The sound of a man

I snore.

So they say.

I have never heard it. Never been woken up by it. Never lost my sleep because of it. Never wanted to smother a pillow on my own face while screaming 'Stop snoring you bastard'. That part is also kind of impossible to do.

But they say I do and so it must be true. I am a very trusting guy. I never doubt what others say about me. Most of the time what I hear from them about me is a revelation even to me. It’s always nice to know what others think about you. Giving a fuck about it is another story.

Back to snoring.

It was first brought to my notice by my wife.

She had one day woken up to the sound of a Harley Davidson in her bedroom and discovered that the sound was emanating from a large piece of human lard, her husband, who had also stolen the blanket.

Jesus said that faith can move mountains. But then he hasn't woken up next to me.

10 years later major sleep deprivation have made an energetic lovely woman into a bundle of nerves.

Scientists have recently done a study ( on the same line as the research to find if the penguins actually look up to watch a plane flying over them until they fall over. They don't. They actually cross their three toes, since it’s considered unlucky by them to watch anything that stiff fly) on women and men who are sleep deprived.

The studies have shown that women can be dangerous when sleep deprived.Even murderous. Sleep is a necessary part of their make up. Men on the other hand do not seem to suffer as much. Aren't we the lucky ones!

I believe this research.

A woman who is not rested is an evil thing. They are down right scary. Ask any man who had to deal with a woman, who had been kept up all night by a colic baby, the next day. Deal with that and man, facing a firing squad will seem pleasant.

Go on, tell her what a beautiful day today is and ask what’s for breakfast.

Then watch your arse explode beneath you.

Sleep deprivation is a bitch.

Ask any woman. Now they got science to back them up.

Another step down for men. So along with chest hair, lord of all he surveys status, non existent emotional IQ and other sundry things that gives having a penis such a pleasure, we lose the I am more tired than you battle.

Well we still have the stand up to pee bit.

Hooray.

Back to snoring.

Last time my friends and I went camping, I woke up to find a lynching crowd gathered around my tent the next morning. I had a wonderful sleep. Mountain air is so refreshing. I had apparently also cleared the place of all wild animals in the vicinity, who had gathered around the Al Ain zoo wanting to be let in.

My friends exaggerate.

I have always had great flights. Never have I had to face a rude hostess. Never have I not been helped to stove away my baggage into the overhead cabin (which is every time), never have I been insulted, cuffed or had hot scalding liquid poured on my lap.

That’s unless I sleep.

There’s always a chill in the air when I wake up on a flight. Nobody is actually rude. But there’s definitely a change in the attitude. I get these looks from my co passengers like I was responsible for something bad. The same looks you get from the guy who steps in when you exit an elevator you had farted in. It’s that look which that girl gave while she slipped off Stallone's grip in Cliff Hanger.

Oh, come on. You know that look. It’s the one that says: How could you do this to me?

Actually the look I get on the plane is the same as the one the guy who I met in the lift would give if he saw me again another day. In the same lift.

It’s the post betrayal look.

It’s cold. It’s accusatory. It’s judgmental.

And I would be wondering if there was an alien takeover while I slept.

Now I know.

It’s the snoring. It must be. Aliens’ taking over people’s body while I slept is so far fetched. It has to be my snoring.

Thing about snoring is that it’s a lot like demonic possession. You have no idea that you are doing it. You cannot be held responsible for something you are not aware of. Our justice system supports that. That’s why you can kill thousands and say God made me do it where the judge will go like, oh why didn’t you say so? Now off you go.

Technically I cannot be held responsible.

But try saying that to that woman who looks like that girl from Grudge, who is sitting at the foot of your bed staring at you when you opened your eyes.

Scared?

You should be.

Gay pride and me

Having studied in a boy’s only school for a major part of student life, I would have thought that I will be fine with gays.

I am fine with gays. But I think thats because I don’t know any.

Of course we did have the occasional touching feeling and in some case boys who went about as couples in our school, looking back I think it was more a case of making do with available resources. And like prisoners, when they stepped out of the restrictive situation, everything fell back in the right places and things went where they are meant to go. It seemed like a temporary lapse, nothing more.

