Male friend groups are boring. Yess! I'm a man (or so I claim) and so by virtue of this fact I hang out a lot in "all male groups" and yesssss - WE ARE VERY BORING. There's very little variety in male friend groups. It's the same kind of characters and its the same kind of stuff that we do - there is either the "let's go and watch a movie" or the "wanna go to a bar and get drunk (with the false hope of getting laid)". These two stereotypes sum up all male friend groups. So unless I'm educated otherwise I think I don't need to provide any more proof to the boring quotient of maleus friendus.
Women on the other hand have the most amazing friend groups. Every group is different. And the diversity is not just across groups but within the group as well. There are so many unique characters in women friend groups. For example the "wannabe misfit"! She's easy to spot. Every female group has one of them. She's the girl who doesn't quite fit in to the group but always wanted to be a part of them. She is either the non party girl amidst a bunch of party freaks. Or she's the posing geek in a group of academics. She's always there. Go to a club and check out any of the groups of women who are dancing. Four hot women with very little clothes covering very little flesh. And right between them is the overdressed misfit (you can spot her coz she is clearly uncomfortable wearing what she is wearing and is either pulling her top up or skirt down to cover up). She would much rather be at home and watch Wheel of Fortune but NO. She wants to be the party girl and hence she accompanies her friends every week. She tries really hard to fit in. Every time the girls say "let's get drunk" she is the first one to gulp in the peg but BOY SHE HATES IT!! Occasionally she voices her true opinions. "Let's all sit and talk tonight," she would sheepishly suggest. But just then one of the other girls say "There is this really cute DJ playing in Siranos. Let's go there ..." and her voice gets lost is a deluge of affirmative screams.
And with every misfit in the group comes the mastah teacher. The girl who has been there, done that and taken others there too. Yeah yeah! They are easy to spot too. Often they are the reason why the misfits even manage to enter the groups. It's this one (or two) girls who always have some advice to offer. They are an insatiable resource of wisdom. "The secret to a man's heart is to not look at him." "All men are bastards." "I think you should dye your hair red." The teacher always has some advice to offer. And she IS a perfectionist. No matter how hard the misfit apprentice tries - the teacher is never satisfied. "I like what you have done to your hair BUT ... you should probably get a tan," she'll say.
Then there are the two girls who don't get along at all but still hang out in the group together. Hey, I have a sister. I've seen this happen in abundance. X calls Y and finds out that Z is joining them too for dinner. "Aaargh!" X X-claims. "Y does Z have to come?" she adds. "You know what she told W abt me right? She is such a back stabber." Fifteen minutes after the conversation finishes, Z and Y have an identical conversation. And yet X and Z love to hang out. To them the best part of the group is to gather ample things abt each other to bitch abt and take it up with Y. Nice :)
And there are so many others. The girl who always backs out last moment because "something urgent came up". The girl who always talks abt her boy friend who none of the other girls like. The girl who cries easy (even if you tell her that she is looking thin). They are all there. And they are the ones that make the female groups so much fun. Which is why you have Girls Night Outs. Which is why you have Sleepovers. Which is why you have Boyfriend criticism sessions (men never have these coz they are scared that some friend will go and leak the details to the women concerned).
So my sincere thanks to the innumerable women friend groups around us - for the sheer variety they provide. And some say that variety is spice. No wonder you gals are so hot!!!!
Peace!
Friday, January 25, 2008
Friday, January 18, 2008
Say cheeeeeeeeeeese !!!
I'm not one of those people who loves posing for photographs. For starters I look terrible in most photographs. Secondly, I look drunk in all my photographs (for a teetotaller that's not a compliment). And thirdly, my eyes are open in one out of ten photographs. Hence, I normally play the guy in the group who says "Go go. You guys stand. I'll take the photograph."
However, I have friends who love to be clicked. They carry a camera to every freakin place they visit. They want to capture every restaurant, house and lawn they've been to. Even public restrooms are not spared from their passion. They take the photographing bug to a different level altogether. Every event has to be captured twice. First they'll take a photograph of the golden moment themselves. Then they'll ask someone else to take the exact same picture but this time with them in it. Then they'll come and take a look at the just taken snap and sulk for twelve seconds before saying "hmmmm! the angle is not right, errrr, hmmmm ... do you mind taking another photograph?" and pose again. Quite the ordeal I'd say.
