On my last visit, my homeopath revealed two bits of information that completely startled me. One, that I had too much testosterone (now, don’t look at me like that; all women are supposed to have three tenth’s of a milligram, may be I have four). I guess this meant I was more yan than yin.
Two, that I was too practical to be in a relationship (I am guessing this is a fallout of the first). I am not sure which one bothered me more, but both got me thinking. May be it did have something to do with not finding enough masculinity in my universe?
More about my universe. I often find myself face-to-face with men who cringe at traffic from Bandra to Andheri, men who shudder at the sight of a scab, men who want to help the cause of wildlife, but get the goose bumps from National Geographic, or having to change a fuse, men who always have a cold, men who take a day off because their neck aches, men who feel tired all the time, men who carry a dabba or an umbrella (don’t know which is more uncool), or worse, a bag! However shallow it might sound, that is something that is so not happening (unless it’s a really smart satchel/ rucksack or you are a photographer, or you are carrying your laptop).
I always thought the best thing about being a guy is that you don’t have to carry a bag. No make-up pouch, no fat wallet with a million things you don’t need, no book which you will not require, no in-case-of-emergency-paraphenalia, sunglasses, lip-balm, scrunchies, clips or lunches.
And then there are men who only drink mineral water, men who shudder at the thought of a crisis, or men who can’t find their way around (pun unintended)
A couple of months ago, when I rang one of my interns about an assignment, he sounded faraway and muffled. I presumed I was interrupting some action, and was going to hang up, when he mumbled, “Wait a minute. Let me get my face-pack off…”
Now, wait a minute. I am the girl here. And I never get tongue-tied because of a facepack. On the other hand, I find myself drinking water from the tap, signing lease or sale agreements without batting an eyelid, understanding mutual funds, reading maps, decoding my tax-returns, wanting to understand my car better by enrolling in a mechanic’s workshop, assembling things from manuals, dropping XY chromosomes home in my car, when they are too wasted to drive theirs or too unambitious to own one, or bailing them out when their credit cards get maxed out. Even my mum calls me when her cable television doesn’t work!
And I never get a fever or a headache, and I very seldom call in sick. Also, it takes me ten minutes to get dressed (and I have a bad hair life!).
Was I turning into the man I that I want men to be? Does the alpha male really exist? Am I turning into an alpha-male equivalent— the alpha woman, for want of a better term? Does it have something to do with my childhood?
When I was a kid, dad and I would go for a haircut every first Sunday of the month at the local barber-shop (it was just cheaper, you see) and a matinee after. So then, is my childhood bonding time with my dad, (who incidentally, can still climb a tree, and never has a fever) going to be the cause of all my skewed equations with men?
So why is it that when a guy opens the door for me or offers to drop me home, or carry my luggage, I feel a bit surprised; I also feel like a girl all over again? Never mind what my homeopath said.