Bikini Wax

At the lowest point in life, when I was in extreme physical pain from a back condition, Sunita from the neighbourhood parlour was someone whose kindness helped me make it through the haze of pain. She understood why, despite extreme agony, I would hobble over to get my eyebrows threaded or arms waxed. She didn't judge my need to indulge in such grooming rituals just to feel normal. When she noticed I couldn't sit up for more than 2 minutes at a stretch she invented new ways to thread, exfoliate, soften, condition and wax.

Since then, our friendship has grown. We continue to meet once a month, when she comes over, all-professional, to deliver 'parlour' services. I am healthy now and have my own place. I've had a significant romantic relationship and remain unmarried. She got married a year & a half ago, late by her family's standards. Within the first year, she suffered a heartbreaking miscarriage and came to realise that the man she'd married was less life partner and more petulant man-child.

Whenever she comes over, we hang out for a bit - me in my ganji and shorts, her chatting away as she heats the wax, knowing where everything in my kitchen is.

She tells me that a few days back she found herself at a bus stand at 8pm, not wanting to go back home to her husband yet unable to return to her parents because they would only send her back. As she rips out the tiny hairs on my calf, she declares that women in this country can rely on no one, not even their own parents. I ask her why she didn't call me from the bus stand.

"I thought you were traveling for work - don't you travel a lot?"

"I do, but you can still call."

"The phone works outside Delhi?"

"Yes, it's called 'roaming'. You can ask your mobile company to activate it. Anyway, I don't travel that much anymore."

"Oh, then I should call you."

Then like always, she recommends that I get a full body uptan treatment done. "I will do it nicely. You see how your skin will glow after that!"

"I don't want it Sunita. I barely have patience for the basics."

"But bhaiyya will like it."

There is no bhaiyya in my life anymore. She doesn't know this because I haven't updated her yet. Instead I launch into a lecture about how I don't care to go through hours of treatments for bhaiyya. Any bhaiyya who enters my life will just have to deal with me as I am.

"I'm waxed and threaded, Sunita, that's about all I can offer bhaiyya."

She giggles and then gets serious.

"It took me a year to realise it, didi, but I can't rely on my husband for anything. As long as I'm happy and laughing he's fine. He'll take me out for shopping or ice-cream. But when I suffer, he can't handle it. When I lost the baby, he moved out to go live with his sister."

Then she says, "It's good you are not married didi. You did the right thing."

Over the years I've known Sunita, I've heard this line many times. Earlier, she would say it as a kindness. "It's good you didn't get married." I imagined she felt bad for me because she knew how others perceived unmarried women our age. Now when she says it, it's as if she's proud of how my life turned out. So I don't tell her how lonely I feel sometimes and how my gut wrenches in the middle of the night because I miss being held so damn much. Instead, I listen as Sunita tells me about her other friends at the parlour, girls like her who wouldn't give up their jobs for all the husbands in the world. Girls, who would sneak out at lunchtime to cheat on their 'karvachaut' fasts because "When have our husbands ever cared enough to fast for us? The day they bother half as much as we do, we'll skip the samosas." She tells me about the elaborate labyrinth of untruths they spin to avoid the wrath of their in-laws. It sounds a lot like the lengths I go to to avoid relatives fixated on undoing my single-status.

"Ok didi, let's try something new today. Bikini wax."

"WHAT? No!"

"Just see how bhaiyya will love it, didi."

"I don't care what bhaiyya will love. It's too painful."

"Oho, the way I do it there will be no pain."

"Yeah yeah yeah. No thanks."

She looks exasperated. She had me pegged for an adventurous woman and now I've disappointed her.

I don't know when it happened but at some point a hairy bush became not-normal. When I realised it wasn't a passing fad and that 'everyone was doing it' it made me angry. Burning hot wax on my shins was one thing but my crotch?! That was going too far. My politics wouldn't allow me. My fear of singeing my cooch absolutely forbade it.

