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http://www.fhm.com/girls/news/ladies-and-gentlemen-this-is-minnie-gupta-82128Shot by Ash Gupta/Studio 838MG
Maxim UK
Grope
I heavily doubt the professionalism of our airport security, but it seems fruitless to argue it in our paranoid days. My model friends and I know to avoid the male TSA, who look us up and down before requesting additional screening.
I do flatly refuse the backscatter. Mostly because my pride will not allow me to be photographed nude without proper posing and lighting. And you just know those pervs would enjoy it.
I let the female TSA agent give me a patdown. There’s something less violating about female hands than male eyes, even if she was same-sex oriented.
Incidentally, the most violating patdown I ever had was at the Dubai airport, by a fully-veiled woman who gave a little too much attention to my weapons of mass seduction before letting out a giggle. Poor little repressed thing–friends in Dubai have told me that www.minniegupta.com is banned there. I felt more violated when they confiscated my lipgloss.
My advice to pretty girls flying–aim for the female agents in the screening line, who will be less likely to want her coworkers eying your naked body. Saves you lots of time 
Head over Heels
I clearly remember my first pair of heels. I was four years old and my mother gave my sister and I pairs of strappy cork sandals to wear with our sundresses. The heels were not very high, but I remember the empowering feminine force that immediately took over.
My sister and I went next door to see our neighbors Christopher and Jonathan, two tow-headed boys close to us in age. Suddenly as we were sitting on the couch, Leela and I became inspired to kick the boys repeatedly with our new heels. It was a sign of things to come.
(And I wouldn’t be surprised if now Jonathan hires a dominatrix to walk over him in her spike-heeled boots once a week. I always suspected that he’d turn out to be a weird one.)
I was always puzzled by Cinderella’s glass slippers. I mean, the worst that could occur certainly wouldn’t be losing your shoe. I would not be able to waltz happily with Prince Charming if I was concerned that I’d soon be stepping on broken glass.
Perhaps they meant lucite–Cinderella wore stripper heels to the ball. It seems appropriate considering the foot fetish it ignited in the Prince that made him fall madly in love.
Someone once told me an old European superstition, that you should never buy your woman shoes, otherwise she’d use them to walk away from you. I wondered if there was some truth to this when I was dressing for a blind date with a new man, stepping into the gorgeous heels bought for me by an ex shortly before we split.
These shoes were very high, with a spike heel that could inflict brutal pain. But of course, it made my legs look so long and lean, my butt so round.
It ended up being one of those times you meet a perfect stranger but immediately felt familiar. We liked each other, that was for certain, but maintained a polite distance that proper etiquette would dictate.
After dinner as we were walking I suddenly lost my graceful composure as my high heels threatened to spill me to the ground. But my Prince Charming was quick to reach out and catch me. He clasped my hand to steady me…and well, he never did let go.
If I had worn more sensible shoes, would I have needed my knight in shining armor to rescue me from a fall? Or would we have just awkwardly bid adieu at the end of a night that neither of us wanted to end, wondering if we’d meet again, turning back into pumpkins by the stroke of midnight?
I think I understand now why Cinderella chose fashion over comfort.
Ho
“Ho” is slang for prostitute. Not to be confused with “hoe” which is a garden tool, or the way ho is spelled by someone a little intelligence-challenged.
I pride myself on my grammar and spelling, but for once I am at a loss. What is the plural of “ho?” Do you add an “e” to make it plural, resulting in “hoes,” or does that just refer to multiple garden tools? “Hos” just seems incorrect. Another possibility is “ho’s” but wouldn’t that just show possession? Like what if you wanted to say the “ho’s hoe” referring to a hooker who had quite the green thumb. And definitely incorrect would be “hose” which is a long cylindrical object, or can refer to pantyhose, which is favored by many transvestites. And there are transvestite prostitutes, so it can get even more complicated.
Now there is a song that says “I’ve got hos in different area codes.” But I cannot rely on rap music for proper grammer. So you see my dilemma.
Life Lessons from Momma Gupta
Skincare
“I’m starting to get fine lines on my face,” my mother complained to me. She had just turned 55. We discussed Restylane and Botox which she shrugged off, content with a hint of aging that affected other women her age long before it touched her. “People in India don’t sunbathe,” she said. “When I first came to this country and saw lines on the foreheads of women my age, I didn’t know what they were.” Which is why when I see young goras cooking themselves red in the sun I just want to smother them with SPF 50.
Dating
“You must always be with an older man,” Mummy told her daughters all our lives. “Men don’t mature as fast as we do, so a man your own age is like a child.” My father is ten years older than my mother, and my parents just celebrated their 37th anniversary. When my sister and I date men much older than we are, it has nothing to do with unresolved daddy issues (I have the most stable and sane father who adores me to death) we are simply following our mother’s prescription for happiness. All younger men we’ve dated have been extremely regrettable. Who has the patience to cater to a man-child? I surely don’t.
