Sunday, 29 March 2015

Mein aisa kyon hoon… why we men are like this

[I have some some pungent views about why life is the way it is, and why people are the way they are. I believe that life is assymetrical i.e. it is not entirely fair from a politically-correct human point of view. What's sauce for the goose may not necessarily be sauce for the gander. If you feel that my views are inconsistent with being a nice, civilized human being, relax, you aren't the only one who thinks so.]

Dedicated to ‘Why Name’, who thinks all men are creeps.
My wife often sighs that I have sex on my mind all the time. She’s right, but I think that holds true for most males. So why did evolution make us males this way? Why does it only take a half-witted curvy female to sweet-talk practically any male from nine to ninety into doing silly things, staking his social standing, relationships and future happiness? And why do we men often exhibit such “lack of commitment to the mother of his children”? (That’s how nagging, aggrieved women word it; we men see it somewhat differently.)

I finally articulated the answer to this age-old puzzle some days ago, and here’s how it goes: What is seen as the pursuit of a simple fling with a relative stranger… one more fifteen-minute orgasmic episode in his life… is much, much more meaningful than that for a man.

Our wives simply cannot empathize with us; how can they understand the internal pressure that we feel to discharge our God-given duty to billions of claustrophobic sperms that are jostling inside our nuts? We who harbour these animated, wriggling little fellows/fellies know what it’s like to have their little voices constantly screaming in our brains to give them their fundamental right — a fair shot at growing from the faceless little creatures that they are into cute little babies! Koochie-koochie-koo! Awwwww~!

Whether he consciously acknowledges it or not, it is a prime objective, and the secret agenda of every man’s life to have his children, bearing his genes, growing in half a dozen wombs and/or households. True, such a pursuit is illegal, immoral, highly risky and a despicable thing to do, given the present societal setup. It seems so patently unfair that in order to pass on her own genes to offspring, a woman needs to invest nine months in pregnancy, another couple of years in breastfeeding, and then a decade or two of dedicated nurturing (where we males are happy to play a supportive role). So, in recognition of this reality, modern governments reward and safeguard women by frowning on the male urge to sow wild oats. Meanwhile, they give males the adult equivalent of pacifiers — harmless little outlets to vent their frustrated instincts, such as shagging, sharing dirty jokes with colleagues and reading Debonair on the sly. For those macho men who sneer at such sissy stuff, there are the dance bars and the prostitutes. Arguably still higher up on the scale is the one-night-stand with the female colleague, but with birth-control measures firmly in place.

But these are considered lesser evils when compared to having a galloping romance on the outside that ends up with pregnancy and permanent commitments. Now that’s when your wife feels really cheated!

It’s my theory that we have evolved from a bunch of men and women who were definitely not bound by the one-man-one-wife code of honour. Throughout the millennia, money and power bought a lot of sexual opportunities. Picture the zamindar and his sons extorting favours from the tenants and their wives, sisters and daughters. Picture the feudal kings commanding at bedtime, “Daasi ko mere kamre mein paon dabane ke liye bhej do!” Picture the distraught farmer’s wife saying to the village moneylender, “Bus ek sau rupaye de do! Mere paas kuch bhi nahin hai bechne ke liye, lekin mein kuch bhi karne ke liye tayyaar hoon... kuch bhi!”
That’s our heritage. Chances are that there’s lots more of such blood roaring in our veins than that of people who declared piously, “Nahin! Mein meri patni ke saath bewafaai nahin kar sakta!

I believe that when we men work overtime and compulsively go after raises and promotions, we don't do it altruistically, beebi-bachon ke liye. We’re doing this in the hope that the long journey to becoming Chairman-of-the-board lies strewn with eager-to-please secretaries, friendly female colleagues, neglected bosses’ wives and what-have-you.

I believe that when men sweat it out in the gym or hit the tracks in their jogging suits at 5 am day after day, they are impelled by a sense of duty to themselves… their highest calling, which is also their lowest one… the call to use their magic wand to cast one more spell upon the earth, and leave one more child on this planet with their distinctive chaap before they die.
I believe that men turn adventurous when they feel the stirring in their blood. We may want to climb Mount Everest, but only because, deep down inside, we harbour irrational dreams of meeting a maiden on its icy slopes who will say, “Come, let me give you warmth”.

Because the ancient truth, which we have all hardwired into us, is that opportunities for procreation comes with being as rich, powerful, influential, fit and adventurous. We are driven by this prospect, because one 15-minute episode of fruitful mating away from home can justify our existence on this earth all over again!

That’s who we really are, ladies, beneath our veneer of being dutiful husbands and gentle, jolly fathers. Accept us for better or for worse!

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