Somewhere between the story of the film Fight Club and pro wrestling, lies the truth about the manly need to establish one’s machoness through the most primitive of methods – fighting.
I have always been Gandhian and for fear of scarring my beautiful face, have diligently stayed away from brawls. That’s not to say I have not been in fights. But I’m quite happy to snarl, gnarl, abuse, threaten… and then walk off. However, off late, the fact that I do not know what it is to be docked one has been gnawing at my maleness. Somebody hit me!
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