Husband Material

5 Foot 11 inch something. Runner’s legs, glowing skin, hair from below the knees till the ankle, brushing down like a slim cover against the occasional nip in the tropical city. Calf muscles to letch at. Toes well-shaped, the arch of the foot perfect, a dancer’s feet. Clean, clipped, cured toe-nails. Feet with the occasional hard-sole of a man who has tread the hard earth to keep fit, yet lick-a-licious. Like abso-fucking-lutely lick-able. Nah, too much porn. Focus. Husband material.

5 Foot  11 inch something. Runner’s legs, glowing skin, hair from below the knees till the ankle, brushing down like a slim cover against the occasional nip in the tropical city. Calf muscles to letch at. Toes well-shaped, the perfect arch of the foot, a dancer’s feet. Clean, clipped, cured toe-nails.  Feet with the occasional hard-sole of a man who has tread the hard earth to keep fit, yet lick-a-licious. Like abso-fucking-lutely lick-able. Nah, too much porn. Focus. Husband material.

surya photos 056 Husband MaterialLadle in one hand, a small kitchen towel in the other. Eyes focused on the spurts of steam and fragrance from the spicy broth in the cauldron. Ears and nose waiting for the final announcement from the oven below, so that the brain can catch a waft of the inherited gift of baked cheese-cake, passed on from generations, to this gay hand. The apron just covering the essentials, otherwise butt-naked, a back that resembles an expert-chiseled, shimmering-in-sweat plank of rosewood, shoulders broad enough to bear three more trays of bake, arms strong enough to knead dough and pound meat alike. Delectable. Again, too hormonal. Re-focus. Hubby stuff !

A voice guttural, yet deep as the dark ocean-gorges beneath a skirt of warm continents. Mellifluous might sound exaggerated, hence masculine, enchanting, energizing, enrapturing. Warm, cinnamon-like, fragrant, soothing, almost-cradling – a violent combination of Yesudas and Pavarotti. Could almost enact Othello on stage, calling out for love, or Papageno from the Magic Flute, making fun of the demons, or just a mushy Mallu lover from the 80’s, waiting for his lotus-eyed, frail-as-a-creeper childhood love on the banks of a river by moonlight. Dreamy-eyed, almost like the Buddha. A bit too spiritual now. What am I imagining?

Have we ever understood what we’d call ‘husband material’? What qualities, or features, interests, occupations, or just characteristics of a person do we perceive as part of that overall package? Does each one of us have a clear picture of how that partner should look like?

It might be a long list of attributes, but what are those key things that tickle our emotions, make us yearn for that person so much that we wished, we woke up every day cuddling up to, or fell asleep like babies lying next to each other? A conversation partner who’d second your best friend at being your psychological coach or personal gossipmonger? A Masterchef to whip up mouth-watering cuisines in the kitchen? An inspiring, intriguing artist? Or just a sexy, suave gentleman?

What is it that makes someone ‘husband material’?

I know. I hope you do.

 

About the author

Srini

Distracted as ever - by life and its vibrant hues, Srini discovered writing recently when a bushy eye-browed Muse with luscious lips tickled his senses with her couplets. Fat man grew up to be a fitness conscious cook, a gardener by grandma's inherited green thumb and an Agnostic who used to believe in myriad rituals and gods and goddesses of the Southern landscapes, landscapes where rice paddies and Gopurams made people believe in the gifts of music, culture, art and nature's miracles. With a face that's expressive enough to throw off a couple of stubborn people off their stools, and an arse that can dance to drum and base, he's constantly trying to bridge his semi-German thoughts with his roots back in the Land of the Peppers. He writes, occasionally.