<p>I believe in truth and honesty, but let me confess: As a young woman, I always wanted a handsome liar in my life –yes, who like a cuckoo clock would come out with a sweet lie every hour, about me, about my beauty, about whatever I did…<br />I wished that he would be someone made of a finer mould than common men who don’t know that most women pine not only for powerful manly arms, but also for big fat white lies to hold on to…<br /><br />My dream to have a liar in my life came true when I got married—he is a much better than the liar I had imagined—with a straight face he can lie. One day, I went to a beauty parlour and came out, and he exclaimed with a straight face – “I don’t recognise you, you look so much younger, beautiful and trim…” though all that I had gotten done was eye-brow trimming… but his lie left me beaming.<br /><br />The other day, when I bought a gift for a friend’s birthday -- he complimented me, <br />calling me a genius, saying that only I could spot such a delightful novelty— the gift I had bought on impulse was a floral designed hat—a silly, childish gift for someone who spends time more in temples and in bhajans.<br /><br /> I gave away something else as a gift to my friend, but retained the hat -- a memento for my husband’s intellect to recognise the genius in me. <br /><br />Once, while window shopping, I rushed into a saree shop drawn completely by a <br />designer saree on display, a shocking pink- coloured one with gold sequins all over—‘gaudy’ or more precisely 'an eye-sore' would be the word normal humans would describe it—but he, without batting an eye-lid said, ‘Oh you will carry it off very well…actually shocking bright colours are made for women like you.” <br /><br />“Like me? fat and brown?” I asked. “Yes, brown and round, like a sweet muffin” he said. This time he failed to look like a liar. <br /><br />Choosing colours which suit one’s complexion is a vulnerable point for many a woman, but ego massage is also quite important for her—she doesn’t care if the end result will make her look like a walking debacle, if the joy of the compliment by her personal liar fills her with power and esteem—and the liar looks like a hero.<br /><br /> Though I didn’t buy the saree, my liar looked every inch a hero. I know that his white lies stem from his love for me -- he indulges me, proving that all is fair in love...<br />‘A rose-coloured fib a day keeps age away,’ goes the saying. Women love sweet liars. It is another matter that mirrors do not lie.</p>
<p>I believe in truth and honesty, but let me confess: As a young woman, I always wanted a handsome liar in my life –yes, who like a cuckoo clock would come out with a sweet lie every hour, about me, about my beauty, about whatever I did…<br />I wished that he would be someone made of a finer mould than common men who don’t know that most women pine not only for powerful manly arms, but also for big fat white lies to hold on to…<br /><br />My dream to have a liar in my life came true when I got married—he is a much better than the liar I had imagined—with a straight face he can lie. One day, I went to a beauty parlour and came out, and he exclaimed with a straight face – “I don’t recognise you, you look so much younger, beautiful and trim…” though all that I had gotten done was eye-brow trimming… but his lie left me beaming.<br /><br />The other day, when I bought a gift for a friend’s birthday -- he complimented me, <br />calling me a genius, saying that only I could spot such a delightful novelty— the gift I had bought on impulse was a floral designed hat—a silly, childish gift for someone who spends time more in temples and in bhajans.<br /><br /> I gave away something else as a gift to my friend, but retained the hat -- a memento for my husband’s intellect to recognise the genius in me. <br /><br />Once, while window shopping, I rushed into a saree shop drawn completely by a <br />designer saree on display, a shocking pink- coloured one with gold sequins all over—‘gaudy’ or more precisely 'an eye-sore' would be the word normal humans would describe it—but he, without batting an eye-lid said, ‘Oh you will carry it off very well…actually shocking bright colours are made for women like you.” <br /><br />“Like me? fat and brown?” I asked. “Yes, brown and round, like a sweet muffin” he said. This time he failed to look like a liar. <br /><br />Choosing colours which suit one’s complexion is a vulnerable point for many a woman, but ego massage is also quite important for her—she doesn’t care if the end result will make her look like a walking debacle, if the joy of the compliment by her personal liar fills her with power and esteem—and the liar looks like a hero.<br /><br /> Though I didn’t buy the saree, my liar looked every inch a hero. I know that his white lies stem from his love for me -- he indulges me, proving that all is fair in love...<br />‘A rose-coloured fib a day keeps age away,’ goes the saying. Women love sweet liars. It is another matter that mirrors do not lie.</p>
