How I wonder what you are !!
I had opened up Amaylo’s facebook account and had been going through it for some time. Doesn’t it make up the mood of a guy while reading a girl’s profile? Keep the profile side! First thing a guy goes through after opening the profile is her pictures. Lots of ideas were popping in and out of my mind about her looks. During the whole chat I had been wondering what she would be like. She was naughty, fun-loving and smart I had no doubt in it. Would her looks be as funny as her emoticons she had suggested of her expressions during the chat? Have she really been pumping her heart out whenever she was saying “alright relaxing relaxing”? Does she really wink her eyes when I try to make her blush? Does her cheek really become red when I flirt around with her? Is she really the same how she had presented herself to me during the whole chat? When I open up her picture will she be same what I had imagined of her?
Which girl on earth doesn’t want to look beautiful? Ask a girl of her routine you will get to know of her time spent before the mirror. Ask of her secret fantasies you will get to know of the number of guys she wishes to be fallen before her. Ask her the secret of her beauty, she would rather blush openly, feel proudly and would say “oh come on your compliments are for my dress not for me”.
It’s the attire that would bring glory and gorgeousness to people. But there is a second type. Types that are gifted to make the attire they wear look beautiful. Make Shahrukh Khan wear a torn worn out second hand old stingy rented dress of a passing beggar and I am sure he would look awesome in it. Amaylo was of the second type.
I couldn’t help my resistance to see the picture taking its shape before my eyes bit by bit...blue by blue. The girl in question was not a kid after all. She looked like a lady. The first look at it and I couldn’t hide my eyes from seeing the curvaceous figure of her, roller coasting from top to bottom making her more feminine. Tanned skin hidden by blue V-shaped top and knee length skirt and a golden sunglass placed on her eyes behind which the strands of her blackish long gorgeous open hairs played with the cold breeze around a beach. And the style of her walk - Dear god, she was lovely. She seemed staring at me through the screen, appealing, and slowly bringing a curvy gape to my lips catalysing a feeling that was never felt in me before.
Have I been talking to a super model. Some one pinch me. Let me not be happy just in dreams.
Try to understand men of 60’s, you will know of their desperation in their days to see pictures of girls, but talk to today’s boys of the memory allocated for girls’ pictures in their computer, you will find the mismatch. They are simply desperate to download pictures and after that, they wouldn’t give a damn about it. It will simply not be seen again by them, for they are practical enough to understand they could never meet such femme fatale. I was looking forward to meet Amaylo.
The second thing one would make out seeing her picture would be of her simplicity. None showed her with much of makeup. In most of her pictures she was wearing skirt, perhaps their tradition. I could see her pictures then in different attires. She was posing before a painting of Einstein with her hands lifted, and eyes popping out in wonder. I could see her like a goddess in a saree smiling before me asking my first wish. I could see her like some old woman in some beach tired of walking and resting her bum on her hands.
She was no way what I had imagined of her. All this time I was thinking of her as some teenage girl who enjoy-tease-being-teased a lot but she turned out being a woman - a gorgeous woman. And there were not much of pictures that would show her as naughty. She did not seem exaggerating her expressions in anyway. No doubt she never cared for the world to see her as someone beautiful. An expression of care but not cruel could be seen on her facial looks. In one of the picture she was being awarded a prize by some elderly man on stage. May be she was a girl studious or perhaps a sports woman. She seemed less jovial whenever the snaps were taken with her friends around her. And she seemed proud whenever she was alone covering the frame.
A closer look at her pictures, somewhere she looked close to being a housewife. Is she the way she chats or is she the way she looks? She seemed more of a girlfriend material in skirts and much more of a wife material in sarees. God forbid me for thinking of her less as a kid because she in fact looked like a kid when she wore a belt around her waist. She would be moulded in to any shape by her mixed up trend possessing the entirety of her lifetime. Is she really fun-loving? I doubted it.
I was confused for a while if I was under emotional car crash for her not being so playful in her looks as the chat had suggested of her. I doubted if our first chat will end up like others, catching each other again after a decade or two. I doubted if she would ever send me any offline messages suggesting me I was not harassment after all.
Chat friends generally bring false impression about the people in the first chat. You may feel the first chat had been great and you would be thinking of a lot of ideas to make the second chat better but when it happens, you see your plans and ideas are crashed when she says she is busy. A kind of momentary possessiveness generates in you and you would say them that you wouldn’t mind waiting. And there he waits playing the emoticons, drumming the bench and popping out straight its eyes. But then a smart man would see for other chatters and desperate men would still be waiting, expecting. I was not into any kind of expectations. All I wanted to know was if she would take the initiative to propose for the next chat. She was a beautiful young gorgeous lady who would not spend much of her time before chat just because making new friends is something that she may always be proposed in the inbox of her mobile. I secretly wished even she would be fond of me as I was of her. I waited patiently to understand my importance for her. Maximum I would ask of her time once. Once that is it.