This post comes to you in two parts:
Part 1: The Fabulous Man
Yesterday, my friend and I were at a railway station, waiting for a train my friend was to board. As we were standing there, talking, something magical happened. Rather, someone magical happened.
From a distance approached this mystical being. A man, not taller than 5 feet with the waist size of Kate Moss was walking towards us. Actually, he wasn't walking. Walking is for lame earthlings like me. His walk had purpose. This man, his walk had fantastic swagger. He was swagging.
His hips swayed to ramp music perhaps we were too deaf to hear. His catwalk could have given even Naomi Campbell a run for her money. I was mesmerised. And so was my friend, and everyone around who looked at him.
As I unabashedly stared at him, I saw he was talking on the phone. And as he walked past, I heard him speak in the loudest, most high pitched voice ever. As if his swagging wasn't enough, this man gave us more.
He walked the entire length of the platform that way. I stared at him until he completely disappeared in the crowd. And it was then I decided I wanted to be this man. This fantastic person who was just being himself. This fabulous, fabulous man. The Fabulous Man. That's what I decided to call him.
They say that some people walk into rooms and own them. Well guess what? The Fabulous Man owned the railway platform. And if ever I see him again, I am going to tell him that he is fabulous and I want to be him.
In fact, I think we all need The Fabulous Man in our lives to remind us to not take ourselves too seriously. And to be fabulous, of course.
Part 2: Wherein I am Made to Question my Gender
This incident occurred not even an hour ago. It was around 1.30 in the night then, when all the crazies of Bombay take to travelling by train. Seriously, I have met some very weird people at this hour. And today was no different.
I was coming back from work, and my stop was approaching, so I got up and stood near the train's door. Another woman (?) got up behind me. I felt a tap on my back. I turned around, and it was the woman (?).
"Aapka naam kya hai?" She (?) asked.
"Supriya," I answered, without thinking twice about telling my name to a person I had never met before at 1.30 in the night.
"Kahan rehte ho?" She (?) asked again. This time common sense prevailed and I didn't just hand her (?) a detailed map to my house.
"Kya aap whdunsuhdueh ho?" She (?) asked. I couldn't understand, so I asked her (?) to repeat.
"Kya aap whdunsuhdueh ho?" She (?) asked again. I still couldn't get it, and at this point I was getting annoyed.
"Kya?" I asked again.
"Kya aap ladies ho?"
What. Did I just get asked if I was a man?
What?
How do you even respond to a question like that? I didn't know what to say. So this woman (?) asks me again. I said I was a woman. She then asked me if I was married and if I had children.
Fortunately my stop arrived and I sped, without looking back even once,
My first reaction was anger. But then I remembered The Fabulous man and felt a little better.
Once I got home, I took a long hard look at myself. Do I really look like a man? Why would someone ask if I was one? I am not the most feminine of dressers, and neither am I very demure in my mannerisms. Does that make me a man?
I don't know. How would you deal with someone questioning your gender? Let me know in the comments.
Until next time, stay fabulous.
Part 1: The Fabulous Man
Yesterday, my friend and I were at a railway station, waiting for a train my friend was to board. As we were standing there, talking, something magical happened. Rather, someone magical happened.
From a distance approached this mystical being. A man, not taller than 5 feet with the waist size of Kate Moss was walking towards us. Actually, he wasn't walking. Walking is for lame earthlings like me. His walk had purpose. This man, his walk had fantastic swagger. He was swagging.
His hips swayed to ramp music perhaps we were too deaf to hear. His catwalk could have given even Naomi Campbell a run for her money. I was mesmerised. And so was my friend, and everyone around who looked at him.
As I unabashedly stared at him, I saw he was talking on the phone. And as he walked past, I heard him speak in the loudest, most high pitched voice ever. As if his swagging wasn't enough, this man gave us more.
He walked the entire length of the platform that way. I stared at him until he completely disappeared in the crowd. And it was then I decided I wanted to be this man. This fantastic person who was just being himself. This fabulous, fabulous man. The Fabulous Man. That's what I decided to call him.
They say that some people walk into rooms and own them. Well guess what? The Fabulous Man owned the railway platform. And if ever I see him again, I am going to tell him that he is fabulous and I want to be him.
In fact, I think we all need The Fabulous Man in our lives to remind us to not take ourselves too seriously. And to be fabulous, of course.
Part 2: Wherein I am Made to Question my Gender
This incident occurred not even an hour ago. It was around 1.30 in the night then, when all the crazies of Bombay take to travelling by train. Seriously, I have met some very weird people at this hour. And today was no different.
I was coming back from work, and my stop was approaching, so I got up and stood near the train's door. Another woman (?) got up behind me. I felt a tap on my back. I turned around, and it was the woman (?).
"Aapka naam kya hai?" She (?) asked.
"Supriya," I answered, without thinking twice about telling my name to a person I had never met before at 1.30 in the night.
"Kahan rehte ho?" She (?) asked again. This time common sense prevailed and I didn't just hand her (?) a detailed map to my house.
"Kya aap whdunsuhdueh ho?" She (?) asked. I couldn't understand, so I asked her (?) to repeat.
"Kya aap whdunsuhdueh ho?" She (?) asked again. I still couldn't get it, and at this point I was getting annoyed.
"Kya?" I asked again.
"Kya aap ladies ho?"
What. Did I just get asked if I was a man?
What?
How do you even respond to a question like that? I didn't know what to say. So this woman (?) asks me again. I said I was a woman. She then asked me if I was married and if I had children.
Fortunately my stop arrived and I sped, without looking back even once,
My first reaction was anger. But then I remembered The Fabulous man and felt a little better.
Once I got home, I took a long hard look at myself. Do I really look like a man? Why would someone ask if I was one? I am not the most feminine of dressers, and neither am I very demure in my mannerisms. Does that make me a man?
I don't know. How would you deal with someone questioning your gender? Let me know in the comments.
Until next time, stay fabulous.
3 comments:
Suppu, as always, I love the way you communicate your thoughts, forthright and picturesque. You make the most mundane topic highly interesting and thought-provoking.
Recently a similar incident of "mistaken gender" happened with me too. While I was standing near the door, a man came and stood really close to me. I gave him a piece of my mind. It took me a while to realize that with my short hairstyle and the clothes that I was wearing, maybe he did not realize that I am a woman. I keep forgetting that I look different now with shorter hair. At times I feel I should make deliberate effort to look and dress like a woman but what the hell, its all about how we feel inside :)
Sigh... you were probably the only one thinking the man with swagger was fabulous. And about the lady... you should have said you were some cool spirit or something. Would have scared the shit out of her... I am clueless to how people have the nerve to be so stupid and worst, out loud? Gah. You should scared her. I would have done it.
I will never understand HOW it is ok to be so intrusive in our society.
On a happier note, woohoo! for the Fabulous Man and You :))
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