Posts Tagged ‘battle of the sexes’

“…for me there is no greater bore than a 100-per-cent male or female. Confronted by a massive two-fisted barrel-chested he-man or a fluttering itsy-bitsy, all-tendril female, I run from their irksome company. The men and women I prize are a happy blend of male and female characteristics. A man who is masculine with a definitely female streak of perception, intuition and tenderness is a whole man;he is an interesting man, a gay companion, a complete lover. A woman who possesses a sufficient strain of masculinity to make her thoughtful, decisive, worldly in the best meaning of the word;fair; self-reliant; companionable- this is a whole woman.
The feminine in the man is the sugar in the whiskey. The masculine in the woman is the yeast in the bread. Without these ingredients the result is flat, without tang or flavor.” Edna Ferber, A Kind of Magic (Gollancz,London)


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Man is a funny animal. Common sense tells him to mind his step. But his uncommon sense tells him to listen to his inner voice instead.
Common sense tells him to keep his secrets close to the chest but he blabbers it all to some shrink who happens more often than not, a total stranger. He calls it uncommon sense.
Sure his common sense is so common that cannot keep to the beaten tracks well tested. The old adage ‘a bird in hand is worth two in the bush’ will not do for him. He plays at stocks what he cannot afford hoping there is a greater fool out there to save his goose from cooking. He calls that his uncommon sense.
Science gives man How and religion tells Why his universe works in a manner of speaking but his common sense cannot get the point.
What does his uncommon sense say? Perhaps both may work in my case, according to my special needs.
Uncommonsense without some plain commonsense makes a fool; similar man without a touch of feminine qualities makes a brute.Yet we carry on battle of the sexes as though it is a honor or ego thing!

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Basic template for the human body and brain is female.
We all start out as girls and around six to eight weeks since conception a fetus with XY develop normally into a boy: in order to do that its special cells will direct male hormones in particular testosterone, to other parts of the body to form male testes and configure the brain for masculine traits and behavior.
The Bible is clear about this: He created them male and female. But how come she has become weak vessal and a baggage subject to man’s laws? Our laws are all calculated to make her look second class. Religions also have reinterpreted the divine Will to keep her under man’s control. Recently some one in Saudi Arabia came up with a new revelation: women who are allowed to drive cars are in danger of pre-marital sex!
Religion from the manner has treated woman seems to follow this point: God proposes Prophet disposes.


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I am not what I seem. I am some three thousand years old. Let it not hold up the story.
When I reached the age of 987 and having suffered my wife constantly harping of the dowry she brought into our marriage I looked some way of escaping it all. I could have shrugged it off had I tried harder but she made everyone in the neighborhood know of the fact. To top it all she would rub in her private grievances whenever I wanted a little loving. I knew from the first time we lay in our marriage bed how she was mistaken to my ability to keep her in a lifestyle she was used to. Of course I gritted my teeth and suffered her to speak her mind. Of course I did what made me feel complete. Sex made me feel good but still, the bed was the coldest place on the earth. The day after I turned 987 I was all dressed for day. I went to my wife and laughed and say,’I shall be out for a while. Don’t wait for me for lunch.’
I was an astronaut and I took off with a laugh and even as I sped faster than light and travelled into farthest reaches where no man had ever before me touched the ground. I was deliriously happy. After dawdling over the fiasco of marrying my wife when I had future, I told myself to take firm grip of my future. When I landed on the earth I knew the world had changed. The earth was totally in peace and from that moment I knew that my wife is a thing of the past. My neighborhood was different and I looked no older than some thirty years. My premonition was correct. ‘My wife was dead and gone. Nothing that reminded of her remained. I shall take my future and I lead my life’ said I.
No wonder when the whole neighborhood was gunning for me in the next two years I could shrug it off. I told them that I didn’t intend to marry. ‘But you are in flower of your youth.’ Many said earnestly. ‘You will make some woman deliriously happy’ said one who had become my shadow of sorts. ‘Oh no,’ I said carelessly,’ I am used to a lifestyle no woman is worth considering for.’ in the end I brought a bitch home and said,’ Nothing like a dog. Man’s best companion.’
In the end I was left to myself. I was so happy with the dog who fawned on me. How many ways she delighted me! she was ultimate in playfulness. Every time I threw a bone she ran and ran with it. She improvised on it with so many complex gimmicks and every time she came she had some twenty to twenty-five mutts at her heels sniffing her all over. The delight of her fetching the bone was lost in the voracious appetite of those stray dogs that never quite left the place. So one day I chided my dog that the very sight of a bone made me sick for the mutts that she brought home. The dog wagged her tail and said,’I am used to a lifestyle that you cannot give either in my previous or this present life.’
It made me shot up as though someone had lit a firecracker in my behind. The tone was very familiar through her whelping, and the toss of her head was distinctively of my wife.’
I could only sigh.

