Skip to main content

Men and women

When I was in my middle to late 20s, I discovered what it is to be friends with women. Till then, you see, I couldn't really be comfortable with them. Don't know why, really. In my all-girls college, I was part of the usual girl gang -- we called ourselves SPLASH 17, no less (for some bizarre reason!). But most of my friends then were giddy headed girls who talked mostly about boys, going out with boys, getting roses from boys, meeting up with boys...well, you get my drift. I wasn't really like them, or so I thought. Deep down though, I was insecure, frightened -- would I ever meet my knight on a white charger?

And then, I came to Bangalore. And made up for lost time. From a small-town girl to hanging out with the guys and going out on dates, it was a surprisingly easy transition for me. I think it was my way of reassuring myself that yes, I was attractive. That all those boys who didn't look at me when I was in college in my small town in Kerala, were actually pretty dumb. I think I surprised myself, most of all. I certainly grew up.

Now, when I'm entering my 30s, I'm good friends with women again. I hardly read M&Bs any more. Why? I think it's because I'm comfortable with whom I am and what I do. It's also because I have a great marriage, a husband I love and respect and flirt with, outrageously! I think it's also because my giddy-headed days are over. To paraphrase an advertisement for beauty product -- I finally love the skin I'm in!

Comments

walk don't run said…
Hmmm. pretty insightful. I completely agree that age brings with it a certain clarity about everything that was so muddled up. It's like looking at life from a vantage point, where the air is clearer...
11:55 am, November 15, 2007
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.
Post a Comment
Read more

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...
4 comments
Read more

Cockroach eggs and innocence

Baby ate a cockroach egg last night. At least, he tried to. C noticed and got it out. But the lil' one must have gotten a taste. Yuck, ewww! Really and truly. But then, I got thinking. He ate it because he didn't know he wasn't supposed to. He doesn't know what bad is. Or evil. Or lies. Or hate. He doesn't know, what it is, you see, to be all grown-up and knowing what is right and wrong. And who is good and bad. That's why, when he sees a white-haired gentleman, he says "Ajja". How can I tell him then, that I'm afraid not all "Ajjas" are safe to be around. That in our adultness, we've lost the capacity to trust infinitely and innocently. That we can't really, because we've corrupted ourselves too much. That's why, even if I whack him and shout at him in my pettiness, he'll screw up his face and bawl his heart out. And then hold his arms out to me. And that's when I feel miserably small and just like tha...
5 comments
Read more