The King

The swagger (click). The high backlift (click). The flamboyant footwork (click whirr click). The flashing blade (click, too late). The lazy elegance (click, click). Close up to the eyes (zoom). The hunger, the passion (click). Zoom out, back in real time. Cut to opposition. Hands in the air. Hands on the head, on the hips. Drooping shoulders, heads bowed. Close up. Despair.

He graced the greens for seventeen years at the highest level. Coming in at a time when his tribe was infallible, he continued to sparkle even when the tribe lost its invincibility. He scaled the peaks thought to be too high. He scaled them again when others dared to make the peaks their own. He tried to lead his men to success. At times he did. But his men failed him more often. He was labelled an enfant terrible, a prodigal. He shrugged his shoulders and carried on entertaining the connoiseur and the layman alike. Graceful as ever, humble in words, charming in demeanour, he left his fans wanting more. And maybe that was the best way to go. A lesson perhaps to someone half a world away, but alike in more ways than one. Adieu, King. AbNQ

Friday Dressing

Trust marketing professionals to come up with business out of nothing. Wiki claims it happened in the fifties to raise worker morale. For the sake of drama, I'd rather that it all started like this. When after a long fight to rein in the followers of the hippie culture, the corporate world finally firmed down the rules of official dressing, some bright young (assumed) lad dressed in his casual B-school things sauntered into the office of an informal clothes manufacturer, a shrewd old (again, assumed) baldie snapped his fingers and yelled in a fully dressed state, "Eureka!"
And so it is that once every week now we have the dolled-up aunty, the younger-looking uncle, sweet memories of college for the tweens, the Jeetendra-white sneakers (white leather is Out), the reassurance of denim, the absence of starch... going hand in hand of course with the discomfort of a body-hugging fit when the body isn't fit, the suppressed snigger when you recognise person Unknown as casually-dressed Next-Cubicle-Neighbour, and the unfortunate events when you dismiss your boss mistaking him for a pesky little intern.
Friday Dressing is here to stay. Thank God it's Thursday today! AbNQ

New Leaves of Spring

And the Award Goes to...

The shiny black limousine glided to a dignified halt. The attendant, overbearing nature in place, rushed forward and reached for the rear door...
Everything was in order. The red carpet was spread out lavishly. Photographers, all dressed well according to instructions, were waiting patiently behind cordons. Eager fans waved placards and professed their undying love for their stars. The afternoon itself was beginning to cool down. The sun was low. The photographers liked it this way as it would shine at a favourable angle on the stars' faces. There was a palpable buzz in the air. And the arrivals had just begun...
A dainty foot shod in alligator skin made its way down from the limo to the asphalt. Presently its partner followed. Then the rest of the starlet, all five-feet-three of her, and six more inches of heels. The crowd went crazy. Flashbulbs popped madly. The dress shone, shimmered. The train flowed along behind. The famous smile subdued everything else around. The perfume brought Paris with it. Out flew a kiss. A hundred hearts broke. Giggles, laughter, chuckles...
And then, without warning, she tripped... AbNQ