Except even now, I shudder when I drop the soap in the bath and bend down to pick it up. Hopefully it will pass with the unavoidable Alzheimer’s that is due to make its presence felt in the next 10 years or so.

Age brings along with it certain mellowness. I would have loved to say wisdom but that seems to be elusive. You tend to recognize that most of your ideals and prejudices were all handed down to you and that you been just chewing someone else’s cud. Being a jerk, I tend to avoid the popular thought that is prevalent just because I can.

I do realize that now it’s all about right of freedom to do what you feel like. I have not problems with that. As long as it’s not my arse on the line, I don’t have any problem who is shagging who.

But by god, am I curious.

I want a gay friend. I have so much to ask.

You do too, don’t you?

That’s the problem when you start patronizing people. You make them into strangers. You might think you are on their side but your very support is the wall that separates you and them. Because in reality, your acceptance doesn’t require any expression. And if that acceptance is there, they would not be feeling like freaks.

Personally I find naked men nasty. Especially if I find one in my bed. Sex would probably be the last thought on my head. Whatever doubts I have had about my sexuality disappeared the day I was introduced to Adv.Anjali in the Debonair magazine in school. I was hooked. Fat bottom girls made my world go round since.


Then came today.

Everyone’s coming out of the closets. Hell, I think there are more people in there than clothes. There are parades. Sexuality is celebrated. It is now shown in mainstream movies.Basically people’s sexuality will soon become a non issue. Its really great.

Nope. You still can’t fuck a goat.

Yes, I know you think that it’s unfair but if you wait maybe a decade longer, we perhaps will get our head around to it. Yes, we do see your point. Yes, we do notice that the goat is really attached to you but somehow it’s not bringing good vibes to me buddy. That’s my food you are fucking.

I really think sexuality should be a non issue. Like the color of peoples skin. I mean, it’s really stupid if you think about it. It’s amazing how it lasted so long as it did. But then stupid ideas have a tendency to stick. Eh, god? You concur?

But for all the gays out there, I know absolutely no one. I mean personally. I have no gay friends. Which is a shame. I do get hit on once in a while. It’s kind of flattering. And I feel very weird when I say that I just want us to be friends. And the sound track in my head is going Man, feel like a woman...

We did have a college friend who was very feminine. Then we realized that he is a bhartanatyam dancer and a real sneaky womanizer. He catches them unaware. They all assume he is gay until too late. Almost like Jaws.

Well the truth is it would really not matter if my friends are straight or gay (why can’t it be straight or zigzag?). The way I am going, I doubt if I have any friends left.

Thing is I believe that a gay friend will be my ticket to finally understanding women. Of course this very inspired thinking came from my assumption that since a gay is a man who likes men, then it stands to reason he will be like a woman.

Brilliant deduction I must say.

Now to find a gay who will hopefully help me with this and will not try and seduce me.

This brings me to the next question:

Can a gay and straight be just friends?

Watch this space for the answer to that question.

Gay? Call me.

I dont do curtain calls

I am not into self analysis.

I love myself a little too much to indulge in such fool hardy pursuits. The hesitance could also have stemmed from previous futile attempts at trying to understand my inner nature by ticking all the relevant boxes in those - Are a real man or How to know if you are satisfying in bed etc. - columns in my sister in law's ample collection of Cosmopolitan magazines.

Yes. I read women magazine when I get a chance. Understanding the enemy is always a good strategy. Isn’t it weird that in men’s magazine we have girlie pictures and in women magazine, they still have girlie pictures. You would have thought otherwise, but no. No wonder there’s a general amount of male bashing going around; women have all turned lesbians.

Anyhow.

The readings from the ticking, which in the end will require some amount of mathematical skill, will be given at the bottom of those articles.

90 - 80: Boy, are you good! Just bronze your dong and declare yourself as a national monument.

80 - 60: You need to work at it. You need to express your desires and bribe the girl into accepting them. No. Blow jobs are not as exciting to her as it is to you.

