Crazy little thing called love

You know you've been married for a while when.....

• you meet your husband after a week and you notice lipstick on his collar. And you can joke about it.
• you're having a romantic dinner and your husband is checking out other girls. And you are helping him do it.
  
• you find it highly amusing when you see someone being overly affectionate in public with his spouse. And you assume it is not his wife.
  
• you tell him to start using Rogaine and he tells you to buy some anti-wrinkle cream.
• he forgets your anniversary. And you still forgive him.
• he goes to the night club with a "hot" girl from work and you're not worried.
• you don't rush to do your hair and put on make up just before he gets home but greet him in your PJs and oil in your hair.
• he no longer finds your burnt dinners 'different but delicious'.
• and when his idea of a romantic dinner is take-out chinese, you don't sulk simply because you are glad that you did not have to cook for that one night. Or do the dishes for that matter.

Marriage.

It changes you in more ways than you can imagine.

Even Cowboys cry, sometimes

Does being romantic come in the way of being macho? I've always wondered how a guy knows where to draw the line.

When I go to buy a card and read all the mushy things that Hallmark has to say it touches a chord within. Like all the things I want to say, wish I could say being handed to me on a platter....er... a card. And yes, I totally love receiving those wordy-feely-drippy cards myself. And I can't for my life understand why it is embarrasing for guys to buy cards like that. Don't they realize that buying a card like that will earn you points, no matter what?

And all those things that guys dismiss as being cheesy, soppy, schmaltzy, and mushy, like flowers and chocolates and candle-lit dinners and gondola rides and kissing under the mistletoe, seem like reasonably romantic gestures to me. And I'm not saying that guys don't do all of that. Some of them actually do. But they make it out to be such a task, like it was something they wouldn't have done under normal circumstances. Or so they brag to their "men" friends. Because it is not considered "macho"?

I love watching hopeless romantic movies and I will sit and cry my eyes out when Cary Grant finds out why Deborah Kerr did not meet him on top of the Empire State Building in An Affair to Remember, or when Clark Gable kisses Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind or when Richard Gere comes riding the limosine waving a bouquet for Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman or that scene from A Walk in the Clouds or When Harry met Sally or that last scene in Ghost. I cry because I am happy that there is so much love around. Love makes me cry. Yeah, I am kind of crazy that way. And I just cannot picture a guy sitting around and watching those movies with me. And wiping tears of joy. Or even appreciating the fact that it is all so beautiful. Guys just laugh, smirk, call it a "chick-flick" and walk away. Leaving you with a box of tissues and a runny nose.

Okay so guys draw the line when it comes to being soppy and emotional. But when that translates into being romantic what is a guy to do? How would a guy know why the arrogance and pride of Mr. Darcy appeals to so many women if he has dismissed Austen's Pride and Prejudice as chick lit? Or why Edward Lewis (Richard Gere) of Pretty Woman appealed to millions of females across the globe in spite of his character's infidelity and sleeping with a 'hooker'. And why Bryan Adam's (Everything I do) I DoIt For You broke all pop chart records. Guys will never get it, will they?

A pity. Because I would find a guy macho even if he shed a few tears and held my hand during a movie. Okay may be not tears, but handing me a tissue would be nice. And then decided to buy me a present for no reason at all. And no, an oil change gift certificate from Jiffy Lube does not count. Perfume, lingerie or chocolate would be nice, thank you. Perfumed candles, bath oils, a dozen roses....bring 'em on. And I think a guy going down on one knee with a ring in his hand is mighty sexy. But that's just me. And I'm a woman. And that doesn't count, does it?

Bong men can't cook (unless they get married)

Okay the title of this post is an invitation for trouble. But before any of you fly off your handle and start protesting violently do read through this post and give me a fair hearing.

I was talking to someone the other day who was trying to tell me about his culinary prowess. Now the fact that this person was male, unmarried and a bongoshontan* made it a little hard for me to believe that he could and would be able to rustle up a meal. The truth of the matter is almost every single unmarried Bong** guy I have come across seems unwilling to spend time in the kitchen unless there is a dire emergency. And by that I mean either severe gastric pangs. Or a girl-pataoing, impression creating, show-off involved. Outside of those circumstances I refuse to believe a Bong guy will toil for hours in the kitchen preparing ras malai and palak paneer.

I know you will toss statistics around about how most of the famous chefs are male and how men are passionate about their skill and do it out of the sheer love of cooking, unlike women who do it because historically speaking they have always been expected to prepare the food. And then we have people like Gordon Ramsay who go around spreading stories like this. And I am not denying any of that. It could very well be true. I am talking about a completely different genre here. And that is Bong men. And yes, I am stereotyping. And generalizing. Because every single Bong guy I have seen has never willingly tread the culinary path. And I think I even the know the reason for such apathy. It's the Bong women!