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'Does our master follow our conversation?'

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The Tale of the Bull and the Ass ©

There was a merchant in Mosul and he had a wife by name Zainaba. She loved him to distraction. She wanted to engage him at all hours in conversation. While in the middle of crossword puzzle she was sure to ask whatever popped in her mind. It was her way of being of one mind. One day while he was testing his skills against so many other contestants ‘Who Want to be a Millionaire’ she called him up to ask if he remembered the last episode of ‘The Bold and the Beautiful.’ In trying to oblige her he lost his concentration and was eliminated at the penultimate round. Poor Faizal! There was no escape for him . She peppered him whether at home or by long distance.
So he took to his Koran and read at one stretch from the beginning to the end fifteen times. Every time he heard his wife’s footfalls he pushed a note for her, ‘Do not disturb! Angel Gabriel may strike me dead for impiety.’ Of course the ruse worked. Zainaba loved him as I said, to distraction. But to displease Allah, Oh no it was unthinkable.
On the fourth month Faizal was about to prepare for his evening prayer and an angel appeared and saluted him. The angel said he was sent to bless him for his devotion. ‘Such thirst for knowledge! Allah shall reward you, O righteous One.’
Faizal wasn’t sure what it was he wanted most. ‘May be you want to understand the mind of your devoted wife?’ the Angel prodded helpfully.
‘Oh no!’ he spluttered, ‘I would like to understand the animal talk. Cows chew the cud more than they care to talk. The ass may bray but only at the dawn.’ Faizal muttered aloud. The angel understood the drift and said, ‘Allah, the Most Benevolent is pleased to grant your heart’s desire.’
The angel warned Faizal not to tell this to another soul. Punishment for breaking his oath would be death, the angel had warned. Faizal was sure the chance to live among his farm animals and avoid having to answer all his wife’s questions was well worth the risk.
Thus Faizal began to show all of a sudden undue attention to his farm. His wife naturally wondered about this. Whenever she could buttonhole him he found excuses to remove himself. ‘The farm must need all the attention it can get,’ she said to herself.
One morning Faizal sat before the stalls to hear the Bull chat with the Ass.
He heard the Ass ask, ‘You think our master can follow our conversation?’
Mr. Bull said, ‘Our master is so pious that he only wants to make his wife think in the same lines as he does.’
The Ass exclaimed, ‘ If that is the case he doesn’t understand his wife at all.’
The Bull asked him to explain. The Ass said, ‘Every time I carry our mistress to the market or her folks she will tug at the reins or relax; and I instantly know what is expected of me. She tells me ‘I need to tell in many words to make your master do a thing. I wish he were as clever as you. Oh many a times I have nearly died of vexation!’’
The Bull nodded wisely, ‘Allah ought to have married her to you. Then our master would have been left in peace.’
The master burst out laughing. His wife came at that precise moment and asked, ‘What on earth has got into you!’
Faizal would not answer. It struck her odd. She came to his side, ‘No man laughs for nothing! Unless he is insane.’ She stood there and asked him to tell the reason.
‘No I cannot !’ Faizal replied. She became very amazed and suspected there was something very sinister in his laugh.
‘Why did you laugh?’ She pestered him for day and night. In the end wearied by her constant sulking and demands he thought it was better to be struck dead by the angel than living under the same roof with her. ‘I shall tell it all,’ he thought to himself, ‘and break my oath’.
Next morning he went to the Kazi’s office to set his affairs in order and came home.
The woman stood at the gate and asked eagerly, ‘Are you going to tell me or not?’
‘O woman,’ Faizal said wearily, ‘I will tell my secret after I have purified myself. For by telling it I shall die.’ Zainaba was so possessed by curiosity that she asked him to get ready.
While he was washing himself in an out-house adjoining the house he saw all the farm animals wore a sad expression except a cock that strutted among some fifty hens. The dog asked if he didn’t care for the fate of his master.
‘Why should I if he cannot manage one woman in his household?’ Faizal realized that the cock managed his harem as he deemed fit and the hens were all contented for his highhandedness.
After the ceremonial wash he went into the house. His wife approached him to ask, ‘Are you going to tell your secret or not?’ He reached for his walking stick and beat her till she pleaded mercy.
‘Do you still want to hear my secret?’
‘Oh no!’ wailed the woman.
He threatened to beat her if she ever irritated him with unnecessary demands.
She promised not to repeat this and said she had learned her lesson.
That night he went to make peace with her. After all they had lived some forty years and raised children. He tried to speak but could only bray. His wife wondered what got into him.
A month later she was going to visit her son and along the way she told the Ass, ‘I got the most wonderful husband. He is pearl among men. He loves my company and makes me feel like a woman. Only fault is that he brays like you. Then no man is perfect.’


