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I'm guessing from context that this was written during the 'India Shining' days. It's for all the 'singletons' out there, the nice guys and yes, nice gals as well. The ones who always finish last. The ones who are destined to always be the bridesmaid, never the bride, the best man who even carries the ring, but will never wear it. Hmm, anyone remember 'My Best Friends Wedding'? This is both funny as well as very touching.

"They say nice guys always finish last. In that case I don't mind bringing up the rear"
- Snap

For all the Singletons around here:

Rants Of A Single Guy

by Rajesh J. Advani

I am a nice guy.

Or so my female friends tell me.

I'm a nice, helpful, generally likeable guy.

So nice in fact that once a year, during that wonderful festival called Raksha Bandhan when we Indians celebrate that bond between a brother and sister, you will find me hiding under a table, or if that's not safe enough, under a chair, whimpering in fear, and blithering like an idiot. (A lot of people feel that is exactly what I am, but let's not get into that now.)

A close friend of mine once said to me (and this was a girl who I had been contemplating proposing marriage to), "I wish I had a younger brother like you." I mean, how is a man supposed to react to a statement like that? I think women use such statements to see how men respond to situations of extreme stress. It's probably some kind of experiment in psychology. And we men go along with it simply because, you know, they are women. Talking about the strange things women have said to me, this is one of my favorites: "You remind me of my dog." Meaning, I assume, that I walk on all fours, have long flappy ears, and prefer to relieve myself in front of a water hydrant. I wonder if anyone would want that kind of person as his or her younger brother. So, as you would have guessed by now, I am single. I am a single, nice, helpful, generally likeable guy. Who reminds women of their dog.

And I've come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as a single woman. A single woman is like Schr÷dinger's cat. (For the not-so-technically-inclined, Schr÷dinger was a physicist. The sadist that he was, he used a poor little cat to teach quantum physics. He hypothesized a cat in a box, with an arrangement such that as long as the box was closed, the cat could be either dead or alive. But the moment you opened the box to check, a poisonous gas would be released killing the cat instantly -- if it had been alive in the first place. For more details, type "Schr÷dinger's cat" in Google.)

Women are like that. Until you bother to find out whether they are single or not, they could be either. But the moment you get curious... bang, they're single no longer. It is normally between the first and third week of my acquaintance with a girl that I'm given this glorious piece of information.
"Hey, I have something to tell you. I'm getting engaged next week, and I want you to come to the party." Ahem.
"Guess what? I'm getting married next month! Aren't you overjoyed?" Yes, of course. I'm so happy I have tears in my eyes.
Once, I was talking to a girl on the phone, and we were interrupted when she got a call on the other line. She came back on line a couple of minutes later with the words "Oh, I'm sorry about that. That was my boyfriend." Your what?

And you know another thing? Somehow, I inspire this unprecedented amount of trust in women. I'm considered completely harmless! Not only by the women, but even their boyfriends, fiancÚs and husbands!
"Oh, you're with him? Fine. Have a nice time."
"You want to take a walk on the beach? I'm a little busy. Why don't you take him along?"
"It's Valentine's day. The poor guy must be alone. Why not call him over for lunch?"
I guess I've earned that reputation over a long period of time, but still, you know. Sometimes you wish the guys would feel just a little bit threatened. And it's not like I look harmless either.

The following incident is a favorite example: I was at an Archie's gallery. This was the time when they had that stuffed monkey on sale. You know, the one that whistled every time you crossed its path. The kind of whistle that a guy might make when a good-looking girl walks by. So the monkey was on display in one of the aisles, and the first five minutes that I was there, it must have been triggered about 15 times. Gets quite irritating, really. After that, for a few minutes, there was no one in the shop, and I had some peace. Then a girl walked in, and soon crossed the path of the monkey. The monkey whistled dutifully. And out of curiosity, with a big smile on my face for some reason, I turned to see who the monkey had whistled at. At exactly the same moment, the girl turned around, to see who had whistled. If looks could kill, she would have wiped out an army. Fifteen seconds later she had left the shop. I must thank my lucky stars she didn't slap me, or have me beaten up by the moral brigade.

But I think you understand what I'm trying to say. Which is, that I don't look all that harmless. So, why the loads of trust? They also tell me that I'm easy to talk to. That is probably why I'm one of the first people a girl would tell her secret crushes to. None of which ever include me, of course. But I think you must have guessed that. As you can imagine, I attend most weddings as a friend of the girl.

But I take solace in the fact that I'm not the only one. Look at the two men currently heading our government -- our esteemed Prime Minister, and our President. They are both single.

With any luck, I'll do better than them.

I hope...