School Notes - Part 1

Nowadays, I’ve been dropping Adi to school in the mornings due to some technical issues with his school bus routine. Today we’re running a bit late and I’ve just put on my best Michael Schumacher hat, stepped on the gas pedal and  managed to drop Adi before the 7.40 bell rings.

I don’t know if it is just me being in a grumpy morning mood, but to make matters worse, a heavily made up, garish red lipsticked mom who had her kid in tow, bumped straight into me. She mumbled an apology, but what struck me was, why the heck was she dressed up like THAT. It was early morning, and what in the world motivates someone to dress up like that to drop their child to SCHOOL! I mean, you’re not coming for a social do, are u?

So I decided to list down the kind of characters that I've had to grin and bear while dropping my kid to school 

Specimen 1: Mrs Red lipstick – The red lipsticked, short skirted, SUV driving Mom (who cant park in her given parking space) of a 10 year old clearly needs to be reminded by someone that its easier to just walk around with a sign board on her neck saying “available”

Specimen 2: Mrs. Botox – Clearly Mrs Botox has had herself botoxed from some discount offer available during Dubai Shopping festival, else why will her face look like that!!! unless she got a free Nose job (which went all wrong) and a lip job (and whatever else jobs) as part of her Botox offer. Someone needs to tell her that there’s something called a “aging gracefully” look most men like better than her current state of affairs.

Specimen 3: Mr. Suits – Mr Suits is always in suits, almost makes me feel he sleeps in them also. Yesterday Mr. Suits was clearly wearing his best suit possible. Grey suit with little white prints, grey tie and hair dripping gel. Maybe he should just ask out Specimen number 2 for a date!

Specimen 4: Mr. Bum Crack – This specimen was the worst disaster I have had to encounter. He was this late 30s beer bellied chap, who seems to think he’s still in his teens and can carry off wearing those low slung jeans with his boxers in view. So when he bent over and kissed his child bye, yours truly had to go through the agony of having full view of his hairy butt crack for a full 2 milliseconds! 

Oh groan!

Honey’s Cuts!!!

I went to this new barber (he calls himself a Senior hair stylist) earlier today, and all I had on my head is a shock full of hair waiting to be cut short and neat. I give him my instructions and to my dismay, he comes back to me with a zillion other questions – should I cut from the sides, would you like to keep whiskers, would you like your back line (whatever) shaped in a square or U, when you want the hair to grow back, they may change style and was that ok…

I had answers for some of the simpler questions, but they just kept getting tougher and tougher..i mean who ever had an answer for do I want my whiskers jagged or in an incline (I wondered if he was pulling my leg, seeing my ignorance). I was also in two minds to ask him if he could only cut off the grey hair on my head and not the black ones, but I decided against it.

Anyway, in all this frenzy of questions, I forgot to notice that the hair stylist was wearing pink pants under his white coat and had floral painted finger nails...I felt a cold chill go through my spine. I mean…is it legal to allow these kind of guys (or whatever genre they fit into) to roam around free ...and that too in a men’s hair salon!!!

To get the nervousness out of my system, I decided to engage in some small talk with the individual in discussion. I looked up at his name tag and it read ‘HANY”. So I said, “Hi Hany, nice weather over the weekend, isn’t it’ . She/ He smiled and replied “Oh, I cant get why you guys have to pronounce my name like that, My Name’s pronounced Honey…honey, you know the syrupy, gooey sweet thing..not Hany”

I fainted….

The Gift

The Gift
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This is my everlasting gift to you my child,
a mother earth ravaged and ruined by Man
Clear skies and blue seas are a sight so rare
The Gift for you, is a land lying bare.
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The Fruits of progress and the roots of destruction,
Both lie entwined in a lethal embrace,
Creating a land, erased in mindless haste
The gift for you, is a land gone waste.
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The crimes continue as green turns grey,
a view of unspoilt land is a sight in vain,
My child, you shall inherit a future unclear,
The gift to you, is a painting of despair.
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(Written a few months back on my way to Lagos, Nigeria....but its not specific to lagos and is a more universal issue)