Male Order

They hopped out of taxis, four at a time, and sashayed up a small flight of stairs after negotiating a rather impressive patch of puddle on the main road to enter the big gates of the Colaba hotel. That was the last the curious bunch of onlookers outside saw of them that night. But the skimpily-dressed models with their lithe figures and waxed legs had done enough to enliven a bored, retiring crowd.

Standing among and listening to the motley collection of auto-rickshaw and taxi drivers and knick-knack peddlers gawking at the models and belting out words of wisdom could be, well, enlightening. As those silent moments of awe and sex-laced wild imagination evaporated with the last girl disappearing through the door, giggles and nervous laughs ran through the crowd.

Soon, a bystander was ruminating on the purity of girls in his UP village, another about the many advantages of the chastity belt, and someone else about the lack of parenting skills in Mumbai.

“Don’t be fooled by what you see,” piped up an old man, “They disappoint you in bed. They are cold as iced fish.” The challenge was prompt. “How do you know, you old tramp? Boys are the only thing you are interested in.” The crowd dispersed, leaving the banter unfinished and the old man groping for a response.

Misfits in a city rumoured to be absolutely grown up in matters sex, are they? Possibly. Or, is it the old deprivation complex at play, with bawdy humour as an outlet for sedimented sexual frustration? You never know. But it spreads across classes.

Just ponder over the outrage at Tiger Woods’ sexual indiscretions. What is it in him that the world is so worried about? Is it the fact that he is a married man and still has several mistresses? Not really. The quantum of outrage is never less in the case of transgressing unmarried film stars and footballers, and of course, our cricketers.

Is it the fact that heroes should set moral standards? Ha! That’s bunkum. We know that. Sure, people ogling at underdressed models, salivating over girls in the Playboy centrefold and drooling over porn sites in office hours should not be talking much about moral standards.

Knowing men, it has to be envy, “that lucky bastard…” kind of a thing. It’s the alpha man beating the weaker among the species in the race for women. We attribute alphahood to men and still crib when he makes the most of it. Isn’t it funny?

Chastity belt and UP belles can wait. We know we are not serious. Just as we don’t really care whether Woods plays his golf well or Cristiano Ronaldo knows his football. It is more of the “sour grapes” syndrome at work.

The gathering at the Colaba hotel should take heart. They don’t stand isolated. It is a huge world of closet voyeurs out there. They can keep ogling at waxed legs and rant.