Nadarajan ****

Nadarajan had been born lucky. His father, and before him, his grand father, and in fact all his forefathers had been wealthy philanthropists, highly respected by the community. Nadarajan ran his business well. His workers were honest and trustworthy. His business dealings were smooth. Money was pouring in. And Nadarajan was generous with his workers and business associates. They in turn respected him. He was a gentleman. And his wife and children were the best too. Ananthi herself came from a well-to-do family. The children were well behaved, humble and did well in their studies. Nadarajan continued to be lucky. “His forefathers did many good deeds, and Nadarajan is reaping the harvest.” The people were proud of the upright citizen in Nadarajan.

Nadarajan was never ruffled. He remained calm all the time. Somehow he knew that everything will be alright. His workers and friends would often come to him in despair, but he would speak to them in soothing words. He would somehow always manage to persuade them to look on the bright side. Everything will pass. Everything will be alright. And when he said this to them , they would somehow be reassured. And things would turn out alright. Nadarajan could handle any situation. This was what everyone believed. Until that fateful day.

Nadarajan was shaking. His mind raced. He could not hear the comforting words his workers and relatives were uttering. His perfect, unshakeable world had coming crashing down. Nothing would be the same again. For awhile Nadarajan had been in denial. No. Such things cannot happen to him. It only happened to others. He should know. They always came to him with these problems. And he would comfort them. But now, the awful truth was staring him in the face. It had happened to him. The doctors said he had Cancer.

Nadarajan lashed out at everyone around him. He screamed at Ananthi. Ananthi was shocked that her calm and collected Nadarajan had transformed into this monster. The children clutched at their mother in terror. They could not even recognize their father, in the state he was in. The villagers bore the brunt of his anger. He blamed everyone. Hurtful words spewed forth. He even cursed the Gods. The villagers were astounded, seeing the change in Nadarajan. He had no faith. He had no strength. He trusted no one. He was hollow. His unabashed selfishness shamed them.

The phone rang. It continued to ring. No one dared to pick it up, fearing Nadarajan’s wrath. Finally he screamed at Ananthi, “Pick up the phone woman.”

Ananthi moved quickly to the phone, and lifted it to her ear. She listened, speechless. Her face was a study of emotions. “What are you saying? Are you sure ? Positive? No mistake? ”

Slowly she put down the phone.

“There was a mistake. The test results were incorrect. You are perfectly healthy.”

As the reality of the news sank in, Nadarajan felt a flush of unbearable shame. He looked around at his wife and children, the relatives, his workers, the villagers. He had no words. As he looked, they averted his eyes. Slowly they turned and left. One by one. Nadarajan was alone.

The result ***

Vina tossed and turned. The girl at the clinic had said the test was positive. Vina had been devastated. If her parents came to know, they would disown her. She just did not know what to do. But the girl at the clinic had held out some hope. These tests are not conclusive. A blood test should be more reliable. But it had to be done at the lab. Vina grabbed at the straw. Anything to hope for. The test result was expected in the morning. Vina looked at the green display of her bedside clock. It showed 2:00.

***

Gina had just gone into a fitful sleep. Her pillow was wet with her tears. Her husband was not at her side. Gina had cried herself to sleep. Her life had turned into a living hell. It had started just about six months into her marriage to Hari. Initially she and Hari had decided that they would defer staring a family for a couple of years. But when Hari’s mother heard about it, she threw the nastiest tantrum. She wanted a grandson. Pronto. Hari agreed, to make his mother happy. And Gina agreed, to make her husband happy.

Soon they found that she had fertility problems. As they went from clinic to clinic, trying a variety of options, Hari’s mother got increasingly abusive. Hari too became cold and distant, and began to blame Gina. Gina’s hell was getting unbearable when the unbelievable good news came. She had conceived! Even her mother in law smiled at her that morning. Hari too had been treating her delicately ever since. And then - bad luck struck. She fell ill, and started bleeding. The doctor said she had probably lost her child. Just as she was staring at the bleak future, he held out some hope. A lab test was needed for confirmation. There was a remote chance. Gina prayed.

***

The shrill ring of the phone woke Vina. She picked up the phone and listened. She was in a sleepy daze. ‘Negative.’ As the news sank in, her face brightened. The day was bright. The sun was shining. Everything was ok.

