My Four Cents on Sexy-ness!

I was watching a hindi film called 'Musafir', rather I was watching the songs featured in the movie. I basically stopped watching Bollywood films in a sense that I no longer know who stars in which movie, which movie was released before which movie and the list goes on. Anyway, back to the songs.

I heard and liked two of the songs way before I watched the video-clips to them. I was thinking to myself, well the songs are good and up-beaty and what not, the clips must be similar too. Oh boy was I right. They were upbeaty alright. So upbeat that it's guaranteed to make anyone's and everyone's ___ to beat {and I'm not talking about the heart}. In this one song, the 'nayika' was bathing herself with the same soap-water she was using to wash the nayok's car. In bangla there's a semi-cliched sentence that goes something like 'shongkhipto jama-i taar joubon uthle pore'. Well, I felt my brain saying that very sentence in a loop. I must admit, the bloody camera-man did an awsome job of depicting her almost-nakedness-illusion-of-sexy-ness-thing. The 'nayika' squeezes a whole lot of foamy soap down her dress. We see an overhead shot where we can see those same foamed soap located in her cleavage. She then hoses herself down with water {same water she uses to hose down the car}. We again get an insight into how those cleavage located soaps get washed away.

I now come to the second video clip. The song is titled 'Saaki'. The song itself I found sexy for some reason. It's the singer's voice, damn hot in my opinion. The thing is when you hear a song {rather when I hear a song} you try to visualise it. So obviously I was visualising a damn-hot Saaki (female wine-bearer) who is worth worshipping more the wine itself. {If you heard the song, you'd know what I am talking about.} Don't get me wrong, the 'chick' in this clip was hot. She had this forced-sex-y-thing in her and she 'shook' so much. I didn't even know that some parts of the body can be shaken like that. Shows how much I really know. Typically her actions are very sexy in a very uncreative way. At one point I lost track of her sexy-ness because she was just all over the place with all that vigorous shaking. I think this is the reason why I never liked pornography either.

So all this made me think, where did all the sophisticated sexy-ness disappear to? Am I the only one who thinks more layer of clothes are sexier than in-your-face-poke-your-eyes-out-exposed-skin? Ultimately it's not {rather shouldn't be} what you wear or your over-actions that make you sexy, it's your attitude. It's the creativity in own attitude that should project a sense of sexy-ness {if that's the sort of projection one is trying to achieve}. Right now I am reminded of this lady, we'll call her J. When I was in Dhaka, sick in bed, she came and sat next to me one day and believe me, her sexy-ness is far beyond that of the 'chicks' shown in any given music/hindi movie song video. 'My' J was wearing a black shari, with a blouse that matched the achol. She had the most sexy eyes outlined with not-so-thick kajol. She had a semi-sized tip that complimented her face so well. Overall she was a fine specimen of the sort of 'Saaki' woman I once visualised. J has this natural sexy-ness thing overall that I was really amazed {in my sickness too goddamnit}. No unneccessary skin was exposed, not an inch, proof of the fact that one need not strip down to their bikini lines to produce an illusion of sex and sexy-ness. {Frankly, I hate those sexy-ness that effect the groins only.}

Anyway, whatever. What do I know about all this.

Prior Series: Five Hours Before (this post)!

I bunked Uni today. I've doing that a lot these days, mostly because of assignments and my failure to get them done well before their due date. {Should I type 'their' or some other crazy grammar?} Why today's 'bunking' or 'jigging' or 'wagging' {<--Aussie-slangs} is worth typing up so that my supportive (!) readers are able to read it, is because, it was a different kind of 'bunking' or 'jigging' or 'wagging'. {I should stop using long sentences.}

I had to drop off an assignment before 10 am at Upper Campus, which literally murdered my legs and my energy because of the stupid no-good-uni's geographical layout. {More on this some other day.} After coming back down to the Lower Campus, I decided to attend last half hour of 9 am maths lecture. Having done that, I decided to attend my 10 am tutorial because they mark the roll and I was absent in the last tute. At exactly 11 am, I couldn't take it anymore. I was falling asleep in maths tute and feeling low and depressed {to be covered later}. I met Matt on the way, who asked what I had then, to which I said that I was going home. He looked surprised because we still had another five hours of classes left.

I headed for the bus stop opposite my-house-taking-bus-stop. I have a place. It's been my place ever since I thought of having a place. It's my get-away place. It's my thinking place. It's my most-memory-contained place. It's where I've taken my friends [they don't know that it's my place though]. It's where you get the best view of the harbour, the opera house, the harbour bridge, the botanical garden, the ships, the waves...