But seriously, with the advent of digital cameras, there's this whole new specie of photographers now. What used to be an art form is now a standard. My Grandpa had a Pentax camera which he took great pride in showing off. I was raised with the notion that you have to be a genius to even come near that device. Every snap he took was preceded by careful planning and a looooooong lecture ("No no. Chhotu .You are facing the light source the wrong way. One, two, three, smile, four, five, Chhotu move to the right, six, seven ...") During family get togethers, Grandpa would get only the very special level of treatment. All the family members would try to remain in his good books so that they got clicked a few extra times. Then there was always be the hoard of annoying children who'll follow him and somehow appear in every photograph that was taken. "Will you take one photograph of just me?" i'd plead. Sometimes he would agree. Other times he'd just press the flash (yeah, we were innocent enough to assume that a flash meant a photograph) to hush up the crying me. All in all, my Grandpa occupied a different pedigree, courtesy the shutter box he carried. Aaaah! The good times.
Then in mid eighties a company called Hot Shots came and spoiled it all for him. They advertised themselves as the common man's camera, one that everyone and anyone could use.
Still there was an element of mystique surrounding cameras. Once the photographs were taken, they would get sent to the studio for development. The whole process took two-three weeks. In that time people would wait in apprehension. Aunts who had taken their daughters all dressed up as future brides would queue up the moment the photographs appeared to see how well their damsels looked. The success of a group photograph could be gauged by how many "copies" of it was ordered.
And then ... then the digital camera arrived.Things changed again. Now people could take a snap, see what it looked like and take another snap pronto. Couples who were shy of even hugging for photographs, lest the creepy film developer keeps a copy of their intimate moment, now readily shot pics that would put playful bunnies to shame. If mp3s were what filled up the hard drives in the late 90s, then digital photographs became the major space occupier of the modern computer. People would have hundreds of carefully labelled folders of photographs, with names ranging from "Trip to Japan 2003" to "My new bathroom I, II and III".
You would think that would be it, right? You would think that as a generation we would be happy with a camera that allowed us to save thousands of images in it - right? But naaay! We greedy bastards wanted more. A lot more. And thus, some bright guy came up with the idea of adding a camera to a cell phone. And that did it. At least people were posing for a digital camera. But with the cell phone camera people started taking photographs of anything and everything they could see. "Darling I saw a dog pee on the road. It reminded me of you. So I took a snap and mailed it to you." "I'm watching Munnabhai again. Here is a snap of Sanjay Dutt standing ... here is a snap of him sitting down ... look, the guy next to me is wearing a red pant!!! Sorry it was a brown pant. Here, take another look at it ..." Yessss, that's the level of subjects we choose for our photographs now. It's no longer the wallpaper worthy flowers, or the Shhhhh! saying baby or even your smiling girlfriend. The subject of modern photographs range from dog poop to fornicating love birds ... and that's not what is scary ... what's scary is the question "What next???"
Coming Next: What people do when they get their photographs taken!!
However, I have friends who love to be clicked. They carry a camera to every freakin place they visit. They want to capture every restaurant, house and lawn they've been to. Even public restrooms are not spared from their passion. They take the photographing bug to a different level altogether. Every event has to be captured twice. First they'll take a photograph of the golden moment themselves. Then they'll ask someone else to take the exact same picture but this time with them in it. Then they'll come and take a look at the just taken snap and sulk for twelve seconds before saying "hmmmm! the angle is not right, errrr, hmmmm ... do you mind taking another photograph?" and pose again. Quite the ordeal I'd say.
But seriously, with the advent of digital cameras, there's this whole new specie of photographers now. What used to be an art form is now a standard. My Grandpa had a Pentax camera which he took great pride in showing off. I was raised with the notion that you have to be a genius to even come near that device. Every snap he took was preceded by careful planning and a looooooong lecture ("No no. Chhotu .You are facing the light source the wrong way. One, two, three, smile, four, five, Chhotu move to the right, six, seven ...") During family get togethers, Grandpa would get only the very special level of treatment. All the family members would try to remain in his good books so that they got clicked a few extra times. Then there was always be the hoard of annoying children who'll follow him and somehow appear in every photograph that was taken. "Will you take one photograph of just me?" i'd plead. Sometimes he would agree. Other times he'd just press the flash (yeah, we were innocent enough to assume that a flash meant a photograph) to hush up the crying me. All in all, my Grandpa occupied a different pedigree, courtesy the shutter box he carried. Aaaah! The good times.
