At 23, the world in its usual course was divided into those who were thin, those who were perfect and those who were fat. But at 24, when on that dreadful day, couples canoodled in the dim lights of a dull romantic comedy and we singles – the Boor, the Meat-Eater, I-prefer-Tits (who has said Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher and Flom more times in his life than his own name), Sleazy (who runs the risk of drafting a “dirty” Share Purchase Agreement, if he isn’t careful), Slippery (who has spent the better part of his time in Bombay in taxis, either traveling to his apartment or hunting for another one) and I, hung-out as err…“singles”, laughing uneasily at a profound love-story and contemplating drowning our sorrows in pitchers of beer, the battle lines were well and truly redrawn.
Battle fatigue is being 24, single and witnessing an overkill of question popping activity. I could of course take heart from the plight of these others – any relationship involving the Meat-Eater may be too illicit for wedding bells; the Boor’s woman may be physically incapacitated to utter the fateful “yes”; I-prefer-Tits may bald entirely waiting for the girl to ask; Sleazy might find it difficult to look past inanities like her large head and duck-like waddle and Slippery may never find someone he likes as much as his DVDs.
But they’re all men and they aren’t engaged in a battle at the work place against women - 10 to be precise, who are all either married, engaged to be married or who at least have a vague idea of the man who is most likely to get them to qualify for one of these two categories. After work “plans” to go home watch TV, read and sleep don’t elicit a tilt of the head and that sympathetic ‘awww’ sound. They aren’t confronted with harmless everyday conversations that take turns for the betrothed worse; window shopping laced with undertones of wedding attire selection and food discussions ending in not-so-covert menu decisions.
This calls for bringing out the sophisticated weaponry I suppose – informing the TV Addict and the Footpath Lady that their daughter’s come of marriageable age and hoping that they find time away from their respective obsessions to supply the ammunition!
Battle fatigue is being 24, single and witnessing an overkill of question popping activity. I could of course take heart from the plight of these others – any relationship involving the Meat-Eater may be too illicit for wedding bells; the Boor’s woman may be physically incapacitated to utter the fateful “yes”; I-prefer-Tits may bald entirely waiting for the girl to ask; Sleazy might find it difficult to look past inanities like her large head and duck-like waddle and Slippery may never find someone he likes as much as his DVDs.
But they’re all men and they aren’t engaged in a battle at the work place against women - 10 to be precise, who are all either married, engaged to be married or who at least have a vague idea of the man who is most likely to get them to qualify for one of these two categories. After work “plans” to go home watch TV, read and sleep don’t elicit a tilt of the head and that sympathetic ‘awww’ sound. They aren’t confronted with harmless everyday conversations that take turns for the betrothed worse; window shopping laced with undertones of wedding attire selection and food discussions ending in not-so-covert menu decisions.
This calls for bringing out the sophisticated weaponry I suppose – informing the TV Addict and the Footpath Lady that their daughter’s come of marriageable age and hoping that they find time away from their respective obsessions to supply the ammunition!
