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Playing doctor

While on this monologue, I passed over one particular profession. The noble one so to speak. For a fact, I haven’t ever dated a doctor. Well not a noble man either. Or a nobleman for that matter. Assuming for the moment that those of Apollo’s profession may have a strain of blue blood in them, here’s a look at the doctors I’d like to have a romantic appointment with:

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Paediatrician: A man who’s good with kids is always a turn-on. Major. Uh, he would know about diapers too, wouldn’t he? Just checking..just in case.

 

 

 

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Cardiologist: Considering that he is qualified to handle the human heart, perhaps he’s less likely than other men to break it?

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Psychiatrist: What’s more appealing than a man who lets you lie down and keep talking and just listens? *Sigh* Even you do have to pay him to do that, it might be worth it just to find out what an actual listening man looks like. Besides, for a good ol’ brain-fuck, who better than the head-shrinker himself?

Surgeon: Aren’t these the guys who are supposed to have long, deft fingers? Ah. 😉

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Gynecologists and Obstetricians do not make it to this list due to their professional proximity to the feminine form. I’d hate to be in the company of a man who seems to know more me than I do.

For the same reason, Endocrinologists fall out as well since I’d never be able to use the ‘I’m-done-to-chemical-death-with-these-hormones’ excuse on them.

I end this with the reminder to take this post just as seriously as you would this.

(Karaoke version of the original) 

GOODNESS GRACIOUS ME
by Peter Sellers & Sophia Loren

Her: Oh doctor, I’m in trouble.
Him: Well, goodness gracious me.
Her: For every time a certain man
Is standing next to me.
Him: Mmm?
Her: A flush comes to my face
And my pulse begins to race,
It goes boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,
Him: Oh!
Her: Boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Him: Well, goodness gracious me.

Him: How often does this happen?
When did the trouble start?
You see, my stethoscope is bobbing
To the throbbing of your heart.
Her: What kind of man is he
To create this allergy?
It goes boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,
Him: Oh!
Her: Boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Him: Well, goodness gracious me.

Him: From New Delhi to Darjeeling
I have done my share of healing,
And I’ve never yet been beaten or outboxed,
I remember that with one jab
Of my needle in the Punjab
How I cleared up beriberi
And the dreaded dysentery,
But your complaint has got me really foxed.
Her: Oh.

Her: Oh doctor, touch my fingers.
Him: Well, goodness gracious me.
Her: You may be very clever
But however, can’t you see,
My heart beats much too much
At a certain tender touch,
It goes boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,
Him: I like it!
Her: Boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Him: Well, goodness gracious me.

Him: Can I see your tongue?
Her: Aaah.
Him: Nothing the matter with it, put it away please.
Her: Maybe it’s my back.
Him: Maybe it is.
Her: Shall I lie down?
Him: Yes.
Her: Ahhh…

Him: My initial diagnosis
Rules out measles and thrombosis,
Sleeping sickness and, as far as I can tell,
Influenza, inflammation,
Whooping cough and night starvation,
And you’ll be so glad to hear
That both your eyeballs are so clear
That I can positively swear that you are well,
Ja-ja, ja-ja-ja-ja.

Her: Put two and two together,
Him: Four,
Her: If you have eyes to see,
The face that makes my pulses race
Is right in front of me.
Him: Oh, there is nothing I can do
For my heart is jumping too.
Both: Oh, we go boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom
Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,
Her: Goodness gracious,
Him: How audacious!
Her: Goodness gracious,
Him: How flirtatious!
Her: Goodness gracious,
Him: It is me.
Her: It is you?
Him: Ah, I’m sorry, it is us.
Both: Ahhh!

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The Male Slut

Personally I loathe the ‘s’ word. I’m no prude but it is just derogatory. On the other hand, it conveys a certain devil-may-care, FO attitude, doesn’t it? Or more aptly ,a fuck-me-or-fuck-off attitude. Perfect. That’s this man alright. Can I attempt to define the Male Slut? Rather tough. Let me just describe him, I’m sure we’ve all known him.

In college I knew of a lecturer who was a cult across campuses. At the start of the year, I was told about him by a senior who added as an after-thought,

He’s an asshole. Expect to not learn anything.

I wasn’t in his class that term. But I did get a call from a friend from another college all breathy,

I’m in lurrrrrve. Ooooh, what a man!

I braced myself to hear about her latest campus conquest. And instead I got a earful about her professor. I figured she was just living out a popular student/teacher fantasy. Till I met the man himself.

My first thought was,

He looks like Billy Bunter!

But I noticed that the crowd in the hall hung on to his every word, the girls practically drooling and the guys…ah, well, we’ll get to that in awhile.