***

Gina waited by the phone. At precisely 9 am, it rang. Listening, Gina’s face lit up. ‘Positive’. Just then Hari walked in. Hearing the good news, they hugged each other tightly. Life was worth living again.


***

Viji realised her mistake too late. She had mixed up the samples. But results had been released to the patients. She went to the telephone and dialled.

Pâté de foie gras ***

Tiffy scampered happily along the edge of the pond. Then she dived in, followed by the whole group of her friends. The youngsters were having a field day, running around, swimming and just generally lazing around. All they had to do was eat, play and laze around all day. It was heaven. As they floated lazily on the warm water of the pond, in the bright sunshine, Tiffy glanced at the far end of the meadow, over the small hillock. The roof of the building could be seen. She had heard so many horrible stories about what went on in those buildings. Could it be true ? Mr Oliver seemed such a nice man. But then, he did come and take away some of the older ones among them, occasionally. Some said the older ones were sent to another pond. Others had more terrifying tales.

***

Tiffy was 12 weeks old. That morning, as she waddled towards to pond, Mr Oliver appeared, with his men. They grabbed several of the ducklings, including Tiffy. Tiffy was petrified. She tried to quack, but no sound came out of her throat. All of them were put in a cage, and then on to a small truck, which took then away. To THE BUILDING.

***

Tiffy was weak and bleary eyed. It was a month since she had arrived at the building, which they now knew as the feeding house. Every few hours, one of them would be grabbed by the throat, and a tube with a funnel showed right down their throats. The pain was excruciating. Watered down corn based cereal will then be continuously poured down the tube. Tiffy’s throat was raw and burning. The cereal gruel painfully distended Tiffy’s throat and insides. The feeding continued until Tiffy was almost bursting. Then, rest, back in the cage. Until the next session, a couple of hours later. Tiffy watched as her friends suffered. Some collapsed, and some died. Why were Mr Oliver and these men doing this ? They had been so gentle before ? Why had they become such cruel monsters?


***

“I think these three are ready,” Mr Oliver was inspecting the ducks. Then, he opened the cage and grabbed Tiffy and another two ducks. They were too terrified to struggle. In any case they were so fat they could hardly move. Mr Oliver moved them over to another room. Tiffy could not believe his eyes. There, several men, holding knives were carving up the ducks. They were extracting the livers, which they carefully packed into small boxes. The boxes were marked “Oliver’s Gourmet Farm. Pâté de foie gras".

The Tragic Case of Considerate Tim ***

Tim's letter to the Editor:

It is important for men to remember that, as women grow older, it becomes harder for them to maintain the same quality of housekeeping as when they were younger. When you notice this, try not to yell at them. Some are oversensitive, and there's nothing worse than an oversensitive woman.
My name is Tim. Let me relate how I handled the situation with my wife,Peggy. When I retired a few years ago, it became necessary for Peggy to get a full-time job along with her part-time job, both for extra income and for the health benefits that we needed. Shortly after she started working, I noticed she was beginning to show her age. I usually get home from the golf club about the same time she gets home from work.
Although she knows how hungry I am, she almost always says she has to rest for half an hour or so before she starts dinner. I don't yell at her.Instead, I tell her to take her time and just wake me when she gets dinner on the table.
I generally have lunch in the Men's Grill at the club so eating out is not reasonable.I'm ready for some home-cooked grub when I hit that door. She used to do the dishes as soon as we finished eating. But now it's not unusual for them to sit on the table for several hours after dinner. I do what I can by diplomatically reminding her several times each evening that they won't clean themselves. I know she really appreciates this, as it does seem to motivate her to get them done before she goes to bed.
Another symptom of aging is complaining, I think. For example she will say that it is difficult for her to find time to pay the monthly bills during her lunch hour. But, boys, we take 'em for better or worse, so I just smile and offer encouragement. I tell her to stretch it out over two or even three days. That way she won't have to rush so much. I also remind her that missing lunch completely now and then wouldn't hurt her any (if you know what I mean). I like to think tact is one of my strong points.
When doing simple jobs, she seems to think she needs more rest periods. She had to take a break when she was only half finished mowing the yard. I try not to make a scene. I'm a fair man. I tell her to fix herself a nice, big, cold glass of freshly squeezed lemonade and just sit for a while. And, as long as she is making one for herself, she may as well make one for me too.
I know that I probably look like a saint in the way I support Peggy. I'm not saying that showing this much consideration is easy. Many men will find it difficult. Some will find it impossible! Nobody knows better than I do how frustrating women get as they get older. However, guys, even if you just use a little more tact and less criticism of your aging wife because of this article, I will consider that writing it was well worthwhile. After all, we are put on this earth to help each other.
Signed, Tim

