Shah Rukh Khan on the strength of women
Let me make it clear right from the start that this article will put to rest once and for all the impossible and unbearable comparison between men and women, without any dislike for the inferior, weaker and absolutely undesirable sex.
Karl (is that spelled with a C?) Jung (with a Y?) said that there is a woman inside every man. I totally disagree with that. And inside every woman there is a man... yes, I can agree with that, because every man would like to be inside every woman.
He said that it is important for every man to stay connected to his feminine side. I would add to that, please stay connected to the feminine side and while doing so, touch her front, butt and backside too.
Speaking of which, let me make it clear that I am not your typical everyday chauvinist. I am a very special, rather unique chauvinist. I have a problem every time I sit down to write down my varied thoughts about women; a little annoying voice deep inside me comes alive. It contradicts me on every honest thought I have about girls. Now
as I sit here to write down my views on babes, chicks, chicks or whatever name you know for the female sex, the voice contradicts every word I say. The worst part is that I can't seem to stop it from creeping into my writing either.
So all you decent machos out there, lend me your biceps and ignore everything that little insignificant voice forces me to write. Just read the black letters... because black is beautiful and ignore the red ones because red went out of fashion with communism... red is dead. And thankfully, so is Mr Karl Jung.
Let me just start with some basic weaker traits in women. Women are bad drivers. They can't drive. Machines were made by men for men; it's as simple as that. A hot stove pulsing between your thighs, a motorcycle. A motorcycle or a car was meant to be driven by the Lord of Creation. An extension of their male libido. If someone in the vehicle in front of you suddenly brakes for no apparent reason... the chances of it being a woman are higher than sunshine at noon.
(The following is a play on words that doesn't come across that way in German, since it literally always means "driving", which are all euphemisms for "driving someone on their nerves"...)
Voice: Wait a second. Hold on a minute.
Sexomatic: Oh God, she's here!
Voice: Tell me, oh so sexy, do women drive you crazy?
Sexo: Well... yes... sometimes.
Voice: Do they drive you nuts?
Sexo: Occasionally.
Voice: Do they drive you round the bend?
Sexo: All the time... definitely.
Voice: Do they drive you up the wall?
Sexo: Well... my wife does... they do.
Voice: Do women drive you crazy?
Sexo: Yeah... oh yeah (I'm drooling at this point)... oh yeah they drive me crazy... after all, I'm only human.
Voice: And you think they can't drive, oh lord of the human race?
Sexo: Well...
Voice: So what?
Sexo: Well... I...
Voice: I'm waiting... well.
Sexo: Let's just move on to the second quality.
Voice: Okay. Whatever you say, my lord and master.
Women are intellectually inferior. Their minds are not as developed as ours. I mean, they are stupid. Zero IQ... look in their ear and you can see the other side...
Tell me, my educated male friends, would you attack the Falkland Islands? Would you trust your own bodyguard and walk around your own garden without a bulletproof vest? Tell me, would you leave the European shores and settle in the dirt and dust of Calcutta... hmm??
Voice: Would you tell me what twice 35 is?
Sexo: Ho...ho...70, dear lady. Anything else?
Voice: Which is better, Kotak Mahindra stock or Reliance stock?
Sexo: See how they have to rely on us? Kotak, darling.
Voice: What is the atomic number of titanium?
Sexo: A little higher than your IQ, sweetheart...22.
Voice: Tell me what marks your son got in his intermediate.
Sexo: Don't tell me he's already passed his intermediate?
Voice: Do you want me to tell you that you don't have a son, but a daughter?
Sexo: Oh come on, I forgot. I raised her like a son anyway.
Voice: Well, now your son has decided to elope with the neighbour's son.
Sexo: I'm going to kill him!
Voice: Your son or hers?
Sexo: Oh, shut up. Just tell me his name.
Voice: Ravi.
Sexo: Where does he live?
Voice: In the apartment across the street.
Sexo: How do I get into her apartment?
Voice: Try ringing her doorbell.
Sexo: Yes... yes... where is my daughter?
Voice: In her room.
Sexo: Where are my shoes?
Voice: You're standing in them.
Sexo: Where is my gun?
Voice: In the right drawer of your desk.
Sexo: How the hell do you know all this?
Voice: I have a high EQ.
Sexo: What the hell is an EQ?
Voice: That's our emotional quotient.
Sexo: Damn, what is an emotional quotient?
Voice: You're not going to understand darling, let's just move on to the next trait.
Sexo: What's the next trait?
Voice: You're the brain, darling, you should know.
No... No more traits or comparisons now. That's it. That's the meanest, dirtiest trait in women. They make you say and do exactly what they want. Some do it by constant nagging, some conspire, and some do it cleverly. Men are simpler and more innocent by nature.
How well these women know how to use their words, their physical charm, their tears when all else fails. Dishonesty at its best or worst. Even now I have been tricked by the voice into writing things I don't mean... it plays around with words... confuses the hell out of me. Please, can someone stop this voice of cunning and dishonesty... please!
Voice: You want me to leave you?
Sexo: Is that a trick question or what? Does a blind person need eyes? Does a late student need an excuse? Does the movie industry need good movies? Go... disappear... whiz away... vanish into thin air and please don't text back.