You see right from the beginning the little Bong guy is taught that cooking is a woman's forte and the kitchen is Mom's domain. A haven where men do not trespass. So the Bong Mom cooks and cleans and spends hours inside the kitchen while the menfolk get fed and coddled and protected from any sort of culinary exposure. Take for example my Dad. A typical Bong male who went from the pampered preserve of my Grandmother's sanctuary straight into the one prepared by my Mom. I have never seen my Dad fetch a glass of water for himself, let alone getting his own food. Yes, that is how mollycoddled he has been. And the strange thing is no one in my family finds it unusual. And we have a long line of culinary-dysfunctional males in the family. Every uncle, every cousin, every single male member has never had to cook or work in the kitchen. Ever.

So I know what you are saying at this point. That it is a problem in my family. A strange familial malfunction. But the fact is I have seen this same problem in almost all Bong male friends. Take P for example. All his life P has never had to fend for himself because Momma always took care of him. And then P decided to step out of his known territory. He came to the US for higher education. And P learnt that Momma wasn't around to prepare food anymore. So what would any normal person do in this case? They'd learn to cook and feed himself, right? But not P. He found a place where they sold Indian food and started having lunch and dinner over there. And P was quite proud of his ability to prepare the occasional Ramen noodles (if you can call that preparing). And it was exactly the same for A and S and D and AD. Eat out every day and have instant noodles when they were in a "cooking" sort of mood. That is until they got married. A-ha! You did notice that this entire generalization was against the unmarried kind (save the exceptions from another generation like my Dad).

Once these malfunctioning men get married things start changing. A little. They start learning new things. That the kitchen is not meant for the woman alone. And that a little help goes a long way (and I will refrain from elaborating here). And that cooking isn't all that difficult to begin with. And may be once in a while it can even be fun. So they start with cutting and slicing and doing the dishes to watching the milk so that it doesn't boil over and move on to more technically challenging things like following a recipe and preparing food. I have seen a newly wed Bong guy trying to impress the missus with an "apple" curry where he chopped up potatoes and apples (for the lack of any other available vegetable) and got dinner together before his wife came home from work. Needless to say the wife was very specific about the kind of help she desired the next time she asked him to cook anything. But Bong men learn fast. And one guy who tried to substitute cooking oil with cream cheese, cooked chicken in it and ended up with a charred, half-cooked mess that no one would eat, can now boast of making the best chinese food this side of the Atlantic.

So what is it about marriage that makes the guy want to wear the apron? Is it the desire to help the wife with household chores? Is it a new-found interest that they inherit along with the wedding band? Is it the fact that they have a person who will endure all culinary experiments and appreciate every effort? Or is the desire to survive the "unable to cook" reputation that is almost as unpalatable as the one with Bong nicknames.

So please bear with me while I wipe away tears of laughter when I hear an unmarried Bong guy say he makes the best Biriyani and Chicken chaap.

* bongoshontan son of Bengal
** Bong Bengali

Oh, the things that we do

Men will always be men. And men will always turn and look at an attractive female. Call it nature, call it hormones. It happens. And I have resigned myself to the fact that I live with a man, and that my man will follow his instincts and never disappoint a female if she happens to be attractive. He will always turn and look when one is in the vicinity. It's like this little radar that men have that starts beeping like crazy everytime a potential victim steps within range.

"Sexy, tall, gorgeous female in the short skirt straight ahead"
"Little to the left bombshell in tight pants"
"On the right the blonde with terrific legs"

He seeks them out. Without fail everytime. And I'm walking right next to him and he may be talking to me about mundane things like bills and buying detergent. But all I'm hearing is the "beep" "beep" from his radar and I'm too busy trying to see who he is checking out. No wonder I miss half of what he is saying. I'm too preoccupied trying to intercept the signals that are being transmitted.

Okay, now that I have mentally accepted the fact that I cannot stop the radar from latching on to signals that are being generated all around me, I have decided that the least I can do is to set up a filter of some kind and have a say in the ones that catch his fancy. So everytime I hear the beeper going:

"To the left, straight ahead sexy dropdead gorgeous"

I turn to see who the signal's coming from and see a woman in a skimpy top and mini skirt. And I turn to him aghast and say, "Sweetheart you can't be serious. That woman's a bitch and she's dressed like a tramp. You cannot possibly be checking her out!"

B looks at me and smiles, "But I like women who dress like tramps."

"But she's old. And she has a kid with her!"

"I've always liked older women."

Now I'm positively shattered. Not only is my husband checking out other females while he is with me. But he's checking out middle aged, trashy females. With kids! That has to be quite the limit. I mean, the least he can do is to look at nice young attractive females. Let me be proud of the ones that are catching his fancy. But not someone who looks like my middle-aged next door neighbor in hot pants. That actually goes ouch! Like a slap in the face. And that is simply unacceptable.

So now when we go out I have my own radar up and running and I take the utmost pains in picking out the very best and drawing his attention to them.

