Here I am again wining
as usual, wondering what breed the human race is. I can’t quite fathom why the
culture of double speak and double standards continue to be the order of the
day. Is it that we can’t really place what we stand for? Or is it just a mere
case of pledging allegiance to principles alien to us? Either way, it’s not for
me to pass judgments; mine is simply to take it all in and revel in the drama. Today
I stumbled on her, seductively walking along the pavements in high heels. Her confidence
was impressive, her attitude nauseating and her perception somewhat irritating.
I was a few steps behind her, wondering what on earth would make a woman feel
like the world is at her feet. I know I might be branded a male chauvinist by
the so called custodians of the girl child. To that, I say find the strongest
of terms.
So when incidentally I found
myself sitting opposite her in a coffee shop, I couldn’t help but acclaim her
sense of beauty, her style, demeanor and rather infectious presence. She was
everything cosmetic in the literal sense of the word. Everything seemed to be
fine and we sipped whatever we were drinking without a fuss, pretentious of
each other’s presence, oblivious of the tension growing between us. When her
friend joined her, I found myself straining my ears to catch every single word
they said. Now don’t get me wrong brethrens (pun not intended). I kind of have
a thing for women of intellect, the kind that not only flaunt their beauty but
also have the muscle to sustain an intellectual conversation for an hour.
I wanted to find out
what lay behind the beauty. So when she retorted that all men are dogs, I subconsciously
answered “what breed is your father?” I hadn’t prepared myself for the backlash
not to mention that I had clearly crossed the line. If eyes could kill,
yesterday was the last of the days you could have heard from me dear diary. She
was visibly enraged, uttering obscenities I couldn’t quite comprehend, her face
was red and her body language bailed for my blood. I sat there, completely
unmoved, knowing that when it came to justifying what I had said, she was a no
show.
Dear diary, I have always
wondered why people uphold double standards, why people say one thing when they
mean the other. Here I was face to face with a perfect example of the fallacy
of accident and converse accident. What does “all” mean? And why is it that
when I asked a harmless question backed by what she had stated she buckled? The
irony is that while everyone has been clamoring for gender equality for women,
men seem to be constantly on the losing end. We have been fed with lies and
fallacies that the very existence of a girl child is under threat (a figment of
imagination if you asked me). All along, men have been ceding ground in an
attempt to level the playing field. However, women acquire new ground but never
cede an inch of their own ground!
Back to this beautiful
lady at the coffee shop, you guessed it right! I was labeled an even bigger dog
who could not mind his own business. An idler whose very source of satisfaction
is in listening to other peoples conversation! Alas! Now this was expected! But
then, if you think what you are saying might offend someone sitting next to
you, why not do it in private? I do not speak for the masses because for long I
have believed that masses are asses. I do not care what you think- whether you
think am a perfect gentleman or a male chauvinist who needs to be put in his
place. I stand guilty on many fronts I suppose. But cammon! Give me a break! You
and I are no different. I could have gone home crestfallen, my ego battered, my
confidence shaken. But in my characteristic style, i could not allow this
stupid incidence to get to me.
That is why dear diary,
I thought I should record it down for memorabilia, to act as a reminder of how
selfish we humans are. Other than this rather unfortunate encounter, my day was
great. I attained a few of my goals, achieved a few milestones and kimale as
usual never left my mind. Of late she has become a like a bad cold lingering in
my body. However, much I try to shake the feeling of, it dawns on me that she
is my drug, my addiction! With her as my addiction, rehabilitation center is a
prison………….I rest my case for today dear diary.
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