Macchars don’t wear sweaters

The Middle Finger

Posted on: February 17, 2007


It was a pleasant winter day and I didnt have much to do. I strolled to the neighbourhood park to watch the locality kids playing cricket, my eyes constantly scouting the road alongside the park for a pretty face driving by (that is second nature). Just then, behind me I heard the familiar purr of a Kinetic scooter, the favourite transportation of young girls in my region. My ears cocked up and I whirled around in anticipation of a heavenly beauty floating gracefully on her Kinetic. Ah, I was surely not dissapointed, for it was a magnificent beauty, adonred in a colourful woolen cap, a cashmere sweater closely hugging her graceful form, the pink of her fair cheeks exxagerated by the cold. She was obviously ferrying a friend, who was riding pillion, to my immediate neighbour’s, because she waited on her kinetic as her friend alighted and strode inside.

By force of habit, I kept glancing trying to catch her eye. And catch her eye I did, as our eyes met for a moment and a major lock on happened. I was completely hypnotized, and couldn’t tear my eyes away, as if held in that position by a powerful unseen force. Not that she looked away either, as she matched me gaze for gaze, stare for stare, glance for glance. Overwhelmed, I would look away momentarily but the maganetism of her eyes would pull me right back, only to find that she had also turned to look that very moment. Thus we were bound by a divine rythm in and transported to an alternate consciousness where distances did not matter, nor the fact that we were complete stragers, time seemed to have changed pace, and all reality receded except for those EYES. My heart swelled with a joy and pride at the responsiveness of such an angelic beauty as her EYES filled my senses, my world.

Suddenly, something thin and vertical obstructed our gaze.

With a great effort I pulled myself back to the ground, to see what insufferable element of nature had so rudely interrupted my misty reverie.

It was her middle finger which she had just raised for my benefit.


In a fleeting moment a spirit which soared so high above in romantic bliss was plunged down to the depths of despair.

Mouth half agape, thoughts in a muddle, completely unable to resgister the situation, I stumbled towards her.

This was uncalled for…….I was looking only because she was…….a stare is a covert act which does not justify an overt act like a middle finger…how dare you……i will not take this…desperate attempts to salvage some dignity from the situation……..words, arguments, thoughts formed on the tip of my tongue but were lost into nothingness. By then her friend had come back and they are already reversing the Kinetic to leave. As the Kinetic purred off in a cloud of dust, from somewhere far off my dazed consciousness registered a parting “F*** O**”.

I avoided female eyes for a couple of months.

2 Responses to "The Middle Finger"

u have a gr8 story telling ishtyle. cool stuff! :d

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