60 and below: Just go and kill yourself. And while you are about it stop playing with yourself.

Invariably I realized that I was wasting my time finding out things about myself that were not exactly endearing.

I don’t do horoscope either.

Indian horoscopes are not your run of the mill Linda Goodman gushing about how you are the gift to the universe and how perfect you are.

Indian horoscopes are scary.

They make it so by making it appear to you that there’s a whole lot of calculations and enough symbols to give Dan Brown a hard on, going on to arrive at the answers to your puny existence.

Then in the midst of some gibberish that stands for a language that seems to be all but dead, they reveal to you your destiny.

I kind of lost interest when they started talking about some planets in somebody's houses and other such strange things. The only thing closely resembling a planet in my house is my father.

I get it. The logic behind it all. The usual argument of how moon affects tides and how we are 80% water etc. My question is only this.

What’s this big deal about us that we think our destiny is somehow very important to us?

I am scared of horoscope because it probably has nothing nice to say about me. I plan to read mine in my death bed. Just to check which parts came true. That would make an interesting read.

Thing about trying to find out about yourself is like opening your father's diary. You really don’t want to know all what you might find. Life is best lived with as much ignorance as possible. It keeps you in a state of wonder.

But when you do get the masochistic need to give the stick to someone to beat you, you tend to give importance to what others think about you.

Some of the saddest people I know are the ones who are trying their darn best to rise to someone's expectation.

And some of the real bastards are the ones who let them.

Yeah. I know you are reading this. You know where you belong.

Very early in my life I have learnt that if you want to be happy, you should give two hoots about others opinion about you and your action. As long as what you do is not affecting another adversely, I think you have all the right to go ahead and do it.

Others feelings don’t count. How someone feels about your actions is to a large extent based on their own needs. It’s not a bad thing but that’s how it is. Ideally it should not affect you if your partner cheats on you, but it will if it happens, and that feeling of hurt is more about you than about the other. So feelings don’t count when you know you are on the right track.

Hyper sensitive people are leeches. They feed on the desire to be hurt. You can’t win with them. The whole world is against them any way and the sun always shines out of their arse. It’s about their feelings and their actions and their fuck all mind where every other person has to bend themselves backwards to accommodate them.

I don’t mind sensitive people. I think they are just a little bit more fragile than thick skinned rhinos like me.

Suggestion?

Walk away. Don’t put up with it. Let them know that. Of course they will be hurt. But you are giving them what they want anyway. So in some karmic way you are being kind.

I don’t do hyper sensitive. You wouldn’t either. Hell, even sensitives don’t like hyper sensitives.

You like being insulted? Get an opinion.

Like I did. I came to know about this site from this girls blog and it piqued my curiosity.

and this was the result.

Make place girls, Big Mama is in town.

Guilty as Charged

Its not every day I put my foot down.

Those who have the unfortunate luck of knowing me on a personal level are, I presume, aware of my laid back approach to insults and confrontations. It’s not easy to piss me off. But when I do get my arse off the couch and decide to fight, I never back down. I pretty much stay at it no matter what. Don't know why but must be the lack of excitement in my life.

Well, that's pretty much enough of my dick is bigger prelude to the tale that follows.

I have only one enemy. I hate it with passion. Apart from the man made concept of god, no other concept, in my opinion, has done more damage to the human fabric than it. It’s the faceless, bloodless, and unavoidable, in your face organization called the bank.

I try to keep my distance with banks. I don't like them but they seem to love me. At least they pretend like they do.

Long ago, in fact about 5 years ago, my wife and I decided to buy a SUV. We sold my wife's Volkswagen Golf for the down payment and financed the rest through a bank known then as Me Bank. Talk about a personality disorder. Of course I knew it was a bank when I walked into it and had to suppress the instinctive desire to brandish a cross.

Of course I got the loan. We were good for it. Of course for the next 5 years we religiously paid the EMI that was owed to it. We, in the meantime, named our steed Ben and then I promptly fell in love with it.

5 years passed.