This time however, I walked past my place because a whole bunch of police-people were there and I needed peace. Then I thought why not just hang out at the botanical garden. It's H-U-G-E. After living here for seven/eight years, I still haven't seen most parts of this garden. {Then again, what else is there to see other than trees, plants, fountain-y-thingy-s, more trees, flowers, grass, trees..} The view is awsome though. The harbour surrounds the outer rim of the whole garden, a bit like a peninsula. Before entering the gate I bought a bottle of mineral water {which tastes like crap} from a little drink-station under umbrellas. I must have looked real shit because the guy kept looking at me {and he was Indi/Bangali}. The stupid drink cost me $3, which is a lot for a bottle of water. {Only because the store was right infront of the Opera House}. I realised this guy probably had the best job. All he did was just sit there. The tourists didn't seem to want any drinks and given the over-price of things, I didn't think anyone would. {Then again, I did..}

So I set off with my bag on one shoulder, a shawl in one hand and the mineral water in the other (hand). The sun was up, it wasn't so windy and definitely warmer than it was in the morning. I started walking. It seemed as if I was the only one because everyone around me were either running, jogging, walking or in between. I would pass a certain point and glance at the harbour and realise that I should become a hobby-photographer. I diverted my thoughts to find particular things I'd photograph, the angle I'd photograph them from, the lighting I'd use, whether I'd use those couples on that bench along with rest of the settings...you get the idea. I fell in love with this green-sea-weed-algae-thing that float in clumps at the edge of the stone railings where harbour waves crash and burn {well..not burn but that's a saying I picked up from the simpsons}.

At one point I stopped to see those green algaes and had to talk to a Greek guy. He was really old, and recently stuffed his back in an accident, hence he comes here to walk/exercise. He was telling me about European and Asian students who pay high fees to study in Australia and how this is a secret business of the Government {which mind you is not a secret anymore}. Our short encounter came to an end and I had to go on. So I bid {what's the past tense for this?} farewell.

I walked on. When I saw this old-but-built guy running in the opposite direction, I swear I felt like Mr. Forrest Gump. I realised that everything I dream to be/do, which I can't ever do, I imagine. I want to leave home like Buddha, which will never happen as my family has me in a stronghold and I need more than a job overseas to break through this-- So I have to resort to thinking that I am Buddha running around places. {or bunk uni and go off alone to think some stuff through}.

Anyway, I really should finish this boring bunking story. Just some quick highlights. I found a nice grassy spot under the sun and slept for a bit. I walked back to the front entrance, while doing so I came across this cutest 4 year old kid with glasses, who wanted fish, chips and mayonaise for lunch. I asked this guy at the front entrance (who works under an umbrella taking money for train-tours) the time. When I was walking in front of the Harbour station, I bought a satire-political-australian-magazine for $4 called 'The Big Issue'. The fantastic thing about this magazine is that it's only ever sold by the homeless- those who cannot find jobs to make ends meet. The guy I bought it off was so cheerful. He asked me if I thought it was really sunny to be out walking around. I grabbed a Chicken Burger to eat which was the same price as the water I had earlier. I stupidly asked the bus driver if I was punching my ticket in the right amount. Slept some more on the bus. And here shall end my boring recount-of-my-days.

The Best List!

Best Fish-and-Chips:
Sold at UTS (University of Technology, Sydney) food court for $5.50 {only because I don't go to that uni, otherwise it's cheaper}. A handsome amount of chips and a 'big' sized fish. Despite the fact that my own uni-UNSW (rival of UTS with us having the upper hand) offer 'two-big-size' fish, I still like UTSs'.

Best Thai-place:
Pad-Thai at Randwick. It had green tables and wooden chairs- very hip. The Tom-Yum-Goon soup is really really nice with the biggest prawns (sort of uncooked but what the hell.) The lunch is really cheap- $7 for A-LOT of fried rice which can't be finished if one is not starving to death along with complementary Tom-Soup. Downside is that their Satay Sticks are crappy with crappy satay sauce.

Best Biriyani:
Cooked by my mother. I always get the most 'mangsho'. She makes a light not so 'mashla-fied' biriyani which is white in appearance (mostly, not counting the mangsho.) It smells really really good.

Best Pitha:
Bhapa because it's the BEST.

Best Face-Wash:
Clearasil Complete Ice Wash- 150mL. It leaves my skin feeling fresh and tingly and sometimes it's itchy and irritates the skin. Nevertheless, it frees me from pimples (sort-of) and sun-burnt-ness (sort of).

Best Pen:
Black, cheap Pilot pen. It's those clicky-ones. Lasts for a long time and the ink doesn't run or smudge unlike most other ball-point-pens. Actually, it's a tie between the black Staedtler pen I bought the other day for 40 cents.

Best Blank CD's:
Imation (silver) 52x CD-R, 80 min/700 MB. These come in a pack of 10 or 50, with or without CD-case. The 'black-pages' inside looks nicer than most other Blank-CD's. Not so famous as the Sony ones (another reason why it's the best.)

