she’s hot, she’s punctual, she’s fast, she’s strong and she knows what she’s gotta do. Clocky‘s my object of the day.
as far as i’m concerned, she’s almost perfect. she’s digital, i don’t have to tolerate tick-tocks in the night when i’m already struggling to sleep. she’s small, leaving enough space on the bedside table for my books, notepad, glass of water, reading light, hand lotion, vitamin Cs, Evening Primrose Oil capsules phew! she’s pretty, comes in 3 vintage-ish, earthly colours – almond, mint, aqua.
what i like most is that she runs. and that’s not all she does. she finds a corner to hide in so she can continue doing what she does best, waking you up. i don’t have as much difficulty waking up now as i did before, but Ravi? humph.
a world-record tsunami, a ravenous tornado and a merciless earthquake could all hit Dubai in the same instant and he’d still have his face warm and snug in the pillow. if the world freezes over from global climate ruin in that second, that’s exactly how giant bugs in shiny pods from Mars will find him 5000 years from now.
this clock’s more for him than it is for me. my N73 alarm wakes me up gently and i love that. Ravi needs a loud gong installed beside his pillow. i’ll bet my shiny hiney that i’ll be the one running after Clocky to shut it off though and this won’t be good for our marriage.
a friend and her family are in town and i am absolutely delighted! i’m so delighted, i will accord myself two full hours to get ready. she wants to go clubbing, but clubbing in Dubai on a Monday night? i’ll bet it’s another techno night. there is no heart, absolutely no heart in techno. i’ve friends who go into trances when they hear techno blast over the speakers but i just freeze and go, “what?” then head off to the toilet and fiddle with my hair till another song comes on. three weeks ago, as i was leaving a club with a friend, absolutely dejected that we had to content with 2 full hours of techno, strange white men who couldn’t dance, an indian fella who’s more epileptic than talented on the dance floor, a few hos and Lebanese men who didn’t care i’m married, a group of Brits entered the club and one of the ladies said, “oh my god, this is my favourite song!”
that’s a song? you can tell the difference between track tioo-tioo-tioo-tioo and track dong-dung-dong-dung-dong-dung? how about when its tioo-dong-tioo-dung-tioo-dong? what will you say then, huh? huh?
listen my white friends, you know i love you, you know i laugh with you when you make fun of your own dancing but how the hell are you going to learn how to dance when all you dance to is techno? slide into some salsa, won’t you? or how about gyrating to a little hip hop and r & b? but what do i know? maybe you like techno cos it’s all you can rock your body stiffly to.
i’d complained before of the blinding population of poseurs in Dubai, especially in clubs. why the hell are you wearing shades in a club, dude? if i’m already insecure, i’d be in perpetual fear i’ll walk into the wall or trip over a step. for God’s sake, i can tell you’re married. and stop fuckin pretending you’re not Indian. or worse, rich when you’re really not.
like my friend Iina says, you’re either cool or you’re not. i can’t agree more, you either got it or you don’t. once in Bar None, Marriott Singapore, this Indian guy tried to convince all of us he was Jamaican. ’nuff said.
that’s why i believe the real gems sometimes are the 55 year old guys who are just trying to chill out at the bar with a beer and watch the circus unravel from up on the barstool. i’ve had a few conversations and giggles with great people at the bar. people who have little to hide, or don’t see any reason for toiling laboriously just to keep up appearances. these are the people i love meeting at bars or clubs. people with hearts so open, i could dip my hand into their souls for half an hour, then go away learning something new about something in life. it doesn’t matter we’re never gonna see each other again. it’s what we take away from each other that makes these short bar trysts so sweet – cos you’re never gonna have it again with the same person the next time round.
now, i’m off to file my toenails as slowly as i can because i have two luxurious hours before we leave for Madinat Jumeirah. enjoy the following clip, it cracks me up cos 75% of the Tamil movies Ravi watches aren’t blessed with subtitles and the words mostly appear in my head as they do here for Buffalax. except i don’t think Buffalax has to watch the large number of Tamil movies i unwittingly signed up for when i married Ravi.