An ode to nice guys

One of my friends sent me this link today morning, and I had to put the post I was writing on hold to quote this one. This is why there is hope, even for me! ;)

http://www.stwing.upenn.edu/~jenf/writing/rant04.html

This is a tribute to the nice guys. The nice guys that finish last, that never become more than friends, that endure hours of whining and bitching about what assholes guys are, while disproving the very point. This is dedicated to those guys who always provide a shoulder to lean on but restrain themselves to tentative hugs, those guys who hold open doors and give reassuring pats on the back and sit patiently outside the changing room at department stores. This is in honor of the guys that obligingly reiterate how cute/beautiful/smart/funny/sexy their female friends are at the appropriate moment, because they know most girls need that litany of support. This is in honor of the guys with open minds, with laid-back attitudes, with honest concern. This is in honor of the guys who respect a girl’s every facet, from her privacy to her theology to her clothing style.

This is for the guys who escort their drunk, bewildered female friends back from parties and never take advantage once they’re at her door, for the guys who accompany girls to bars as buffers against the rest of the creepy male population, for the guys who know a girl is fishing for compliments but give them out anyway, for the guys who always play by the rules in a game where the rules favor cheaters, for the guys who are accredited as boyfriend material but somehow don’t end up being boyfriends, for all the nice guys who are overlooked, underestimated, and unappreciated, for all the nice guys who are manipulated, misled, and unjustly abandoned, this is for you.

This is for that time she left 40 urgent messages on your cell phone, and when you called her back, she spent three hours painstakingly dissecting two sentences her boyfriend said to her over dinner. And even though you thought her boyfriend was a chump and a jerk, you assured her that it was all ok and she shouldn’t worry about it. This is for that time she interrupted the best killing spree you’d ever orchestrated in GTA3 to rant about a rumor that romantically linked her and the guy she thinks is the most repulsive person in the world. And even though you thought it was immature and you had nothing against the guy, you paused the game for two hours and helped her concoct a counter-rumor to spread around the floor. This is also for that time she didn’t have a date, so after numerous vows that there was nothing “serious” between the two of you, she dragged you to a party where you knew nobody, the beer was awful, and she flirted shamelessly with you, justifying each fit of reckless teasing by announcing to everyone: “oh, but we’re just friends!” And even though you were invited purely as a symbolic warm body for her ego, you went anyways. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice guys don’t often get credit where credit is due. And perhaps more disturbing, the nice guys don’t seem to get laid as often as they should. And I wish I could logically explain this trend, but I can’t. From what I have observed on campus and what I have learned from talking to friends at other schools and in the workplace, the only conclusion I can form is that many girls are just illogical, manipulative bitches. Many of them claim they just want to date a nice guy, but when presented with such a specimen, they say irrational, confusing things such as “oh, he’s too nice to date” or “he would be a good boyfriend but he’s not for me” or “he already puts up with so much from me, I couldn’t possibly ask him out!” or the most frustrating of all: “no, it would ruin our friendship.” Yet, they continue to lament the lack of datable men in the world, and they expect their too-nice-to-date male friends to sympathize and apologize for the men that are jerks. Sorry, guys, girls like that are beyond my ability to fathom. I can’t figure out why the connection breaks down between what they say (I want a nice guy!) and what they do (I’m going to sleep with this complete ass now!). But one thing I can do, is say that the nice-guy-finishes-last phenomenon doesn’t last forever. There are definitely many girls who grow out of that train of thought and realize they should be dating the nice guys, not taking them for granted. The tricky part is finding those girls, and even trickier, finding the ones that are single.

So, until those girls are found, I propose a toast to all the nice guys. You know who you are, and I know you’re sick of hearing yourself described as ubiquitously nice. But the truth of the matter is, the world needs your patience in the department store, your holding open of doors, your party escorting services, your propensity to be a sucker for a pretty smile. For all the crazy, inane, absurd things you tolerate, for all the situations where you are the faceless, nameless hero, my accolades, my acknowledgement, and my gratitude go out to you. You do have credibility in this society, and your well deserved vindication is coming.

By the power of Castle Grayskull was it?

He-Man probably gained more popularity the more on-screen appearances he made in his woolly yellow underwear and unmistakably uber-cool sword. I personally feel the more I blog, my misadventures project me as an unruly nut. As long as people get a good laugh out of it, doesn't really bother me I guess. Ah well, so what if I do not inherit the kingdom of Eternia, a ferocious tiger like Battlecat, am happy with my moments of "fame".

