We all have mammary memories, both wonderful and embarrassing. The times when we lusted for them, the many times we cursed their existence. These bulbous mounds of fat, the appearance of which changed us and others around us. They made us feel powerful and weak at the same time. The constant tussle between hate and love for our twins as we navigated through crowds with our handbags clutched close to our chests.
But, what if women didn't have boobs? What if all of us were uniformly flat chested! I can imagine catastrophic consequences for humanity. Besides being denied the opportunity of staring at cleavage and passing it off as deep thinking, men will be forced to make eye contact while they engage in a conversation with us. We understand how relaxing it is, just staring and interspersing it with an occasional hmm and haww, just to clear any doubts she might have of the existence of your vocal chords. It's as comforting as watching TV, as you recline on your couch, munching that huge pack of crisps - mesmerised like an insect trapped in a cobweb. You know something is not right, yet you don't feel like doing anything about it because it feels so good. And why not! In a world full of harsh realities, these soft mounds of flesh are a welcome change. They do not challenge you or your intelligence.
Boobs are reminders of your babyhood, when mothers protected you from all evil. Plus, when you stare at bosoms, you can prove those nags wrong who keep making fun of your inability to focus on two things at a time.
"Alternatively, you could do your bit for gender equality and focus hard on his balls and pass it off as deep thinking."
Add to that the thrill of doing something that's considered uncouth and lacking in manners, and it becomes infinitely more exciting! Women, being the heartless creatures that they are, make it more challenging by covering them under layers of clothing. As Jerry Seinfeld has so adroitly pointed out, if women kept their heads covered instead of their breasts, we'd all be heading down to the corner store to pick up the latest copy of Heads Illustrated. We always want that which we cannot have, and in that regard, breasts are the ultimate forbidden fruit.
And why deprive men of the opportunity to flaunt their maturity by cracking boob jokes! I mean, for how long can you crack potty/fart jokes and make others laugh. Boob jokes are like a breath of fresh air. They are proof that you're now grown-up enough to make fun of a woman's anatomy.
It is a natural progression of the male psyche - poop jokes, boob jokes and marriage jokes.
It's not as if the absence of breasts will augur well for us women. It will be awful that so many of us will be forced to rely solely on our intelligence, hard work and talent to forge ahead in our careers. These weapons of mass-distraction besides doing their bit for 'upliftment' of mankind also double up as pen-holders and saviour of fallen crumbs. Also, boobs are a perfect diversionary tactic to deal with sticky situations. Imagine those days when you felt like Uday Chopra in drag and all you had to do was wear a plunging neckline to detract attention from your face! It will be heartbreaking to get Cozi with Lux, just like our men. What do they know of the joy of finding the perfect fit and lift, a cup that spilleth over and a lace that feels like silk? Scores of researchers and developers employed by lingerie companies to unhook breakthrough technologies that tantalize and make lemons look like watermelons will be rendered jobless. Victoria will no longer have a secret. Men will stop watching Fashion TV. Karenjit Kaur would not have become Sunny Leone and silicone would still be used as a sealant and an adhesive.
If size matters, cup size matters a lot. It's only in this valley of ups and down, do D and C get to feel superior instead being the usual lousy grades that must be hidden from parents' sight at all costs.
And, so many femmes will be deprived of stories of their countless hardships that have to go through because of these booby traps. Believe me, you can't be a D cup and not moan constantly about it.
Minus boobs, women will become less interesting. In short, they will become just like men.
Breasts are simply not a mass of adipose, in varying shapes and sizes. They grow, harden, sag with age. Sometimes they even develop lumps that can be fatal. They are symbols of our womanhood, of our ability to nurture and sustain life. For a baby, nothing feels more secure than nestling and suckling his mother's breasts. It's through them we develop the most revered bond of all - the mother-infant bond.
Even academicians perplexed by the magnetic allure of breasts have dedicated reams of research to them. According to Professor Larry Young, human evolution has harnessed an ancient neural circuit that originally evolved to strengthen the mother-infant bond during breast-feeding, and now uses this brain circuitry to strengthen the bond between couples as well.
Now you get why men can't stop staring at our boobs? It's simple - men are like babies. And what do babies like the best? You guessed it right - breasts!
"And why not! In a world full of harsh realities, these soft mounds of flesh are a welcome change."
So the next time you spot someone staring too long at your cleavage, don't get mad, think of him as a baby seeking solace. Just make sure you ask him to grow a pair of boobs, a 38 D if possible, and ask him to board a crowded bus. He'll finally know that it requires more courage to walk around with this mass of adipose than to grow a pair of small spheroids down under.
Alternatively, you could do your bit for gender equality and focus hard on his balls and pass it off as deep thinking. Smirking, leering or otherwise. Hey, we could even petition the industry and have them come out with cup sizes for men's undies. Let the ones with A-cups slog it out with the D-cups while we drive them nuts with our stares of approval or disapproval.
What better way to empower women than this?
First published on www.purba-ray.com