Skip to main content

The Ideal Man


First thought, the title is horrid.
Every human being seeks to be perfect. Perfect, in whatever ways or connotations.
Be it perfect in their personal lives, in their professional lives, on a social front, or maybe even being perfectly imperfect. This just forms a small part of the big motive of life, as we may call it. However, in the process of getting to something we want to be or achieve, we might just have become someone else. Is that someone your true self? Do you know your true self at all?
More important a question- do you belive in asking such questions to yourself?
to be yourself- your projected self- to be an ideal.
These are probably the three different personalities in you, (no worries, that doesn’t make you schizophrenic), which as much as we disagree, form a part of our behavior.
To be looking at your true self is probably the last thing any one would want to do, given the busy schedules, hectic work hours, killing projects et al.

Talk about the projected ‘You’. That is what we do all the time. Mouthing someone else’s words, framing some third person’s dreams, striking decisions to please others, is a part of it.
However, there is something special about the ‘ideal self’.
Especially, with me, from being the ‘ideal’ girl (‘Typical girl’? sorry I beg to differ), the ‘ideal daughter’, ‘ideal student’, to being an ‘ideal someone’ for my special someone, has been close to my heart. Burn down all, finding that ‘ideal self’ had become a part of Me.
While doing so, somewhere unconscioiusly I had begun an odd search. Coming across the ‘ideal man’ was, however, impractical, nonsensical, immature, girly, other-worldly, and trivial. Not that I wanted to know ‘who’ the Ideal Man was in self, I still wanted to know him, maybe some information on him would suffice me for the time being.

An Ideal Man is just one amongst the many men that walk around us, who meet us at every step in our life- be it schooling ( it could be someone like your first cruch from standard 7th, your Music professor) , college days (that first day of college, when just THIS ONE GUY helped you out in getting to your class), or maybe your ‘chuddy-buddy’ (your boy-next-door whom you have known for so long now, that you have now overcome the barrier of ‘girl-boy’ relation.)
The ‘ideal man’ need not have a certain specific set of traits. He may not even be aware that he is one. He could offer you the 2 minute silence you need in the most strenuous squabble you have ever got into. He could give you the most supportive and reassuring look you ever needed, to tell you that he is there for you, no matter whatever the consequences. He might yell at you, and then say, “When did I shout at you?”, and then looking at your now sad face, apologises for the same, not knowing of your sly giggles. He wants to know why that one frown on your face has ended up where it is, and will justify with all possible nonsensical arguments on why it shouldn’t be there. He will sing out of turn and manage to get you singing too, just when you feel that the world starts and ends with things like – logic and level-headedness, and bang! There you are, laughing and making fun of each other, leaving all you worldliness behind, to the effect that people around *s-t-a-r-e* at you.
He will never let you realise that you are the weaker sex, though that doesn’t stop him from criticizing them. He could be the biggest male shovenist pig you ever met, giving you gyan on how women should and have to be the cook of the house. Then he smiles, apologises and gives you another recipie that he tried out in the kichten in that afternoon.
That cup of coffee did some good.
I walk down my regular lane, all alone. This is the only time when I get to think all by myself. And when I do that, it usually works the negative side. I end up getting myself absorbed into this bottomless depressing phase which is far more than ‘not me’! A fifteen-minute walk and then swoosh comes his car. “Get in, you idiot. Its raining crazy and you just dropped your brains.”
With those thousand other papers around, 15 odd books, a laptop that can’t stop glaring at you, a one minute thought about him, and a smile back on your face.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Post-it

Waking up to the sounds of nature, She did all she could to avoid her start to the day. The routine wasn't hers to follow, so God help those who wanted to help her. With a bag full of munchies and a bouncy walk with the blaring music in her ears, she walked to her regular book store - one that was not ruined by the virtues of modern technologies. In the pile of her books, behind her glasses, she felt like a princess in her own right. Owning the world of words. Conquering all thoughts. Riding her horse of imagination. "This one is tricky",  she heard a voice which almost felt like it came from within. "I can't seem to decide what book I want read. They all either equally good, or well, equally bad." Slowly rising from the top rim of the book, her eyes tried to make sense of what her ears just caught. "Sir, what genre of books do you read?", asked the furious sales woman behind the counter. She was obviously not happy with this confused customer who...

Going Ballistic

Chop Chop Chop!! "ruchi sssssssssssssssssshhhhh" "What?" "Umm...shhhh" "Well, okay. Whatever." ..and the Chop Chop Chop continues. I was too absorbed into my own thoughts to figure out where the "ssshhh"s have been coming from. For one, I was listening to music o full blast. Of course that meant the rest of the world can do whatever they want and I wouldn't care two hoots. "Say maybe, you're gonna be the one who saves me..." I sing my way to annoy the "ssshhh" ing person. BAh!   Although, apparently all of my actions and words were louder than usual, and more importantly, louder than necessary. For a couple of odd days, mom thought I had some hearing difficulties and this was my way of dealing with it. Heart-wreaking as it was, my colleagues seconded this, with a few attributing it to the constant music blast in my ears.  So, crazy as it was getting,  I resisted the opinions, that turned into judgemen...

Shelf of unread books

'Where to mister?" she yelled at me from a distance, loud enough for everyone to notice.  "Hey, I'm not some kind of a thief, just looking around, grabbing a book to read. That's what they're meant for, right?" "Yea, if you pay for it!" "Of course, here." I paid for the stack of papers bound together in knots of tiny rounds, filled with words that were about to change my life. As I walked home, I was beaming with a sense of refreshment. I hadn't read a book in months, and calling myself an avid reader wasn't true anymore. It was a cold Saturday afternoon, and I was dreaming about a warm coffee in my balcony with my book. However, my footsteps had a different afternoon planned for me. "No, sir. Dalal Street is where I want to go. Could you help me?" I heard an unfamiliar accent from the corner of the street. "Seedha rasta hai" "What?" "It's straight from this turn, approximat...