Taking off from where I left last time, which honestly I have a vague idea of, there is something inherently wrong with the way God intended men to be. Somehow or the other situations, and awkward ones at that, heave their ugly face up, only to leave us red and blushing or biting our tongue! It is already hard enough to suffer through the adversities of actually having to pick out something reasonable to wear for a traditional dance, to have the "how" to wear it shoved in your face. The sense of accomplishment on having picked out the kurta was so overwhelming, that in my over-zealousness I said "Yo!" to a chudidaar to go with it. Am a man of t-shirts and jeans. I'll go for the occasional kurta or shirt, but ideally something as simple as a t-shirt I can pull over my head with minimal effort makes me happiest. Oh well, I thought to myself, might as well just put in that extra effort.

Now the thing about a chudidaar is that its got rings around the ankles, and I always assumed, having looked at a lot of women's feet for fear of eye contact lest they start pointing fingers, that those came sort of "built in to" the entire pyjama framework. Do no patronise me at this point, because I swear I WILL hit you! So there I stood, in the bathroom, kurta on, pyjama on, and two elongated flippers dangling at my feet. Yes you read that right, I had no clue what to do with that tubular extra foot of cloth at my feet - do I use scissors? Would tying it up be an option? Or am I wearing it wrongly and probably a pyjama is not supposed to be as "low-waist" as a pair of jeans. No matter how much I struggled, that extra foot of cloth just would not disappear.

I resembled a merman to cut a long story short.

Succumbing to the futility of it all, I simply walked out with a blank look across my face, looked up to my friend and went - "What do I do with this flippy thingy or whatever?" There is no need for me to explain in detail how the reaction went, as it is very apparent how people usually react to my "innocent inquisitions" :|

On the bright side I know how to wear a chudidaar now, but that does not compare to having almost half a city know the "merman story". *sigh*

This is not a funny post

A pompous arrogant prick is what I was projected as when I refused to come over for Garba. At the time I took offence to such allegations, for no man in his right mind would want to have himself shake some booty and be the subject of public humiliation! It is a commonly accepted fact that when it comes to flexibility, women far outrun men, especially when it comes to dancing. Give a woman a man who knows his salsa and rumba, not to forget the tango and she'll probably get a short-lived orgasm at the mere mention of it. Pardon my crudeness at this stage, but I really believe the imagery does justice to the connotation ;)

Well enough discussed about the beauty versus beast on the subject of elegance. Two years at Ahmedabad and not once had I been part of the Garba. In my defense, Ahmedabad isn't particularly renowned for the celebration of Mata Ambe in the most fascinating and enticing way, but still, the experience of a collective dance to the tunes of pure Gujarati melodies should have been reason enough. Anyways, moving further from repentance, my brief stint at Mumbai was enough to get that little elf juggling in my head egging me on to go to Baroda to be part of United Ways that, justifiably so, is one of the best places to do the Garba.

Now every little elf has an evil twin, and unfortunately for me, evil reigns supreme at times. I blame my uncanny wit for it. Trust me, humility is not my thing anymore! ;) So while the cute little elf inside was gleefully juggling around, the vile sibling started brewing up a cloud of uncertainty and indecision, an air of shame that corrupted the very excitement of being part of something so enjoyable. Now it would be easy to preach to me that at moments like this, I should introspect and believe in myself and the spirit of the Garba which is to enjoy. Too difficult. But yes, I do realise, there is a stronger power at work here, the power of friends taunting your happiness away. I have two such annoying imbeciles who think it fit to get a whip out and lash me with it whenever the opportunity arises. It is their unrelenting sense of obligation to make me do something which would be good for me that probably has made me enjoy a lot of stuff in the past as well :)

So there I was, in Baroda, a cancelled flight and weird altercation with Shakti Kapoor later, in my kurta pyjama, waiting to leave for the Garba grounds. I must say, in retrospect, I wasn't scared, or anxious, just taken in with an overwhelming sense of awe when I saw all my friends, old and new, dressed up remarkably beautifully! Makes you appreciate Indian beauty all the more. Oh come on ladies, am complimenting you, there is no need to go "hawwww" 'bout it! ;) Colourful is not the word I am looking for, it was more than that, brilliant probably. How they all came up with so much variations in the colour combinations, the dressing styles, with a basic concept of a chaniya-choli was mind-boggling. Trinkets, necklaces, bangles, payals, jhumars - it all just made the effect so, grand.

I was in a plain olive green kurta pyjama, just for the record.

We moved to the grounds. I never fantasised about counting stars while I was a little kid, but that day I was so amazed by the number of people around, that counting them all just seemed so inviting. I would love to count each and every one of them, and as the number grew it would make me all the more exhilarated to know am one among ALL of them! I know by this time you're just too tired of waiting for the part where I take the wrong steps and I either fall down or run someone over with my robotic antics. To be honest, I would have loved for someone else to describe that part for me *ahem ahem cough cough - take the hint!* so am going to give it a window of say, my stay in Delhi to come up with a description of my "performance" as it were, after which I shall myself have to come up with what I thought of it :)

And oh yes, this post is far from over here, lets not forget I did the Garba for 2 days - that has got to count for something! ;) Until we meet next.

Adios.