Blue bottles

Philistine is NOT my by-word. I’m embarrassed by shows of mediocrity. It’s just that there is an irresistible sense of heightened asthescism in me that allows me to Fraiser everything possible. I love to rest my Melvin Udall behind an unbreakable wall of Euphemism.

I hate it when people with me begin to get..Well, human. Thus my high success rate with the members of XY. Imperfections are just about acceptable. Displaying them with a flourish is not. At least, was not. Even a little deviation from the Perfect Behaviour gives me nightmares. For very long, I used to have nightmares about coming the most important event of my life with someone who embarrassed me. By eating with the wrong fork. All right, I’m a little potty. But this (dis)ability to increase my threshold of getting embarrassed has been like trying to stick a stamp on an envelope with it’s ends NOT parallel to the edges of the envelope. Downright impossible.

However my level of self-mortification is quite different. (Note To self. DON’T think of whoa freaky incident.)

A lady I know knows this. OK. I have what one would call an ear for correct notes. A minor and E flat are my buddies. And it completely embarrasses me when some one goes a little off-key while they are screaming their lungs out. I just want to curl up on the floor, under a table and be absorbed magically to escape an assault on my snobby soul. It doesn’t matter whether I know the person or not. Due to the lack of control on my facial expression (especially when disgust is well articulated), the person not only knows me but also remembers me. Note to self.. Do not think about the Concerto.

This lady I was talking about likes to sing. Just about anything. She has a beautiful voice. BUT, she goes off-key sometimes( most of the times). Quite badly so. But being the Atlanta that I know she is, she continues to sing along. Loudly. And more often. I remember my Kamaljeet’s tunes being spliced apart violently by her husky tunes along ith heavy gesticulation which included holding of an invisible beret and grooving to an unheard Hip-Hop rhythm. Man, how I wished I could fly at that moment. The Kala Chashmas and the rest. Despite my subtle references of my sufferings, this woman went on. And on. And on. With the dancing and the Looks that G.Stefani would donate her abs to try.

Even when no one was around I was mortified. Don’t get me wrong, I love this girl to bits. I’d even let someone die for her. But the singing …AHHHGGHH. That just embarrassed me beyond hell and it’s angels. But this went on…

Months later…

One day, when a familiar song played on the radio in a cafe, I missed the voice and it’s owner. I even wished that I could see the Beret Dance once again. I miss the whole silliness of the concept. So I’ve decided to give it a rest. And with some luck, I’m gonna be more entertained this time around when I see it. Maybe, I’ll even join in.