Then in mid eighties a company called Hot Shots came and spoiled it all for him. They advertised themselves as the common man's camera, one that everyone and anyone could use.
Still there was an element of mystique surrounding cameras. Once the photographs were taken, they would get sent to the studio for development. The whole process took two-three weeks. In that time people would wait in apprehension. Aunts who had taken their daughters all dressed up as future brides would queue up the moment the photographs appeared to see how well their damsels looked. The success of a group photograph could be gauged by how many "copies" of it was ordered.
And then ... then the digital camera arrived.Things changed again. Now people could take a snap, see what it looked like and take another snap pronto. Couples who were shy of even hugging for photographs, lest the creepy film developer keeps a copy of their intimate moment, now readily shot pics that would put playful bunnies to shame. If mp3s were what filled up the hard drives in the late 90s, then digital photographs became the major space occupier of the modern computer. People would have hundreds of carefully labelled folders of photographs, with names ranging from "Trip to Japan 2003" to "My new bathroom I, II and III".
You would think that would be it, right? You would think that as a generation we would be happy with a camera that allowed us to save thousands of images in it - right? But naaay! We greedy bastards wanted more. A lot more. And thus, some bright guy came up with the idea of adding a camera to a cell phone. And that did it. At least people were posing for a digital camera. But with the cell phone camera people started taking photographs of anything and everything they could see. "Darling I saw a dog pee on the road. It reminded me of you. So I took a snap and mailed it to you." "I'm watching Munnabhai again. Here is a snap of Sanjay Dutt standing ... here is a snap of him sitting down ... look, the guy next to me is wearing a red pant!!! Sorry it was a brown pant. Here, take another look at it ..." Yessss, that's the level of subjects we choose for our photographs now. It's no longer the wallpaper worthy flowers, or the Shhhhh! saying baby or even your smiling girlfriend. The subject of modern photographs range from dog poop to fornicating love birds ... and that's not what is scary ... what's scary is the question "What next???"
Coming Next: What people do when they get their photographs taken!!
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Forgive me my love..... oh blog!
I almost feel like I'm cheating the few remaining dedicated readers of this blog by my prolonged absence. As I sat down to write a new post, I imagined what it would be like if this blog was a woman that I was dating.
"You don't spend any time with me anymore," she'd tell me.
"Baba, you know how busy I've been, right?" I'd say without blinking.
"So what? Are you trying to say that you weren't busy a year back? Even then you worked late in the night. But I never felt neglected. You would always find time to visit me at least once a day. And don't even get me started abt the early phase of our relationship. There were days when you would come and meet me twice ... maybe even surprise me with an occasional third visit. I haven't forgotten anything Mr. Abhimanyu Arora (I'll never understand why women say the full name when they are angry)"
Deep down I'd know that the blog is right. So I would use every man's solitary defense technique for these moments.
"Hey, it's quality vs. quantity dear. Look at some of the stuff I gave you then. Posts on all sorts of inane topics ... dogs, crap and stick figures, what not ... but now I offer you nothing but the best that I have to offer."
"I don't care," she would cut me short. At this point one can smell the prelude to a tear drop. Now tear drops are super critical in relationships. A single drop of tear can turn the tides. From what was a well placed debate between two individuals would quickly morph into a one sided melodrama. So I try to stop her from saying anything further.
"You know what you mean to me. You stayed by my side when everyone else left me. I remember those times when I would sit all alone at home waiting to spend some time with you. You were my window to the outside World dear."
"Yess. I know," she would agree instantly. "And now you don't need that window anymore, right? New doors have opened and the window seems too small for you, huh? Don't think that I don't know what is happening!! It's those kiddie blogs of twenty something young girls from Mumbai right? That's what you want to go for now, right? My mature musings are too mundane for you, right? Go. I won't stop you. But remember, some day those blogs will all disappear, and you WILL come back to me. But maybe I won't be waiting for you then. Maybe I'll be with someone else. Maybe abhimanyuarora.blogspot.com will be a commercial blog offering cheap Rollex watches then. As if you care."
