O my dainty and delicate New Delhi damsel! How I long to run my clumsy, sausage-like fingers through your stringy, greasy locks! What joy it is to gaze in awe upon your facial warts, imagining them as constellations in the very heavens!
Where the layman and the oaf see facial hair upon your dewy upper lip, I see deep and mystical jungles wherein lie the most fabulous of treasures! (Especially right under your nostrils!)