The Quintessential Anglo Man

When Eric and I first met at a wedding in 2007, sparks flew... for about 10 seconds and  then we we're both dragged home. (no mobiles and all back then) 4 years later…We met again. This time he asked me out and we went to a movie, but the man never spoke a word. And that too went to hell. On Christmas day last year I sat, partner-less and extremely envious, on the sill of a window at the Fort Cochin Club. As I watched people slow dance and get all mushy, thinking that if I ever found Cupid I’d strangle the little shit. And then suddenly out of nowhere he (not Cupid, Eric) comes and sits next to me, and I’m thinking, “Shit… my childhood crush... And today of all days my hair looks like a bloody crow’s nest…” and then he opens his mouth… but says nothing. Silence. Followed by more silence, until he finally said “Would you like some water?” I wanted to die. Water? Really, Eric? I said nothing. More silence. “Do you wanna daaa…..” before he could finish I was on my feet screaming “YES PLEASE!!!!” and the rest, they say, is history. (Thankfully this time he spoke! Turns out, he talks… a lot)

In the Anglo community we’re expected to marry ‘our own kind’, you know, to keep the culture alive, to bear offspring who walk and talk and dress and dance and cook and booze just like us, a new generation to carry on the ‘Anglo’ legacy. Mixed marriages are (in most cases) considered a taboo. We’re a small community with apparently just around 150,000 members at most. For years our elders have ranted on and on about how we are will be homogenized completely in a few years, and with us, our distinct culture and way of life. But finding a partner from within our community isn't easy at all. Actually, until I met Eric I was pretty sure I’d marry a nice 'out cast' boy myself. Damn it, even my family was prepared for the worst.

“This Rochelle no, bloody shit’s being giddy headed. Studied all that Literature and all and she’s acting like one heathen. Saw that photo on Facebook men? She’s friendly with some Hindu bugger, it seems. Must bloody prepare ourselves so we fit in at their temple wedding. Come we’ll go buy off one saree now only and keep”

I’m sure this was what went through my relatives minds the day I posted a photo on Facebook with a friend of mine, 'a boy mind you’, ‘Brahmin that too’, (they figured from the name. He wasn’t Brahmin) “holding and all and standing” (they mean hugging) There were more calls to my house that day to confirm the identity of this boy and our relationship status than the day I was born, when everyone called to congratulate my father on the success of his Ten Year Mission (I was born after 10 years of marriage. Sorry dad!) To their relief, (and to their dismay… gossip is in short supply these days) he was just a friend of mine whom (thankfully) my parents had met, and knew. But I've had my fair share of boyfriends (No, it does not run into double digits, that would be Eric’s list) and it ranged from Mallu Syrian Christian and Marathi Brahmin (Gaud Saraswat Brahmin to be exact), Kalasipalya Muslim, Bengali God-Knows-What and Kannadiga Atheist. (I don’t discriminate)

A family function would not be complete without an Aunty trying to make a match for me.

“Aiyo Eileen, Mustn't we find one nice boy for your daughter men.  I got one nice proposal, child. Till 12th standard he studied. Working on the ship. This one’s son men… this one… Janice Dcoutho’s son. Fair eh... like milk. How old eh? Must be 45. Was married once to an Indian, she left him… Don’t want? Why? There child, beggars can’t be choosers, heard, this will do. … Anglo fellow it is!”

Until the fine day I finally I found Eric Jude La’frenais, my nice Anglo boy. 

Oh the joy! They rang the church bells in celebration.

Back in the day, whenever an Aunty asked me “Child, can’t find our kind of boy for yourself eh?” I’d usually say “All these Anglo boys in Vypeen and Fort Cochin are only fit to drink, eat and bloody dance. Heads and all are full of fluff.” (If Eric sees this he’s going to disown me) but in reality it was only because I couldn't find one Ding bugger men (Ding, according to my friend Jeremy, means Anglo). I always wondered why Anglo boys were so hard to find. When I was in college my girlfriends used to stalk my cousins and friends and demand that they be taken to Vypeen, introduced and hopefully married off by the end of their stay. Why, you ask…? Which girl wouldn't want an Anglo boy, men?

