Copy Man

Friday, March 25, 2011

So what I am a copy man. I wear a copy Ray Ban sun glass. It is Roy Ban but people won’t be able to read it even from the kissing range. Men will hate themselves coming closer to me although I would wish women instead of them. But in broad daylight it shall take an insane courage for them to come so close to me. But in such a broad daylight, it helps my eye balls not having to constrict to the surrounding light even protecting me from dusts.

My apple iphone rings. I put it in my ear letting its one-bite-less apple logo peep between my fingers to see the world, actually to let the world see it. I talk with the real man on the other end. The conversation is fruitful, thanks to my copy iphone. To those people nearby me, they have no clue it is a clone iphone with dual sim inside it. As I slid it back to its place the turn comes to my wrist, the G-Shock watch. Of course a copy G-Shock watch.

I am a mild person by nature, drink less and speak less; the characteristic features which don’t let me into brawl or exchange the blows. In winter while I chop firewood I carefully place my G-Shock away from me. I love sports but while in games I don’t need to wear it. There are referees monitoring the match. But it makes me a faithful referee and it resists some vibrations from running after the men. I have bought it to direct me time and not to protect itself from shocks. However, its clumsy configuration and bold G-Shock shall shock the onlookers taking it as real. I feel macho with it. Ask me the time and with its help I will tell you the whole time zones in the world. I really love my copy watch.

I wear a Tee shirt partially showing off my muscle convulsions inside it. It is from Addidog written in the label hidden behind my neck. I don’t mind conveying I wear a copy shirt to the world. There are still some people who are funny and like to wear like me. The three logos of addidas is printed vertically in ascending order in the front very magnificently in the form of dog bones. Like real dogs confusing them as eatable bones grasps the onlookers with confusing zeal. The picture is funny and some funny people don’t get time to think if it is from original addidas. That is the best part in my copy shirt and I really don’t mind showing to the world. Some less funny people only admire my muscles inside it. That is funny to me.

Fashion is expensive. Young men now adopt to pencil leg jeans. I have it too. The difference-it is cheap and a copy from Levi’s jeans. Copy manufacturers are grateful they did not change the spelling of it. I will not wear it if they went to Leki’s jeans because that means a direct copy and all my other copy garments will be in stake. A fat wallet inside it really makes me cool. Fat does not necessarily mean it is full of notes.

Selecting snicker needs extra talent especially when I am in copy shops. If all the logos and trade labels are perfect, I spend much time going after odd colors because they are rare even in branded outlets. Unique color depicts I got the rare species from across the oceans or I have rich relative working in US or Europe. I have all my relatives in Bhutan and extra pink snicker is a real Nike to the world. They are comfortable in the beginning and it does not give me enough time to say how durable they are. I land up visiting cobbler’s shop many times.

Boxer short is a burden to my low budget but underwear is necessary. Since it is designated in the hidden place it has to be copy and nothing else, therefore, needs no explanation on it.

The sun has gone behind the clouds. The world is bright without sun glass and my body suddenly feels cold from the chilly wind. Tee shirt is useless and body abs shrunk. No one calls to my iphone but it is not important. A copy man has revealed enough and needs a warmer place. I have saved enough from these garments. It is time I get into a decent hotel and order the best meal and eat my heart out. That is all the advantage I have being a copy man. The street showing off is just one of them. So what I am a copy man?

When man wants a man

In a perfectly squared private room, the touch of his hand and just two of us; everything flashes back again. Nervous and shivered I laid on the bed that I did not mind the door half closed. As he told me to lie on the bed and open up the most secret part of my body I went into the state of torpor. From the room next door I could imagine the beautiful girls giggling or talking to some males and I could little wonder what state I would be in if one of them was in his place. But some experiences however weird and unusual they might seem become one of the most memorable moments in lives.

This was not planned. Or did not even in my normal conscience have thought I would be confronting with a male. Not even while I got boozed every evening. If I thought it during sober state, it could have been the radical idea I immediately felt yuck of it. But that is life, things falling in place when they have to and it was my turn though I did not feel the chosen one.

Everything was normal until 29 years; regular job, athletic, booze and flings. Of course I am a heterosexual, gladly involved in finite numbers and yet to add many in the coming years. I have a fair deal of hobbies that include games, scrabbling, drinking and boozing. I wonder if the last two can qualify to be hobbies but they have more impacts in my life than games and reading. Ultimately I found myself drinking everyday and all other hobbies seem to be inclusive in it and the pattern of thoughts started to change. The most prominent being the touch from a man. It starts to worry me though his hands were soft. Perhaps not as soft as any woman that touched me in the same area.

