Blue to Red

This is to warn that this post is not about Matrix. You will definitely not learn Taekwondo in fifteen seconds. Your life will not be changed by reading this. This is about changing from Blue to Red. I have always been a blue person. I always felt that blue symbolized the corporate cool. It coincided with my personal goal of ending up in the top freezer in the corporate world – The ultimate salary man. Blue was conservative and indicated inner peace, so I thought.

The following anecdote would make it clear. I was married when I relocated to Tokyo in the late nineties. The plan was that I will go first and my wife Radhika would join later (I have been instructed by Radhika to prefix her name by “My wife” to remove any misgivings that she is a living in partner. By the way, the position is till vacant).

She had warned me not to buy things for the house before she comes to Japan. She is definitely not going to miss acting out her child fantasy of playing House. As an obedient spouse, I adhered to her warning. However I bought curtains for the house. I had to. It was not only to protect my modesty but also more importantly to save Japanese lives. I did not want good Japanese folks to die of shock when they saw my nonexistent biceps.

The whole house was barren except for the nice curtains. When Radhika stepped in to the house, I was like the new bride, anxiously waiting for the mother in law’s approval. She looked at the curtains and remarked “Yew! It looks like a hospital”. I took it as a compliment. I was a die-hard blue guy.

However things are changing as I am approaching Forty. I am not talking about receding hair lines and the nubile young ones calling you uncle. I am talking about repressed red desire exploding in to consciousness.

My prized position is a red shirt. It is so Red that my friends want me to forewarn them in case I am wearing it. Some of them have become my followers in Twitter just because of that. The entire gathering looks like Matrix, wearing glares. Unlike me they still have not swallowed Red pill – Poor blue uncles.

Post dated wish

We all have post dated wishes. If you are thinking “I do not have one”, you might be right. I mentioned “We” the way royalty of yore used to address themselves in plural, like “We will partake the food, take some rest and hunt some wild animals”. In order to placate Mehr-un-Nisaa (Nur Jehan, for those who slept through their history class), Jehangir addressed himself once in Singular “I”. If Jehangirnama had foot notes it would have read – The empress was unhappy that the emperor failed for the umpteenth time to get the plumber and fix the leaky faucet.

I am always on the placation mode with Radhika. Not only I fail to fluff the pillows but also fail to make the bed properly without wrinkles, keep the shoes back in the rack, reply to her in full sentences instead of monosyllables, give food to the guests before partaking it myself, making comments on prime time Hindi Soap operas, etcetera.

I have two post dated wishes. One, to get an appreciable nod from Radhika for making the bed and the other is to drink a chilled glass of beer. You might wonder that, why drinking chilled beer is a post dated wish. It is because that I have resolved to imbibe alcohol only after getting a job. I have kept up my spirits mostly by running long distances, pumping iron, reading and writing. Of all these, only pumping iron is the new activity. It has lead to stronger teeth (Read about in Gym Capers).

I never knew that strength training is not only strenuous but also an expensive affair. In order to measure the progress of my gym exploits, I bought a measuring tape.

I read in a Men’s magazine getting your spouse to measure the biceps is a good start for a seduction routine. Hence, I requested Radhika to do the honors. Predictably I had her rolling on the floor. Unfortunately it was with laughter. All she could manage between gasps of laughter was “What biceps”.

The tape did not show any improvements and I had to order scientific instruments which were sensitive enough to measure changes in microns. It set me back by few thousands. All I could say to Radhika is “Wait for another 10 years and we can measure by tape”.

Pumping iron has also made my orientation circumspect. I walk up to complete strangers touch their arms and exclaim “Man, awesome biceps”. I am glad that all their partners can do now is wring their hands. They would have filed a formal complaint of harassment earlier. I am glad for the Delhi High court judgment on same gender relationships to keep me out of custody.

So readers make my wish come true. I promise not to touch your arms in public and will eat the food only after you have partaken yours. I will even share the beer with you.