It was not "someone" who called me a bachelor the

first time. It was "something".


   The brown official-looking envelope I received by

registered post that day had my degree certificate in

it. 'Bachelor of...', it announced in somewhat gaudy

letters as I stood smiling. Bachelor!


     Till then I was a boy, a brother, a student and

whatnot -- but not a bachelor. All of a sudden, that

important piece of paper had given me a new identity.
 

     I know you are dying to tell me things like 'this

bachelor is not that bachelor', but believe me, the

very next day my phone rang. It was my real-estate

agent, an uneasy reminder to the approaching

expiration of the initial company accommodation. "Sir,

you are a bachelor, are you not?"

     "Sure, I am," I said, almost adding, "and now I

have proof of that,if you need."


     "Sorry sir. The owner is not willing to give the

house to bachelors.But don't worry, sir, I have many

other houses. You see..."


     So that's how it is. No country for the people of

Palestine. No food for starving Somalis.No trees for

migrating birds. And yes, no houses for poor

bachelors.

     They are not welcome in residential areas.

Bachelors party and make noise round the clock. They

go after the neighborhood girls. They don't respect

the norms of the colony. They come in groups...

     Anyway, I learnt my lesson: Bachelors don't have

all the civil rights that 'normal' citizens enjoy. But

then, what do we have that makes many a married guy

cherish the memories of his long-lost bachelorhood?


     Palestinians have to cling to their land.

Migrating birds are bound by directions. But a

bachelor has few restrictions. Except for renting an

apartment and walking into one those stupid 'couples

only'clubs, he can have everything else.


     He gets up at any time and sneaks into the office

unnoticed when others get ready for lunch. He sits to

almost any time in front of the computer without

worrying about anxious where-are-you calls. He stays

away from the house for days and no questions are

asked. He does whatever he wants on the weekend, in

the company of his friends...


     Yes. Friends are the most important aspect of any

bachelor's life.Without them he practically has no

existence, especially if he's staying away from home.


     But then one day, over the thundering music and

the first round of cold beer in a dimly lit pub, he

announces his plans to get married to this cute girl

that someone else had found for him. Over the double

cheers, the naughty comments and laughter, I become

aware of something that hurts me somewhere.

     My friend's getting married. Of course it's

something to celebrate.But then, that also means he's

leaving the gang![ I can see this symptoms on few of

you] 


     We attend his wedding, the most colorful function

of his life, in full spirits. All of us. We give him

gifts, wish him good luck and  retreat to our good old

world, one member less. It does not take much time

before we find him reduced to much-delayed replies to

our bunch of mails -- and as for phone calls, that

comes only once in a blue moon.

     For my part, I watch the pile of wedding

invitations in the corner of my desk grow at an

amazing, alarming pace. Before I know it, most of my

cool buddies are gone. And the rest of us soon realize

that we are not always welcome to the new circle the

married men have formed. So we seek solace behind

those office doors where the sun never sets.

     I do meet my married friends occasionally. In the

office, on a casual walk, or in a busy restaurant.

They are my friends still. And they are still friendly

as much as their new lifestyle and added

responsibilities permit.

     But...

     Oh heck, there's my telephone. I think it is my

real-estate agent again.
                            - UNKNOWN