I did not wear cologne because that was not in my mind. Women did not mind it before. I realized he did not mind it either. Of course I had least idea it would be him and not her. Being a man, I expected a woman and went pretty clean myself. I still feel nervous to meet new people and I was nervous that day too. When such assortment of feelings ran in my spine, I felt like a donkey ready to winch up on the table and drip plentiful of sedative drug. It was a no returning point. Every experience begins from first time. Choice or not, I obliged to his words which hit my eardrums from a far-off land.

“Get on the bed,” he said without a tinge of inexperienced tone.

“Yes sir,” I muttered.

He prepared the latex with his hands. It was the time to frighten me up. The way he threw the cover into the bin and prepared himself for protection had me think how many times he did it in his life. As I wanted he spoke less. I wondered whether he talked less with the women on that bed. I talked more but not on his bed. A donkey does not talk.

I closed my eyes and turned towards the wall. I have shown him the most unimaginable but important part of me. From his position where he stood beside the bed, it could have been the best for him. He took good time before those big hands mould my skin.

And now this memory is reliving itself after many months. I can still hear his voice, imagine the bed, the girls giggling outside and of course the exposure incident and his touch.

The thought is sickening me. I have even caught fever. I am no more interested with my hobbies. With alcohol every evening, it has dominated every other likes. Some likes were so dear to me. I loathe alcohol more than anything. I want to read the books again, want to play games and become a normal twenty nine years old than seventy nine accepting the end to come anytime.

But priority seeks first. I have to meet him. Somehow I feel he will ask the question on my diet out of many questions in the world. May be that is his priority question mandated to ask. I don’t mind. I will lie down on his bed and once more show him my buttock, the swollen piles dangling from the rectum. I only wish it is not the female doctor. Otherwise this donkey is going to die.

Strangers' Strange Introduction

Everyone farts; from new born to geezer hood, sick or healthy, in toilets and in luxurious beds.  Mostly while being alone. If I have enjoyed seeing the bubbles in the bath tub so must have been with many. Farting is necessary from excessive consumption of beetle nuts while driving alone throughout the day, however, it does not warrant getting carried away from concentrating on road to enjoy its sound.  It did not cross my mind I should have counted how many times I released the gas on the road nor did it become important to contemplate back. But when such rare moment happened to me I was less gentle from maintaining the status quo of being a man.

I was fatigued and tired and decided to pull over at the motel for break. The lone roadside streetlight did not have power to illuminate other end of kerb. The wind was the coldest element greeting me right after I stepped out. Except for few barking dogs the place seemed desolated with motel seemingly closed before my arrival. However, I lurched upon seeing a soul deriving a heat from the stove. I was lucky there was another chair opposite to him and soon occupied it facing the stranger.

He was of my age and almost similarly dressed in denim and boots. The heat had almost lulled him to sleep. The black muffler was opened from his neck and his clean jacket was unzipped exposing Monte Carlo bodysuit sweater. If my initial impression on him was correct he was well educated in those cloths.    But basing upon the location of the place it contradicted my former thought to drag him to a criminal living on drugs. It was hard to believe such new age generation could be living in that dreadful place. Anything was possible and he could be anyone; I could not concern much. I wanted to derive heat from the warmer stove lying in the middle of us and allow my head to rest on the neck facing the cloudy sky.

The heat had warmed me up. I wanted to attract his attention to ask him if I had any chance of getting a cup of tea. He did not seem to notice me when he bent and locked the forehead in between his palms resting the elbows on the knees. There was the dark sunglass on his head looking at me. If only his eyes had looked at me, I thought. There was no way I could prove successful talking to him and neither had I wanted to drag the chair making a sound or cough distractingly to gather his attention. I kept looking over his head pretending to be enjoying his company while listening to the barking dogs and cracking of logs.

When the silence extended to my limits of patience I longed to communicate with the human being and not to the dogs and logs. My stranger was not likely to produce a sound let alone uttering a word.

He stayed in that position for longer time not heeding to the signal I made. Perhaps, I thought, I needed to speak to him first. A slow pretentious cough did not trigger his attentive cells. Or it did when he broke the lock of his palms, straightened his back and looked at me. He was a better looking person than me although I never wasted a second envying him.

The jubilance of smile vanished before it appeared on my face. He soon went back to his earlier position fixing the dark sunglass pointing towards me. I thought I lost the contact of human being. I was wrong. He communicated to me although I regretted my desire of hearing it.

