In the latest He Says She Says column, Shonali and me have fought over New Year resolutions. Just to line to tell you guys that it has been updated on the blog.
Archive For January 10th, 2006
Episode 13: New Year Resolutions!
She Says:
The clock struck twelve. The champagne popped open. The lights went out. Fireworks exploded. And then, people began to discuss their new years resolutions.
Someone talked of saving money. Someone else swore to turn vegan. Start exercising. Stop buying shoes. Start writing home. Stop getting drunk. Start helping out at an animal welfare centre. Stop complaining about work.
There’s something so profoundly inspiring about the New Year at midnight.
Are women are better at keeping new year’s resolutions that men?
Maybe.
Are women more likely to make New Year’s resolutions? Oh yeah.
Women always work on changing the way they are. While their male counterparts dunk their faces into the party punch, they’ll plan to work out and detox, start computer classes and learn driving.
If the men make resolutions they’re more likely to plot for cushier circumstances: a bigger car, heftier salary, more powerful job.
Women want all these things too. But when it comes to resolutions, they tend to focus on more personal things: writing more letters to friends, spending more time with their families, keeping a cat. They also realise that resolutions aren’t a wish list to Santa, and keep their goal realistic. Well, ok. Semi-realistic at least.
Now, nobody’s asking you to become one of those cloyingly cheerful types that hits the sack at 7 p.m. with dabs of anti-wrinkle cream under their eyes, so they can start their yoga at 4 a.m.
But making a resolution, and not necessarily a New Year’s R, is not always a bad thing. Those Mercs make their way to your garage eventually, if you work hard enough, and are smart enough.
But if you don’t at least attempt to make to work on yourself, you might just be the fat guy in a sloppy T-shirt that takes delivery of the vehicle.
Alone.
He Says:
There are two ways to spend a moment.
Either spend it instantly — fresh and live — celebrating every ounce of the present.
Or waste it designing, planning or figuring out the future.
Men do it the first way because they don’t feel the need to remind themselves to write letters to friends (when they can just call the bugger), spend time with families (duh? Isn’t that what they do when they are bumming around at home, when the woman is away shopping?) or to keep a cat (for what joy?).
What are resolutions anyways but a things-to-do for the future?
What if the biggest-thing-to-do is life itself?
What if the larger resolution is just to be happy!
The resolutions men make are just more attempts at the sky and reach the tree-top. Men do aim big, you know. They are more imaginative, they do want Santa to keep his job and keep the faith alive in this growingly cynical world.
Besides, men don’t wake up praying to God saying: Oh God, send me my Merc.
They wake up grinning about what they did last night and proceed to things that are right in front of them. They enjoy the present, savour it it to the fullest and live life moment-to-moment.
When one step at a time does take them places, why would they waste precious moments speculating how many steps it takes and then some more frequently comparing if they are as per schedule, in sync with earlier plans?
Yeah, it’s not the destination that matters for men. Or calculating how to get there. It’s the journey of taking different routes, driving different cars or just exploring the vibrant walks of life.
A fat guy in a sloppy T-shirt is a man at peace with himself. He can help himself to yet another beer without having the need to watch his paunch, eat a few more chocolates and make the buffet true value for money. And maybe some day, he would wake up for the walk to the gym.
And hey, not all those who are alone are lonely. The explorers that men are, some like to keep their baggage light.
Besides, it’s more fun driving a different Merc everyday, just to go see the face of the loser — the loser who just spent half a fortune to stick to one Merc just to drive his pampered wife to work and back, with an annoying cat in the backseat. The loser who will probably spend the rest of his life writing letters to friends.
Bound.
MADRAS INK. 