Bred on a healthy diet of Mills & Boons, TV soaps, glossy magazines, what you will – women, despite being privy to the completely transformative nature of marriage, were only too happy to trade-in their shopping bags for ones stuffed with groceries. And their designer togs for kiddie-stuff.
The same did not hold true for men though.
They would raise eyebrows at the very mention of matrimony (which they said sorta rhymed with monotony), and cited a zillion reasons about how they would rather cut off their third left finger than sport that tell-tale band, or a sparkling diamond around it (designed as a conspiracy no doubt by them darned Tiffany's, Cartiers, and Harry Winstons – to invite sniggering looks and barely-concealed gleeful chuckles and nudges).
You had to give it to them – their reasons ranged from:
a) The logical – I wanna earn my own pair of wheels, a fat bank balance, and own apartment before I decide to get hitched)
b) The crude - to-get-a-pail-of-milk-why-should-you-buy-the-whole-cow theory
c) The (un)realistic – I'm (sigh) still looking for that (elusive) Miss Right. Till then lemme make do with all the Miss Right-Nows
d) The Nostradamus-sorts – Marriages lead to divorce. And expensive alimony. And yet more expensive child support. So avoid Step 1 – marriage. At all costs
e) The carefree – I'm a social butterfly. Plus I have no social / familial pressure to get married (knock on the wooden-wine-cork). You want me to give up all this, and don those rings, that (shudder) look to me like miniature handcuffs (and not the naughty ones. The kinds they use at Scotland Yard). You kidding, righto? No? (sheeesh)
f) The rigid and / or fearful – I can't change. I can't compromise. Marriage will force me to change. And compromise. That is not acceptable to me. So tht means, marriage is not acceptable to me. Well, at least, not right now. But yes, if Angelina Jolie / Catherine Zeta Jones were to ever split from Pitt / Douglas, they should keep our numbers on speed dial. We'll pick at the first 'ring' (pun intended)
g) The career-driven ambitious sorts - I'm very involved in my career right now. Cracking deals. Forging associations and contacts. Making bullet-proof strategies. Blah Blah Blah. It wouldn't be fair of me to marry. I wouldn't be able to give undivided attention to my wife. She would be resentful of the other woman in my life - my Blackberry. So let me step-up the corporate ladder first. And then maybe I can take steps towards marriage.
Lies. All the above.
The only reason that men shied away from marriage is that they want to enjoy single life. Each moment of it. As long as they can. Till some ambitious woman drags him, maybe by issuing an ultimatum, to that most-dreaded place – the aisle.
Where the next day, after the effects of the reception alcohol has worn off, he sits in the loo, a dazed look on his face giving way to a much-horrified one, staring sullenly at the tell-tale band on his third finger.
And the previous day's ceremonies come flashing by his mind, in blurred, and then, vivid sparks.
And the enormity of his step dawns upon the just-coming-to-his-senses guy.
Not any more.
A role reversal is very evidently in place, with today’s men hankering after commitment. Marriage. Grocery shopping. Mother-in-laws. Kids. Pesky relatives. The works.
They are ready to give all the above a shot.
While their female counterparts, hitherto the vulnerable lot, have taken it upon themselves to postpone their wedding diaries, pooh-poohing those who drop meaningful, sarcasm-dripping comments along the lines of the biological clock ticking away, yada yada.
Face it - today’s women are a fussier lot. I am one. I should know.
However, what happened to the erstwhile lot of men who believed truly in doing the I-stick-my-tongue-at-those-who-point-out-I-should-marry routine?
What I don’t know however is why today’s men so unashamedly admit, unlike some years back, that they NOW want to trade-in their beers, TV remotes, sports channels and tirade-laced car chases with the donkey up front for something so mundane like holding Merlot (if they are lucky, that is, or perhaps just wallow in self pity, what with the drab glass of orange juice staring them in the face), holding diapers and rattles, looking agitatedly at mind-numbing TV soaps (ok ok, I’m painting it too bad), and driving without uttering any colorful phrase.
Miracle? I think not.
Curious – I certainly am.
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