew. Now she slept thinking of him and woke up each day hoping to hold him and kiss him and touch him and feel him. He was no longer some boy she had met at a tea stall. He was someone she had always known. A part of her being.