-- The Diary, 19th May, 485 BC
Let me say, upfront, that I have nothing against women. Some of my best friends are married to women. Indeed, I am a great lover of women. I likes women, I admirers them, I respects them, I reveres them. And when that noor-e-Dallas S~ comes to the cafeteria in that tightish white shirt of hers, I speechlessly marvel at them, 'them' being women of course. But let me admit, painful as it is to me, that women are not without their faults.
The biggest problem with women is that deep down, they are men too. Women want to nuke countries for fun, just as much as we do. Hillary Clinton says so. They want to kick some liberal ass just as much as we do. Ann Coulter says so. They want to screw over the poor just as much as we do. Maggie Thatcher said so. They want to exterminate the damn Mussalmans just as much as we do. Uma Bharti says so. They want to drink some nice Hindu blood just as much as we do. Many women in Pakistan would say so, if only they were allowed to say so. To sum it up, women want to be absolute bastards just as much we do. Lots of incredibly hot and incredibly obnoxious babes on Fox News say so.
It's clear as day: women are no better than men. It's just that they haven't been themselves, because we have been oppressing them for centuries. Which is not to say we were / are right to oppress women. They should, of course, have exactly the same rights as us. The pity is that they are using those rights to do exactly what we are doing.
My highly intellectual friend, who has read far too many books for her own good, finds it natural that empowered women should behave like men. In her words, it is an integral part of the dialectic between institutional disenfranchisement and individual empowerment, leading the empowered individual to seek identification with the institutional Other. That is rot, of course. But since it is in English and one does not quite know what it means, one is not allowed to call it rot. One is supposed instead to take it seriously and debate it, if possible in public. And so I took it seriously, and started looking for a difference, any difference, between men and women. It took me a while, but I can now announce that I've hit paydirt.
Men understand the digital revolution, women do not.
Ask a woman a multiple-choice question, and she will always give you an essay type answer. Not that I'm complaining. There's nothing quite like feminine chatter in the background to help one's dinner settle. But alas, charming as it is, the eloquence of women regularly destroys lives, as illustrated by the great tragedy that befell my dear friend, that great son of Bengal, S~ D~.
In the summer of 2004, on July 13th to be precise, S~D~ walked into the lab, and spoke to me thus. Those who bother to listen to his words will realize that they are pretty strong ones. Another man might have gotten offended by them. But I am not another man. I am B~, one of the most understanding chaps I have ever known. And sure enough, like all understanding chaps, I understood immediately that on that fateful afternoon, S~D~ was not himself. His heart had been hurt, or as he himself would poot eet, his hurt had bin haart. At that very moment, his hearthrob O-vhilasa was with going to the mall with her brand-new boyfriend. That brand-new boyfriend could so easily have been S~D~, but it was not. And all this merely because he talked to a woman, and, by God, she had replied.
But perhaps I should tell you the entire story.
O-vhilasa would be known to most brown people as Abhilasha, but among the Bhadralok, she was firmly entrenched as O-vhilasa. O-vhilasa was like a pi-meson, i.e., she was highly unstable when left to herself. Brown boys were her anti-particle. As soon as she could find one, she paired with him, and destroyed his life forever. Brown boys being abundant on these shores, O-vhilasa was seldom unpaired. However, brown people are modern these days and they do break up every now and then, just for fun. And so it chanced that O-vhilasa was briefly single between 11:56 am and 1:04 pm on the 13th of July, 2004. What's more, it was on this very afternoon that O-vhilasa had arranged to meet S~D~, so that he could do her homework and pay for her lunch. Now, S~D~ has a clean track-record: Whenever he talks to a girl for more than 5 minutes, he always finishes up by proposing to her. Imagine then, this combination of unpaired O-vhilasa and unimpaired S~D~. It was a match just waiting just to catch.
