The desire to be the best!

People sometimes find me incredibly stupid.  But what they don’t know is this – I am a very, very competitive person.  And when I am with them, I cannot help but beat them at being stupid!

On the psyche of the married male

There are two kinds of homo sapiens, male and female.  Male homo sapiens are further divided into two categories, unmarried and married.  It is the latter species, the married male homo sapiens, and their characteristics, that we shall discuss today.  All male homo-sapiens start life as the same species with no visible differences in their physical or mental attributes, but a distinct change is observed in it’s behavioral pattern when it comes in contact with a female and decides to get married.  Although no evidence has yet been found to satisfactorily explain this phenomenon, it can be stated with some certainty that the male has to go through a secret ritual at the time of marriage, that transforms it into a completely different animal.  This metamorphosis can be identified by the following characteristics:

• Eating and drinking habits of the male undergo a drastic change.  More wholesome food becomes a part of it’s staple diet, which in turn results in an increase in it’s abdominal area.  Wine replaces beer as the drink of choice.
• The garment cleaning process, previously undertaken on an as needed basis becomes a weekly ritual, and an effort is made to improve it by the introduction of additional external agents like fabric softeners.
• A distinct change is observed in the social interactions of the male.  Loud Saturday night social gatherings at the local watering hole (read pub) are replaced by quiet dinners at home, with a few guests.
• The one kitchen knife that previously cut all is retired from service and replaced by a fleet of 17 knives, each designated for a different food item.  Articles in the kitchen are augmented by the inclusion of new items like food processors, coasters and colanders.
• There is a sudden increase in the knowledge database of the male, which now includes information about furniture outlet store locations, thread counts on bedsheets, female cosmetic products, and other similar previously unknown facts.

Apart from these, several other subtle changes are noticeable in the males, which vary according to the individual.  A large majority of males have been observed to follow this evolutionary path.  However, opinion among social anthropologists is still divided over it’s long term advantages and disadvantages in the race for survival.  Whether the loss of a simplistic lifestyle and individual freedom is a price, worthwhile to pay, in return for a certain degree of respect and acceptability in society, is a question open to discussion.

The Night Rider

He turned the car sharply to the left and surveyed the scene in front of him.  It was dark, and the rain was pouring down.  He had to stay focused and alert if he was to succeed at this; he knew he was not the only one out there.  At this time of the night, the odds were stacked against him.  He slammed on the brakes; he saw a light 100 yards to his right.  He had a window of 15 seconds to do this.  Heart thumping in his chest, he pushed down on the gas pedal.  The car slipped on the wet ground, but he managed to regain control.  He kept narrowing the gap, never slowing down; until he knew he was not to be defeated.  He let out a cry of triumph as he pulled into the only vacant parking space!

P.S.  True story.  Happened to me yesterday.

So, when are you getting married?

Almost every person I meet these days wants to know when I am getting married, now that I am 29.  I don’t understand the obsession that Indians have with marriage.  Why should age be the sole criterion for getting married.  Why do events in life have to follow a predetermined sequence – you go to school, get a college degree, find a stable job, turn 25, and get married.

Is it that difficult for people to understand that some people are just not ready for the added responsibility and the long term commitment.  Or that someone is considering a radical career change which would be unthinkable if they were married.  Or that they just haven’t found someone they can spend the rest of their lives with.  I love the freedom that comes from being single; I love that I don’t have to consult with anyone before I make plans.

The fault does not lie entirely with the older generation.  I expect them to be concerned about my marital future because that was the kind of environment they were brought up in.  But what amazes me are people my age who come up to me with completely unsolicited advice about how they think it’s time for me to get married.  My question is, how do they know that it’s time for me to get married?  I have seen a lot of people get married because their families, or society thought that it was time for them to tie the knot.  Why can’t they learn to think for themselves and stand up for what they believe in.  Why can’t people for once, understand that age has nothing to do with marriage; that the right age to get married is when you are ready.

Not a day goes by, when I am not asked about my nuptial plans; and I have resigned myself to these enquiries.   But I have not stopped hoping for the day when people would stop worrying about my marriage.  I wouldn’t hold my breath though.  I am an Indian, and I know my people.

I don’t go looking for trouble, it finds me!

I believe everyone should live life in such a manner that by the time they are sixty, they have a huge collection of interesting stories, that they can tell their grandchildren.  When I look back at my life, I have not done badly at the almost half-way mark.    Here are a few memories from my childhood, that make me smile every time I think of them.  And they were not without consequences either, some of them got me into serious trouble; which makes them all the more memorable.

