I’m a writer, not a fighter. I am no good with confrontation. I prefer restraining all of my frustration and then venting out in the form of a short story, blog post or poem or even running the half marathon instead of reporting on it. These entries, however, are few and far between and the marathons – once a year. It takes a considerable amount of provocation for me to get angry. I’m the most patient person I know – like a chess player, except that I don’t play chess. I hate chess. Chess is not a sport. I love sports. The field transforms me. I’m short tempered, aggressive, abusive and first to start a fight. Sport is my exception to being me. But all that is temporary. At the blow of the final whistle, once the adrenalin stops flowing, I hug the guy I elbowed in the face and put my arm around the guy whose legs I took out. I also make it a point to apologize to the referee who had been showered with my constant abuse. When I take off my boots, I’m back to being me. Mellow and chilled out. Much like the music I listen to. I love music even though my taste in it may be slightly effeminate. I can listen to Jason Mraz’s ‘I’m Your’s’ all day. I still make fun of the ‘Backstreet Boys’’ of the world but I don’t hate slow soft rock. I strongly believe that every guy is a closet ABBA fan – the secret foot-tapping to dancing queen, the hidden lip-syncing to Mama Mia. I know I’m right. I like anything that’s not heavy metal or Justin Beiber. Marley is soulful and Dylan’s a genius. I’m at peace with the world when sufficiently drunk and listening to the Redemption Song. I love alcohol. I want to swim in a pool of Budweiser and drink myself to death. What a way to go! I drink a lot of beer – in one night and then for the whole week; till I’m sick of it; till I can’t drink anymore beer. Then I switch to rum. I go from being Brewman to Rumboy. They would be the coolest superhero duo – Brewman and Rumboy. Together, they would solve all the problems of the world. Dressed in their elastic slacks and long hanging shirts, they would drag their ungainly bodies to every party and make sure everyone gets hammered so that the playing field is leveled. The geeks would have as much of a chance of nailing the hot chicks as the jocks. Dry days wouldn’t exist. There would be a constant flow of alcohol through the night. They would loosen up the wound-up working class and make the constant nagging of the women-folk seem like music to our ears. I love to hate the nagging. I love women. Most of them, anyway. Their complex mind drives me crazy at times but also makes me want to figure them out. They bring out all of the emotions in you – the good, the bad, the ugly. Falling in love will be your greatest life lesson. It has been mine.

This is me, so far at least. I have no regrets.

<a rel=”license” href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_GB”><img alt=”Creative Commons Licence” style=”border-width:0″ src=”http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by/3.0/80×15.png&#8221; /></a><br /><span xmlns:dct=”http://purl.org/dc/terms/&#8221; property=”dct:title”>Kabir’s blog</span> by <a xmlns:cc=”http://creativecommons.org/ns#&#8221; href=”https://mandrekarkabir.wordpress.com/&#8221; property=”cc:attributionName” rel=”cc:attributionURL”>Kabir Mandrekar</a> is licensed under a <a rel=”license” href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en_GB”>Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License</a>.


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