Image Ready

Image Ready

9th May 2001

I am a student of Mathematics. For a short while longer – after which I get into Mass Communication. Anyways – I’m currently doing Mathematics.

Regressive, aren’t I? All right. Consider this word. Image. What do you think of?

Considering my exams are eight days away, I think, “Rank-Nullity Theorem. Image of a function. Pre-image. 1-1. Onto. Surjections and bijections.”

And then I think of my own image.

I’ve always been thought of as this Mister Nice Guy. The sort of guy who appears to be a geek at first sight. The sort of guy who’s cool and fun to be with and it would be nice to have me around as a friend. It’s when things get beyond friendship that my name gets shunted off into a black hole and I am never thought of again. Until the time somebody needs a shoulder to cry on.

It probably stems from my looks. About five feet ten inches of skin and bone; a mass of wavy hair that looks civilised only when an inch long; a constant smirk and an equally constant supply of inane jokes and corny one liners; and a pair of big, round, thick, black spectacles – beer bottles? binoculars? – that are constantly slipping down from their comfortable perch on my nose.

Geek. Yup, that’s me. I’ve even been asked to audition for a TV ad because that look comes naturally to me. And wait till you see my baby photos – man, do I look cute!

So I’ve decided that it is time to let out the freak in me. The stud hiding underneath that thin layer of skin. The irresistible performer, who just cannot help but draw attention to himself. What I need is a complete image makeover.

Being just a student, with no income, I cannot afford to hire one of those image consultants who make their money in political arenas. Spin doctors who advise the Prime Minister about the latest in kurta fashions. Glorified speechwriters. You know what I’m talking about. So I have decided to trust in my closest friends and my own self-perceptions.

Let’s get a few things clear. There are two people whose opinions make a lot of difference in my life. One is my best friend – who’s a girl I’ve signed a marriage pact with, dated three years from now – and my college sweetheart. Between the two of them, they know me pretty much inside out.

What about the babe? She accepts me the way I am. It’s really cool, you know, to be on the verge of a relationship with someone like that.

So, after prolonged discussions with the best pal and the sweetheart – no, we didn’t confer, the discussion has lasted the length of our friendship and has been intermittent and amazingly rewarding – I’ve decided to go in for the following measures.

 The first step is to get rid of these glasses. It’s because of them that I’m not too photogenic – cameras shy away from me, and there’s this awful light where my eyes would be in any of my photographs. It has been decided by family and ophthalmologist to perform Laser In-Situ Keratomy (LASIK – laser surgery, dolt!) upon my eyes during my Diwali vacations. This will be followed by a spectacle-crunching ceremony in front of friends and family. I will then be able to wear sunglasses for the first time in my life.
 The thin look is in, so I’m naturally hot. I shall, however, proceed to build up my muscles with some strenuous workouts, keeping in mind my lean, mean fighting machine look. Sensei, my fitness trainer and karate instructor, has been showering richly deserved abuse on me for a year, ever since I stopped my workouts because of my inherent laziness and the existence of only 24 hours in the day. I shall resume these activities in Pune as soon as I arrive there.
 The wardrobe is okay. However, I need to improve my hair. I shall be beginning a manhunt, to find me the perfect hairstylist. One who can make this jungle of follicles look good. Hey, nothing’s impossible.
 I shall begin to take time out to actually make myself look good. I like to think I’m hot anyways – look at all the girls I know – but it never hurts to look better.

After this exhaustive procedure, that will probably last twenty years, I will truly be me. A magnet, to which all women who wear underwired bras will be attracted. Like moths to a flame. And then, due to corrupted genes, I will develop hypermetropia in the forties, and will require glasses again.

I’ve just realised that life isn’t fair. It just might be worth climbing onto a water tower and committing suicide. Main aa raha hoon and all that jazz. However, due to a fear of heights, the closest thing I will come to jumping off is my foot-high bed.

Anyways, I can at least enjoy the next twenty years as a knockout. Ladies – look out!