I go to the bank to get a clearance letter. Lots had happened in those 5 years. Water was found in Mars, we found out that god men can have sex and so can really old Indian politicians, governments were ousted, some were reinstated, a nation held their collective breath while an old man fasted and ranted, ,Mebank was swallowed by Emirates NBD and I gained 10 kilos.

So there I am, feeling really cold, in front of one of those suits whose smile never reaches their eyes. I let him know that I have cleared my debt and now want a clearance letter. He keys in some commands on his computer, thereby perhaps nuking some unfortunate family's life and turns to me saying that my account is still open. He says it with a relish. I could almost feel him sniffing my blood.

I ask him to check again, considering that I had given a million cheques covering the number of months in 5 years ,all of which had been cashed by them. He strikes another bunch of keys. I can almost hear screams in the distance.

'There's a balance of AED 387.75 in your account. Pay that and we will provide you the clearance letter'

I am, as you know pretty stupid, so I enquired why I have to pay that amount. Upon which I am told that it is there on the statement, so I have to pay it.

Now that pisses me off. I hate being told that because it’s written, that's how it shall be. Fuck, I have been fighting that almost all my life.

So I requests him to tell me why that charge is there.

He can't. Why? Because he does not know. He says that it could be a charge due to the integration of the bank. So I asked him if I have to pay when Emirates NBD decides to carpet their office.

Now he does the finger pointing routine. This is where he will tell me to run pillar to post. I told him that I refuse to go anywhere. I want to know where this charge came from and that I am pretty sure that he can find it out for me without me having to go on a pilgrimage for it. Then he asked me to call up the contact centre. I told him I won’t since I am already in a bank.

I am pretty irritating, no?

So he calls up the collection center and asks someone there to check my account and revert back to me. I tell him that since I have met him, he will be the privileged one who will have to deal with me. He grudgingly tells me to call back in 2 days.

I do and am told that he hasn’t got a reply. So I call their contact center. There I am told the amount is AED 239. Amazing. The amount seems to have a life of its own. So I give the contact center chap for whom I have the greatest respect, the same spiel about how I am not planning on paying a single penny unless someone tells me what the charge is for.

Accrued interest I am told. On what? I ask. He can’t say. Funny since I always thought that you need something to charge interest on. He requests me to pay the amount. I say I can’t. I ask him to give me the number of the collection center. Which he gladly gives.

So I call the collection center. The phone is answered by a guy with an Arab accent. So I give him my details. He tells me I have to pay AED 139/- The dancing charge!

I ask him why. He tells me because the banks can charge as and when they feel like it. I ask him to repeat it. Which he does. So I ask him why can’t he just call it a bribe. Now the man is angry. So am I. So I tell him we can do this dance on the newspaper. He gives me his Assistant Manager's number.

I call the number and am answered by a very cheerful man who in the beginning does the friendly Arab intimidation act. This is where he is all smiles and laughs and treats you like an errant client. I am from sales. The trick is lost on me. He sings the same lines. Integration charge, accrued interest etc. I give him my reasons as to why I think the bank is trying to get me to bend over so that it can slide it in and have me thank them for the courtesy. He realizes that I can go on. I am polite but annoying. He promises to get it waived. Tells me he will get back.

He does. After 2 days. Every thing sorted out. All charges waived. I am to contact any branch and get the clearance letter. I do and I get my letter in 2 days.

I thanked every one concerned but one thing still puzzles me.

I am yet to be told why that amount was there in the first place. What was the charge for?

I am aware that many customers who have already shelled out thousands every month just want the whole thing behind them and therefore will pay what ever the bank tells them to; no questions asked. Not many are jobless like me to make a fuss over this.

From what the loan officer told me, no one ever questions this and when you do I guess it gets waived.

Well, that's all folks. Check your statements. If you find a shape shifting amount in your loan statement when you go for closing it, call me. I am your man. I have got all the numbers you will ever need.

And I wont charge you a penny.

Return of the King

Onam.

A festival the ignorant think of as a harvest festival but in reality is a yearly reminder of a divine PR stunt that went wrong.