Alas, it was not meant to be. S~D~ did not propose to O-vhilasa, because he did not meet her for lunch on the 13th of July, 2004. He did not meet her for lunch, because he was listening instead to Poulomi, which, I swear, is a real Bengali name, Godpromise- Motherpromise- Studiespromise. S~D~ was listening to Poulomi, because she was explaining to him why they should be jaast freynds. She was doing so because S~D~ had just proposed to her. He had proposed to her because he had reasoned as follows: "Poulo looooks maach preytier than O-vhi. I'll trai praapuseeng to Poulo on the way. If she aacseipts, goood. Eef naat, I'll go praapus to O-vhi. Naatheeng to luse." It was a miscalculation. Poulo refused S~D~, and spent two hours explaining why, in gruesome detail.
And so ended the romance of S~D~ with O-vhilasa, even before it began. In years to come, O-vhilasa will play in the beautiful gardens of Coalcotha with her lovely children Shudipthow, Showronyow, O-porno and Rowbindhrow. Shudipthow, the eldest, will be the first to tire. But he won't admit it, because he wants to be beeg and gronaap, just like his baba. Rowbindrow, the youngest, will be the first one to run to O-vhilasa. He will climb up her lap, and she will smile fondly at him. She will hug him, though it will soil her new saree, for such is a mother's love. She will think of Mrs. Mookkhopodhyay, whose car might be newer, but whose children were definitely not cute. She will shake her head, thinking, "Haaw seelly of me to kip kaampareeng with her," but anyway, she will hug Rowbindrow a little tighter, and tickle him, just to see him laugh. She will then remind herself that she must be firm with her children. She will call out to them, and even pretend to be angry with them. Slowly, they will come, and with triumph in her heart, O-vhilasa will herd her children back home. There they will wait for baba to caam home with swit Roashgullas. Alas! That Roashgulla-bearing baba will not be S~D~.
These days, S~D~ has taken heavily to drink. He blames his stupidity for his loss. As I keep telling him, it is not his fault. The problem is one of viewpoints. The way men see it, this whole proposal business should be a quickie. I propose to you. If you are saying no, I don't need to know why. I have things to do, other people to propose to. If you are saying yes, we have a whole lifetime to talk. What's the big tearing hurry? Alas, women see it differently. They imagine that refusal would hurt men, and that they can set it right by talking to them. In a way it does. It makes blokes realize that all they missed was some third-degree torture.
"She gave me a kela and started an explanation," said my friend C~ after one such conversation. "After an hour, it struck me that she had probably forgotten she had refused. I spent the next hour terrifed that she might accept in the end. She didn't, but if she had, I would have officially withdrawn my proposal. You can do that, right?"
Less patient men take more drastic measures. "It's not you, it's me," said R~'s old flame to him, and started explaining some more. "Yeah, that's what I thought," replied R~, "Maybe I should leave you alone to sort out your problems. Do take care." And with a gentle tap on her shoulder, he walked out. He is, unsurprisingly, still single.
We might as well face it. Equality is all very well, but men and women will never be the same.
"Man proposes, and Woman discourses,
And never the twain shall meet."
The biggest problem with women is that deep down, they are men too. Women want to nuke countries for fun, just as much as we do. Hillary Clinton says so. They want to kick some liberal ass just as much as we do. Ann Coulter says so. They want to screw over the poor just as much as we do. Maggie Thatcher said so. They want to exterminate the damn Mussalmans just as much as we do. Uma Bharti says so. They want to drink some nice Hindu blood just as much as we do. Many women in Pakistan would say so, if only they were allowed to say so. To sum it up, women want to be absolute bastards just as much we do. Lots of incredibly hot and incredibly obnoxious babes on Fox News say so.
It's clear as day: women are no better than men. It's just that they haven't been themselves, because we have been oppressing them for centuries. Which is not to say we were / are right to oppress women. They should, of course, have exactly the same rights as us. The pity is that they are using those rights to do exactly what we are doing.
My highly intellectual friend, who has read far too many books for her own good, finds it natural that empowered women should behave like men. In her words, it is an integral part of the dialectic between institutional disenfranchisement and individual empowerment, leading the empowered individual to seek identification with the institutional Other. That is rot, of course. But since it is in English and one does not quite know what it means, one is not allowed to call it rot. One is supposed instead to take it seriously and debate it, if possible in public. And so I took it seriously, and started looking for a difference, any difference, between men and women. It took me a while, but I can now announce that I've hit paydirt.