Cosmetics
Liquid eyeliner, red lipstick. I learned it from my Momma, who emulated the Bollywood sirens of her day. Never be afraid to play up the eyes and the mouth–it’s Femme Fatale-esque and understatedly sexy, even with your legs and cleavage hidden from view. Kate Moss and that “natural” look be damned to hell!
Girls might not like bad boys…
…but we do love Byronic Heroes. A man like Lord Byron, “mad, bad and dangerous to know.” Like Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights or Rhett Butler from Gone with the Wind. Men like this are complex and compelling, while self-proclaimed “nice guys” are milquetoast–like Edgar Linton or Ashley Wilkes. I, for one, could never damn myself to a life sentence of either one.
Here are the characteristics of a Byronic Hero swiped from Wikipedia:
a strong sense of arrogance
high level of intelligence and perception
cunning and able to adapt
suffering from an unnamed crime
a troubled past
sophisticated and educated
self-critical and introspective
mysterious, magnetic and charismatic
struggling with integrity
power of seduction and sexual attraction
social and sexual dominance
emotional conflicts, bipolar tendencies, or moodiness
a distaste for social institutions and norms
being an exile, an outcast, or an outlaw
“dark” attributes not normally associated with a hero
disrespect of rank and privilege
jaded, world-weary
cynicism
self-destructive behavior
What girl hasn’t loved at least one in her life?
And now, with Narcissistic Personality Disorder being omitted from the DSM, how about “Byronic Hero Disorder?” Yum, I do hope so!
Cows
I went far away from LA for this photoshoot and the air smelled like cow poo. Imagine my excitement to see cows everywhere!
This was not latent Hindu excitement, for we don’t really worship cows. We just like them a lot.
I never knew that Hindus held cows sacred in any way until I read it at the age of 16. Especially since my family was raised eating beef.
“It’s okay as long as you don’t eat Indian cows,” my Dad replied when I questioned it.
Strangely enough my Dad had a cow as a pet when he was a child.
“They’re actually quite intelligent animals,” he said, remembering his beloved pet cow. I don’t think he eats beef anymore–none of us do for health (and vanity!) reasons.
I think that I would like a pet cow of my own someday if they weren’t so stinky. And I couldn’t bring myself to milk it, preferring only to squeeze mammaries made of silicone and saline.
Once upon a time at the Playboy Mansion my girlfriend got a persistent case of hiccups. While I enlisted many creepy old men in satiny pajamas to try to scare her (as if they weren’t scary enough) her hiccups continued. Finally the bartender stepped in…
“Draw a cow. Draw it in detail, don’t forget to give it a tail and give it udders. Now name your cow. What did you name it?”
By the time she spoke the name of her imaginary cow, her hiccups were gone. Cows are grand. I’m sleepy, goodnight.
Is that a Blackberry in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Is it a doomed, star-crossed romance? Blackberry lovers scoff at Iphones. Iphoners think of Blackberry users as far behind the times.
Yes, I’m a Blackberry girl. It’s mostly due to my manicure and my distrust of Steve Jobs. My perfectly-groomed, french-tipped talons are ineffective on those touch screens. And anytime I walk into an Apple store I nearly have a panic attack. It reminds me of “A Clockwork Orange” for some reason.
Okay, so maybe the real reason I’m a Blackberry girl is Blackberry Messenger–my beloved BBM. All the pictures and screen names and emoticons–ordinary texting seems so outdated. All of my close friends are on BBM. I think that’s because if they’re not on BBM I forget they exist. It’s like they live in Orange County or the Valley; you know they’re out there somewhere, but you see them maybe twice a year. I think of all my Iphone-using friends as having 818 numbers.
I know we’re not supposed to “date in the 818″ but judging a man by his choice of phone is kind of superficial, right? I always send a new friend my BBM pin with my fingers crossed anyway.
But when Blackberry girls end up in a relationship with Iphone men, textual intercourse is not the same. “Sexting” is not real time. Emoticons with normal text just cannot encompass our wide range of emotions. And the worst part? When this Iphoner has angered or disgusted you, you cannot dramatically delete them off your Blackberry Messenger. (That of course is a very adult way to show someone how you feel, as opposed to expressing your feelings with verbally).
Imagine being dumped by someone who says “It’s not you, it’s your Iphone.” And then you chuck your Iphone at them a la Naomi Campbell.* Which of course is the only option if you can’t just delete them off your Blackberry Messenger.
*MG does not advocate cell phone violence. Of course, Naomi Campbell does and we love her for it.
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