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The Man Who Made Women As Good As New ©

by Benny Thomas

camp: Svandalen, Norway

19 April 2010

The man had no special gifts except his hands. And he had made the city his home.

The city was called Sin City. The particular adjective gave no air of anything even remotely hinting of moral or ethical lapse. In fact the city touted quality of life as its promise. Quality of civic life nevertheless made the name stick. The city fathers had given their solemn promise and through thick and thin of economic meltdown the city did not let go its virtue: quality of life for all. Yet the civic fathers failed them not for wanting to try but for something none could put his finger on.

Men made the city work for them but women found something go out of their lives.

They could not exactly say what. They made their homes and kept their budgets tight and in all that computing and meeting their civic obligations they ceased to feel quality of life, assured by statutory laws and it did not make them feel precisely as a woman should feel. Nothing between their legs or their biology suffered but a general malaise of being alive. At the same time of being made less than before. They shielded their own brood from the brunt of life they carried on daily basis. In making the nest they merely stressed their own strengths and these didn’t account for the empty nests the chicks would leave behind. Somewhat similar to this, women felt city had carried them high only to deny them something they could not find words for. Quality of life in their pursuit of happiness was not equal to what their femininity expected them as due. That gap merely became ever perceptible as time went by.

Somewhere in a woman’s life what she is born to and what she ends up with is a fault line and it creates symptoms. Some tried alcohol and another coke; some tried acupuncture and another yoga. There were many stimulants and sessions and every thing worked up to a point.

One woman tried massage and discovered him. How the man worked on her pressure points made her feel as good as new. He worked well and what he charged was worth every cent. She passed on his name to another. This made the out-of-towner to stay on. He was a masseur more of a complete woman than a body. He solicited custom on that point and women accepted it as the truth.

Each woman,young,fading,floundering or dithering felt as new.

Twenty years he worked with his hands and he could not yet say what made them exceptional. His hands were well padded but not fleshy; it was neither hands well shaped or that of a brute. His hands were such ordinary as hands that stuck out of cuffs neither calling attention to them nor to the cut. He was ordinary and the spanking whiteness of his shirt or his pants added little to to his evanescent personality. When he worked with his clients he was almost not there. His work-out made each woman count the professional hour as homage paid to her and he spoke not a word that was out of place. He was loathe to draw attention to himself. His hands worked silently. Even where what some positions of his workout could have compromised him he was cool detachment all through.

He lived and made the quality of the city pay him dividends. His office gave him panoramic view of the city and he desired nothing except what his hands could earn.

He put every client at ease and never he rose to a higher or lower pitch to give himself away. Part of the hour he let her sat on his lap or he bent over her while his discreet stance gave nothing that she could have benefited. Her private thoughts were all hers and if these put out tendrils of hope or nostalgia, and she seemed to float back in womb of time it was all hers. He merely let his hands touch pressure points and if his clients took off from there he chose to remain an outsider. His service was faultless as his distance from his clients was thoroughly cultivated by sheer will power.

He performed with clinical efficiency that his secretary kept strict watch over. Daisy from her cubicle saw the naked bodies of clients contort or go limp and if she grimaced or nod in approval it was over the client and not over the man. His hands were miracle workers and nothing more. She noted in satisfaction no woman remembered afterward the face except her. She took down appointments and arranged his daily schedule knew his worth.Her position was secure and won over as with the man by her professionalism. She greyed and somewhat frayed around her supple body in service. She didn’t mind, Her quality of life she wrested from the city by her iron will.

Each day she checked with her boss before the day. He worked by appointment. His office on the 10th  floor was as unobtrusive as those who came in or went out.