EDITOR'S NOTE:
Tim died suddenly on May 27 of a cracked skull. The police report says he was found with a Calloway extra long 50-inch Big Bertha Driver II golf club laying nearby. His wife Peggy was arrested and charged with murder. The all-woman jury took only 15 minutes to find her Not Guilty, accepting her defence that Tim somehow, while practising his golf swing, accidentally hit himself on his head.
(A plagiarised piece: MA)

REMINISCE!!! *****

To All those Born in the 50's , 60's & early '70s.. The article below was written by Patrick Teoh in his blog "Niamah!!".

To All those Born in the 40's, 50's , 60's & early '70s... First, we survived with mothers who had no maids. They cooked /cleaned while taking care of us at the same time. They took aspirin, candies floss,fizzy drinks, shaved ice with syrups and diabetes were rare. Salt added to Pepsi or Coke was remedy for fever. We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. As children, we would ride with our parents on bicycles/ motorcycles for 2 or 3. Richer ones in cars with no seat belts or air bags. Riding in the back of a private taxi was a special treat. We drank water from the tap and NOT from a bottle. We would spend hours on the fields under bright sunlight flying our kites, without worrying about the UV ray which never seemed to affect us. We went to jungles to catch spiders without worries of Aedes mosquitoes. With mere 5 pebbles (stones) would be a endless game. With a ball (tennis ball best) we boys would run like crazy for hours. We catch guppy in drains / canals and when it rains we swim there. We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually worry about being unhygienic. We ate salty, very sweet & oily food, candies,bread and real butter and drank very sweet coffee/ tea, ice kacang, but we weren't overweight because....... WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!! We would leave home in the morning and play all day, till streetlights came on. No one was able to reach us all day. AND WE DIDN'T HAVE HANDPHONES TO BUG US. And we were O.K. AND WE WERE SAFE. We would spend hours repairing our old bicycles and wooden scooters out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem . We did not have Playstations, X-boxes, Nintendo's, multiple channels on cable TV, DVD movies, no surround sound, no phones, no personal computers, no Internet. WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them! We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and we still continued the stunts. We never had birthdays parties till we were 21 We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and just yelled for them! The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law! Yet this generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever! The past 40 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas. We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO DEAL WITH IT ALL! And YOU are one of them! CONGRATULATIONS! You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the government regulated our lives for our own good. And while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were. PS: -The big type is because Long-sightedness or hyperopia at your age . he... he.... ~ Patrick Teoh

Prosperity ****

Kaathaan was up at dawn, tending to the vegetable plot. Weeding and watering. He had to fetch water from the pond at Gobal’s field. His wife Valli would clean the hut, and later prepare breakfast for the family. Invariably millet gruel. Their sons would leave with the goats after breakfast. They would be back only in the late afternoon.

Valli would then help Kaathaan in picking the vegetables. Egg plant, long beans, snake gourd, ladies finger, cucumber and pumpkin. They would keep a small quantity for themselves, for the next few days’ meals. She also did not forget to keep some for Malar, widowed since her husband died recently. But most of it Kaathaan would spread in small heaps, on an old mat spread out in the shady area in front of his hut. There were also mangoes, jackfruits, bananas and guavas from his orchard behind his house. He would then rest, leaning against the mud walls of his hut.

