Real Men Don’t Cry

The Jawan is not laughing today. The Jawan wants to cry. But since the Jawan is a man, he can’t. It’s because real men don’t cry. Yeah, that’s the kind of world we live in.

Just a note of caution, if you’re expecting a typical Laughing Jawan post with humour, you’re going to be disappointed with this one. Not that I make you laugh all the time, right?

I was quite the cry baby when I was a kid. I would end up crying at every little thing. None of my friends of cousins were like this. I wasn’t too extreme either. I would cry if someone hit me, I would cry if something happened at home. Not like I would cry if I saw a white pigeon. Not that kind of a cry baby but give me a reason and I’ll show you my tears.

Now because of that a lot of people thought of me as a chump. And all this was happening when I was 8-10-12 years old. My formative years. That’s when I was still soft and could have been moulded into anything. But because of all the comments from people around me, mostly relatives and older friends, I couldn’t be what I was naturally. I was told by my uncles “Arre ladke hoke rote ho. Ladkiyon ki tarah rote ho.” Even my aunts didn’t spare “Chup karo. Kaise ladkiyon ki tarah ro rahe ho.” Even my friends would say to me “Hahahaha kaise ro raha hai ladkiyon ki tarah.”

It never felt nice. It took time but I gradually stopped crying. I grew up a little and started realising that boys were not supposed to cry like this. Only in dire situations were they allowed to cry. Like, maybe a death in the family or something. It was because that was what I had seen in life. The only time I had seen men cry was during a death of a close one. Although, I hadn’t seen too many people die during my childhood, just experienced my naani’s demise when I was about 8 or something. Even then I couldn’t cry. I had started becoming this boy who would fight the tears. Who wouldn’t let go. He started being conscious of what people around him would think if he ended up crying.

There were still instances when I howled but probably by the time I was 15, I had more or less stopped crying. Even if I got hurt, I would fight the tears and not cry. To be honest, it didn’t pain me that much either, the little bruises, etc. like they used to when I was younger. Even in a situation when there was emotional pain, someone said something mean, someone did something, I would fight back the tears and not let them fall of out my eyes. My eyes would be filled with the tears just dying to come out but I would somehow maintain my composure and keep them in. I knew if I let go then I would howl and it would not be a nice scene. Nobody wanted to watch a grown boy cry.

Once I started drinking, things changed a little. When I was leaving the apartments where I had stayed for over 17 years, it was an extremely emotional moment. I called a few of my friends over for a last round of drinks in the house where I had spent a good few prime years of my youth. That night I got drunk and I howled. I howled so much that a couple of more friends had to be called in to help me. I was drunk and I was letting it all out and it felt good. I felt like letting it all go. Bare my soul in front of my friends and let them know. I didn’t want to keep it in this time and the booze helped me kill the inhibitions after years of keeping quiet. And you know what? It felt much lighter after that. It became easier for me to deal with the fact that I was leaving the place where I spent almost all my childhood at. The place where I got my first dog and where I lost her too. Even that night, I didn’t cry. I so badly wanted too, though.

Having experienced a few deaths around me in recent times, I have thought more and more about this phenomena in our society. I’ve been turned into this creature of sorts who does not cry. I still give in time and again when I get badly drunk but that happens probably even less than once a year. I mean, I don’t remember when I cried the last time. I’ve been to funerals and cremations. I saw my own grandfather pass away sometime back. The last link tying the family of my mother’s side. Not saying that we’re all divided now, but it’s just not the same. The one place, the common hub, the one man who commanded it all without doing it directly, now does not exist. And that saddens me in spite of the fact that I’m not too fond of all my relatives.

Even when I am on the verge of crying, that precise moment when I’m about to burst, that instance when you can’t even speak because you may end up crying, I still manage to keep it all in, suck up the tears, and show a strong face. I don’t know if it actually makes me strong or not. All the pain and sadness is still inside of me. I still keep thinking about it. On the outside, people either think I’m strong or I don’t care. I don’t know what to do about that.

I am this person now. Unless something extreme happens, I don’t shed a tear. There are times when my eyes do get filled up but that’s that. I don’t let it get any ‘worse’. I have been conditioned like this now. It’s unfair. I don’t want to be a cry baby or anything but I do, at times, want to give in and just let it all out. I know people won’t mind. I know my girlfriend will be there for me. I know my parents will be there. I know my sister will be around. I know my friends will help. But I still can’t get myself to cry in front of people like that. So much so that I feel conscious even if I’m alone in my room at night and I feel like crying. I don’t.

It’s unfair because I do want to let go at times. It’s unfair because women can do it so easily. I want to be able to deal with sadness in an honest way like that. I also want this outlet to be an option when it’s needed to be one. I don’t want to be this strong macho man whose eyes have dried up and he has become a stone from the inside. I have not and I don’t want to.

I want to let go. But I can’t. It’s just sad at times.