Mars Or No Mars, Men Will Be Men

Now that you are working, distance yourself a mile from your male colleagues, warned my elder sister. It was my first job with a high profile advertising agency and here she was trying to cramp my style with one rigid dictum after another. I nodded in approval only to shrug it off as soon as she turned away!

To be honest, my sis didn't have a history that inspired confidence. Was I supposed to take seriously someone who had jilted the dishiest guy in her botany class? Not on your life. If a guy approached my sweet sibling with a rose, she was perfectly capable of asking him the flower's botanical name! She had been happy gleaning dry herbs and twigs all her life, and had no time for rosy romance.

This was my moment in the sun and the last thing I needed to carry around was a cartload of instructions from my wry-dry sister. Things began to get just a little interesting when one day I heard Mr Number Cruncher croak, "Hey, that's a nice pen. It seems you have a taste for good things in life." Even before I could justify my 8-buck Rotomac, off he went again, "I like your dress too!" My sister had referred to something called GAT (Girl Attraction Tactics) and this was certainly GAT 1 for me.

Floored me -- I would be lying if I say it didn't. But sisterly caution -- distance-yourself-a-mile -- kept me from flashing a high-wattage smile in return.

It wasn't long before Mr Market Analyst graduated to GAT 2. I was wrapping up one late evening when he came over. "Can I drop you home? It's raining cats and dogs outside, you know," he added with a lot of eager anticipation. Really, but my palm stretched out of the window and was tickled only with an occasional pitter-patter. I zipped up his smile by politely declining the offer. "I enjoy this pleasant drizzle. Don't worry, I'll manage."

Mr Copywriter had always seemed busy penning limericks for his clients. I was slightly drawn to this committed man who simply wouldn't flirt. Just as I had begun to marvel at his industrious inclinations, I ran into GAT 3. He scrutinised my copies with a studied indifference and said, "This assignment is very crucial. Let's discuss it over a cup of coffee after office." Rrrrring...went the gong. Rock Heart was melting. My colleague Avanti confirmed it was a popular way to break the ice in office. She herself had been to coffee parlours thrice. Project implementation - not exactly happened.

I was enjoying these mild flirtations and didn't mind being one of the few female species in the wild habitation of man land. Advertising is a colorful profession and so were the people. Mr. Creative Planner went overboard with GAT 4 as he tried to make poetry where non existed: "As I see your doe eyes, all my sorrows flies." God knows how I stopped myself from responding, "Each time you speak, my heart cries, in vain goes all your tries"!

Two months flew away and I was beginning to feel neglected after shooing away all my loveable office pests. But the most hackneyed GAT 5 imaginable was yet to come. With nothing more than a few days of casual friendship between us, Mr. Client Service Executive mumbled and fumbled his way into an oral quagmire.

"I..., I and you... errrrrrr, I ummmmmmmm, you know I..., I hope you understand." There the story ended before it could begin. This man just didn't have the courage to speak his heart out.

Men are from Mars, they say. I say men on Earth are no different. They are all suffering from the GAT syndrome. And according to my sister's diagnosis, if no corrective action is taken, these stale tales can hypnotize even women from Venus. So here on I pledge - I will have my bit of fun while brushing off men who share uncannily similar ideas.

First Published: Sep 24, 2005 14:17 IST