Women's Corner

You never corner a woman. If you do and if God exists, only he can save you. Or perhaps not even him. In the long years of insecurity in women’s history, there are a few fun facts.

Women were never treated as equals in the history, save recently, let’s say the past hundred years perhaps. But they had a very strong hold over minds of men. But that hold was limited in the sense that they couldn’t really argue with the breadwinner. It was customary in “those” times that men worked to earn and women looked after the house. Now there was this paradox that restaurants served food in exchange for money and not vice-versa. So the woman suffered from a lack of leverage.

So the dominance of men continued to prevail and women were divided into two broad categories:

The ones who were pampered and the ones who were abused.

The man who pampers a woman can be of two types. Either he loves her too much or is just using her as a tool for his lust and convenience.

The person who abuses a woman can be only of one category and I don’t want to discuss about that. That is a complete different chapter involving violence, and should be dealt in other ways. We can, but, discuss about the kinds of non-violent ways women are being treated by men.

In “those” times stubborn women were either abused like a slave or pampered like a child.

But in these times when women are treated as equal, they are seldom abused. They are either pampered or challenged by rational argument.

Well, we all know a woman likes to be pampered.

Now, what about the person who corners a woman in an argument? Perhaps he is the one who treats her as an equal and worthy of a discussion, and finds pride in beating an equal opponent.

Ironically, he is the one who suffers the most.

It’s up to the woman, what she wants, go back to “those” times or find pride in being fairly and equally challenged?

P.S.: I believe women have a rational mind, but they don’t want to expose it. If they can have an edge in a relationship by pretending to be irrational, why expose their sense of rationality and let go of all the benefits their irrational whims serve them?

The Chipping Hammer

“Does it take that much time?” I am thoroughly compelled to say “Yes you moron, it does.” But I refrain from using these superlative words. It has been happening on a daily basis now and I suddenly feel the need to explode. I go to the carpenter’s workshop and pick up a chipping hammer, in a chipping gun’s stead, perhaps because it helps you vent better. I go outside on the deck and rush back in. A gust of fresh wind on my face had chilled the veins in my cheeks. I wear a monkey-cap under my helmet and go out again. Its quarter to three in the afternoon in the northern latitude of seventy one degrees. It’s dark as hell. And as freezing. In the distance I see a red rectangle.

“Oh it’s a fire hose box. I’m the one responsible for its maintenance. So let me do something.”
I raise my hammer and take aim.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

Flakes of moist, frozen rust fly. One enters my eye. I cry out loud. No one’s there. No one hears my cry. I go to the emergency eye wash cubicle on the deck and wash my eye with water. The feeling of relief is readily overcome by the not-yet-subsided-anger. I take aim at the fire hose box once again. I will hole it, I say in my mind. Its better sometimes, to listen to your brain. This becomes soon very apparent to me even as I stop my hammer just before the last flakes of rust fly off and the pale shiny metal appears. Two more strokes and it would have given in.

“Idiot! It’s you who’ll be screwed if it gets holed. It’s you who’ll have to mend it.” This echoes in my brain as the anger in me grows more and more faint.

I come inside and make my presence felt to a pair of owl’s eyes.

“Oh it’s already dark. Don’t be on deck after its dark. It’s not safe. Go have some rest.”

What the hell. I am done hearing all this safety gibberish. “See dude,” I want to say, “you can’t have your cake and eat it too.” But I once again refrain from it.

I remember someone’s words, “Dude, just two words and your life will be set.” I blurt out without thinking “Yes Sir.”

I go to my cabin and have a hearty laugh.

An Analogy of India's Independence

There's a parasite sucking your blood. He's been doing this for ages. He says to you: "You have an option to kick me hard and drive me away, but since you are non-violent and won't hit me, I have another option for you". "What plan do you have?", you ask. He says: "Following are my conditions, which, if you meet, I shall stop sucking your blood.

They are:

1. I'll amputate one of your limbs of my choice.
2. Some of my tentacles which I've shed during my moulting process, are sticking on your body. They are my property and and you'll have to buy that from me before I leave.
3. Since your body has become used to me, and also, I somehow feel responsible for your well being, you'll have to assure me that it functions well in my absence."

You ask: "I never asked you to leave. Why so much fuss?" He says: "I'm tired of sucking your blood. Besides, your blood has now degraded in quality."

Cupid and the Poacher

Falling in love is easy, just like a trap, you go in and there's no way out.The poacher is cruel, never lets you go and yet you are gone. Where to, no one knows. He hurts you, may be its not his intention, but he doesn't care too if you are hurt. He carries you to the fire and slaughters you there, if he's merciful. Otherwise he just roasts you alive. And before doing that he never forgets to get himself snapped standing over you (or your corpse, whatever the case may be).

This has been happening for millennia. Cupid shoots, the prey falls (in love) , and the poacher tramples it and devours the flesh. Can't he be content eating vegetables?