<p>It is an occupation fraught with grave and nameless perils, the least of it being the ever present possibility of being brusquely collared by Bangalore’s assiduous cops and appearing shame-faced before the awful majesty of the mobile court in Mayo Hall and getting juggled, proper and good for a 14-day spell in the cooler accompanied by some string remarks from the bench about the menace of eve-teasers.<br /><br />My usual beat is along Bangalore’s fashionable Mahatma Gandhi Road and most balmy evenings will find me on station propping up a doorway as though to prevent it from collapsing like a building just certified ‘Fit’ by the Public Works Dept., and with quick, darting eyes drink in the passing jeans while keeping a sharp lookout, port and starboard, for any approaching cop.<br /><br />I wish to claim, if I may, that I have logged almost 200 hours of Jeans Watching and I can confidently assert that the scene has never been brighter. There are jeans to drape practically every body shape and contour.<br /><br />Old fogies may shake their heads dolefully and mutter that the younger generation is going to the dogs, but with my superior professional expertise, I wish to squarely contradict these disapproving old codgers and assert that the younger generation is, in fact, going to Jeans.<br /><br />No doubt we have all been upbraided by our peers over our sartorial inelegance, but with jeans, it is altogether a different scene. The dirtier they are and looking more like hessian jute sacking used to mop cow dung floors, the higher one’s standing in the world of jeans.<br /><br />Let the disillusioned senior citizens be put on adequate notice—-jeans are here to stay and with them the patches. Let me quote for your scholarly edification the following patch, I spied on a faded stonewash denim as it turned the corner into Brigade Road. It read simply I DIG ZEN proving my point to the hilt that the supposedly frivolous and coke and ipod hungry younger generation actually understand and loves Zen. When I challenged my old man about Zen, he shuffled and mumbled rather uncertainly, “Is it the brand name of a new ballpoint pen being test-marketed?”<br /><br />Watching jeans has been a deeply soul-satisfying and spiritually ennobling pastime and for added measure, it has enabled me to come up with an original definition of middle-aged spread-living beyond one’s jeans.<br /></p>
<p>It is an occupation fraught with grave and nameless perils, the least of it being the ever present possibility of being brusquely collared by Bangalore’s assiduous cops and appearing shame-faced before the awful majesty of the mobile court in Mayo Hall and getting juggled, proper and good for a 14-day spell in the cooler accompanied by some string remarks from the bench about the menace of eve-teasers.<br /><br />My usual beat is along Bangalore’s fashionable Mahatma Gandhi Road and most balmy evenings will find me on station propping up a doorway as though to prevent it from collapsing like a building just certified ‘Fit’ by the Public Works Dept., and with quick, darting eyes drink in the passing jeans while keeping a sharp lookout, port and starboard, for any approaching cop.<br /><br />I wish to claim, if I may, that I have logged almost 200 hours of Jeans Watching and I can confidently assert that the scene has never been brighter. There are jeans to drape practically every body shape and contour.<br /><br />Old fogies may shake their heads dolefully and mutter that the younger generation is going to the dogs, but with my superior professional expertise, I wish to squarely contradict these disapproving old codgers and assert that the younger generation is, in fact, going to Jeans.<br /><br />No doubt we have all been upbraided by our peers over our sartorial inelegance, but with jeans, it is altogether a different scene. The dirtier they are and looking more like hessian jute sacking used to mop cow dung floors, the higher one’s standing in the world of jeans.<br /><br />Let the disillusioned senior citizens be put on adequate notice—-jeans are here to stay and with them the patches. Let me quote for your scholarly edification the following patch, I spied on a faded stonewash denim as it turned the corner into Brigade Road. It read simply I DIG ZEN proving my point to the hilt that the supposedly frivolous and coke and ipod hungry younger generation actually understand and loves Zen. When I challenged my old man about Zen, he shuffled and mumbled rather uncertainly, “Is it the brand name of a new ballpoint pen being test-marketed?”<br /><br />Watching jeans has been a deeply soul-satisfying and spiritually ennobling pastime and for added measure, it has enabled me to come up with an original definition of middle-aged spread-living beyond one’s jeans.<br /></p>