Men understand the digital revolution, women do not.
Ask a woman a multiple-choice question, and she will always give you an essay type answer. Not that I'm complaining. There's nothing quite like feminine chatter in the background to help one's dinner settle. But alas, charming as it is, the eloquence of women regularly destroys lives, as illustrated by the great tragedy that befell my dear friend, that great son of Bengal, S~ D~.
In the summer of 2004, on July 13th to be precise, S~D~ walked into the lab, and spoke to me thus. Those who bother to listen to his words will realize that they are pretty strong ones. Another man might have gotten offended by them. But I am not another man. I am B~, one of the most understanding chaps I have ever known. And sure enough, like all understanding chaps, I understood immediately that on that fateful afternoon, S~D~ was not himself. His heart had been hurt, or as he himself would poot eet, his hurt had bin haart. At that very moment, his hearthrob O-vhilasa was with going to the mall with her brand-new boyfriend. That brand-new boyfriend could so easily have been S~D~, but it was not. And all this merely because he talked to a woman, and, by God, she had replied.
But perhaps I should tell you the entire story.
O-vhilasa would be known to most brown people as Abhilasha, but among the Bhadralok, she was firmly entrenched as O-vhilasa. O-vhilasa was like a pi-meson, i.e., she was highly unstable when left to herself. Brown boys were her anti-particle. As soon as she could find one, she paired with him, and destroyed his life forever. Brown boys being abundant on these shores, O-vhilasa was seldom unpaired. However, brown people are modern these days and they do break up every now and then, just for fun. And so it chanced that O-vhilasa was briefly single between 11:56 am and 1:04 pm on the 13th of July, 2004. What's more, it was on this very afternoon that O-vhilasa had arranged to meet S~D~, so that he could do her homework and pay for her lunch. Now, S~D~ has a clean track-record: Whenever he talks to a girl for more than 5 minutes, he always finishes up by proposing to her. Imagine then, this combination of unpaired O-vhilasa and unimpaired S~D~. It was a match just waiting just to catch.
Alas, it was not meant to be. S~D~ did not propose to O-vhilasa, because he did not meet her for lunch on the 13th of July, 2004. He did not meet her for lunch, because he was listening instead to Poulomi, which, I swear, is a real Bengali name, Godpromise- Motherpromise- Studiespromise. S~D~ was listening to Poulomi, because she was explaining to him why they should be jaast freynds. She was doing so because S~D~ had just proposed to her. He had proposed to her because he had reasoned as follows: "Poulo looooks maach preytier than O-vhi. I'll trai praapuseeng to Poulo on the way. If she aacseipts, goood. Eef naat, I'll go praapus to O-vhi. Naatheeng to luse." It was a miscalculation. Poulo refused S~D~, and spent two hours explaining why, in gruesome detail.
And so ended the romance of S~D~ with O-vhilasa, even before it began. In years to come, O-vhilasa will play in the beautiful gardens of Coalcotha with her lovely children Shudipthow, Showronyow, O-porno and Rowbindhrow. Shudipthow, the eldest, will be the first to tire. But he won't admit it, because he wants to be beeg and gronaap, just like his baba. Rowbindrow, the youngest, will be the first one to run to O-vhilasa. He will climb up her lap, and she will smile fondly at him. She will hug him, though it will soil her new saree, for such is a mother's love. She will think of Mrs. Mookkhopodhyay, whose car might be newer, but whose children were definitely not cute. She will shake her head, thinking, "Haaw seelly of me to kip kaampareeng with her," but anyway, she will hug Rowbindrow a little tighter, and tickle him, just to see him laugh. She will then remind herself that she must be firm with her children. She will call out to them, and even pretend to be angry with them. Slowly, they will come, and with triumph in her heart, O-vhilasa will herd her children back home. There they will wait for baba to caam home with swit Roashgullas. Alas! That Roashgulla-bearing baba will not be S~D~.
