Sometimes it seems that I have spent my whole life fighting men and women injected with unreasonably strong doses of “a man is a man is a man” syndrome.
Male as a gender evolves from being a child, to a teen with pee pee, a man with broad shoulders, moving forward to his shark like qualities in the conference\ bedroom, to finally ending up as an old salesman trying to sell machismo to himself.
I am in my mid-twenties, not too old but old enough to get every action and grasp every interaction of human society. What do I conclude: Men are pathetic. At the end of their life, they are Michael Henchards’ of the world, all you can do is feel sad for them. There is nothing much to offer, even if you wanted to. Too much pride,too much gratitude,too much distance,too many walls… fathers, husbands, uncles: all become pitiable characters.
I believe a man's job is harder than a woman’s and truly so. The world takes a man’s failure and a woman’s success too seriously. Today, men can cry but they can’t be whiners’, although I respect a metrosexual male with impeccable sense of hygiene, perfect taste in food and clothing and a money making drive, there are really few of those, and those also come with a baggage. I found one such guy with a mother fixation: I ran so fast that the recollection of it makes me pant.
Apart from that, men are never given the best part of the pie, even though they are made to believe in the antithesis. They are the bread winners, the party goers, the ones with great jobs and all the money. Of course, they are the swingers, the seducers- the men who are tired coz they work so hard and all they get when they come home is an irritated wife and cranky children. They are the ones that single women like me have sympathy for; we cushion him from his unemployed-bitch-wife. 'The cab ride home and the slow kiss and the sweet talk is like the well waxed floor of a hotel lobby, even if you slip they guarantee no scars.'
When he was young and kicking, you were a child just born and being cradled in your mother’s arms. By the time you learn to recognise him; he has forgotten in which grade you are in; forget your class role number! You don’t see him often, when you wake up for school, he is doing his duty to drop you to your bus stop, so that mom can have her peace and make breakfast. By the time he comes home, the repeat telecast of your favourite show is on air and you have to dump the remote and run to do your homework: its better that way than you being asked to do so.
The time you enter puberty, you know your mother could have done so much better. I always pushed my mother to separate from my father. His ambition had reached his prime and he never realised I had moved from school to college. 'You have never seen your father treat your mother badly but you have known the subtle things that he has done very cowardly: like taking his mother’s side in a fight between the two women and apologising to her in the bedroom stating that his mother was old.' Or never showing any inclination to understand her taste in gifts and bringing her just the opposite or worse --gifting her home-utility items. (Women too derive happiness from these; like being ecstatic over a free bucket on a washing powder brand.) I have seen my mother bargain for a rupee and at the end of the week calculate how much she saved from all the fretting and fighting: often when she neared her expectation, she cheered saying that “See, I am an economics major!” I never felt proud of her, still don’t.
However, I blamed my father for a lot of the above, until I saw clones of him all around me. Big talk, suits and cars: all of that crumbles when you grow up. You see that they are lonely old asses whose front and hind legs have been tied in labour and family. It is not the best phase to be in-- ever. You will hate him for the very things that he stood for; even the good ones: loyalty, consistency, ambition, friendliness etc… everything that he wants to give you after all these years; is what you don’t want!
From that golden time of the youth; this is what happens when a man grows old: he is monetarily useless, he is constantly reminded of all the things that he did not do, the inadequacies that the children are now fulfilling, add to that all the negative qualities that make him the hateful man that he is!
And why? Because he never had the epiphany in time that his relationships are the only saviours he has, not his friends, or his firm or his designation. It’s that time his life when his every word is neglected, every suggestion rubbished in order to deflate his ego. It is a kind of revenge that your family takes on you. They do the meanest things in the most hilarious fashion. Kids say the worst words in the most casual of situations.
Chameleon propelled me to write and revisit all the men I have known when, he voiced his feeling for his daughter, “You know; I never had the feeling that she was my child. Never felt that connection: till now, it was just like - okay I have a daughter, big deal! Today I feel she is my child, my blood.” All this comes after racing out of the door faster than superman when his baby shits. Or when a year and a half ago, I heard him coaxing his wife to dump her job and have a baby as he didn’t want to be an old-dad. Why all of this, so late and how long will this feeling last?
If we believe in the motif “All's well that ends well” then the women clearly get all the good stuff. Be it enjoying the husband’s money, to getting all of their children’s affection, to settling down to a good pampered life in the old age where, she has her children’s treats and her husbands insurance. The children are compensating for what their mother never had. The father figure is missing, and its better that way for many families.
loudmouth makes me feel sorry for him when he bitterly says “I know who needs me how much. I know I am not needed here. I will be around till I think I should, it’s my duty.” I feel sad for him, genuinely. He is like the washer-man’s dog, who escorts the washer-man from his house to the river but never has a confirmed place to sleep. The river is too cold and the house is too warm. loudmouth had to choose between his wife and his mother: he ignored his wife till his mother died whom he never pleased enough. And when his mother died his wife had grown weary of him and his family: she had realised that her children were her only buoy. loudmouth struggled for his mother’s acceptance for half his life and now he struggles for his children’s affection in his old-age.
Men are sorry characters, puppets in different ways, the problem lies in an observation that they forget that the high tides of their lives aren’t going to always remain that way. The shallow misery that follows is their pitfall. When I chatted over my thoughts to the wise-capitalist she as a matter of fact stated, “Everything in this world works on performance. You have to constantly perform and compensate with better performance in other areas when, you fall short in some. And marriage is all about exploiting the partner. We all do it, but when you do it consciously, you have the upper hand. Men have been losers from the 1st day: its easier to give a man what he wants because then he will give you ten times in return. If you invest wisely and in the right places: marriage can be the most profitable venture you ever had! Women need men as much as an enterprise needs that ‘x’ employee: but you don’t need to voice that now, do you?”
This exercise answered certain questions like why men die before women. And whoever believes it’s a man’s world; is illiterate about the politics of the underdogs.
