Dog of Small Things

Any dog lover will wag his tail when he hears about dog being a man’s best friend. People on the other side of the fence (Others), on the other hand, will bark that it’s a dog eat dog world.

If the world was divided between Dog lovers and Others, I would love to warm the benches on the side of the Dog lovers. And the reason is simple … The Others simply don’t have enough proof to support their claim. No one, no one I know, atleast, has seen a dog eat dog. Dog lovers on the other hand routinely claim their Rovies, Bovies and Snoopies to be their best friends. Some even consider them their ‘jaan’ and ‘son’.

However, given an option - I would like to be known as a small dog lover. Just so that this is clear: However given an option – I would like to be known as a ‘small dog’ lover.

Just in case some big dogs and bitches are reading this – Chill guys! Nothing personal against you. But its just that small dogs seem so much more fun. They seem to express more, they dance more, they bark more, they attract attention more, they cause trouble more, they seem cute more, they seem vulnerable more, they even seem to need us more than you do. You guys need to express more. You know what I mean?

But you what’s the best part of loving dogs – small or big or medium or black or white or staying in a bungalow or staying in the verandah outside my house? Atleast this time, the feeling seems to be mutual.

Nice men finish last

I recently read another pop-philosophy book, this time by Scott Adams (Yeah, the Dilbert bloke), titled ‘God’s Debris’. I must admit upfront that the book lived up to just half its title. Though there is one little piece that got firmly stuck in the left side of my brain, besides memories of my - first car, first dive in the water, first trip to the hills, first day at work, first date...

In the book, the Avatar says this about relationships (between men and women) :
Women value sacrifices made for them by men. More the sacrifices → Better the man’s chances.
Men, on the other hand, have a list of objectives that women have to measure up.
(If this is true, then it would be just a one point checklist in my case. But more on this in some other post)

Visualize this: First date. Guy meets girl.

Guy seems like a happy go lucky bloke with a smile plastered on his face.
Girl seems smart AND ambitious.

The number game begins:

Girl: I wonder if he will give up smoking for me,
I wonder if he will take me to a disc instead of going to bed,
I wonder if he will join salsa with me instead of hanging around with his useless friends,
I wonder if he will lose weight by going in the gym instead of watching TV.

Guy: I wonder if she will
- allow me to have sex with her if she has a meeting the next day
- be open to experiment,
- be a passionate lover and

- damn! almost forgot - will she manage house, parents, kids, Rovie (dog)?

Tick Tick Tick – the counter runs - - against each sacrifice and against each objective.

To summarize: The whole way this system works is, men get certain number of points whenever women perceive that men are making a sacrifice.

What scares me, though, is not the points bit but the scary fallout of this crazy theory: Nice men don’t stand a chance. I mean, seriously guys – you are dead, don’t even try. Just so that the message is loud and clear, let me repeat this in – Nice men don’t stand a chance!!

Nice men, by definition, being men and nice, would be so eager to make sacrifices for the sake of their ‘true love’ that it would seem as if they are doing daily chores. And according to the ‘Debris’ theory, no (perceived) sacrifice means no points.

So when ‘not so nice’ men give up smoking for their ‘true love’ they make a quick billion points. Add another couple of billion in ‘not so nice’ men’s account for giving up beer with friends on a Friday night and taking ‘true love’ to discotheque.

Since nice men don’t smoke or drink, what will they sacrifice? Curd rice and buttermilk?? That is likely to fetch them a couple of thousand points - on their lucky day.

Simple math suggests that nice men need about million more sacrifices before catching up with the ‘not so nice’ men. However, what simple math doesn’t suggest is that most nice men would be dead sooner.

Beer:Diaper :: Gym:?

People have expressed different emotions, from feline-like disinterest to canine-like delight, after I told them that I had joined a gym. What was constant though was the friendly question - “Oh! You are getting married?!”

Initially when I was young, I would just smile sheepishly and say no. But as I grew not so young the negativity of my monosyllabic response only succeeded in changing their “A ha! I have got your secret” look to “This guy is definitely getting married! But why is he not telling us. Pricy bastard!” look.

Infact I have heard this question so many times that it reminds me of the famous “Beer and Diapers” concept, except that the “Gym and Marriage” concept is not untrue.

After being at the receiving end of thousand such polite enquiries, I decided - Enough is Enough is enough. More than enough. Enough of enough.

I planned to have revenge – cold, hard and calculating. My day of redemption in the gym came soon - when I saw a more- than-healthy-person burning something on a treadmill. By the combined look of ferocity, determination and the hint of guilt, I attributed his hectic activity on the treadmill to the unnecessary ‘Death By Chocolate’ consumed the day before.

As I approached my target, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. I was already dizzy in the vengeful anticipation of the lost and confused look on my prey’s face. If I was lucky, I said to myself, I could also see my victim grimace. I quickly made my way towards the burning treadmill and said as genuinely as I could - “”Hearty congratulations on your marriage buddy. When is the date?” What followed was exactly as I had expected - that lost, confused look, the painful grimace….the only unexpected thing was that it was me whose face had convoluted.

The victim was smiling sheepishly as he said “06th June 2006”.
Before he could answer irrelevant details like "Who, What, How, When" etc., I muttered the perfunctory congrats and went back to my routine.