Soon the villagers would come by, one by one. They would squat near Kaathaan and make some small talk. “காத்தான், என்ன வெய்யில் இப்படி கொளுத்துது ?” (Kaathaan, the sun is really blazing.” They would talk about the rains, which were late again this year. Or the upcoming Temple திருவிழா (festival). Kala, whose husband was Velan, the fisherman, would come by with fresh fish, from that morning’s catch. Or some கருவாடு (dried salted fish.) She would hand the fish over to Valli, and whoever ever else wanted them. Then she would pick up some vegetables. Chinnan the blacksmith would come by, with the new sickles which Kaathaan had asked for. He too left the sickles and took some vegetables, and a few mangoes. Next Murugan the potter came. Last week Valli had taken several pots from Murugan. The stream of villagers continued. Each came, squatted next to Kaathaan and chatted for a while, and before leaving, picked up some fruits and vegetables. Many left their own products – milk, grains, cloth, firewood. The womenfolk would often go into the house and gossip with Valli. Many villagers stayed on, and often there would be a large group of men and women chit-chatting. When lunch time came, Valli would serve a simple meal, and everyone who was there would share whatever was available. Rice gruel and salted fish was staple lunch. Of course there were vegetables in abundance. Sometimes there would be meen kolambu (fish curry). Valli was an excellent cook.

By evening, if there were any left over vegetables, Valli would carry them in a basket and distribute among the neighbours, and sometimes to the poor outcastes who lived in the shacks on the outskirts of the village. This included Karuppan, the undertaker, who lived alone at the cremation ground outside the village.

It was a convenient arrangement. Absolutely no money changed hands. In fact, most of the villagers had not seen even a 100 rupee note in their lives. They had little need for money. The village was self-sufficient. Everyone was happy and contented.

***

Nadarajan got off the bus, which left in a swirl of dust. Nadarajan was Gobal’s son. He had left Kovilmadam many years ago, and gone to the city to study. He used to come back often, and whenever he did, the villagers would ask him what he was studying. “பொருளாதாரம், (Economics)” he would explain. But no one understood what exactly it was that Nadarajan was studying, or how it could be useful for a livelihood.

Now Nadarajan was back for good. Gobal was very proud of his son. “For his qualification, he can get a high paying job in the City. But he wants his village to become prosperous. That is why he has come back.” The villagers would nod their head. Out of respect for Gobal. They could not imagine how this boy could improve their lives.

***

“Uncle, you are so naïve. Do you know you can get a lot of money for all these vegetables? The fruits will fetch hundreds of rupees. And you are letting everyone take them without paying.”

Kaathaan looked at Nadarajan. “But I don’t need so much vegetables and fruits. I only give away what I don’t need. They will rot away if I keep them. And moreover, why do I need so much money?”

“Uncle, you can sell them. I can arrange for the wholesale buyer from the town to come and buy them. You will be rich. With money you can have a comfortable life. You can buy more land. And build a bigger house.”

“What would he do with so much vegetables ? The villagers need the vegetables. Moreover, the villagers help me. Velan gives me fish, for my favourite fish kolambu. Chinnan has always given me the sickles and knives and plowshares. And before that, Chinnan’s father used to do that. But this man from the town, I don’t know him. He has done nothing for me. Why should I give him the vegetables ?

“Aiyo uncle, you don’t understand. Let me handle it. You will not regret it.” Nadarajan was insistent.

Nadarajan also visited Velan the fisherman, and Chinnan the blacksmith, and Murugan the potter.

***

Kovilmadam was very different these days. Gobal’s house had been rebuilt. It looked grand, and had a tall compound wall around it. And an imposing metal gate. The gate was always closed. Nadarajan lived there with Gobal. He drove a Maruti Nano.

Kaathaan lived in a brick house now. The familiar spread of vegetables and fruits outside the house were no more. The chit-chatting villagers were no more too. Kaathaan hired several outcaste workers to do the work on his farm – weeding, watering, harvesting and tending the goats. Every morning a lorry from the town would arrive, and cart away the vegetables and fruits. There was no more free lunch served at Kaathaan’s house. His meals were different too. He often had mutton and chicken with his meals. He liked to have a drink of whisky after dinner. Kaathaan had money. He even had a bank account. But he spent a lot of his money paying the doctor in the town. Kaathaan and Valli fell sick often nowadays.

Velan was prosperous too. He had a boat with a motor. He had also bought a second-hand Bullet motorcycle, which he rode around the village with Kala on the pillion.

Everyone in Kovilmadam was prosperous.

***

There was a loud commotion. Villagers came out of their houses and hurried over. Gobal was shouting at the top of his voice. Kaathaan was shouting back. Both had several villagers on their side but the words were drowned in the loud shouting. It was a quarrel over money. Gobal claimed that Kaathaan owed him money. Kaathaan disputed this. Chinnan was there too, shouting at Kaathaan. Apparently Kaathaan owed him money too.

