Boys do!

I grew up listening to the conditioned philosophy that "boys/men don't cry" and "boys/men don't fight". Yet I saw them cry, watched them fight more ferociously than women do.

Backwards time....'me' a little girl , proud owner of a strange, unruly head(then n now); sat among boys who fought like they were louder than crows. It started with Sandeep, Vijay (S and P) judging my beauty. In a small , Indian town it was easy for beauty to be overrated! In fact the exact point of the tussle began with Sandeep calling my nose Chinese and S Vijay calling my dimples the best. And that infuriated Alan.  Alan believed in decorum and order early on. So it began with Alan calling Sandeep a cog in  a machine. And so while I sat there in the midst I watched the myth " Boys don't fight" shatter to bits as swear words went flying past my so called 'chinese' nose.

And then one hot afternoon, I also realised the emptiness in "Boys don't cry".  We, (Alan and me) let our spirit of quest loose and lifted Sr. M.K.'S veil just to confirm her gender. But the school authorities refused to  recognise it as an act of quest for truth and so decided to punish us. We were given  a fine taste of the cane and then ordered to stand outside the class through lunch hour. I loved being sent out of classrooms because it gave me a better view of the world, without being disturbed by the din of many a heads together.

Alan started breaking down inside when the cane was used on me for the third time. I saw his eyes glisten with tears as the cane hit my reddened palms.I do not know if he wept for me or out of apprehension for his turn of the cane. Rubbing my hands against his to ease my pain I tried to smile wink his tears away.  But Alan sobbed, in fact he howled in between the sobs and so I allowed him  to  wipe his running nose on my sleeve. He wiped it with dignity and I knew Boys just don't cry, they sob and howl.

Years down I sit among men and watch one of the myths break again.  We hardly speak but then I observe their ways.

Initially, I noticed a duo, the stranger and his tall friend, both tanks. The stranger has kind eyes and a kinder smile. The friend is good but he likes to taunt with remarks like the breakfast is south Indian too.  What I observed of them both was that they had a natural warmth about them, the kind of goodness that can give comfort to any new comer.  But the kindest of them all was the stranger and I felt both respect and gratitude for his little gestures of warmth. Next to the duo I felt comfortable with the trio. The trio- the tank (the kindest stranger) , the ship(good by nature) and the plane(good because he ordered an omelet to my plate) as I termed them to myself since we had never been properly introduced. I observed their togetherness, their comradeship and though never  a part of it I liked watching such comradeship.

Yet one afternoon, the trio look daggers at each other. The ship sails west, the tank grounds east and the plane glides north. And me sitting south watch their tussle and realise "  men too do fight". God knows why they fought, perhaps over ships tanks and crafts, but then I guess life is just a series of "history repeating broken myths" whether nursery or life after!