That was disgusting in a crowd. Two was a crowd and I was the victim of his air biscuits.

“Poof” he farted at first. “Poof poof poof,” I lost the count. If only my nose could move or had come with an automatic shutter against the smell of nitrogen, carbon dioxide and methane.

Inside the grey Monte Carlo sweater there was his stomach revealing the contents of it. He must have been on diet eating foods that contained only sulphur. I could think only of eggs. It was important I did not waste time thinking of uncooked radish and other foods but act fast and cover my nose.

He did not stir a hair. And there was neither another sound. I could have run away if I heard it again. I changed my impression on him. He must have dressed up smartly like I did but he was not a man who went to college and spent three years with books. The good looks stripped off from him. I regretted I thought about it. He became a criminal living on drugs after he farted to an innocent man. I was the innocent victim who did not deserve such injustice at all. I sat raging inside without arms and ammunition to fight him back.

He raised his head up, sat straight and leaned against the chair comfortably stretching his legs. I did not want to meet his eyes even with accident. I rested my elbows on my knees, bent the head resting on palms and closed my eyes. I did not know if he looked at me when he saw my dark sunglass on my head. I sat there without stirring a hair or without making a noise by dragging a chair or pretending a cough. Until I remembered one sentence I learned from many books during those three years in college, “A man can fart 15-20 times a day.”

It was apt I remembered it on time although I could have exceeded the average threshold inside my car on the road. It only needed a little push and I could be armed with the weapon produced from beetle nuts.

The stranger was unaware of the preparedness of counterattack planned by a person sitting opposite to him. He must have been basking the heat fully conscious but not asleep. He was not asleep when I heard him shooing the barking dogs. But it had already surpassed the formal introduction when the launching time had come. I breathed few times silently constricting my abdomen. I even smiled within my palms and enjoyed to think how surprised I could take him out.

I stopped the final longer breath, constricted any relevant muscles but one and “Poof” came the loudest sound surprising me by the extra decibels I had not anticipated at all.

I did not stay on the chair to notice what compounds of gas betel nut had produced. I was only happy to get back to my car and hit the road after exchanging the strangest introductions of farts.

Bangkok Biscuit

Sunday, March 20, 2011

A new retail shop had come up near my house. Whenever I passed this shop I never missed looking at her. The spellbound of the girl had delighted my heart. She was strikingly beautiful with those lovely eyes, desiring smile and a tiny dimple in her cheek. To look at her was a feast to my eyes that would not even crave me famished from food. I could not resist such a beauteous sight and decided to enter her shop one fine day.

And one fine day, I manifested a stylish swank wearing clean jeans and pullover shirt with decent manner worn in the face and entered her shop. When she greeted me with her single dimpled cheek I almost fell to my knees wishing an intimate relationship with her. She was more beautiful than I thought. She could be more beautiful if I stepped closer to her and more beautiful if I looked deep down into her eyes, with her head rested on my pillow and I over her. "Ga chi zhey ni la" her sweet voice brought me back to her shop from my bed. I was choking from lack of words. I cleared my voice ostentatiously not forgetting the facial expressions of decency and flirt. I pretended to look around the shelves with perceived attention not missing her face in between the scan.

She was what I wanted and I pointed towards her. She saw me foolishly pointing at her which I had become at that instant but I said "Colgate" which was right behind her head. She gave me an empathizing smile and handed over me the toothpaste. I randomly pointed at few items as if I had memorized the prepared shopping list. She started picking up the items and it was the time I came to my normal self gathering ample courage to talk to her. I asked where she was from; where she had last studied and some of the farthest details of her so that she did not think I had not come for shopping. When she told me where she was from I told her I reached her place once upon a time, a lie. When she told me where she had last studied I told her my cousins studied in her school too, another lie. But "Do you have a boyfriend?" was a question I only wanted to ask repeatedly. And it was a question which I should not ask without asking those, short cuts are dangerous and they cut you short, I had to remind myself and asked her another rounds of questions on weather in winter, weather in summer, and some pompous talks.

When she answered openly and asked few things about me I thought the time for my delegated question had come. But the suspense was sweet and it was sweeter talking to her. To let her feel my presence as the serious shopper, I again pointed at some items as if I was recollecting slowly. And without doubting a hint she picked up the items and when she was done she would again talk to me with her fingers playing with the calculator or pen.