• Falling 15 feet from a tree, two days before my 11th birthday.  Breaking seven toes on my feet.
• Sneaking a dead rat into class, in the hope that it would start stinking in a day or two.  Realizing, to my disappointment, that not all dead rats stink.
• Spreading a rumour that one of my classmates had been mistakenly shot by the police.  Pulling together enough courage to confess to the principal, as she was about to leave for the hospital.
• Playing cricket for hours after school.  Trying to fool my parents by changing the time on my watch.  Realizing that you are not as smart as you think, when you are 11.  Or 21, for that matter; or 28.
• Fighting with my brother every time the new issue of ‘Champak’ arrived.  Hiding the book when I was not reading it.
• Climbing a tree, only to find out I had disturbed a large colony of fire ants.  Riding my bike home, two kilometers away, like a madman.
• Throwing pebbles at passers by, with my best friend, from the balcony.  Hating the shopkeeper across the street for refusing to turn a blind eye.
• Competing with my cousin, to find out who could stand longer on a cement wall; bare foot, on a hot summer afternoon.  Feeling a sense of pride when I won.
• Breaking the asbestos roof on my neighbour’s shed, trying to steal a kite, and bruising myself badly in the process.  Making up a story to keep my parents from finding out the real reason for my injury.
• Riding a bike with my best friend, turning into streets we had never explored.  For once, not knowing the way out.
• Bowling a vicious bouncer that whistled past the batsman’s head, and struck the glass window behind him.  Not being able to suppress my joy, even when the owner of the house walked out.

I hope you don’t get the wrong picture from these stories, believe me, I have always tried to stay out of trouble.  But it is my failure to do the same, that has made life enjoyable.

The Perfect Girl Paradox

My idea of a perfect girl:

• Does not like flowers, jewellery, or make-up.
• Drinks beer, speaks Hindi,  and understands my jokes.
• Likes camping/hiking/adventure, and does not mind getting dirty.
• Reads a book, rides a bike.
• An atheist, iconoclast; thinks wedding ceremonies are a waste of money.
• Has a job.

And people wonder why I’m still single!

Language of the heart….the whistle!

Recently I attended a wedding between two of my dearest friends, this great bloke I played cricket with and this charming girl I went to school with.  Great individuals, both of them; but even better together.  You know how sometimes the sum is greater than the total of individual parts.  Well, that was them.

It was one of those shortened modern day affairs, where they try to fit five day’s worth of ceremonies and rituals into two hours, in the hope that either the bride or the groom do not change their minds while its all still going on and the guests are having a good time.  Anyway, so I was at this wedding having a great time, talking to people about this and that, when I was introduced to this young lady who was a friend of the bride.  Now you may ask me her name, but a chap has to be civil and does not go about bandying the names of ladies he meets at weddings.  So let’s just call her Ms. N.  So I started talking to Ms. N about what and what not, when during the course of our conversation, it dawned upon me that apart from being pretty and charming, she was also the smart, knowledgable kind; one who can sustain an intellectual conversation, which a chap likes to have once in a while.  As you may have realized, by this time I was very clearly impressed by this young woman.  And then she whisteled!

Now this may make you sit up straight and ask, why would someone find the need to whistle during a wedding ceremony.  So let me explain.  While I was busy talking to Ms. N, the priest had rushed through the ceremony, which I am pretty sure the groom bribed him to do, and had proceeded to pronounce the couple husband and wife.  This pronouncement, due to some mysterious reasons, encourages people to clap; as if the offending party, by deciding to tie the knot, has done some great service to humanity.  So while people were busy clapping, someone in the crowd felt the urge to exercise their laryngeal muscles, but not being too sure if it was the right occasion to do it, blew a shy and meek whistle.  This had such an effect on Ms. N, that she let out a loud whistle that reverberated through the walls of the banquet hall.  It was as if time stood still while I looked at her with open awe and admiration.  It was a perfect whistle as far as whistles go; sharp but not shrill, not very short, nor too long.  Needless to say, I was hooked.  I mean it is one thing to be capable of blowing a near perfect whistle, but to do so when you look as pretty and charming as she did, was to me, something special.

I do not know if it has happened to you before, but happens quite often to me that I find myself incapable of continuing a conversation with a person when I find out something about them I did not know earlier.  Ms. N’s whistle blowing had the said effect on me.  Don’t get me wrong, I am quite capable of charming the fairer sex with my oratory skills under normal circumstances.  But the above mentioned circumstances were anything but normal.  I mean you do not expect a chap to carry on chatting merrily with a female when he finds out that she can whistle the way explained above and all he is capable of passing off in the name of a whistle, is a sound resembling the squeal of a pig about to be butchered three miles away.  So while Ms. N continued talking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, all I could manage to do was open and close my mouth in succession and hope that some words would miraculaously find their way out.  After five minutes of robust full-bodied sentences on her part, and squeaky, incomprehensible murmurs on my part, she gave me up as a lost cause and moved on to partake of the excellent lunch that was now being served.

But to me, food had lost all its taste, and the world its glory.  As a kid, I was taught that girls do not think very highly of boys who whistle at them.  But to have failed miserably at trying to impress a beautiful girl because I could not whistle even if my life depended on it, was to me, one of the many cruel ironies of life.

Three days to go!

That’s all I can think about right now. Have hardly got anything done at work in the past two days, or anywhere else for that matter. Just three days, and I will be flying back to India after two full years. It seems like forever since I have been home. I am sure Raipur would have changed a lot on the outside; but on the inside, it would still be the familiar, dust covered city that I grew up in and will always call home!