Best Expression:
You suck! This term has many (okay, maybe 2 or 3) meanings. The person who is exposed to the expression is left (at times) confused as to which meaning was intended.

Best MSN nick:
' Tumi amar doctor hobe ... Ami bhalo hote chai ... ' <-- translation (for foreign people who reads my blog{actually there are none}) ' Do you want to be my doctor ... I want to get well ... ' {Does anyone else find this nick as funny as I do??}

Best satire magazine:
Tharunka published at our Uni. It's hilarious as hell. A bunch of commie-cynics and some right-wingers tackle important (!) political issues. Random thoughts on periods, weed, drinking, subcontinental-curry-boys, Bob Dylan stuff can also be seen. [The best part is the treasurers editorial-thingy, whom I have a crush on and thinking of joining him to help out with the Union/Guild treasury-duties].

Best Super-hero:
Hack-Ass. He is the UNSW superhero and every three weeks he engages in daring-thingys. He claims to have really-really big reproductive organs (balls), hence he is able to do the things he does. Hack-Ass hides himself under a yellow mask and wears not under-pants but shorts. He is a hero to all the student body on campus. 'Every single woman and homosexual males swoon over him'- or he claims.

Best place to sit on my campus:
A place called the 'Naked-Lady-Lawn', where a statue of a lady lying naked on a slab of concrete surrounded by grass can be seen. (hence the name.) I've never actually sat there myself. But I intend to because it's the best place to sit on campus.

Best Excuse to snatch the Internet off siblings:
Telling them that I have an assignment to do (which I do) and end up only finishing 1/50 part of it. Side advantages include, I get to finish updating my blog, MSN-ing throughout the whole time, catch up on some imsomniac-experiences and so forth.

Best way to waste time when bored:
Make up lists that are of no value.

Best unoriginal idea:
Making up stupid lists which are biased and filled with lame-attempted-sarcastic-humour.

Best way to update a blog:
Make up lists that are worthless, which most people skim-read rather than paying close attention.

Dilemma-Series: Regarding (My) Name(s)!

Okay, so I have a long name. While most kids' have two parts to their names [first and last name{also known as family name}], I am stuck with something that goes like this " Shaolee Jafrin Zaman orofe Shuchi ". On a side note, one very very very cool name belongs (rather belonged) to my mama. His name used be Fateh Ali Shah, which was changed to Shanchar Mahmood when he started school. I guess, it can be seen why mama would want his name changed at that age. He does regret it now though.

Back to my name-story. First of all, following a tradition that you must have a 'bhalo naam' and a 'daak naam' is where all the name-business started. Hence Shaolee Jafrin Zaman is my 'bhalo naam'. Actually, my 'bhalo naam' is Shaolee Jafrin. 'Zaman' was later added in my immigration passport to show that I'm a 'daddy's girl'. I don't know what Jafrin means and my father's last name is falsely Zaman [because following the family name trend, his name should have been 'Mridha']. I do know that Shaolee is a Chinese flower [unheard by the Chinese for some reason]. My mother is/was a great fan of Masud Rana books, and one-day stumbled upon this particular word. I guess, she had this sort of a motherly dream that one day she'll name her kid [daughter] Shaolee. So there you go, wasn't that an interesting story. [On a different note, I want to name (daak-naam-wise) my daughter either Kanna or Shuha.]

But, it doesn't end there. Let's now talk about my 'daak naam'. Originally, my name was meant to be Mohima [please don't think of the Bollywood actress, she was unheard of back then]. Somehow, no-one liked it. { Here's a trivial information about me -- when I was born, they called me 'Baby' <-- as in Baby-Naznin for the lack of any name ideas. } Anyway, I was named Shuchi from RobindraNath-s 'Esho He Boishakh' song. The word (Shuchi) means 'Pobitro' or 'Pure' which later to many became 'Index' since they started adding a 'Potro' to it's (Shuchi's) tail. They'd spell Shuchi in a wrong way and it'd pee me off. I have been called Shuji for countless of days and quite frankly, there are many many many people out there of Bangladeshi-origin, who cannot pronounce this name. I am called Shusi everytime I go to dadu-bari. Oh yes, did I mention, I was called Shushi countless of times as well? Having this name also meant that people automatically assume I'm hindu and start saying 'Nomoshkar'. [Actually, even with Shaolee, people try to see the 'Chinese' in me <- Shao Lee. Not to mention the bloody Shaolin-Monks.]

I've lost my train of thought now due to a brief session of talking-ness-with-the-sibling.

So there you have it. If anyone makes anymore comment about who is the egg and who is the chicken, I will scream. [By that I actually meant who-is-Shaolee-and-who-is-Shuchi business.]