We could develop some intimacy to each other. I felt she enjoyed my presence. She laughed at my little naughty jokes. I thought I had to offer her some and let her enjoy more. I picked some cookies, chips packet and suddenly pointed towards the pad used by women. Naively I asked what biscuit it was. I told her I had not tasted that biscuit and if it was something from other country. "Bangkok biscuit eena?" I asked. I was looking at her and she showed some uneasiness to explain but I liked that expression; shy and smiling face, wanted to explain but could not. "Packet chi nang mei", I continued seriously and stole a glance at her. She was laughing straight at me. The packet was labeled as Kotax. I was explained what it was which I really enjoyed her candidness, and genuinely laughed with her.

I cleared the bill, thanked her, took my packages and when I was near to the door, I pointed to another packet labeled Whisper Ultra Thin and said, "Ani biscuit dhi za go no si si dhu sa". I left her laughing inside her shop.

Chatting faithful husband

Saturday, March 19, 2011

There were two kinds of mood going back to office after a long holiday break. The laziness was pervasive until I was given series of time bound tasks to complete. I switched on to momentous gear and picked up the speed to finish the tasks on time. It was 3.30 P.M. I needed a break. I fearlessly opened up Facebook to see her online. A colleague saw my monitor and looked at me in amazement.Seeing his monitor without chat sites always amazed me. He finds me a dumb husband deprived of the charm of virtual flirts.
“Hi,” I clicked breathing a sigh of relief. A relief basically from taking a break.
“What?” came the reply.
I am not good in chatting with people but I tried lest he saw how dumb I could become again.
“Beauty,” I typed.
“Who?” she typed instantly.
“You never say I am beautiful,” she wrote.
“Always beautiful to me,” I tried.
“Since when?” she tried and I smiled.
The colleague peeked onto her profile picture. I was lucky he could only see a teddy bear carrying a bouquet of flowers. He was not sure who the other end was by the nick Rose. But I knew any man could have thought a woman by a name Rose could not be without charms to stimulate his heartbeats.
He joined another colleague of his character and whispered in his ears. The second man turned towards me grinning his face.
“Since 2005,” I continued.
“Thank you,” she wrote.
I did not know how to proceed further. But I did not want to lose her. It was rare we met on chat.
“15 minutes to go,” I reminded her the time was 3.45 pm.
“Yes but I want to go home early,” she typed.
“Why? Missing your Namgyal?” I asked boldly. Namgyal is the cutest 1 year old son. I could not ask if she missed her husband.
“I miss him but I think  he likes you too,” she said.
“Really? I thought he likes me too,” I reinforced.
I was smiling. The two colleagues looked at me intriguingly. They could not have resisted imagining how dumb-ass like me must be wooing a woman when they jumped on to my desk.  A man can never be faithful to his wife was what they must be thinking. I did not know if they were happy to see me join their league.
“Time up now,” she sounded restless.
The two were blinking at the monitor. I did not show a sign of nervousness and typed zealously.
“Can I pick you up?” I typed looking at them. “Now?”
“Will you? But there is still few minutes to go. Can you come now?” That was interesting; to both of them.
“Be at the further end of parking lot near the medical shop you stayed last time,” it came out confidently. Two of them looked at each other away from the monitor.
“See you then Beauty. Let’s make a night :) ”
The second sentence was for my colleagues.
Without acknowledging their presence, I closed all the tabs, switched off the computer and started to collect my bag.
They did not move from my desk and spoke nothing. When any underestimated person does something beyond what they have presumed, there is always a feeling of foolishness creeping in.
I stood up from my desk, whispered an excited ‘bye’ and left them to pick up my wife.

My Grandfather's Story

Many years ago, my grandfather told a story about his men; his father, grandfather and great grandfather. Old man was ecstatically happy that day to commend how the genes of their good looks had inherited to his son. My father, according to him was the most handsome son possessing the paternal traits and thought the bequest could continue many generations hence. He brushed his wrinkled face in reminiscent of the previous men and wished he could die peacefully now that my father acquired the accumulated dashing looks.
But the old man lived another 25 years more ultimately to fall into a trance. The much praised about his family’s handsomeness felt crashing on him. His hopes vanished and even felt he made gaffes on the pride he held dearly about handsomeness. It was a plague, a spell that his agnostic fathers would not believe. He wished he had died a day ago. If he had, he would not have spat on the displeasing face of a child. “An imp,” he muttered and longed for death. That day I was born.
After twenty years from his death, I wrote a disclaimer notice at the end of his story:
Disclaimer: Whatever my grandfather said is utterly his own and does not merit any truth on the opinion of his grandson.
◄Design by Pocket