These days, S~D~ has taken heavily to drink. He blames his stupidity for his loss. As I keep telling him, it is not his fault. The problem is one of viewpoints. The way men see it, this whole proposal business should be a quickie. I propose to you. If you are saying no, I don't need to know why. I have things to do, other people to propose to. If you are saying yes, we have a whole lifetime to talk. What's the big tearing hurry? Alas, women see it differently. They imagine that refusal would hurt men, and that they can set it right by talking to them. In a way it does. It makes blokes realize that all they missed was some third-degree torture.
"She gave me a kela and started an explanation," said my friend C~ after one such conversation. "After an hour, it struck me that she had probably forgotten she had refused. I spent the next hour terrifed that she might accept in the end. She didn't, but if she had, I would have officially withdrawn my proposal. You can do that, right?"
Less patient men take more drastic measures. "It's not you, it's me," said R~'s old flame to him, and started explaining some more. "Yeah, that's what I thought," replied R~, "Maybe I should leave you alone to sort out your problems. Do take care." And with a gentle tap on her shoulder, he walked out. He is, unsurprisingly, still single.
We might as well face it. Equality is all very well, but men and women will never be the same.
"Man proposes, and Woman discourses,
And never the twain shall meet."
11 comments:
Finally!! You're back to your original self, commenting on the human conditions that you know best, observing women (look but no chance of every touching) and the travials of the single, pathetic brownistani. The previous diversions into anything even resembling intellectual pretensions were too much for you.. Your feeble intellect couldn't handle it. You should leave the philosophizing to people who can imbibe without passing out.
After all what is but philosophy but a bunch of thoughts that someone (like the Buddha, but let's call him dude D) suddenly figured "Perhaps I should write down what I just said!!". Unfortunately, this thought occured to D after the others had already passed out, thereby preventing them from beating D into senseless.
L~ T~
Jesus, your friend is so funny - lmao!
Well, so are you:D
Is his name Sandipan De? - although I am not sure if De is Bengali (not to confuse with tamil Dey!)
Although I do believe in "Women won't, men don't" - mostly listen:P
O-vi kemon achche?
I agree with Anonymous. You were my lunch reading but the philosophical rambles were much too hard to digest. I much rather throw up food reading about your friends and your's love struggles. Infact, I even heard "bulkbhojan" and offered tears of sympathy. Keep writing, You are funny.
You've lost yourself a reader, darling.
~Saale
you seem like one of those multiple indian guys who think its very cool to imitate fellow indians with eef naat and all that .. duh...
dear chaps,
i'm not much of a commenter. my comments tend to get longer the posts, which are themselves way too long. i'll just say: thanks for your comments. most of you, however, seem to have written absolute stinkers about this post, or the previous one, or this blog, or the author Himself. you are all encouraged to kindly go drink huge quantities of castor oil.
b. the grown-up tolerant dude.
humorous! fundoo! observant! brilliant!
many of the events you have described are surprisingly common with desis... i can attest to being friends with men, who have proposed after much thinking, been rejected right away, and yet felt merry in a couple of days; because of the rejection!
may hot air and cold logic work in unison to create more such showers of wisdom...
castor oil!!..hahahah
dude...apologise if you thought that was rude.. in fact i rate your sense of humour incredbly high..'beauty lies' is my fav.. so yeah ...so write on chiranjeevi sometime..that should be fun!
nayantara
"It's not you, it's me," - doesn't sound like R's X...if it is, indeed the same R we r taking about :)
can we keep this discussion to something less esoteric than R souls?
@littlecow: grazi, junior.
nayantara: s~, who wrote the piece, thanks you profusely. if you have been in bombay for more than 3 months, pliss to give me your e-mail id. he'll propose to you.
npr, that's you, i assume. lots of people are asking me about "theDQ". apparently, they find you charming. unfortunately, they are she-people. but hey, someone at last finds your charming.
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