Next term, I was in the dude-professor’s class. Ah…like lycra, he definitely had it. It’s hard to define what he had. Charisma? Intelligence? Talent? Not quite..or perhaps a little of all of these. But most of all, was his ability to flirt with crowds and hold their attention like it was sexual interest. He performed for an audience that lusted for him. In a class, at a meeting of directors, as a judge to an event. He seduced his listeners, male and female, with his presence and it was always a performance that brought the house down. His insults seemed like deep words of praise while his verbal bouquets left people wondering where he was really sticking the knife into them. We loved him, we hated him but we all knew him. Sure he had his detractors but the best-loved artists have their critics, don’t they?

Which brings us to the concept of the Male Slut. A slut isn’t just someone who enjoys the attention of the opposite sex…everyone likes that. This is somebody who works with attention like it is a tangible thing. Think of a gymnast playing with a satin ribbon, tossing it, whirling it in, playing with it, seducing it, fighting with it, pulling it in. It’s a spectacular show. That’s what a slut does with attention.

A Male Slut isn’t quite a Bad Boy…that’s too brazen, too blatant and a little too risky for him. Male Sluts treat their women well; they are charming. They may leave behind a trail of broken hearts but rarely ever a resentful one. Affection is a source of attention and the Male Slut will ensure that it is a perennial one. Remember the friend who will always have dinner with her ex-, even go shopping with him for a gift for his new girlfriend and tell you that,

We were not meant to be together so we’re great friends now. I love him but as a friend!

Bingo. You’ve just had a conversation with one of his ex-es. And no doubting, there’ll be several of them. If a Bad Boy is a prima donna, the star of the show, the Male Slut is the director himself, the silent force behind the scenes, while the rest of the cast has no choice but to follow his dictat.

Male Sluts are intelligent and too practical to not milk it to the fullest extent. Is it a wonder then, that so many of them are successful people? Intelligence is used to get every single thing they want. Sucess, status, recognition, approval, attention. The Male Slut uses intelligence the way some women use mascara and plunging necklines.

What’s really remarkable is that the Male Slut is a man who has comfortably overcome (at least visibly) the common male fear of recognizable affinity to his own sex. This man seduces other men as well. Not necessarily sexually. But there is a certain electricity in his every word, every interaction that other men can sense as well. No wonder then, that a lot of men hate him. It’s resentment, it’s fear and a secret awe. Not that it stops the Male Slut from getting what he wants. The reason men hate him is that he gets what he wants inspite of them and that they let him have it, inspite of themselves.

Now there’s a fair bit of the Chameleon Boy (as Shreyasi, far politer than I, calls him) in the Male Slut. Why settle for one plate when the entire smorgasbord is yours? Then again, the Male Sluts I know are surprising people. They’re deeply committed to the stability of their life. They seem to have the Bad Boy‘s taste for spice but are sensible enough to keep their life antacid-like.

So surprisingly enough, you might find a discreet girlfriend or wife tucked away somewhere, a contrastingly ‘normal’ family life somewhere. Now the thing is, before aspiring to be a part of that life, bear in mind that the woman who lands this exotic bird is usually unaware of his colourful feathers and wings. Or appears to be so. And the Male Slut tries his best to keep things that way. I don’t know why that is the case, but it is so. I suppose a Male Slut is just a grown-up Bad Boy who’s shrewd enough not to burn ALL his bridges. But slutty nevertheless, partnered or not, the Male Slut is permanently married to attention. And he makes a devoted husband.

It reminds me, quite funnily, of the movie Irma la Douce. Who was the real slut in that story?

The laws of men in relationships*

* With due apologies to Newton Sirjee who we all agree, was a very smart man, indeed.

First Law:

Every man continues in his current non-single relationship state (dating, just good friends, chasing, no-strings-attached, in love, married) unless acted upon by a force internal (dramatic negative behaviour by woman like nagging, extreme indifference etc) or external (subtle positive behaviour by other women like smiling, cleavage-flashing, PDA etc).

(Click on thumnail to see full comic on a seperate page)

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Men are inertiatic.

Second Law:

The rate of change of a man’s interest in a woman is directly proportional to the force (external or internal: see First Law) and takes place in the direction of the force.

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Third Law:

To every female action towards changing the First Law and/or implementing the Second Law, there is always an opposite reaction, at least verbally. Equal or not depends on the stubborness of the man concerned and could determine which way the relationship swings from there.

Manguide 3: Hobbies & Interests

We know where they live. We know what they do for a living. But what do they do that makes their life more than an existance?

I used to wonder at people who had no hobbies or interests at all….I mean, what is that all about???!!! Now I know a new breed of people. The kind who grew up from the ones I mentioned earlier and ‘cultivated’ a few hobbies. I know it is perfectly appropriate to say that a hobby is cultivated but well…that’s just it, isn’t it? As far as I’m concerned, you love doing what you love doing because you love doing it. Simple? Not to a lot of people apparantly. So here’s a sassy ode to my favorite species of lab rats and the things that they claim to enjoy doing! Ha!