But here is Sunita, bored by my tedious politics, unimpressed by my fear. Is there some arcane code of sisterhood she's invoking because it's beginning to feel like I just might let her come at my vagina with hot wax dripping off a butter knife.

And HOLY SHIT it hurts like a motherfucker.

"You SAID it wouldn't hurt. STOPPPP."

"I can't stop now. That would be silly. I can't leave you half-done like a chicken."

"I DON'T CARE. STOP."

"Shh...it's the first time you're doing this, no? That's why it hurts. You see how good you will feel later. Especially when you get your period."

"Sunita, you're being ridiculous. OH MY GOD WHAT SATANIC TORTURE IS THIS."

"You know didi, I've opened up a secret bank account. I'm going to put all the money I make from this job in that. I won't tell my husband."

"That's so great." I whimper. I hate her so much.

"Bas bas bas...ho gaya. It's almost done."

Whenever Sunita says something is 'almost done' I know that something terrible is about to happen. And so, as a last ditch effort I scream out my confession:

"There's no bhiayya anymore! He's GONE!"

Sunita looks up at my face. She looks just the right amount of sad. And then she grins.

"OhO! It doesn't matter didi, who needs bhaiyya? Now turn over. Let me do your bum."

Like A Motherfucker

Queen

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In a scene nearing the end of ‘Queen’, the camera homes in on Rani (Kangana Ranaut) as she says goodbye (probably forever) to friends she’s made on a life-altering European ‘honeymoon’. As viewers we’ve accompanied her on this journey of self-discovery and we’ve come to invest in her friendships – short and sweet as they’ve been. It’s as difficult for us to say goodbye to them as it might be for her. For a second, one hopes they’ll return because we worry for Rani, you know? But they don’t. Rani looks shaky for a moment and we hold our breath - Please be ok, Rani.

And then her face changes. Lightens. Something has shifted in her, not for a bit, not for a fleeting moment, but indelibly. She won’t just be okay, she will fly. The euphoria that comes from having made contact with her own power extends beyond her, permeating through the screen to reach us. We feel euphoric too because we know that with this film, something has shifted for mainstream Hindi cinema too.

******

Some reviews of the movie have called Rajkummar Rao’s character, Vijay, a ‘villain’, which is the saddest thing I’ve read in a while because this superbly-crafted obnoxious man is so bloody…normal. Who amongst us doesn’t know a Vijay? Some of us are dating him; some of us have him as a brother, a father, friend or boss. The guy, who needs to feel superior to you in order to feel good about himself. The guy, who really doesn’t care who you are as long as you serve his agenda. The guy, who struts around with such a sense of entitlement about his ‘property’ (and yes, you are his property, whether you like it or not) that he can’t fathom you’re an equal stakeholder in the relationship. The guy, who feels so small that he needs to make you feel smaller. The guy, who will fall apart, either grovelling or losing his shit if you ever realize your power. Vijay is not the villain. He struggles as much as Rani does – but unlike her, he hasn’t lost enough to put up a fight. In Vijay, I see the tragedy of so many men I’ve known and loved – men, who are as confused by their privilege as women are trapped by the lack of it.

*******

‘Queen’ is extraordinary because of the male-female & female-female relationships it showcases. In Paris, Rani meets the free-spirited Vijaylakshmi, whose name shortens delightfully to Vijay, same as Rani’s ditching fiancé. This Vijay, unlike the other, likes Rani just the way she is. She helps her loosen up but doesn’t inspire Rani to change overnight (nor does Rani convert her or show her the ‘error of her ways’ like in that other horrendous movie on female friendship: Cocktail) but teaches her that women can be all kinds of different shades. In Amsterdam, Rani’s character begins to understand how fun and liberating it can be to get to know men. Men are humans. And some of them think women are humans too! Ergo, men can be friends with women! These are touching friendships, based on affection and mutual respect (and yes, even a twinge of sexual tension).

