A fine, sunny day not too far in the future, I intend to take the plunge. The decision, I must tell you, was not brought about by any of the usual reasons. Nope, not for me the plea of 'companionship', 'two bodies, one soul' or any such. My excuse for matrimony is more basic (no, not, er, that!), more selfish. Marriage, I have found out, is the fastest -- and easiest -- way to respectability. And respectability it is that I seek with this lil' act of mine. A bit hard to believe, this claim, I know. But, trust me, I base it on irrefutable proof -- after all, I researched bachelorhood thoroughly for the first 26 years of life, didn't I? Look at it my way. What is the first question that you get asked when you go hunting for a house? If things haven't changed drastically since last year and the year before and the year before and the one before, it is an impolite request for your marital status. "No, not married," you say apologetically. "Oh, I see..." comes the reply, "In that case..." In that case the owner is: a) sorry but can't give you the house b) just remembered that his wife's uncle's cousin's daughter and family were moving in shortly c) ready to give you the house only if you deposit an astronomical amount (which he quotes without batting an eyelid) and double the usual rent. You plead, you beg. You even promise to get married the very next month. But no dice. The owner knows what he wants -- namely, a wife for you. A gent sans lady just is not respectable enough for the house, sorry. See what I mean? Now take the case of neighbours. Watch the way they crane their necks trying to see into your house, the way they inspect it minutely for clues of feminine presence. And if they find it? Oh, the transformation is simply fab. Suddenly you become good enough to be smiled at. The married lady opposite decides you are safe to flirt with, while her portly husband shows an ungentlemanly interest in your wife. You are invited for dinners and they come over for lunches... And if you are wifeless? Sorry, bachelor boy, no smiles for you. Only suspicious stares. The portly husband puts a protective arm around his wife's shoulder every time they pass you by. And the lady looks as if she wished that you would make a pass at her so that she would have the pleasure of slapping you. Dinners are solitary affairs... As for lunches -- well, don't worry, no one is coming over. Since I have stuck my neck out this far, I might as well go right ahead and brave the wrath of a lady or few. I mean, why is it that most women -- especially the married variety -- take an instant suspicion of me and my brothers? Bloody unfair, their association of any and every nose-wrinkly thing with us poor chaps. The way they go one would think that all bachelors live in untidy houses, wear unwashed clothes, have uncombed hair, are unshaven...in short, *sigh* vermin of the highest order. Sample this conversation which I had with a married lady a few days ago: Lady (to another Mrs): "You leaving early? Planning to cook?" Bachelor Me (thinking she's addressing me): "Yeah, nothing elaborate. Thought I will make some curd rice." First Lady (with nose high in the air): "Tum? You? Cook?" Second lady (with disbelief writ on her face): "You can cook?" Bachelor Me: "Sort of..." First Lady (refusing to lower nose from air): "Whaaat sort of? Arre, we are not like you, yaar! We have to cook something edible..." May I humbly remind her and her sisters that no one is born a married man? May I, with all the chivalry an unmarried one can muster, gently point out that, once upon a time, her husband too was a bachelor -- so could she go a little easy on the sarcasm, please? I have racked my brains hard, but I still have this doubt. What is so fair about the fair sex? To my mind, nothing. Not a thing. In fact, there's quite a bit unfair about them. Take a look at their demand for complete equality. A solid one, that. Completely just. I am all for it. But then, figuratively, why do they -- I amend that to 'many' -- expect a man to hold the door open for her? To let her pass through first? To sacrifice his seat? Isn't it the lady who gets preference in most cases (arguable, but I really do believe that)? Isn't it, in other words, a question of having your cake and eating it too? A post script. If I get labelled MCP, which I expect to, and disappear never to be heard of after this -- if that happens, it's the feminists who did me in! Chindu Sreedharan leaves for Kargil tomorrow to hunt for a wife.
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