Voice: You know the only reason I'm after you is because you're the one who's not being honest.
Sexo: Brr! Wait a minute, babe... You're saying I'm not being honest?
Voice: I mean that you're not being honest with yourself. If you were honest with yourself, I wouldn't have to be here to tell you where you're wrong. If you were honest with yourself and listened, there would be no nagging, no sneaky little voice inside you nagging you. Okay, here's the deal. If you promise to continue with this article and to be honest about the experiences you've had with the women in your life and what you really think of them, you can rest assured that I'll be gone for good.
Sexo: Is that the deal? Is that true? Am I awake?
Voice: Yes, you're awake... but still a little groggy... goodbye and may we all have a better tomorrow. (Poof!)
Sexo: She's gone... I hope. Hello... hello. Yes! Yes! All right, now that I have the chance, let me not take any chances. I'll quickly tell you, without bias, about my experiences with women I meet or have met. No problem. Let me start with what I think about my co-stars and colleagues.
Ich weiß nicht. Auf die Gefahr der Verallgemeinerung hin, die meisten Menschen, die ich kenne, haben die Hindifilmheldin als Schaustück betrachtet… Eine Schönheit und eine Wonne für vielleicht 5-6 Jahre. Nur gut genug, um die Cover ordinärer Illustrierter zu schmücken, mehr Haut als Talent zeigend.
Sagt mir ganz ehrlich, wie viele von uns möchten nicht als schön, gut aussehend, sexy und begehrenswert betrachtet werden? Da wir ehrlich sind, lasst mich etwas über mich erzählen. Ich habe es immer verdammt, bloß wegen der äußeren Schönheit auf Magazincovern zu erscheinen. Ich habe meine Kolleginnen dafür runtergemacht, versteckt hinter einigen dummen selbst gebastelten moralischen und ethischen Regeln.
Tief drinnen weiß ich, dass ich gerne schön sein würde, aber die Realität und mein Spiegel lügen nicht… also, lasst uns intellektuell sein. Ohnehin ist Schönheit nur oberflächlich… ist doch egal, dass ich nicht schön bin, zumindest bin ich ein Genie und blah blah. Daher verstecke ich mich vor den anderen und meinem eigenen Spiegel hinter dem Mäntelchen von, ‚ich bin talentiert, ich muss meinen Körper nicht zeigen‘.
Ich laufe vor der Realität davon… ich schaue nicht in den Spiegel, ich mache andere herunter, damit ich überlegen aussehe. Doch wahre Stärke ist es, in den Spiegel schauen zu können und nicht davor davonzulaufen. Der Wirklichkeit ins Auge zu sehen, ist die Fähigkeit standzuhalten. Und was auch immer meine Kolleginnen sein mögen – erotisch, schön, reizend, schwierig, locker, gut, schlecht, hässlich… Sie haben eines gemeinsam, was ich nicht habe und viele andere Männer nicht besitzen… die Fähigkeit standzuhalten.
Es ist furchtbar schwierig, um 5.30 Uhr morgens aufzustehen, um 7.30 Uhr vormittags hübsch auszusehen, halbnackt zu tanzen, deine Hüften zu bewegen, während Paan kauende Produzenten und Machoheros wie ich dir lüstern nachstellen, anzügliche Kommentare abgeben und über Wege nachdenken, dich in ihr Bett zu bekommen. Sie tut das Tag für Tag, von früh bis spät… die Realität kennend, nicht davor zurückschreckend… nicht den Spiegel schließend… lächelnd… hübsch aussehend… und standhaltend. Und weiterhin durchhaltend.
Ein Held andererseits kann sich niemals vorstellen, dass ihn jemand herabsetzt oder erniedrigt. Er lebt in trügerischer Sicherheit. Und wenn er vermutet, dass jemand ihn schlecht macht, wird er aggressiv, verprügelt den Betroffenen und sondert Gift ab. Aber eine Frau, die ganz genau weiß, dass nicht nur die Worte, sondern selbst die Augen um sie herum sie erniedrigen, revanchiert sich nicht… sie lebt damit … kontrolliert es … sie lächelt und schaut schöner aus… weil sie die Stärke hat, der Realität ins Auge zusehen… die Fähigkeit, damit zu leben. Sie weiß, dass wahre Stärke die Fähigkeit ist, einzustecken und nicht andere zu schlagen… in dem Bewusstsein hält sie durch.
Jeder Mann, der eine Frau anschaut, braucht sich nicht vorzumachen, dass die Frau nicht weiß, wie und warum er sie anschaut. Sie weiß es, aber sie behält es für sich, weil sie dich nicht in Verlegenheit bringen will, weil sie weiß, dass du der Realität nicht gegenüberstehen kannst.
Do you remember those times in school when you went to parties where the girls and boys sat on chairs facing each other? You danced closely with the prettiest girl at the party and of course you couldn't control your male libido. You completed the dance and to this day you wonder if she felt it, did she know it, did she think you were vulgar?
