Think before you whistle

Bangalore is a great place for tea lovers. There are thousands of road side tea options. Being an avid tea lover, I am often found in one of these spots.

On a pleasant day, I was sipping (and enjoying) tea and catching up with current events. That’s when something caught my attention. A very good looking female was crossing the street. Like any other normal guy (I am not considering the hetero/homo aspects here), my eyes followed her. A great person has said “bar bar dekho, hazaar baar dekho.. ke dekhne ki cheez hai……….). I am a great follower of that pious man. I was not looking ‘hazaar bar’, but my first ‘bar’ was pretty extended. In my defense all I can say is that I was not the only one who was looking at her.

Deep down my heart I felt I was humming a poem. I was startled, I am not romantically poetic. Me and poems don’t go well together. When I focused hard, I realized it was just the lyrics of the song playing loud on the radio.

I moved my focus back on the attractive canvas on the road. She looked expensive (Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to put a price on her, but I meant to say that the dress and accessories on her was higher end). It was quite a sight. I had seen such coordinated neck movement only when the ball leaves the bat of the batsman towards the boundary. As more and more necks turned, it became evident that she was walking towards a very high-end chauffeured SUV parked on the other side of the road.

This raised the bar (a few more bars in fact- not the previous ‘bar bar dekho’ bar) a notch higher. This was a very good chance for putting in some money for all those wanna be betters. Does the car belong to her? (alternately does she belong to the car?) or not? I definitely would have put my money on ‘Does the car belong to her’ (alternately does she belong to the car?). Involuntarily, I was chewing my nails off.

Step after step and the possibility of me winning the stake was increasing. My heart rate was going up and it was pounding away to glory. To add to the tension the chauffeur, who looked more like Frankenstein dressed in white got down from the car. As she moved closer, he became like a tamed, modest monster. His hands moved to the handle of the car and he opened it. He held the door open for her to get in. I was exuberant with joy. I had won the bet (imaginary though). Out of joy, I was about to let out a loud whistle but for some strange reason I stopped myself.

Our beloved Mulayam singh Yadav has predicted that "If the Women's Reservation Bill goes through, it's the daughters of industrialists and big bureaucrats who will get elected. The girls who will be elected will be the sorts who get whistled at by boys.”

What if this one is the next home minister of the country? I don’t have the guts to whistle at the home minister of the country.

I tamed the whistling monster in me!!!!