A reply to "27 and unmarried"

I recently came across this article "27 and Unmarried?" on somebody's facebook post. This article describes the thoughts of a yet unmarried Indian lady with regards to her dream mate. I would recommend reading this article. It's well written and rather enjoyable. I was thinking of a suitable/witty comment, but I could hardly come up with one. You see, an fb comment needs to be just short enough to elicit reader interest. However, I had lots to say. In order to do justice I decided to dedicate an entire blogpost to the reply. The reader would have to read her article first in order to make sense of this blogpost.

I do not know the author of the article. Nor have I read her blog before. However, I am an Indian-Bengali-USA-residing-Coder-Single-Guy and this just got personal. Ofcourse no malice was directed at any particular group. Still I could not help feeling a touch helpless after reading this article. Helplessness at my own fate. There were several aspects to her article that I had an opinion on.

On self-made men and romance : I think I can understand what Italian and Greek men have. The zest for life and the strength of character that makes men men. The behavior of men is ruled by desire, emotion and knowledge. A person who can harness the power of all of these at will and with with moderation is justifiably a genuine man. And I am not making this shit up. Plato is responsible for spewing this wisdom. It's not that Indian guys are incapable of being adventurous romantic men. But you must consider the circumstances. Every loving responsible Indian mom and dad, wants their son to be successful in life. That usually ends up making zombie coders who emigrate to the US. If the circumstances were different. If there was economic safety, freedom of spirit, art and adventure in youth then things would be different. You would certainly get a lot more Italian types in Indian men. It's nurture not nature here that is messing things up. How I wish the environment could be changed.

On Dominance Relationships: The author talks about her MB man taking the initiative always. In ballroom dancing it's always the guy who is supposed to lead. However, the dominatrix in the woman is also pretty strong. That's why "girls with oodles of self esteem" are not to be taken lightly. Sparks fly. An aggressive courting ensues until one softens up. \cite{Brothers Karamazov - Dosteovsky}. It's a good game. I like such games.

Genetics and predestination: What do you do when your genes are stacked against you? When brawn doesn't come to you naturally ? You can feel helpless for yourself. You can feel spite for the world that values such embellishments as puffy muscles and broad chests. Or you can put your best foot forward and with the humility that only real pride can afford, offer something else. Offer passion, love, care and good conversation.

On Stereotypes and generalizing : Not every Indian-Bengali-USA-residing-Coder-Single-Guy wants to take out a mortgage on a house in Seattle. There are those with a spark of adventure, a spirit of daring, anger in life and those who will be the first to take the initiative, pin down and kiss.

And, that's all I have to say about that.

My Run

Some readers might know me well enough to be aware that I like running. I've run two city marathons and completed one ultra trail challenge so far. Given that I blog about rather small things, it might seem somewhat strange that I have stayed away from blogging about my running. There's a lot to write about, no doubt. However, I felt hesitant whenever I tried to pen down something. I attribute this reluctance to the fact that running is a deeply personal experience for me. What happens in my head tends to stay in my head. Nevertheless, I'll try to shine a light on some.

What do I think of when I run ? I'll answer that by mentioning what I don't think of. I don't think about research, I don't think about buying an ipad, I don't think about bad relationships and I don't think about schedules or deadlines. in fact I don't think about a god damn thing. Thoughts that do enter my mind are something like, "thirsty - need water", "uphill - fuck", "car - careful", "come on one more mile". Though, it's mostly blankness punctuated by the sound of my feet and the rhythm of my breathing. There's a 10 feet wide bubble around me and that is my world. Time melts away, priorities disintegrate and facades collapse. And trail runs are even better. There's something primal, to be running past the trees and by the stream, crossing bridges and skirting gorges. If ever I have had doubts about existence, they dissipate. I feel more in touch with my true self whilst sucking on the sweet nectar of life.

Old man George

His name was George,
and his age was old.
His height was short,
and his head was bald.

He wore long pants,
shorts were not his style.
His shoes were polished,
leather bode him well.

He might have been black,
but he could have been white.
He might have been a crook,
yet he could have been a king.

He looked like a serious man,
he seemed very focused.
What was he doing there,
squatting on your garden lawn?

Knew this not anyone,
nor did anyone care.
Except the brown young man,
with the glint in his eye.

The sweat on his furrow,
dropped onto the thirsty earth.
While stubby gnarly fingers,
pulled at the stubborn weeds.

Slowly and painfully,
did George's hands move.
Slowly and painfully,
was I forced to watch.

Paralyzed did he stand,
the brown young man.
What was I to do,
the brown young man ?