In spite of this, I’m ashamed to admit that till the very end I kept expecting Rani to find a man. As though the thrill of self-discovery would be incomplete unless witnessed & validated by a man (like that other film about an Indian woman losing & finding her self in the Western world: ‘English Vinglish’). In that light, what a masterstroke by the writers/ director to leave Rani walking away in the last frame, alone & more joyful than any Hindi movie heroine’s ever looked at the end of a film (even Konkona Sen in ‘Luck By Chance’ looked underwhelmed about her future, as the film ended on her charting her path alone). Rani may find a man, she may not. Whatever the outcome, she now has the skills to create value for herself (like that other recently released film ‘Highway’ that ends on a mid shot of the lone & unexpectedly not-tragic heroine, clutching a copy of ‘Women Who Run With The Wolves’, looking hopefully into the horizon).

******

I don’t know if this happens to other Indian women who’ve travelled – particularly to the West. A pall of gloom descends on me whenever I have to return home. Even if the trip hasn’t been long enough to grow attached to the foreign country, even if my entire life is culturally rooted and thriving in India and even if love waits for me at home. It feels like I have to put back into a box, this version of ‘me’ that had momentarily roamed free – going where she wanted, at whichever time of night or day, in whichever mode of transport was convenient, talking to pretty much anyone she wished to, learning to smile at strangers and not spending an unnatural amount of time worrying if her shirt’s neckline is ‘too low’. And even though coming back to India means coming back home, it also feels like the loss of a person I really, really enjoy being.

‘Queen’ allowed me to relive the thrill of being free in ways I didn’t even realize I craved and the sweet relief of not having to constantly be ‘proper’ or 'careful' or 'watchful' (or 'disappointing', 'unsafe' or ‘stupid’ if you choose to act differently). Like Rani, I too have had catalytic adventures (some of which terrified me, forcing me to recognize my strengths). Like her, travel helped me relax into myself, without apologies. Like her, I carried this transformative new energy back to India with me.

The biggest gift ‘Queen’ has given its viewers, is a story about an Indian woman on an adventure alone. Of course, travel changes everyone. But Rani & ‘Queen’ show us how a fearless journey to foreign shores can lead the Indian woman back to herself. 

POINT IS: GO WATCH THIS FILM

We Are All A Little Yo Yo - Part 2

So then this morning, this happened - a Twitter conversation between two women:

Assuming the plumber in question was male (or actually even if they weren't), this exchange made me uncomfortable.
I couldn't tell why. Like another itch I couldn't scratch.

Then I remembered something I recently read on The Last Cookie.
Please read the whole thing, but here's an excerpt:

"The 'comedy' behind male abuse is a result of the patriarchy, which is exactly what feminism is trying to destroy. The patriarchy mocks weakness in men, so when men get abused, it’s not taken seriously. It’s a joke, it’s funny, it’s no big deal. 'You’re a man, suck it up.'
 
That’s not what feminists want. If you think that’s what we want, then you you’re not talking to the right feminists. It’s about equality, NOT just reversing the roles, understand?"

 *****

Self chatter: I have to admit that for a long time I've used feminism as a repository of my personal anger and shame caused by patriarchal forces. This anger and shame is real and needs to be addressed. But I now see how it's a mistake to blur lines between this redressal and the principles of feminism. Feminism can give me the tools to understand where the anger & shame comes from and to prevent its mitigating situations from being repeated - as far as possible. But feminism does not give me the right to debase other humans in its name.

I don't know what this means for my future as a lustful female that might wish to covet a man's body parts in a lascivious manner but I'm sure I'll figure something out...maybe the guys can help me out with this one.

"Because I Can't!..."

Film: Contact
Year: 1997
Based on the novel 'Contact' by Carl Sagan (1985)

Worth watching a fajillion times because of a brilliant story & screenplay and multitudes of layered meanings that criss-cross science, religion, the tug-of-war between pure scientific enquiry & beaurocratic douchebaggery, the virtues of patience & integrity in the pursuit of truth, daddy issues and the tussle between reason & faith (which may not be an 'either-or' debate at all).

