"I think I am having my PMS." My over-macho, hairy-as-a-cave-man friend declared to me a few days ago, while he was driving me back home. I was not surprised. It was high time that a man admitted having the Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. But I would rather call it Psychotic Mood Shifts.
"I have it every month you know," he continued. I looked into his eyes and the conviction in them made me believe that he must be marking his calendar. And I was right. "My date is 28 th of every month," he said. "What's yours?" he asked with child-like innocence.
Now this was no giggly girl talk. I got suspicious. This was the perfect way to get close to a woman. All a woman needs is a man who understands her. And a man who claims that he has PMS, and that he knows what a woman has to undergo during that period, is like the sapno ka rajkumar for every woman.
"What are you getting at?" I asked him suspiciously. I knew no man would ever admit that even he is prone to psychotic mood swings. Nothing in the world would make me reveal the details of my reproductive system to a testosterone-fuelled beast. "You really think I'll believe you? No matter what you say I am not going to tell you about my date," I warned.
His face drooped. He looked like the street mongrel that had been denied food. "It is the truth. I do have my PMS and I am having it right now!" he cried. I would not have believed him until … "Sister F*****," he spat, looking out of the window. It made me jump out of my skin. "Who the f*** has given them a license?" He hurled a slew of MC-BC abuses to the man who overtook his car from the wrong side. The man was obviously oblivious to my friend's wrath.
So was it a part of his PMS? I thought. Maybe not... All men are in a bad mood when they are driving. "Someone ought to kill these people. How can anyone call this place the national capital?" he said. "All I need is a gas chamber."
There… he said it. Did Hitler have PMS too? Was the World War II a resultant of Hitler's PMS? Hitler surely did not have PMS… but he was one crazy man. I let my thoughts wander. I thought about Hitler and how he must have kept track of his monthly cycle. I don't think he did a good job. It is better suited for a woman, I concluded. By that time my cave-man-like friend had pacified.
"Do you want to go for a movie?" he asked. I had not seen one for a while. I agreed. But I wasn't really destined to watch a movie. This, I should have understood the moment we entered the theatre complex. It looked as if all the Dilliwaalahs had descended at the theatre. A long queue outside the counter made things worse.
My friend decided not to stand in the queue. I braved the crowd and joined the gang of 'uncivilised' people who like standing in queues. My friend was chivalrous enough to stand beside me. "Is it the night before a holocaust or something? Is today the last day of their life? Why is this place crowded? I don't think I deserve to live among all these people. I think I should go to the Himalayas," he kept on muttering under his breath.
"You know you don't really need to stand here. Go sit somewhere. I'll be back with the tickets," I said. I should have known that this was probably the biggest mistake of my life.
"Then you'll say you had to do all the work. Does anyone care about how much I work? I am doing a thankless job. I never get credit for my work in office. I am under-paid and over-worked. But does that bother anyone?" He walked off. I followed him. My dear friend was having his PMS and I knew exactly what to do.
"Chocolate?" I held out a piece of Toblerone for him. He took it from me. His eyes welled with gratitude. He was about to cry. But he didn't. "I think we should go back now. I will be okay after a few days," he said as he gobbled up his chocolate and took another piece.
I was confused. I went back home and asked my father. "Do you feel cranky during a particular time of the month?" I asked."Yes… the 28th," he said grimly. "Your mother finishes off all my hard-earned money by that time." Ah! I think I got a clue.