Let me tell you what really happened.

Long long time ago, during the times of constant heavenly interventions, there lived a king called Bali (not related to the other monkey Bali who too was screwed by the gods. They don't seem to like the name).

Our King Bali ruled Kerala. (Come to think of it, if the geographical evidence of Ramayana is to be believed, so did the other Bali. Damn, there could be a divine conspiracy here).

Maha Bali as he came to be known was a great king. He was loved by his people. This in itself is a great thing considering mallus don’t like being ruled. They may put up with it but that's just a tactic until each of them figure out how to become the ruler.

During King Bali's time, there were no locks. Why you ask? Because there were no thieves. Yes, contrary to how it might appear now, there was a time when mallus were honest. We didn't need to covet since we lacked nothing. There were no castes and people were treated equally. You just had to fall into the category of being humans. There was no deceit and men always told their wives that their arse looked fat in that dress.

The mallus were so happy with the abundance of food, toddy and great governance that they did away with the gods and worshipped their king instead. This was rumored to be the Tamil influence.

Being gods, this made them feel a tad bit insecure. If humans started becoming good, what purpose will gods serve? It was and still is a valid point. So all the gods went to the big honcho Vishnu for a solution. Vishnu who had a penchant for intervening in human affairs in disguise was delighted to be consulted. This gave him an opportunity to try out a great disguise he had been thinking about while whiling away couple of thousand god years on his 5 headed serpentine sofa cum bed.

So at the behest of his sidekicks, Vishnu dons yet another disguise which he insists on calling Avatars. This time he goes down as Vaman, a Brahman midget. I know that was politically incorrect, but remember this was the times when we were used to calling a spade a spade.

Maha Bali was at that time doing what all kings do when they had a little time in their hands, which was performing a Yagna. This is basically were we throw all sort of things into a fire and chant unpronounceable sentences. This brought out the inner child in us and of course these were the days before the west started making us feel guilty about the global warming they started.

Since Brahmins get their wishes granted (here the story is confusing because I thought all people were treated equally...hmmm), Vaman gets to present his heart’s desire, which turns out to be 3 step of land. Bali, being a mallu, knows a great deal when he hears it and agrees to grant him his desire. That’s when; true to divine nature, Vishnu aka Vaman reveals the card up his dhoti.

He starts growing. This is symbolic of every short person's wish but I am digressing,

Soon he grows out of the stratosphere, and with his head playing for space with the moon, spoke then, in a thunderous voice, "Bali! In my first step, I traversed all of Earth and the Nether worlds. In my second step, I covered the heavens and all the celestial bodies therein. Thus, I have now covered all realms of your dominion. You promised me three paces of land. Tell me where I should place my foot for the third time."

Upon which Bali realized that he been punked.

So he kneels down and offers his head.

And Vishnu squashes him down the netherworld which is not in any way to be misunderstood as Netherland.

Since Vishnu realized that this act could affect his divine image among the mallus, he decides to do a little damage control. So upon the great kings last wish made from the Netherworld, he gets to vacation in Kerala once every year to watch the deterioration of his kingdom on yearly frame by frame basis.

And mallus for centuries lay out the most amazing welcoming party every year for their king's return. Now of course he will have to distract them from the celebrations in Asianet,

Well, that’s Onam for you.

If it wasn't for the Sadya, mallus would have led a procession to the pearly gates. The toddy didn’t help either.

For the popular version of the story please go here

The short falls of metrosexuality.

The beauty of a short vacation is that you are in and out of the place before everyone gets tired of you.

I am not easy to live with. Hell I am so difficult to be around with that most of the time I am figuring out ways to kill myself.

Thing is I am a very sensitive person.

I take offence very fast. I am of the opinion that everyone out there is some way or the other trying to insult me.

Thing is I am a short, balding, overweight south Indian guy. There is probably something you will say to make me feel bad when you talk to me.

