Saturday, February 2, 2013

The Man From UNCLE

Last week I went to my son's school to witness 200 kids make asses out of themselves in the name of Republic Day Celebration. I have nothing against today’s schools and their evolved form of education but I don’t understand and don’t appreciate being made a part of my children's educational progress or lack of it.

Let us get this straight.

I sell my organs and pay for their education. This means that the school takes the onus for my child's education. Then why the fucks do you need my participation? Do you pay me back?

Here, Mr. Tyson, please find attached in your child's diary a cheque of Rs. 20, 000, in lieu of your part in ensuring that your ward was assisted this year in his science projects, art projects, various other projects that we invented to show you that we are taking your money and making you work for it all over again.

I pay so don't bother me.

I am okay with the whole PTA thing. It’s like those feedbacks thingy. Like a shareholders meeting. You get them to report on your investment.

It should end there.


While sitting on the steps of the school, far away from those enthusiastic parents who traumatize their children by actually taking part in those ridiculous events the school devise to further humiliate the very people who are working for what they are paying for, it dawned to me that these people are the reflections of me.

I mean, they are probably as old as me. I saw the men with the ear rings, goatees and the constant effort of sucking in a gut that retained its hemisphere even after the lungs was as devoid of air as our neighboring moon and saw in those minds the perpetual stage of youthfulness that never outgrows late twenties until an illness catches us off guard and reminds us of our impending mortality and the lack of time to actually screw every women in the world.

Mid life crisis is so heartbreakingly predictable and uniform.

Personally I could never understand this thing about wanting to hold on to our youth by having young girls are girl friends. You have reached a point in your life where, sex, if at all you are having it, is a weekend thing. Like your laundry day or worse your day of the 2 pegs. Sex is there to remind you that you are not yet dead, and that the thing you are married to is, for all sundry purpose, still a woman. Gone are those days when you could do it 5 times in a night and still have enough battery left in you to have a wet dream. Now if you do it once, you feel as if you ran the London Marathon.

Dating a young girl would be like putting the last bit of your remaining self esteem into a blender and whipping it to smitreens. And worse, they talk. Give me a woman who has a couple of miles under her belt. I prefer a real woman. A complete woman. The one who after sex returns to her side of the bed and goes to sleep. The ones who have seen the world well enough to know that conversations are over rated and that men don't complete them, sleep does.

A middle aged woman is beautiful. They have gone beyond the body obsession that seemed to have plagued them earlier on. Now they have attained enough wisdom to know that the man in their life is no pick of the litter either.

Thing about middle age is that it sneaks up on you.

Recently I was in India and in the Casualty Room of a renowned hospital. It was like Grey's Anatomy in there. All were beautiful. I kid thee not. If it wasn’t for the seriousness of my injury and illness, I would have been tempted to turn on my Tys charm, which involves mumbling when spoken to. It’s the carryover of having studied in an all boy’s boarding school.

The whole allure of beautiful doctors and nurses vanished when they started addressing me as Uncle.

When the fuck did I become Uncle?

Middle age creeps up on you.