eng
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The Jat Regiment

created Jan 19th 2023, 09:12 by vedpal1131


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310 words
20 completed
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The first time I heard the phrase, I thought it was joke. “I am a sex addict,” said a friend, a poet, a man about town, a man who could hit on the new wife of his new wife’s ex-husband. (Figure that out. Almost all the relationships in that simultaneous equation are decrepitating so rapidly, it does not matter much.)
    I laughed because I thought he wanted to be laughed at. A am a polite person. “It’s serious,” he said. “You wouldn’t laugh if I said I was an alcoholic.” “Aren’t you?” I asked.
    “I suppose I am. I think I’ll switch to marijuana. It’s safer”.
    Six months later, he was a changed man. I have no idea what happened, perhaps it was the birth of another child, perhaps growing up happened overnight. Suddenly, the torn T-shirt and the grotty chappals vanished. Suddenly, the aversion to the marketing department and its interference in the process and nature of Indian journalism evaporated. Suddenly, the man was ready to step up, to take his place among the other men of his kind and time and age.  he never spoke about his sex addiction again. And I stopped hearing the phrase.
    From time to time, when confronted with the new avatar of the poet, dockers and chinos and Woodlands and all that went with it, I wondered whether sex addiction was still part of the package, whether it went with the terrain, whether it was something one could outgrow. A genuine addiction would be difficult. It never goes away. You fight it all your life. And every time you think you have dealt with it, something happens to remind you that you’re still very much a combatant, not a victor. Perhaps he’s getting help. Perhaps he’s in a group somewhere where he has to stand up and say, “I am a sex addict.”

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