DUAL CHEMISTRY

My fascination for oxidative and reductive processes persists as I expose myself to the blistering sun at Marine Drive. Does the sun breathe hope to maintain most human actions and reactions which are inherently devoid of oxygen? Sunshine, at least in this part of the globe does not let your emotions surface. Clouds in the horizon are evocative, albeit a bit sombre. Infra-red perspires out every trace of feeling.

The dove-and-magpie couple necking each other next to me is a focal point of interest; another chemical scrap in a bottle. Like a Stolichnaya, attraction is unadulterated. Time, though, brings in the tannins. Some of the well-brewed bottles of grow into genteel, gallant men with their tailored suits and impeccable table manners. The coarse ones just grow bitter. Dessication is inevitable in every relationship; but then every fruit does not ferment into a viscous wine.

Hormones are another case in point. They drive the most ruthless of minds in ways stranger than the most gripping of pulp thrillers. One of the most coveted of male traits is emotional refrigeration. That explains most of their vices – from drinking to promiscuity to full-throttle tyranny. I worked under this person (say Jeff) for around a year in a capacity close enough to observe him from 16x angles. Close enough to think of him as the most pragmatic and guile of human forms. To put it without any subterranean clauses, Jeff was the model shark. The way he demarcated work and pleasure, and blended it to further the objectives of the bigger picture was remarkable. The type who toys with emotional ambivalence to extract his ends, while managing to remain ethical through out. Actually, he eluded all known categories of XY-chromosomed movers and shakers.

So when an evangelical Fagin like him told me that an interaction with college kids had left him searching inside hopelessly for answers, I was astounded. When calculative minds like him begin to ponder over things like distant dreams and wishes, you kind of begin to believe in the mid-life crisis phenomenon. Try as we may, men cannot spend their lives jostling on testosterone. Even the most rugged of Harley-Davidsons needs to be handled with care. Women, on the other hand, are chemically combustible. They get triggered by the most diverse of objects and circumstances. However, the kind of reactions that oxytocin triggers are dense and wholesome. That is probably why women have a reason to back up their most impulsive of actions. Women never really have a model prototype they aspire to be. They develop in a way more holistic than men will ever be.

 Masculine frustration is the most abominable of abstract nouns. I sense the truism as the male necking his paramour next to me walks off in a fit of rage. The petulant kick to start the bike reveals more than it hides. The lady, on the other hand, is characteristically stoical. Her sense of composure is flawless, except for her eyes. A drop of sweat trickles down across my lower neck to soil my T-shirt collar.

Empathy needs a chemical equation.