For even if we do get away from the hustle and bustle of the city and into the mountains on a weeklong trek, one of the first things we’re likely to do is to check the network on our cell phones and complain rather loudly should any of the five lines depicting a ‘good’ network is amiss. Admit it. [break]
We love a good crowd and an excuse to get together with likeminded people so that we can justify gulping down half a bottle of fine whiskey, otherwise reserved for a special occasion.
Everyone I know is affiliated to a club, ‘social’ organization or an educational institution of which they may have hardly been a part of while they were actually studying there but now that they have somehow managed to land themselves a nice paying job and a rather promising position in the society, feel it’s within their obligation to be seen at the trendy ‘donation campaigns.’
Such is the pressure to ‘belong’ that I’ll admit I’ve made multiple donations to the Three Star Club in the last 18 months. And I don’t even live in Patan. Even more so, I don’t really like the team and most certainly don’t want it to win the national league title.
Nowadays, with facebook, it gets worse. Every other day, I get multiple invitations to join online pages with a mission.
I’ve been invited to join a page that wanted to save the tigers, convince 100 people to go bungee jumping and begin a drive against the traffic policemen who were putting the hardworking and fun-loving weekend party people in jail.
This is why I no longer accept invitations to ‘join’ groups, or likeminded men when they give me an agenda after work. I would rather spend that time alone with my thoughts and a good book.
And conversation? If I think I’m missing out on a conversation between a bunch of people doing nothing much except meeting every other week to discuss photo ops and little nothings, I would rather join a kitty party.
So what on earth makes us do this? I’ve been on many a boys’ night and I can say with some certainty that they are mostly incredibly boring until someone gets pissed drunk and starts an unnecessary argument with the bartender.
Or if you’re lucky, someone will start a fight and you can share that story the next time you and the buddies get together.
For when I think about all the stupid stuff me and my friends did back in the days, I wouldn’t want to be stupid with anyone else. But personally, I prefer spending time with my wife and her friends for the simple reason that I’m more inclined towards a conversation when the people involved are better smelling, softer and curvier.
And if you’re man enough and reading this, you’ll admit you are, too.
The writer is a banker by profession. He enjoys single malts and other good things in life.
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