Also published here
Ask any woman and she will vouch for it. The time she made eye contact with her colleague as she laughed at his joke – and he promptly started making plans for their weekend getaway. Or the slightly tipsy woman at the pub who smiled at the wall and now it won’t stop pestering her for her number. Or the man she met at the party, enjoyed talking to him, even shared her number and now he texts her, ‘Sweeties, I miss you, lets meat!’ 55 times a day. Grrr!
Interestingly the not so single men she encounters are invariably the sweet ole chap victimised by the shrewish wife. By some strange miraculous coincidence ALL of them claim to be married to a woman who does not understand them at all. He’s just a lonely hardware looking for a software upgrade. Tch tch..
So now you know why the Indian woman is a tad grim-faced compared to her male counterpart. As a girl growing up, we felt the pinch of skewed sex ratio in crowded marketplaces, in the first bus we took, at the local tailoring outfit where our 13 year old self felt puzzled by the elderly darzi’s strange touch. Pretty soon we developed a snarl, a well-aimed shove with our elbow, a dead fish look to keep strange men’s unwanted advances under control. We discovered that the male has a strange manner of appreciating female beauty. When we walk on the road, we realise we are more effective than the traffic light at the intersection to make cars and scooters slow down. The helpful Samaritans they are, they offer us a ride not once but again and again. Dear Delhi police, I’m not sure why you’re wasting money on traffic lights, when all you need is a comely femme preferably in shorts, to bring traffic to a grinding halt. Some men become so consumed by passion that their grey cells trigger an avalanche of emotions and send furious signals to important body parts. Their hand reaches out for the motherboard, their genitals and they start scratching violently. Their mouth starts generating copious amounts of saliva which they respectfully direct at our feet. The vocal ones prefer making strange noises that closely resemble the mating call of chimpanzees. Good to know they are in no hurry to forget their ancestors! But this is also a highly evolved species that does not let a woman’s age, weight, skin colour, political leanings, dietary preferences, schooling, family background or the lack of it, hold them back. In fact they treat all of us with equal lust and are in turn treated by all of us with equal disgust.
Just like the worldwide network of online Romeos seeking love. Ask any woman and she’ll tell you about her enviable collection of lovesick chaps that reside in her ‘other inbox’ on FB. Thanks to the digital revolution, men old and young, recently wed or widowed, black and white, thin and fat, are ‘hello dearing her’, and losing control of their feelings as they gaze at her profile pic. This besides the 20 something eager greenhorn who wishes her ‘gud morning’ 15 times a day.
If you are looking to start a conversation with a group of women at a party, just say ‘I am a weirdo magnet’. You will be immediately surrounded by a chorus of ‘Me Too Me Too!” and stories of Hotguy21 and SaxyStud on WhatsApp admiring these women’s ‘lags’.
Every time my husband acts difficult, I show him my carefully curated list of enthusiastic lovers from Nicaragua, Kyrgyzstan, Burkina Faso and New York, serenading me with bad grammar and dishonourable intentions. Or the fella who got in touch with me after I wrote a post on Bengali woman’s love for sleeveless blouse. ‘I am a lover of hairy and sweaty armpit of womens. Would like to interact with you about this topic...do you have a Facebook account???’
‘See, how many amazing options I have!’ I scream at the husband.
Meanwhile I mumble a silent thanks to God for finally paying heed to my prayers. As a gawky teen I had often fantasised about hormonal boys dying to ‘make friendship’ with me. And now she has dropped a bumper bonanza of friendly men of all shapes and sizes in my lap. So what if she’s 25 years too late!
Dear men who think that in the struggle for equality, females always get an unfair advantage, you can count me in your team. Nothing screams inequality more than the disproportionate amount of attention an average Indian woman gets. While you’re still waiting to make eye contact with the pretty lady at the café, she’s already thumbed down half a dozen men, mostly undesirable. She understands it’s not their fault that they are uncouth and awkward. But it amazes her no end that they still think looking intently at her boobs and mumbling – you are hot, will make her dissolve in gratitude and surrender with a pair of handcuffs.
Of course, they are not to blame that their parents were so busy celebrating their fabulous luck in begetting a son that they forgot to teach him that a woman is not a cheez or maal that he can acquire with a snap of his entitled fingers.