You Poor, Poor Man, You
Updated: Jun 7
I’ve decided that I’m going to finish this post, come what may. See, I’ve been starting posts and giving up half-way so that my post-list now has a dozen drafts that aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. But not today. Today, I’m all geared up on an adult hot chocolate (I throw a shot of whiskey in, try it sometime) and I see a promising time ahead.
So. This one goes out to the boys.
Shouldn’t come as a surprise, what with the Delhi rape thing going on. But that’s not the only thing that’s got me riled up about this male-female issue.
It’s the way some men have gone all “It’s so unfair, man, we have it just as bad as chicks.”
Yeah. Um. NO YOU DON’T.
You think it’s tough that society expects a lot from you, to be the breadwinner and to be tough and not cry and act all macho and shit, well, sweetie, you ain’t seen nothing yet. The day society expects you to be covered from head to toe, at all times, even in the blazing heat of the summer, let’s talk then. When you’re expected to not set foot outside your home after 7, while your siblings can return home at midnight, let’s talk then. When society expects you to come home after a packed working day and cook for the entire family, which is something you don’t even like doing, by the way, let’s compare notes then. The day it expects you to put family first, ahead of a job you love and judges you if your kid isn’t like something out of a Dr. Seuss book, let’s talk then. The day it judges you for leaving a husband who treated your face like a punching bag, the day your parents blame you for not making the marriage work and expect you to go back to him, let’s bring this up then. The day your childhood is sold to a pimp, like you’re not even human, let’s talk then. The day ANYTHING you do is considered as “asking for it”, let’s talk then.
Expectations? You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, pal.
You think chicks have it easy because we get quotas and reservations and we get anything we want by sleeping around or crying? Dude, if we got anything we wanted by doing that, we’d have laws that hand out capital punishment to rapists and castration to eve teasers. We’d have more public urinals for women, better nutrition, compulsory education and the right to gouge out the eyes of anyone whose gaze steers southward of our necks. See that happening anytime soon?
No? I wonder why. I mean, chicks have it so easy, right?
And then, there’s the “progressive” ones among you. The ones who think that if women want equality, we should stop expecting special treatment. If you want to be equal to men, you say, don’t expect us to treat you like you’re a woman. Oh, bring it on, love. Don’t stare at me in a public place, go on. Swear all you like, make all the bawdy, sexist, idiotic jokes you want. Because in your head, having to forego that isn’t courtesy, it’s “special treatment”. Go on, do it. I’ll just say all the things I don’t around men. Period talk, constipation, pregnancy woes, you know, the stuff that makes you cringe and run away. Because, hey, we’re equals. Why should you get “special treatment” either, right?
You think PMS is an excuse too, don’t you? Come on, darling, let’s see YOU be pleasant days before you KNOW you’re going to start bleeding from your man-hose for four days straight. Let’s see YOU be a real delight through stomach cramps, swollen man-boobs, headaches and mood-swings all at the same time. Let’s see YOU not snap, not lose control, not get violent or say something that will damage the fragile ego of the women around you. Oh, didn’t you know? We have those too. We’re not supposed to, so don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.
And don’t worry. I won’t play the pregnancy card. Because I know that had it been YOU having to give up alcohol and nicotine for two years, eat healthy, exercise, read books on raising a baby while managing the house, your job and the charming bouts of vomiting every morning, you’d do it without complaining. You’d have a natural birth too, no doubt, possibly without an epidural because you’re a man, right? Big, brave, warrior of a man? Out of curiosity though, when was the last time you passed a turd more than a few inches wide without thinking you’re going to pass out from the pain and then die? Just asking.
But I forgot, we were discussing excuses. You want to talk about excuses, honey-bun? Let’s talk about the biggest excuse given for everything women have had to put up with. It’s what excuses rape, domestic violence, purdahs and burqas, honour killings, item songs, eve-teasing, kidnapping, assault, marital rape, military rape, dowry, dowry deaths, female infanticide, female illiteracy, sexual harassment in the workplace, sexual exploitation, prostitution and any other thing women have been fighting, sorry, “whining” about all this time.
You know what that excuse is that we’ve been given by your kind, you poor little, mistreated, misunderstood, downtrodden Man?
It’s this: I have a penis. You don’t.
Still want to talk about unfair?