Under the watchful eye of his secretary he learned to work as though he were a free agent. He never felt imposed upon by certain rules of office practice each expected from the other.  His ten minute recess at the end of one hour session was strictly enforced and he appreciated she saw to that he had sufficiently recovered from the previous before he began the next. He was a miracle that paid for her bed and board and a place in the community. She was not going to lose all that by neglect. Her selfishness he saw as altruism. If he were not placed by society women in their social engagements or made calls it was not her problem. He had to have work. That was all he insisted upon. There was no let up from day one.

His anonymity gave his hands their mystery and women found it an exhilarating. Consider he had moved into the City with one valise and the clothes that he had on his back and in a matter of some 20 years every woman who made the city her home swore by them. His hands made them feel as good as new.

That day the women waited for their turn. She saw him take on the first patient. She saw the blond and saw her hair roots were dark. He jawbones relaxed she was not what she considered as a threat. She had a body that was far below the expectations her dress called out to all. She saw him in his kimono and he divested of his clothes and go through his routine. Five minutes later she heard the body of the blond turning over. He was still a machine that performed and only then she relaxed. She went through the papers and made notes. First two hours made her keep her mind alert that the day’s routine went on without a hitch. She was somewhat over alert and she noted with a frown. On that day sky was grey and the weather made its chill in her bones speak up. She was cautious as never before. It was on that day as though her mind sensed lurking dangers and every sound made her jump and noise broke the thread of her routine. She heard one speak with some elation,’Ah that feels good, I can cry!’ Her forehead furrowed, hardly letting go her own defenses. Perhaps age was catching up before she headed into the dangerous Forties.

Each day she had to keep watch and yet seem not inquisitorial. Each client took something of him and he was indestructible,- not a moment letting his guard down.

She remembered it was she who insisted he take a recess after an hour long session.Only that day made she was none special. She was on the wrong side of thirty!

She carefully scanned his face and gestures. She casually let her eyes rest around his boxer. He was relaxed and concentrated on his work. His movements didn’t hit any hitch but he was as cool and controlled as before. Again her mind took a defensive stance with the last patient and she could mentally describe every spot he covered or every sigh that escaped women feeling the waves of unease escape their psyche.

Daisy didn’t ask what made her feel uneasy that particular day. Fifteen years she had spent manning her station while the man prodigiously worked with his hands.Was it her hormones her age or what?

As the last patient made ready to leave she sent him sms to ask for an extra session.

‘Under exceptional circumstances, she pleaded.

He texted back:OK

When she went from her desk the man awaited his patient from the door. He was not a whit puzzled or complaining to see her. Before she removed her dress she asked,’ Do you feel embarrassed?’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘All those women who come to you see you as a machine.’


I come to you differently.’ she stammered and feeling red. It was painful to express what was so long churning up inside.

She removed her clothes coming closer and closer. Her eyes teased him now. ‘They want to be put at ease.’

He stared at her puzzled.’I want to be excited. Feel my heart!’ She took his hands and put them against her heart.’You surely must feel something.’

‘No I feel nothing.’

Her face went pale. She had removed her panties and she let it drop.

‘I am lying down. Make me feel like a client’.

He just sat on his stool shadow of dejection expanding from his forehead to his chin.

‘Oh I had a hard day, and my hands are like wet rags.’

Daisy whimpered. ‘Twenty years I slaved for you. Do I mean nothing to you?’

He turned his head away. He heard her hands bunch up the hem of her dress. She let it fall on the floor in helplessness. He could not bear her accusatory eyes. ‘ I ask to be treated like any other woman’ Her voice trailed off in a moan. He sat there. ‘You have hurt me!’

Her voice faltered and she did not cry but shook in convulsions of despair and loneliness.

‘You are my wife, and not my custom.’

‘I put 200 dollars before I came,it is there in the day-book. Consider it as my fee.’

He rose mechanically and walked towards the curtain wall of glass that looked towards the sea. He stood there lost in thought as though he wanted to watch the rising mist from the sea. He could not bear meeting her eyes that were misted in tears.

He said,’Let us go home. After dinner we shall make love as we used to.’ He walked over to her and silently held his hand out. He felt her hand and he closed over it. He sighed. It was a relief. He felt the day was much more difficult than he ever thought it was.

They took the elevator down two figures numbed already by the awful silence of the tower that was easing itself for the night.


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