In these tender moments men can do one of two things - continue being rational and prolong the argument OR just accept the fault and make promises so tall that they would make an NBA basketball player look like a dwarf. I speak from experience friends - option one is not the "Sahi Jawab." As tempted as you might be to follow the path of logistics - refrain!
"Ok. Ok. I AM SORRY!"
"I don't want to hear your sorry. Go. Go and create a new blog with fancy sidebars and design templates and spend time with it. (At this point she starts crying profusely and you really want to tell her that glug flowing from the nose to the mouth is not a pleasant sight). Go away. I don't want to see you anymore. I will deactivate comments. That way you will never hear from me or anyone else who cares abt me."
"One chance baby, just one chance," I'll plead. "From now I shall visit you at least twice a week. Irrespective of however much work I have. I'll even reply to every comment that you make. Now forgive your Coochie Pooochie. Come on. You know you like me. We make such a great team. So many people like us. Give me one more chance honey bun*."
And then she smiled; a smile that put several other smiles to shame. And she came and hugged me while wiping her flowing glug on my new shirt.
Seriously, I will be more regular with my blogging from now :)
* Honey Bun (n) - Term meaning "my sweet dough". Was put to use by senseless romantics in the late twentieth century. Was responsible for single handedly reducing the IQ of a generation by 5%.
"You don't spend any time with me anymore," she'd tell me.
"Baba, you know how busy I've been, right?" I'd say without blinking.
"So what? Are you trying to say that you weren't busy a year back? Even then you worked late in the night. But I never felt neglected. You would always find time to visit me at least once a day. And don't even get me started abt the early phase of our relationship. There were days when you would come and meet me twice ... maybe even surprise me with an occasional third visit. I haven't forgotten anything Mr. Abhimanyu Arora (I'll never understand why women say the full name when they are angry)"
Deep down I'd know that the blog is right. So I would use every man's solitary defense technique for these moments.
"Hey, it's quality vs. quantity dear. Look at some of the stuff I gave you then. Posts on all sorts of inane topics ... dogs, crap and stick figures, what not ... but now I offer you nothing but the best that I have to offer."
"I don't care," she would cut me short. At this point one can smell the prelude to a tear drop. Now tear drops are super critical in relationships. A single drop of tear can turn the tides. From what was a well placed debate between two individuals would quickly morph into a one sided melodrama. So I try to stop her from saying anything further.
"You know what you mean to me. You stayed by my side when everyone else left me. I remember those times when I would sit all alone at home waiting to spend some time with you. You were my window to the outside World dear."
"Yess. I know," she would agree instantly. "And now you don't need that window anymore, right? New doors have opened and the window seems too small for you, huh? Don't think that I don't know what is happening!! It's those kiddie blogs of twenty something young girls from Mumbai right? That's what you want to go for now, right? My mature musings are too mundane for you, right? Go. I won't stop you. But remember, some day those blogs will all disappear, and you WILL come back to me. But maybe I won't be waiting for you then. Maybe I'll be with someone else. Maybe abhimanyuarora.blogspot.com will be a commercial blog offering cheap Rollex watches then. As if you care."
In these tender moments men can do one of two things - continue being rational and prolong the argument OR just accept the fault and make promises so tall that they would make an NBA basketball player look like a dwarf. I speak from experience friends - option one is not the "Sahi Jawab." As tempted as you might be to follow the path of logistics - refrain!
"Ok. Ok. I AM SORRY!"
"I don't want to hear your sorry. Go. Go and create a new blog with fancy sidebars and design templates and spend time with it. (At this point she starts crying profusely and you really want to tell her that glug flowing from the nose to the mouth is not a pleasant sight). Go away. I don't want to see you anymore. I will deactivate comments. That way you will never hear from me or anyone else who cares abt me."
"One chance baby, just one chance," I'll plead. "From now I shall visit you at least twice a week. Irrespective of however much work I have. I'll even reply to every comment that you make. Now forgive your Coochie Pooochie. Come on. You know you like me. We make such a great team. So many people like us. Give me one more chance honey bun*."
And then she smiled; a smile that put several other smiles to shame. And she came and hugged me while wiping her flowing glug on my new shirt.
Seriously, I will be more regular with my blogging from now :)
* Honey Bun (n) - Term meaning "my sweet dough". Was put to use by senseless romantics in the late twentieth century. Was responsible for single handedly reducing the IQ of a generation by 5%.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