So many things were said by so many people in the heat of the moment. The men descended to physical pushing and shoving, and soon enough, blows were exchanged. Chinnan was slashed, with one of the sickles which he himself had made. Eventually the Police arrived and separated the warring groups.

***

There was an eerie silence on the streets of Kovilmadam. Kaathaan sat quietly. He looked around his house. He had all the conveniences. His family was wealthy and comfortable. They were prosperous. But something was missing.

Maya ***

The events had cascaded so fast. The sacking from his job. His wife’s hospitalization. The bank’s foreclosure. The car repossession. He had been forced to go to the Along. And soon, he was being pursued by the Along’s men.

Ravin was terrified. He stood in the dark shadow of the doorway at the end of the alley. He could hear the men moving around. They had pursued him relentlessly. And they carried spiked metal rods and machetes. They meant business. His heart was beating furiously, and his breath was hoarse. He was sure the men would hear him if they got any nearer.

The footsteps were dangerously near. And suddenly the blinding light of a powerful torch shining on his face. “No, no, no. Please. Please,” Ravin screamed deliriously. The terror was unbelievably agonizing.

***
“Ravin, what’s the matter. Stop screaming.” Lalitha shook him.
Ravin opened his eyes, and sat up. He was soaked in sweat. His face was wet with tears. He stared at Lalitha unblinking for several seconds before the reality dawned. It had been a nightmare. The feelings of terror which had been so real just seconds ago seemed so misplaced. It was ok. Everything was fine. The feeling of utter relief.

***
Ravin felt miserable. He had developed a migraine. The office problems were mounting. Staff resignations, audit problems, the union. On top of that his boss was making it a daily affair to find some fault with him.

And at home, his daughter Shilpa was behaving strangely. Her school grades had slipped. Her teacher called him very frequently, talking about her misbehavior. A friend had called, informing him that he had seen Shilpa with a boy at a shopping complex. And his wife was blaming him for all this. Lalitha's nagging was becoming unbearable.

And as if all this was not enough, Ravin’s sister had called him that evening. She was uncontrollably, as she related her marital problems. Ravin just couldn’t take it. He wished all these would just disappear – just as his nightmare did that morning.

The stress took away his appetite. And gave him insomnia. He had to pop several pills before his racing mind slowed down. He slipped into a fitful sleep. Later that night, Ravin had a stroke. He died.

***
He was free. All the problems he had grappled with until yesterday were gone. Just like the nightmare. Then Ravin realized it. The Maya of life. His life - it was just a role he had to play. And he had got attached to it, and failed to realize the impermanence of it all. Now that the veil of Maya was gone, he could see the Universal truth. And that set him free.


From the narrow vision of the individual need, one must voyage out into the broad vision of the Universal. When a drop of water falls into the ocean, it loses its narrow individualities, its name and form and assumes the form, name and taste of the ocean itself. If it seeks to live separately as a drop, it will soon evaporate and be reduced to non-existence. Each one must become aware that he/she is part of the One Truth that encompasses everything in the Universe.

- Divine Discourse, Dec 25, 1976

The Oasis ****

Henry Brown took off his hat and wiped his brow. He was at the top of the hillock. Brown looked out over the vast expanse of lush green rolling hills that was his estate. Brown had arrived on Prince of Wales Island more than 20 years ago, and had come to love the beautiful Island. He had, through hard work and entrepreneurship acquired a large tract of estate. His horse snorted. It was thirsty. Brown patted its flank. He knew where he could get some rest. And a drink for his horse. And himself.
***
Periya Thottam. This was the name the Tamil cowherds called the tiny hamlet. Mariappan was one of the early settlers there. He had come as an indentured labourer from Arcot in Tamilnadu. While many others who had come at that time to Malaya ended up in squalid near slavery, Mariappan was relatively lucky. His boss was Brown Thorai. A man with a heart of gold. His daughter Helen Margaret was equally nice. Mariappan’s family was among several hundred others at Periya Thottam. Many worked on the coconut and rubber estates belonging to Brown Thorai. And there were more than 50 families here, at the Gelugor village, herding cows and goats. The surroundings were lush, and a small stream flowed through the valley, carrying sweet water all year round. The settings were ideal for the cattle and goats.

