Good Guys Finish Last

They say that good guys finish last. Of course they do – they always wait for the woman to finish first. Nobody will ever call you good if you finish in two minutes before rolling over and going to sleep. You might get called ‘Two Minute Jack’ though!

If you think about it, the world would be a much better place if only it had more good guys. But of course, that's not going to happen anytime soon. And you know why? Because the very people who like good guys and want everybody to be good actually promote a different kind of behavior.  I know a lot of women who date or are married to good guys. But these very same women who found the goodness attractive to begin with want their guys to be good only to them They are forever egging them on to be more assertive, to bargain more for better prices, to not let anyone cut them off in traffic and so on and so forth. What they don't understand is that a guy can either be good or bad. If he's beating up errant taxi drivers, then it's only a matter of time before he exhibits similar behavior at home.

It's the same at work. All of us say that we like the good guys, but people are constantly told to be more aggressive, to take tough decisions, to not care what happens to their co workers as long as they get the job done. When you keep hearing the same message over and over again, at home and at work, it's bound to leave an impression. I think that we should all encourage the goodness in people a little more - it will eventually lead to world peace.

Diwali is around the corner and there's a big party on at A's place as usual. This has become a tradition of sorts with us where a bunch of friends all meet at A's house for a night of alcohol and firecrackers. It's a little bit different this time though. In the bustle of her day to day life, A has forgotten to invite us. She's not forgotten us, she's simply forgotten to invite us. I know she hasn't forgotten us because my name figures on her list to get the booze and the speakers. I mention this casually to S and he must have ratted to her because two minutes later my phone rings. The caller ID tells me that it is A and I presume that this is my formal invite. I pick up the phone "You bastard, I'll kill you if you don't come" she growls in my ear. "Of course ma'am, wild horses couldn't keep me away after that loving invite".

The party is already rocking by the time we get there and I find that I have lost my wallet. It had some cash in it and a lot of plastic. Sherlock is alive and kicking and I deduce that I must have left it behind at the grocery shop that we stopped at to buy batteries. A few frantic calls later we find that the wallet is not at the shop. It's gone. You can't keep a good man down for long (that's not strictly true - a 'good' guy will go down on you for as long as you want) and I am soon back on my feet with my cards blocked and a glass of rum in my hand.

The party is hotting  up. There is a bunch in the corner doing shots. They have the glasses lined up and are repeating them at about 5 minute intervals. One, two, three and then I lose count. I wonder what the heck they are thinking - they look too ugly not to be smarter than that.

The firecrackers are a blast. There are a lot of them and the kids go berserk. The sky is filled with light, the night reverberates with sound and the air is foggy with smoke. Finally Se says it's time for the grand finale.  It's a box about three feet long and a foot wide and high. What is it I ask him. It's supposed to go up he tells me. Well, this is getting interesting: It's big, it goes up and then it explodes!  Hmmmm it almost sounds obscene.

We make our way back inside to find that I have been right about the shots. There are horrible sounds coming from the bathroom and I see a couple of people passed out on the beds. That does not deter the rest of us and we continue with our karaoke. The night ends in the wee hours of the morning with some excellent dinner. Another great Diwali; Except that I have to be at work the next day!

The door bell rings early the next morning and a good Samaritan has brought back my wallet. It's missing all the cash, but at least my cards and my license are intact. Thank you God.

Happy Diwali.

The Son God

The Son God

The music in our  house has changed. In fact, it has changed so much that it sometimes almost doesn’t feel like home anymore. And it’s not just at home either; the music in the car is different too. I look around to find the reason for the change and I realize that I now live with the Son God who seems to decide what music gets played. I switch to the radio and find that his influence extends there too – the radio station seems to own a similar metronome. If the music is cacophonic, the lyrics are worse. The singers seem to be in competition to make the songs dirtier. They are all speaking English but I nevertheless cannot understand. There is an upper limit on the number of letters in each word and it is set to four. And the ideas and what is considered right and wrong is even worse. Rap music must have been very popular in Sodom and Gomorrah.  

My hearing has been slowly failing with age and for the first time I realize what a boon that has been. I think that God makes us hard of hearing as we grow older so that we don’t have to listen to the music of our kids.

But I can sometimes be an atheist, especially with regard to this particular God. I find an old DVD of Dire Straits and sit back with a glass of the best. The drumming intro of ‘Money for Nothing’ fills the room and then the guitar takes over and I wonder why I thought the drums were that great anyway. The song changes to ‘So Far Away From You’ and it fits my melancholy mood (brought on by the wife being in Thailand). I lose myself in the song:

“Where are you when the sun goes down,  You’re so far away from me ……”

And then it goes on to:

“I'm tired of being in love and being all alone
When you're so far away from me 
I'm tired of making out on the telephone,
And you're so far away from me”

This reminds me of another song that has been playing a lot in our house lately. It talks of pretty much the same situation but oh what a difference in the approach. It’s called “I Like It” By Enrique and it goes something like this:

“Girl please excuse me if I’m coming too strong
But tonight is the night we can really let go
My girlfriend’s out of town and I’m all alone
Your boyfriend’s on vacation and he doesn’t have to know
No no no, oh oh!”

Sigh! I’m beginning to feel my age!

An Open Relationship

Am I in an open relationship, I wonder. The wife left yesterday to Bang-kok (is that the right spelling? Or maybe it’s the atrocious grammar!) and I am beginning to think that I may be missing something here. (As you can probably tell, I am home alone and bored out of my wits).

L has got a hair transplant. Why someone with a harem and a house full of kids wants to grow his hair again is beyond me. I mean, all the reasons that caused his hair to fall out still exist around him, so I don’t see much point in growing it again. I have one question though. L was totally bald to begin with; where then did he get the hair to transplant from?  This may be low thinking but I’m not touching his curly head ever again. But then again, this may make it a lot easier to get him by the short and curlies.

Geetha is running the Pondicherry marathon and we decide to scout out the place in L’s new BMW. It’s a nice ride but why wouldn’t it be – it costs upwards of 80L (that’s USD160K). We get lost. There is a man standing beside the road with his back to us and we stop to ask directions. L rolls down his window and calls out loudly “Thambi!”. (For those who are not familiar with Tamil, Thambi means younger brother and is used to address kids. “Kiddo” would be an apt English translation). The man turns around and smiles – with his wizened face and snow white beard he looks like he could be a hundred. It is extremely disrespectful to call such an elderly person “Thambi” and L is immediately apologetic. The rest of us can’t stop laughing.