Master of None

Is this why grown,beefy (usually pink) men have taken to jumping on to the backs of crocodiles and wrestling anacondas and giant pythons to the ground on television? It is a completely unedifying spectacle: you know well that if the animal put its mind to it,it could bite the blathering idiot in half or crush his bones to,well,bone-meal. And when theyve finally (the single man will have now been joined by three or four others) subdued the brute,they grin self-deprecatingly,shake their heads and catch their breath and tell us how strong the creature was and how it nearly had them,implying,of course,that they were humongously courageous and all the babes watching the show should fall instantly in love with them. One specialist in this line got stabbed in the heart by a sting-ray and died,but thats what happens when the animal has had enough.

Look at bulls we just cant leave them alone,can we? Young men all over the world,be it India,Europe,or the United States,will either run in front of a stampeding herd (after provoking it),or literally take the animals by the horns (and hopefully,get impaled),or try and get on their backs and ride them for five seconds and prove…just what? That they have no brains and want to spend the rest of their lives as paraplegics or with their heads fixed back to front? And lets not get into bullfighting because here,its the poor bull which stands no chance and suffers insult over injury being speared to death,lunge by effeminate lunge by slim,effete men in fancy dress doing ballet all over them.

There seems to be this insatiable urge in men to prove that theyre physically superior to and more courageous than the denizens of Jungleland. Masai tribesmen had to prove their manhood by killing a lion but at least,all they set forth with was a spear and a loincloth. The maharajas and the British redefined courage to mean you go after a tiger with 500 war elephants and a thousand-strong army of beaters and then pose majestically with your rifle,one leg on the head of the slain brute,which nearly took out the whole Empire. Big game hunters adorn the walls of their homes with trophies the mounted heads of animals usually shot with bazookas from three miles away and have an implausible story for every kill. (The guide had fled. I was alone. The rifle had jammed. I could feel the earth shudder as the rhino thundered towards me at 80 kmph,not 10 yards away,20 tons of armoured,muscled fury,eyes red,head down. I drew my penknife…) Can you imagine the uproar if the man-eating leopard of Rudraprayag had displayed the heads of all its victims on the walls of its (metaphorical) cave? Fortunately,animals have better sense.

But there have also been those,who seem to think differently and their numbers appear to be growing. Theyve acknowledged that actually we,human beings,are the underlings,that animals are stronger,more powerful,more virile,and faster than us. And so,if we cant beat them physically (TV shows notwithstanding),what do we do? We kill them,skin them,chop them up,grind their bones,pickle their livers and hearts and unmentionables and hope that if we consume these parts (as medicine,of course) and wear their skins (and dance),well become like them: Strong,brave,fast,lithe,and especially very,very virile.

All 7.2 billion of us.

PS: As for Pinky,they say she met another dude called Wimpy… Bah!

Ranjit Lal is an author,environmentalist and bird watcher. In this column,he reflects on the eccentricities and absurdities of nature