Do Men Also Menstruate?

I spent my schooldays in the biggest residential school in West Bengal, India. Every building within the 200-acre campus had its own kitchen and dining hall. When I was studying in Class IX, the person in charge of our kitchen was Gopal Thakur, a native of Orissa, huge, dark and pot-bellied. One morning, during a usual visit to the kitchen in search of some crumbs of extra food, I found Thakur taking out the daily quota of rice, cereals and vegetables for the lunch. Nothing new, but what surprised me was the quantity of the raw materials. They were much less than that of other days.
I asked Thakur the reason for this inconsistency.
Gopal Thakur told me, as if sharing a secret, “As far as food consumption goes, men follow a monthly cycle. For three weeks they eat the normal quantity of food, but during the fourth, they eat much less. So, if I prepare the normal quantity of food during the fourth week, there would be wastage. But if I continue to cook this much during the next week, there would be riot.”
Let’s talk about Abani, the husband of my friend, Lakshmi. During the early days of their marriage, Abani had a job. He was the senior sales executive in a computer accessories company in Delhi. However, since his childhood, Abani dreamt of getting into business, and floating his own company. So he claimed (and got) the money and jewellery Lakshmi had brought from her maternal home. He quit the job, and floated a shop with a friend, which went belly-up within a year. Abani came back home like a prodigal child, took to drinks, and started living off his wife’s income (Lakshmi had found a job in the accounts department of a training institute).
These days, Abani’s body clock has developed a cycle. Once in every two months, his urge for starting a new business reaches the crescendo. He asks for money to start a new business and Lakshmi says no, as a) she doesn’t have that much of money, b) she knows the family including two young children would starve if money is given to Abani; and c) Abani doesn’t have the ability of pull off any business venture. So, a dejected Abani takes further to drinks, beats Lakshmi up mercilessly, and crashes out. And wait for the next bout about two months away.
The inside walls of my home needs a fresh coat of paint. The cornices of the drawing room have got black patches with the seepage of water; and the walls of my son’s bedroom have so many relief maps that, he says, he doesn’t need an Atlas. So, I contacted a few painters, asked for a list of materials needed (which they promptly furnished) and promised to engage them “as soon as possible”.
It never happened. The spectre of moving all the furniture, taking down thousands of books from the floor-to-ceiling book cases, the thought of flying dust, the acrid smell of paint, the chaos make me sick. I have given it up.
But Nekram painter didn’t.
Nekram would ring me up on my mobile phone around 20th of every month, and ask, “Sir, I am Nekram painter. Did you decide? Is your son’s exam over? Can we start now?” I would scratch my head, and say, “Eh-uh…Nekram, some guests are coming from Calcutta…Why don’t you give me a ring, say, just after the summer gets over?”
Nekram would. Next month itself. Around 20th. He has been doing it for the last two years. Sometimes I wonder whether Nekram has synchronised his “men-struation” with his wife’s menstruation cycle!