The Bibliophile: Okay scream your lungs hoarse, men, before you proceed reading. Yes, tell me that some of you actually do enjoy reading. Fine, now that we have that out of the way, here’s why I don’t believe you. I claim to love reading. I like some authors, some ideologies, some styles of writing and I know why I like them. I think over what I read and I have an opinion. Reading is, I have said before, like sitting inside another person’s head and seeing the world through their eyes. But it doesn’t stop there!!!! I am so sick, sick, sick and tired of men who parrot out things other people have said. Like hello, I know some brilliant people have said some brilliant things but quoting them ad nauseum does not make you appear intelligent, it just reminds me of a tape-recorder. And oh, by the way Peter Drucker, business periodicals and Chicken Soup for the soul don’t count as signs that you are a bibliophile. So for gawdssakes, ladies, before drooling over the ‘intellectual’ find out whether that’s second-hand intelligence that you’re being fed!

The Listener: Likewise actually where music is concerned, as for books. Moreover I want to strangle the person who said ‘If music be the food of love…’ (oh deyaam, was that Shakespeare?). Beware, beware, beware of the specimen that has a song for every one of your moods, women. That’s a man who has been reading ‘How to hook a woman by snooping into her playlist’. Yeah, yeah I’m a cynic. And I’ve just heard too many renditions of ‘Lady in Red’. I have nothing against romantic numbers but its fun to turn around and tell the guy you dig Floyd and Maiden and see what he comes up with then.

The Musician: As opposed to the above species that only listens to music, this one actually makes music. Now he may be good or he may not. I’ve known a few and I can tell you most artists, even the amateurs are faintly temperamental. Which is probably part of their allure (oh, ask me!!) On the other hand, do be prepared to become the audience for the anthology of your new boyfriend’s compositions. Not to mention private renditions of their works-in-progress. A song, just like a building can be a masterpiece when complete. But just like the brick-laying and cement-mixing isn’t pretty, the process of finding the correct tune, getting it right on those instruments is fairly nerve-wracking (especially if you have to listen to ever goddamn plink and wrong boom-thump) Another point to note is he’s likely to have some kind of a band, even if they only play in the car park (we don’t have that many garages here!) And no, if you think you like one musician and you’ll love the lot, you’re likely to be disappointed. It was a musician-boyfriend who pointed out the different personality types in a band. He said,

The lead guitarist is probably a charmer, the smooth talker, who gets in with all the babes. He’s the most visible one of course. The drummer is likely to be anti-social, which is why he prefers sitting behind the huge set up making big noise and not being disturbed by the world.

Ah, and what did my boyfriend do? He was the bass guitarist, easy-going and charming enough to be part of the ‘front’ but not so ambitious as to want to upstage the lead. I validate that as well as his observation of the rest of the band. Pick your musician with care.

The Traveller: Now this type is fairly fascinating for his multiple exposure. I’m however crossed by the sneaky suspicion that he views the world by a Marie Antoinette-esque viewpoint, oblivious to the idea that most people wouldn’t choose to live in shanties, dirty roads et al if they had a choice. Besides, you know what someone’s grandma said (mine didn’t, she wouldn’t have approved of dating!)…”Don’t fall in love with a traveller, I’ll tell you why, he’ll take you to the airport and kiss you goodbye.” Well, realistically speaking this is obviously a man who likes a change in scenery ever so often so what does that say about his stability? Debatable I know, but worth thinking about.

The Conoisseur: Oh god, how I hate/loathe/detest/abhor this type! His muse may be wine, fine art or literature. Whatever it is, you can be assured that you won’t be spared without a lesson at every opportunity. And no, don’t think it’ll work out well if you share the taste. The conoisseur is snobbish about his interest and it defines him. He’ll brook no competition and it will perpetually be a game of one-upmanship of who knows better. Blah, who gives a damn…I know I’ve wanted to stuff the grand interest in some extremely uncomfortable places.

The Couch Potato: Ah, the only real hobby that my generation has. It’s called the idiot box, darling, but the idiots sit outside it not inside. Nuff’ said.

The Monitor Maniac: Okay, this is a tad different from Couch Potato. The internet is a smorgasbord of delights after all. Gaming, chat, blogging and let’s not forget…porn. There’s a whole new world in there! So what’re you doing outside it, baby? Perhaps you met online. Chweet. Maybe you should keep it that way instead of trying to take it offline. ‘Never the twain shall meet. So forget about the “Do you think we should meet?” It spells doom for an online relationship in the exact same way that three other little words do on a real-world relationship.