And kickass radioastronomy that includes nerdgasmic scenes from radiotelescopes like Arecibo and the VLA.

Plus cool SETI stuff and brilliantly imagined ET-tech eg: a transportation pod with cool features like doors that become seamless as soon as they shut and...well...the ability to travel through wormholes in the universe at relativistic speeds.

Plus, a strong female character (that could've just as easily been written male), carved to perfection by Carl Sagan, who does cool shit like climb into alien-pods that are likely to kill her - all in the interest of satisfying her scientific curiousity & furthering human knowledge - while her impossibly gorgeous man-friend waits on the sidelines for her to return from her adventures. Full feminist marks.

Plus the hot, hot, HOT Matthew McConaughey, who argues for spiritual faith, while mastering the intricacies of Special Relativity, while managing to look convincingly in love with the biggest girl-geek Hollywood has ever created.

But mostly, it's worth watching because of the most epic movie finale in the history of all films ever made by humans. (What do you mean I haven't seen 'all films ever'? What're you, my mother?):

(Pssst: There are Indian astrophysicists like Jodie Foster's character from Contact, who have dedicated their research lives to the Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence. I wonder what their backstory is...)

Pretty Sure It's The Meds

This post is all whine and some crackers.

I'm having such a bad hair day, I'd say my hair is having a bad me day. 

I've been working for what feels like Mandela's stint on Robin Island and my only entertainment in forever has been getting up to go pee.

I have not left the house in 7 days.

I've been sick - as in, body being attacked by germs kind of sick. Or so I tell myself as I pop another pill while searching for an excuse not to bathe - offered to one of the many disinterested parties that inhabit my life. It's the kind of cloying season-change illness that has your skull feeling like it's trapped in a Phantom of the Opera mask with his singing voice echoing in your ears, even though you never bought a ticket to the show and frankly think that Andrew Lloyd Webber's finest ouevre was Roop Ki Rani Choron Ka Raja.

I have seen the entire second season of Girls in a single sitting and am now riddled with dreams of disembodied boobs playing table tennis (Wilson's, not Dunham's.). It's not entirely unpleasant and it sure beats that recurring dream of P. Chidambaram in his Don't-Call-It-A-Lungi-Or-The-Tamilian-Mafia-Will-Come-After-You.

In other news the Anti-Rape bill was passed in the Parliament. The news was received amidst lamentations & recriminations that Rahul Gandhi was absent for the vote (along with a sizeable chunk of the legislature. I think the only people who stayed to vote were the folks who fell asleep in the previous session and woke up in the middle of this one).

I've been trying hard to decide my feelings about all of this and have been in hiding from the droves of reporters, banging on my door, anxious to know my special thoughts.

On one hand, I'm relieved that something got passed - like a kidney stone.

On the other hand, I wonder if this anorexic version of the Justice Verma Committee report will make it difficult for anyone pushing for anything better - like constipation.

Every single day I get closer to menopause.

I read an essay by Frederick Douglass and saw 'Gone With The Wind' in the same day, which is an adventure sport I would recommend to anyone serious about understanding the 'Dalit Sich'.

Meanwhile, Chetan Bhagat managed to con another group of earnest filmmakers into elevating his book from toilet paper to That Film Where That Hot Guy Shouldn't Have Died. 

These are the moments when I wonder why I'm putting any effort into this existence. Then I remember I haven't bathed again today and feel better about it all. 

Besides, as Scarlett O Hara said: "Tomorrow is another day (and if the DMK is still in the news you can laugh at Delhi-based news anchors trying to pronounce Alagiri and Kanimozhi)."

Eiiiiiii. I said - Eiiiiiiii

Joinin' 'Em

A recent commercial for an online property dealings site Magic Bricks. com has plenty of potential for generating outrage. But I think it's a great ad. At least there's no smarmy pandering to the feminist ego, which is so rampant in Indian advertising nowadays.
Instead there's this:

So gutpunchingly honest is this ad that I'm inspired to fuel a new revolution in Indian advertising. I think it may appeal to more people than we think.

