Real Men Don’t Cry

POV

Real Men Don’t Cry

Illustration: Cleon DSouza

A

couple of months ago, I was pulled into a theatre under peer pressure to watch a screening of Manchester By The Sea. Like most Delhi boys, I think of myself as the impermeable and opaque reincarnation of the late ’90s phenomenon in play-acting wrestling called Stone Cold Steve Austin. Now, could a film break a facade so strong? Well, by the end of the film, I found myself nestled comfortably in the bucket seat, tub of popcorn filled with buttery-salty tears. I wept so loudly that I committed the cardinal sin of drawing a stranger’s attention.

You see, that’s because I am the average Indian male. I’m 5’6”, overweight, and obsessed with television and everything Cow-swamy, like all good men must be. Had I been a young woman, the gentleman would have smiled indulgently, handed me a tissue and assumed he was pulling of an act of next-level humanity.

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