For those of you who don’t know, let me give you the insider info on The Quintessential Anglo Man. First and most importantly, they are a rare breed. Come to think of it, they’re going extinct. No jokes! Where I come from Anglo boys are rarer than pandas. I don’t know what happened to the gender ratio because there always seems to be a terribly short supply of them (Unless, of course, they’re all hiding under a rock somewhere, or they're pulling a Houdidni act) and the rarer the man, the more you would want him. (Don’t agree? Wouldn't you want some Uranium for yourself? How about a 50 carat diamond? See… rare = ‘I want!’) Their devilishly handsome looks and distinct features (some of them are so white they could glow in the dark others are the color of delicious molten honey, so good you'll want to lick their face) their impeccable sense of style and fashion. Anglo men are always looking for an excuse so that they can wear a suit (and how! *drool*), their command over the language and the ability to go from “Ey… what bugger..?” to *Insert sexy man-voice* “Has anyone ever told you you’re the most beautiful woman on God’s green earth?” *Cue faint*, their moves on the dance floor (have you seen an Anglo boy jive?) They are incredibly manly and gentlemanly. They will always open the door for you and walk you home, make (and act on) threats (Eg: “If you gawk at my girlfriend I’ll cut your balls and make earrings”) and hold your hand in public. They also have the superhuman ability to be totally unaffected by the effects of a full bottle of whiskey. (or any sort of alcohol for that matter. He’ll walk straight home!) And last but definitely not the least; they also know how to treat a woman like she is, in the words of Chris Brown, Fine China. (98% of them. Hey, those are damn good odds!)

But I have this general belief that only an Anglo woman can handle an Anglo man (sorry, ladies, prejudice runs through my veins) I mean, they’re just way too much ‘MAN’ for an ‘ordinary’ woman. So, I must warn all you potential non-anglo ladies who intend to hitch yourself to that Ding boy; there’s another side to this rosy story that only we (Ding women) know.

To start with, we know that when you marry an Anglo man, you marry his family. Especially, his mother. Anglo men are total ‘Mama’s boys’, forget about picking sides, they will throw you under the bus for their mama. Literally. (she might ask him to also) Your vindaloo will never taste as good as hers. By the time you marry him she has spoiled him rotten and he will expect just that from you as well. For example, Eric’s mum makes him coffee, tea and milk (yes, all three) every morning before he goes to work. If he expects me to do the same he must be bloody joking. And your mother-in-law (and I’m generalizing here) will most probably despise you with a vengeance that cannot be summed up in words for ‘taking her son away from her’ (even if you live just two houses down) and don’t get me started on the extended family.

Secondly, Anglo men eat. A LOT. To be more specific, they’re hardcore carnivores. They’ll eat anything as long as it’s dead. “Damn the vegetables, just pass me the beef cutlets and the tongue roast.” (I saw your face cringe when you read tongue roast. They also eat brain, liver, heart, kidney, tripe (intestines) and udders, known better as spare parts. Have you gagged already?) They also tend to think that it’s funny to fart, LOUD. And we are expected to get accustomed to and comfortable with all the wonderful aspects of their flatulence because they intend to do it all the time. They’ll take good care of you, but one episode of the sniffles and they’ll act like a 5 year old with an incurable disease. You are then expected to feed, clothe, bathe, cook wash, clean and nurture them back to health and be at their beck and call 24*7 (the above is also applicable when they’re not ill) They tend to exhibit chauvinistic tendencies (Eg: “Baby, I don’t want you to work late at the office, ever, because you could get raped.”) but only because they are super possessive of you and because they really care. From time immemorial, Anglo Boys are known far and wide to be, Casanovas. Call them what you will, philanderers, womanizers, ladies-men, Don Juans, playboys, etc. I don't blame them. Apparently its hereditary, they inherited the 'spirit of adventure' from our European forefathers, being charming is not a crime, but not to worry, they eventually settle down. It is also a prerequisite that you should be able sing, and sing well, socialize with all of the annoying aunties and the other 200 year old ladies, (the uncles mostly just sit in the corner and drink) cook typical Anglo delicacies (your cooking skills will be tested by the family so don’t bluff) and dance (especially jive) gracefully and in perfect time while wearing 6 inch heels. I also think that you should be prepared to have at least 5 kids to pass down the culture and repopulate our dying community (don’t worry, your Anglo man will sure as hell help you with that)

So I think I've listed most of it. Ladies are you sure you’re prepared for the Anglo Experience? No?! Good! More men for us! But if you've found yourself that perfect Anglo boy then hang on to him like a leech. They’re real keepers!

P.S: I have no issues what-so-ever with ‘not-anglo’ boys. You are unique in your own way. This is just a 411 on the Anglo Male. My soon-to-be brother-in-law, Uddi is from Assam and I love him. We all do. 

P.P.S: MY mother-in-law is the sweetest person in the world. (Very rare and exceptional case) No, I am not saying that because she is holding a gun to my head. I really do mean it!