The Gamer: As specifically different from Couch Potato and Monitor Maniac. Some things that should be warning signs. 1. He enjoys speeding, fighting and cussing. 2. He is thrilled by the idea of hitting a few buttons and changing lives. 3. His latest score defines how happy he is. Once again, he’s similar to the Conoisseur in that his interest governs his sense of self-worth and while he may seem to gravitate to you on the grounds of shared interest, he most certainly won’t brook any competition. Well, go battle it out over the joysticks if you like. I’ve thrown the damn lot out of the window with the remote control.

The Artist: Now this type I do like. Also unlike the Gamer/Conoisseur, there’s no such a thing as competition among those who love their art and are confident about it. If you share the interest, you might even learn something from each other. On the other hand, there is the temperament, weirdness and the addictions that build the stereotype. Ah well, roll me another joint baby…

The Sportsman: This one as different from the Gamer since he plays games in the real world, not on a computer/TV screen/mobile phone. I don’t actually know too many of this type, possibly since I gravitate to the more ‘heavy-head’ types. I imagine the guy would be quite pleasant if he played some sort of team sport though there’s the whole thing of his having way too many ‘boys’ nights out’. I’m mortally afraid (like every other woman) of the locker-room talk phenomena as well. But that’s unfair I guess, men gossip as a rule, behind lockers or water-coolers. On the other hand, this type is likely to be closer to the whole virile-brutal-masculine thought than his less ‘active’ counterparts. Well, if you can bear to live in ‘Oog hunt. Oog kill. Oog be number 1.’ land, then he’s the one for you. Besides he’ll come in useful if you’re faced by a gang of hooligans.

The Gastronome: I never know what to say to this type. I’m after all, someone who thinks that food is fuel to the body-machine and nothing more. Also, the typical Indian man who loves food is scandalised by the thought of a woman who doesn’t enjoy cooking and horrors, admits to it as well! Whatever on earth can be so interesting about eating? I’m flummoxed. But well, this man is probably the easiest to hook with the age-old wisdom of the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. Hmm, just watch it with the oily snacks though, you don’t want that adage to refer to cholestrol and have him blame you for his deteriorating health.

The Chef: Yes, this type I am absolutely floored by. When a woman can go out and do things that men have been doing for years, what’s better than a man who comes in and does what we’ve been doing for years? A man who likes cooking is a big, big, big turn-on. Besides this is one interest he can’t fib about. 🙂

Have fun with the boys….just check in on how they’re having their fun!

The modern mEn

Having looked at all that the modern woman is going to be, lets look at what the modern men are going to be. Yes, you read that right…the modern womAn and the modern mEn. Because I think there will be multiple stereotypes to describe the kind of man attracted to and by the modern woman (MW).

The Stud: Popular, good-looking, accomplished, this one likes the best of everything, which is why he is attracted to MW and she to him. The relationships are bound to be short-lived though….someone has to be audience when one is performing and neither of these two will want to give up center-stage.

The Thinker: Philosophical, idealistic and yet cynical, intellectual..of course this one would love MW. She epitomises all that he’s been predicting for years about the world and she in turn loves the challenge he represents. Thus begins a new era of ‘Masculine Mystique’

The Lost Planet: Initially described as the sensitive male, probably the only way he can stay both sensitive and male is by escaping into his inner world. MW may throw a fit everytime he appears not to have heard her and then call her therapist to discuss how ‘MEN NEVER LISTEN!!!’

The Sad Soul (dukhi aatma!): There aren’t wimps any more. There are men who let their MW do whatever the hell they like with them, just so long as they can whine about it to the next MW that comes along. Am not sure why the MW likes this type…guess its deep-rooted guilt and latent maternal urges surfacing.

The Creeper: As the title implies, this is the one that likes to jump the bandwagons. Not a Stud or a Thinker, the only way this one sees to land a woman is to creep up on her quietly and take her over. He uses her to climb to where he wants to, doesn’t mind being the one draped on her arm, just so long as he’s seen with her. Just a highly evolved male specimen still exhibiting the very masculine need for status symbols.

The Parasite: This one differs from the Creeper in that he believes in cutting open the goose that gives golden eggs a.k.a. MW. There must be a machochistic gene programmed into the female DNA since this sort has existed from time immemorial and the smarter/stronger/more successful the woman, the more likely she is to get a Parasite. She has to be better, faster, richer, prettier…more than what she currently is and if she doesn’t try trying, she’ll definitely end up a sad echo of her former formidable self. Why do we assume only shy, weak, timid ladies get harassed and abused?

Certainly there will be more but I think these would be the broad categories of behaviour that influence and are influenced by the modern woman. It occurs to me that this whole post has an air of cynicism about it. Well go ahead and prove me wrong….I love a challenge. MW would.

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