'It's a short walk from here'

'Overhead conditions are clear'

'That's heavy stuff pal'

'Don't sweat the small stuff'

See? It’s better to just keep quite when you are with me but then I might feel you are prejudiced towards me because I am a short, balding , over weight south Indian. That can offend me too.

There’s just no winning when you are dealing with sensitive people. I should know.

Don’t agree with me because I know you are just being patronizing because I am vertically challenged.

Anyhow.

Someone somewhere said that you should do something that scares you at least once in your life. Apart from getting married, I recently went to a unisex saloon in the smog city of Bangalore to get a pedicure and manicure to put that saying to test.

Yeah. Call it my futile attempts in getting in touch with my feminine side. The only thing feminine about me are my man boobs. Sometimes I turn myself on if I happen to catch a sight of myself naked in the mirror after a bath.

I am digressing. Talks of boobs always do that.

Anyway, for moral support I dragged my father in law with me. He is one of the few men who has had whatever feminine side he might have had drained off him by having lived his whole life in a household consisting only of women. His wife and two daughters. He has held onto that masculinity like a drowning person clutches onto to a lifebuoy. Not the soap you moron.

So when attempting something which can scar you emotionally, I deduced that, having such a man by your side was like going to the butchers with Lady Gaga. It’s kind of a win win situation.

There’s something about having a woman marinating your pedis and manis in a bowl of warm water with antiseptic and soap, prior to clipping your talons. It’s embarrassing. It feels nice but it’s still embarrassing. Call me old fashioned but it’s strange having to pay someone to cut your nails. Especially when you have a good wife at home who can do this for you free. Only hurdle will be convincing her to do it. I have heard that compliments works well with women. Maybe I will go with:

That tent you are wearing compliment your figure. Could you cut my nails?

That should work.

Unknown fact: We were the first men in that unisex parlor to have ever done a manicure and a pedicure. So metro sexuality is still a myth in India. I knew it, you lying, cunning bastards.

Once we got our feet and hands to a presentable conditions, the visibly disgusted ladies where requested to give us a facial on a whimsical desire by the pop in law. I totally understood him. All our life we have been hearing about this beauty salon visits by the fairer gender, now was chance to find out what the fuss is all about.

Women, we found out likes choices.

They are the reasons why menus were invented. Think about it, when you walk into a restaurant, a man has only one thing on his mind. Hungry. Must find food. Give him any choices; you have on your hand a confused man. This is why men have affairs and always comes out looking like a bastard. They just don’t know what to do when there are too many choices. When life presents it like that, men like to have everything, including the one he really wants. Bastards. Precisely.

Women on the other hands, likes choices. Ever seen a woman with one handbag, a pair of shoes and 3 sets of clothes? Men can manage it, well, without the handbag but then who am I to judge fashion? For a normal, fully functional woman, she needs choices in her men too. She will need that ex boyfriend who was someone she cared for, she will need that blogger male friend who is the only one who understands her, she will need that college mate who is her best friend and the only one who really knows her and she will need her husband for whatever reasons. Women like having choices. They handle it better.

Men like it too but unlike women they just don’t understand things like right occasions and perspectives.

So when the ladies started listing out the various facials that are available, we were understandly confused.

There was, I swear, something which involved gold. In today’s economy!

We decided on something which involved just putting creams on our face and rubbing it in and then wiping it off. We had seen this on TV. It had looked silly but if Mel Gibson can carry it off, so could we.

We couldn’t.

For one thing, it’s boring. Then there’s this scrapping they do on your nose which is downright painful.

Before my masculine conspirator could suggest waxing for his academic research, we got out of there.

Verdict?

Will definitely do the manicure and pedicure again. It is indulgent and great. We felt like a million dollars for a whole day, while we kept waving our hands and keeping it on top of the table for a change.

Facials?

Probably not. We looked at each other and figured it’s not really worth it. But then they didn’t have much to work to begin with. Pop in law thinks that they charged us a lot because we had more face for them to work on.

Just Friends.

There are questions and then there are questions.

There’s the unanswerable, “Do you think I look fat in this?"