"Honey to your left... over there..... the one in the black skirt.....the one in the tank top.....over there in red".

Of course my radar language is way tamed down compared to the one his radar speaks, but we both understand what we are talking about here. And for the most part I can get him to see what I want him to see. But occasionally signals from his radar can get in the way and cause some interference.

And he goes, "No that one is too skinny. I don't like skinny girls. But on the other hand you see the woman in the tight skirt....she's hot."

And I immediately say, "But you're saying that because her neckline's almost down to her navel. She's old enough to be my mother. Showing some cleavage doesn't make her hot. And just so you know, she's got implants."

I give him a triumphant look.

He looks at me with eyes as wide as saucers and goes, "No way! How the hell do you know that?"

One knowing look later I say, "Sweetheart check out that girl to your left. The one in the spaghetti straps."

And he turns immediately.
I smile.

Gentlemen prefer.......

Beauty is only skin deep. Right? Apparently not. Okay let me elaborate a little on what a funny realization I had over the past week.

I had a haircut last weekend. Okay........ what's the big deal, you ask me. Well you see this was my first proper "haircut" in say, ten years. I know you are wondering which end of the planet I just sprung from. Well you see I wear my hair kind of long. I mean it is really, really long. And all I've ever done to it in this last decade is just trimmed off the end to avoid getting split ends (I know I'm losing you guys....but the girls will know what I'm talking about). And since it reaches to beyond my waist I felt that leaving it open would not only be messy but would pose to be a dangerous thing with the potential of getting my tresses tangled in barbed wires and the like. Hence....for the last eight years or so I've been piling up my hair into a bun that sits a little above the nape of my neck. It was convenient, hassle free, low maintenence and best of all, nobody noticed the split ends!

Okay the downside to this whole hair-bun thingy was that B hated it and I wasn't particularly fond of the "look" myself. Yes, I would let my hair down occasionally, you know for a family photo or something, but I could never wear it down when I went out. And everytime B would mention doing something different with my hair I would start off a sob story about how ugly my hair-ends looked and how very inconvenient it was to leave it hanging down my back. Now, my patient reader (if you've lasted this long) you may ask, if I was having so much trouble with long hair, why did I not cut it off ? Well you see......that is where my false sense of vanity pops in. The fact is I love my hair. It is straight and sleek and very black. And it took me a long time to get it to grow this long. And the thought of chopping it off just made me shudder. And then, B just adores long hair. I think it is a guy thing. Most men I know seem to have a penchant for long hair. And he would probably just leave me if I did actually cut off my hair. So you see, the bun thingy persisted in tormenting our lives, everyday for the last few years.

Then last weekend I decided I had enough of this and wanted to get my hair in shape so that I could do something more pleasing with it. And so I went into a salon and told them that I wanted to cut my hair shorter but not too short (you see, B and I had already decided what the critical length was for him to be able to still live with me). And I let my hair down. You should have seen the look on this lady's face when she saw how long it was. She was almost sorry to have to cut it off. Anyway, we went through the whole routine....shampoo the hair, chop it off, decide if the length was acceptable, dry it, spray something to get rid of fly-aways and polish it off with a serum to give it gloss. And at the end of it she gave me this beautiful mane that boasted of layers, some framing my face, some a little longer, but the overall length reaching halfway down my back. Which was a beautiful length. Long, but not that long and definitely not short. I was pleased. In fact, very very pleased and couldn't stop preening in front of the mirror for the next hour or so (which if you know me is highly uncharacteristic of my normal no-nonsense self). And B was very pleased too.

After that I simply stopped tying up my hair. No more braiding the hair at night because it makes the hair look awfully wavy in the morning when you unbraid it....and no more piling it into a bun because that made the ends turn scraggly. So this whole week I have been going to work with my hair hanging down my back and getting used to these wisps hanging on either side of my face. What I am also getting used to is all the attention that I am getting all of a sudden. Which brings me to what this post was all about in the first place. I just realized that inspite of all these claims about appearances not being important and men actually look for substance in a female...... it is all a myth. When a man looks at you, he does just that....look and that's it. He doesn't care whether you are nice or beautiful inside....I mean, not right away. He just cares if what he is looking at is visually pleasing or not. With my puritan hairstyle out of the way, and with these shiny tresses crying out for attention I am suddenly swamped with people trying to be more friendly, making conversation on the train, getting stared at, being told that this hair looks good on me and even had someone wanting to touch it and feel how soft it is! How ridiculous is that? I mean, it's still plain old me under here and the fact that I get a sexy haircut makes me desirable and attention-worthy all of a sudden? And that is what I just realized.....men do prefer goodlooking women. Not because they believe they are going to get her but simply because they like something visually stimulating. And yes, appearances do get you places.

Overnight I've been transformed from a quiet, unassuming, nice girl to this desirable, hot female with the gorgeous hair. That is a little unsettling.

What say you?