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All That Testosterone Makes You Walk Like A Camel - Phuduk, Phuduk, Phuduk!

Monday, April 14, 2014

I was always a boisterous tom-boyish kid growing up. HATED dolls, soft-toys didn't make no sense. Didn't understand the need for creams and such-like until after I turned sixteen. That silly barbie pink made me want to puke. More often than not I was fighting with the boys to let me play with them - cricket, marbles, football; scaling walls, trying to wrestle them after getting inspired watching Salmaan Khan in Maine Pyar Kiya. I loved to whistle, scream loud, cuss, and most of all I loved besting boys at stuff that was supposed to be "boys only". Still do - only that I am wiser to the not-so-mysterious male ego now, but, unfortunately if I say so myself, not any gentler.

I often fantasize that I am a warrior of the medieval times - hey still a female one han - roaring at some sweat-dripping, peck-shifting, big muscled, menacing oaf "COME ON ye filthy piece of pig shit, I dare ya, I dare ya to knock off this mighty sword off my wee hands, come on ye toad-sucking, rat-wheezing, knuckle-eyed low-tail weasel!!"

ROAAARRRRR

CHAARRGEEEE

ATTACKKKKKKKKK. SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

"TAKE THAT YOU KNUCKLE-EYED LOW-TAIL WEASEL!!!"

Ahhh, that was so satisfying. No, no - no hidden feminist agendas here. Just giving outlet to some healthy testosterone thrumming through my blood. Ok, before YOU point out, let ME point out, that testosterone is not the pure claim of the male alone. Han, what? Oh is it? Oh...really? High levels of testosterone in women causes all that???  Ok ok, let's not get into it medically, let's talk about it metaphorically only okay?

Nobody has tried as hard to suppress my testosteronal attributes as much as my dear nani did and my very ladylike sister (still continues to). My favourite memories though, are of my nani.

Picture school summer holidays, picture all the time in the world to play, picture me in jeans and a t-shirt, a cap jammed on my head, boisteriously walking through the compound after a satisfying effort rolling granite boulders from one end of the rather large property to the other - I was creating a stone bench for myself in the garden. I am sweating, whistling... I come in bouncing through the back door, reach the hall, flop on the sofa, one leg stretched out, the other jiggling, I stretch loudly, with a "yiiaaaahhhhh" to loosen out the kinks. I resume my whistling, and then I look up. The whistling stops. The jiggling stops. Legs are trembling to clamp together. The cap is dying to get off my head and run away. Sweat is sweating in reaction. My breath is hitched in terror, as I stare into the grey damning eyes of my gradmom. CAUGHT.

Why was it so scary? Because..... girls from good khandaans do not:

  • Whistle
  • Curse
  • Sit with legs apart
  • Speak loudly
  • Laugh loudly
  • Wrestle with boys
  • Wear boyish clothes
  • Engage in activities reserved for males
  • Sing loudly
  • Dance publicly 
  • Refer to publicly unseen body parts by their correct terms
  • Refer to acts of publicly unseen body parts that cannot be referred to by their correct terms
  • Have animated discussions with boys who they are not related to. Actually talk to boys at all.

And so on and so forth...

And I had violated at least five of those rules. I looked into my nani's sagacious grey eyes, watched her take in the additional tan on the naturally tanned skin, foresaw the ("who will marry this girl" shake that would come soon),and waited for what would come next.

After an eternity in the damning hell, she spoke.... "all that boyish energy ...phuduk-phuduk-phuduk ... you walk like a camel!!!"




I was so stunned with what she said that I burst out laughing - LOUD. But oops! I clamped my palm over my mouth. "Girls from good khandaans DO NOT..." she started "... laugh so loudly", I finished for her with a chastised nod of my head.  She gave me a keen gaze and repeated, "girls from good khandaans ...do not. walk. like. camels."

Yes good girls do not walk like camels. It made logical sense, so I gave up my sneakers and graduated to three inch heels (because those were the only things that managed to keep my toes neatly pointy and not splayed out ungracefully), and started walking like ...a gazelle ... a beautiful...elegant ... very ladyish gazelle.

You WISH.

A CHICKEN. I started walking like a damn CHICKEN!!

Every time the heel met the ground, my neck wobbled out with a jerk - just like a CHICKEN.

The tragedy of it all I tell ya.

But that was still acceptable for girls from good khandaans, because hens are female, and that made logical sense. Right? Right, you get it right?

But every once in a while, the camel in me whistles his way out, while I stretch out my sleepy joints with a loud "yiaaaaaahhhhhhh", and reach out to pat his phudhuk phuduk hump. There, there my little warrior, there's my boy - who's your mommy, who's your mommy??

Now let's go bust some byzantenian ass!! ATTAAACCKKKKK!


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