The mind numbing, " Are we there yet?" asked by a 3 year old and her 7 year old brother with 3.5 minutes frequency from the back seat of the car.

The inconsequential ones like “Is there a god?”, “What’s the meaning of life?" which stands proudly alongside other idiotic ones like “What’s your religion?”, “If my god and your god has a pissing contest, which one would win?"

The weird ones, “What do you do?”, "How are you?”, "Does it hurt?", "Are you sleeping?"

The leading ones like, “Have you ever been in love...really?”, “Are you happy?”, " Does he/she understand the real you?”, “Has anyone told you how beautiful you are?"

The 'none of your business' ones like, “How do you plead?”, “What’s your qualification?" “Are you married?" “Which part of India?" “Where are you going?"

Then the stupid one: "Who are you?"

But the one question that generations have been forced to confront, even though the issue probably must have been one ancient one is:

Can a man and woman be just friends?

It all started with that chick flick movie 'When Harry met Sally”. Never has a movie raised such a level of self introspection, except perhaps Blue Lagoon, which gave raise to that often repeated probability question, "if you were stuck in a deserted island who you would like to be with you?"

For me it’s a basket ball. But I am digressing.

So can they be? Just friends?

I believe they can be, under certain conditions. After years of research and several months of banishment to the couch, I have the answers that you seek, thereby putting yet another question to rest among ones like "Does size matter?"

The conditions for a man and a woman to be just friends the below criteria have to be met.

- Both are committed to someone else they still care about.
- One is committed and the other is just plain undesirable.
- No one is committed to anyone else but one is just plain undesirable.
- Both are uncommitted and both are scared of rejection/humiliation.
- Both are uncommitted and one is scared of rejection.
- One is committed and the other is scared of rejection/humiliation/end of friendship/physical harm.
- One of them is gay. (This is same as point 2 and 3)

Okie. Let the lynching start. But before you let your self righteous cloud your judgment, please be honest and decide for yourself, where do you fit in the above criteria.

There's no rule saying that man and woman has to be just friends. No matter how much we like to peg, identify and label relationships, for the sake of yourself, others ,the mysterious society or for that inherited baggage we like to call our culture and heritage, the truth is that it really doesn’t matter, does it?

There is also another set of criteria that seems to work also.

- Both are committed to another, who they may or may not care about but one does not want it to go beyond a good friendship.
- Both are committed to another, who they may or may not care about and both do not want it to go beyond a good friendship.
- Both are not committed to anyone and each does not want for whatever reasons go beyond a god friendship.

What is this good friendship?

Does it mean only no sex?

I was talking to a family friend of mine about this. A woman.She says that eventually there comes a time where the relation reaches a stage where, normally its the man, shows an interest beyond just friendship. She just sleeps with them. According to her most men cannot differentiate between lust and love and this is a phase they have to cross.She has got lots of friends she said with a smile.Just friends?, I asked. She just smiled and said, between a man and woman who are friends, there are only degrees.

I guess that's true of any friendship, irrespective of gender but I doubt I will ever sleep with Dog.

I mean, I fall in love with all my girl friends. I don’t see how I cannot. They are great people, great company, great sense of humor, and they are girls. I love them. Nope. I have not slept with any of them. But I am married to one (brownie point alert!)

Here's my take. Man and woman make great friends. I have not met a single woman who says otherwise. Women like having male friends. They feel they are less complicated and more fun. As long as they are not married to it. Marriage seems to sometime make a friend into a prison warden.

It must be the same with us too. Once we get over our initial very male feelings, we can make great buddies. It’s like having a dog. We just need to be put in our right place and taken for walks. After that it’s just party and great fun. But watch out when we start talking about our doomed marriages and misunderstanding wives, we are probably trying to get into your pants. We can be persistent.

But you knew that when you wanted to be just friends, didn’t you?

That is what friendship truly is. To accept instead of expect. No other relationship has that much freedom. To label it will only cheapen it as we have already done to so many of our relationships.

So, can a man and a woman be just friends? Hell no. But that's probably the beauty of it.

But how many of us will admit to it?

That was a leading question.