Mariappan’s wife Karuppayi was herding the cows back into the grazing area. Mariappan sat on his coir rope cot, the small tray of vethele paakku (betelnut leaves) in front of him. Just then, there was the sound of a horse approaching.
***

Brown Thorai’s black stallion thundered in, stopping in a swirl of dust near Mariappan. Henry Brown alighted, as Mariappan hurriedly stood up and went over to get the horse. “வாங்க தொற,” he smiled at Brown.
“என்ன , மாரியப்பன் , எப்பிடி இருக்க ?” (How are you Mariappan ?) Brown had a working familiarity with Tamil.
“உங்க புண்ணியத்துல நல்லா இருக்கேன் எஜமான் .” (Fine, thanks to you sir.) Mariappan said it from his heart. The Tamil villagers loved Brown Thorai.
“My horse is thirsty. And I would love some moru,” Brown smiled.
“கருப்பாயி, தொரைக்கி மொரு கொண்டா . கிருஷ்ணா , குதிரைய கூட்டிட்டு போயி தண்ணி குடு .” (Karuppayi, bring some moru for the boss. Krishna, take the horse and water it.)
***
Helen Margaret Brown was sitting on the balcony of their house on Strawberry Hill. Her father had died a month ago in England. She had just got the news. And he had wished that the long suffering coolies on the estate receive some reward. Some of them had been with the estate for a generation. Mariappan, Somappan, Veeraya.. they knew only this place. She was glad her father had thought of them.
***
Mariappan was overwhelmed. The villagers were in tears. Brown Thorai had passed away. And even in his last moments, he had thought of them ! He had instructed that the land on which they farmed and raised their cattle, be granted to them.
“தொற மனசு தங்கம் . அவர் கடவுள் ,” the villagers were eternally grateful.
***
Murugan was a sixth generation farmer and herdsman at Gelugor Estate. The place was now surrounded by developments. Brown Estate was now an urban sprawl : Island Glades, Brown Garden, Minden Heights, Sungai Dua, Sungai Ara. Thousands of houses, shops, even a University occupied what was once the vast Brown Estate. Their tiny village remained. It was called Kampung Buah Pala. But Murugan’s life was pretty much the type of life his forefathers had led, when they had lived on this very land. The area was an oasis in the urban concrete jungle. Murugan and many others still herded cattle. Many of the younger generation had moved out; many others worked in the factories, and the Government.
***
Samsuddin had just been posted as District Officer in Penang. He was summoned by Dato’ Osman. As he entered Dato’ Osman’s office, he found two Chinese gentlemen there with him. “Ini Tan Sri George Chen, Dato’ Kuan. Mereka ini pemaju dari KL. Mereka ada cadangan untuk satu kawasan dekat Glugor.” (This is Tan Sri George Chen, and Dato’ Kuan. They are property developers from Kuala Lumpur. They have a proposal for a piece of land near Glugor.)
***
Murugan was devastated. What was this young man saying? Is such treachery possible ? Surely the poor and uneducated people like him would have some protection ? Won’t the Government help ? Murugan’s grandfather had told him that the original owner of the land, Brown Thorai had given it to the villagers, including Murugan’s forefathers.
“Ayya, the government has sold this land to a Koperasi. This Koperasi has made an agreement with a developer. They are going to build several blocks of apartments. It will be called "Oasis".

Funny women ***

Was just thinking. Do women see humour differently from men ? Some things that seem funny to men just draw stares from women.

And comedians: I can think of so many funny ones, and all are men !

Woody Allen, Bill Cosby, Eddie Murphy, Robin Williams, Bob Hope , Jay Leno.... Jerry Lewis..

And the Tamil movie guys: Vadiveloo, Vivek…

Why dont any women comedians come to mind ? Are women not as funny as men? Does this mean that women are genetically incapable of being as funny? (Ok, just thought of Whoopi. She’s an exception.)

As I researched this, I came across this view. Which is … well … funny.

The male ego is very sensitive and it can be easily bruised by a woman who is more intelligent, powerful, or funny. Most women are all too aware of the fact that ‘funny women’ are not attractive to men, and this may be one of the main reasons that females are not drawn into comedy.