Well let me tell you she knew it and even now she knows it... she just doesn't say it. Unlike us men who wait for an opportunity to kiss and talk at the slightest provocation. For a woman not every encounter is a conquest... it is reality.
I always wondered why there is always a female Amitabh Bachchan, never a male Sridevi, Madhuri or Juhi Chawla. Not because there isn't one, but just because it can't be said. Our superior male ego cannot face reality. We men only believe the image we want to believe. Playing the macho hero long after our careers are over, we live with it... we don't see reality.
Somewhere along the way, the boy inside us who entered the industry with bright eyes and a guitar in his hands died. He died because we chose to kill him, we just can't accept that deep down we are insecure freckled boys... so we stop looking in the mirror instead of telling the truth and facing reality. The only mirror we choose to look in is the one our makeup artists hold up to us. And the only face the mirror reflects is the face of a superstar, a made-up face, the face everyone wants to see.
And long after the days of makeup are over, we still can't, because now we're even afraid to look at the face of the little boy underneath. We're afraid we won't recognize it. So we erased that face and in a sense killed reality.
But a woman is still a girl all the way through. She knows all the time what she was and what she is. And after the makeup is removed, she is again the girl who dreams of being a wife too, a lover, a mother. She keeps the anger under control and doesn't let her family see it. She hides the sadness and doesn't let her husband feel it. She doesn't mind being a showpiece sometimes, not because she is too weak to do anything about it, but because she was and is strong enough to live with the truth. She knows that life goes beyond mere images, it is about living it, feeling it and again, it is about standing firm.
I have always believed that my wife has everything a woman could want and a little more. I have given her everything, love, loyalty, pride, happiness, fame. She never complains about my odd working hours, she is not jealous that I work with some of the most beautiful women in the country. She understands me and encourages me when my films fail and joins me wholeheartedly when I succeed. I have always felt (like most men) that I am responsible for her behavior.
I have never given her any reason to worry and she is so sure of my love for her that she is not worried and lets me be. If that is true then it should work the other way round too. I know that she loves me and is an immensely loving and loyal partner. Therefore I should have no reason to worry if she talks to other men.
I am a very liberal person and may come across as a very trusting husband. But since I am trying to be honest in this article (otherwise the annoying voice might come back), let me say, "Yes, it bothers me and I get jealous when my wife talks to other men." This in no way reflects my wife's love for me. If nothing else, she is more trustworthy than I can ever be.
If she trusts my love for her, then why am I questioning her love for me? The important thing is not how much trust you have in your husband's love, but how much trust you have in your love for her. Deep down, every man knows that his love for his wife is not unwavering.
Gauri trusts me, not because I show her so much love, she trusts me because she trusts her love for me. And for her, that is the reality. Many people ask me why I feel the need to declare my love for my wife in the press. Is it to prove to everyone that I love her very much? I don't think so. I think I keep emphasising this fact to convince myself that I love her very much. Gauri has never felt the need to do this.
It is easy to love but to stay in love requires a lot of resilience, strength and selflessness. A woman has all of that and more. I think all the fame, happiness, wealth that my wife is happy with are not things that I did for her. The fact is that I did and still do this just for myself. It just sounds much nicer and makes me feel less guilty to say, "I work 20 hours a day, go on long location shoots, neglect my household... all for you, darling." But the reality is that I do it just for myself.
Gauri knows the reality; she just doesn't remind me. If we men could realise how little we do for our wives and partners, we would feel very insignificant. So we shut it out and our wives leave us alone because they trust their love and that's what counts.
And then there was this other woman in my life. She loved me, gave birth to me and made me what I am. It's too personal to write about all the things she did for me. Sometimes I feel very guilty that after all she did for me, the memory of her is now a little blurry.
Some say that men try to make themselves useful around the house with their little toolboxes and spanners, fixing the toilet and the washing machine. This is a cover for their inability to create life like women do.
When I think of the woman who brought me into this world, instead of listing everything she did for me, I can only write these thoughts:
Woman is a soldier in body and mind, a sad and loyal soldier, a soldier who is sometimes tired from long marches... a soldier who, even if he does not understand the order, still carries it out without hesitation... a soldier who sometimes leaves defeated, but always honorably.
And you only know this after she is gone, because she always leaves behind her exhaustion, her sadness, her loyalty, her love, her happiness... and a gap.
I should know, because my mother was a soldier.
Now, while I write with so much honesty, even if it was only to turn the voice away, I can only come to one conclusion. That I was wrong about my views on women at the beginning of my article. Frankly, we men have wasted too much time trying to prove that women are inferior just to feel superior.
Likewise, I don't agree with women burning their bras (don't do that, women's underwear is very pretty and expensive). What we really need to understand is that comparisons are disgusting. And if we were honest with ourselves, there would be no voice or women telling us how stupid we men have been in the past. We just need to accept that it's not about men being superior to women or vice versa.
Men and women were created differently. If we understood that, we wouldn't waste time thinking about why men don't understand women. For my part, I've chosen to accept the fact that women are just very different from men, neither better nor worse, and thanks to them the world is a better place to live.
And if there's any macho man out there who thinks I've betrayed him and that I'm wrong and maybe even unmanly... let me just say:
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a sh...t.