She is the Third Kind

It was a warm summer evening in the winding streets of Cuffe Parade, Mumbai.
It is filled with old couples going out for a walk whose wrinkles are always full of life. A simple ‘Hi..’ to a Parsi lady in her 80s is invariably bound to earn you a vibrant smile in reply. Sundays are always the same.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any different, I saw her for the first time.

She was out for a walk, a rather unusual thing for a woman her age who normally prefer to jog.

She was plugged to her Ipod making her oblivious of the world around.

Her smile was peculiar. It was as if someone was whispering something to her she had been waiting to hear all her life. It seemed so everlasting which she refused to take off.

She was dressed in sleeveless top & shorts – All blue from head to toe.
Who could ever relate the colour ‘blue’ to melancholy & depression!
There was so much exuberance when it floated around her.

But her hair…I couldn’t really make out. It looked all smooth & fluid like that of silky hair. Yet her confined pony tail made it look all curly.

There are 2 kinds of women who can charm the daylights out of men at sight - One who allures all those around while radiating her clear-cut glamour & the other who merely hints her beauty leaving people guessing.

She was the third kind - A siren of charisma which left me guessing if she could look any better.
My question was answered when I met her at a party soon after. I was shocked.

There was no sign of grandeur. No more flashy colours. Her perfectly mould slander legs where obscured by her skin tight jeans which looked distinctly normal. Her florescent pink top did not seem enticing whatsoever. But her smile…she wore it like a medallion and flashed it around like an heirloom. She made it look all effortless and rammed the prestige of every single well-dressed woman around her. I couldn’t help but thank god for gifting me with vision.

Like I said, I was curious!
What was it about her hair? Curly or Silky?

I was looking for excuses to talk to her…or rather get close to her. I would try to wait behind her in the buffet queue, crack some lame jokes and laugh out loud leaning forward so I could get to feel her hair or maybe even dance with her hoping to see her whip her hair in rapture. But alas no L.

It was finally time to say good-bye & there was loud music playing.
I knew this was my chance. I took my shot.
I placed my palm on her back, went within an ear-shot to say good-bye while trying to feel her jet black locks of hair. It felt hazy all of a sudden!!

The flavour of shampoo knocked me out.
I took a deep breath of the aroma sucking in every bit of euphoria and lo…she was gone!
It would really take a man of might to shower her neck with kisses while trying to resist her scent of intoxication.

She left me guessing…along with all the other men at the pavilion.