Bike Ad:

Refreshing Beverage Ad:

Beauty Products Ad:

 

Multi-purpose Ad For The Man-In-You (Who-Only-Listens-To-What-His-Mummy-Papa-Say):

Carl & Marissa: Some Thought Experiments

I'm reading Broca's Brain, Carl Sagan's book of essays on the 'romance of science'. It's always been a struggle for me to get through non-fiction but this is a great read and I'm congratulating myself on keeping up with it. Here's an excerpt:

"...We might therefore one day travel to the centre of the Milky Way Galaxy and return in a time of a few decades measured on board the ship - although, as measured back on Earth, the elapsed time would be sixty thousand years, and very few of the friends who saw us off would be around to commemorate our return."

Not 'none' but 'very few'.

Hahaha Carl, you're such a kidder. You're kidding aren't you Carl? 

Carl? Are you there, Carl? 

You're freaking me out Carl, stop it. 

....Carl?....

*************

On Yahoo! CEO Marissa Mayer's decision to ban working from home.

As a professional:

When I'm not traveling I work from home and I love it. It helps my process. I'm disciplined. I meet all my deadlines and on most days I don't turn in rubbish.
If Mayer was my boss I'd want to strangle her. 

At the same time, I also agree with this article: '3 Reasons Marissa Mayer Has Made A Smart Move' 

Even though my job is creative and needs peace and quiet, I've felt the drawbacks of working far removed from my colleagues, where the kick of working for a common goal gets diluted. It's difficult to feel part of a team when you are geographically separated for 80% of your teamwork activities. I'd be lying if I said it didn't affect the end-product.

In that sense, I'm tempted to think that Mayer might be onto something here (plus, to make an assessment of her decision from a business point of view, one might need to study the circumstances at Yahoo! that prompted this decision. It could hardly have been a random act to make its employees' lives miserable. I mean, who is she? My ex-boss?).

As a working woman, who doesn't have children and can't speak for those who do: 

Do I feel her decision is anti-women? In spite of that bloody 5-star nursery next to her office, I might be tempted to say no, I don't think her decision is anti-women (insensitive yes, anti-women no). 

I've always been suspicious of this culture of 'supporting' women by tailoring their professional lives to allow them to be mothers & wives. 

Call me paranoid but I find it sinister to promote the idea that women can & must do it all (i.e. be rocket scientists at NASA & Mother India all in one). 

It puts an unrealistic amount of pressure on women, propping us up to be failures no matter how hard we try. 

So here's a thought experiment in 2 parts: 

What would happen if a woman (or a man, for that matter) had to choose between profession and parenting? Wouldn't we have to question what we've come to assume is axiomatic? (The axiom being: we can 'have it all'/ 'having it all' is helpful to us as individuals & as a community.)

Part 1: What if Yahoo!'s decision influences work cultures across the professional world and there comes a time, when it becomes less demonic & more normal to choose one over the other?

Could it be that a woman (or a man) will be free of the pressure to have it all, do it all and be some impossible version of the 'complete woman/ man'?

Could it be that women (and men) might actually be happy being one (professional) or the other (parent) without a sense of loss or having 'missed out'?

Part 2: What if we reject Yahoo!s decision and there comes a time when we have to embrace the 'having it all' trope in every possible way?

Could it be that more men might become equal stakeholders in the child-rearing process (and women might actually let them)?

Could it be that workplaces alter & adapt themselves to support this 'having it all' trope (rather than banishing employees to their homes, where the messiness of raising children is not the organization's problem)?

We live in an age when we are expected to be all the big things: parents, consummate professionals, responsible caretakers of our aging parents, contributing members to our community. 

Is it realistic to be all of these, all at once? Do measures (like encouraging working from home) that allow us to be a million things at once, help us or harm us?

I still haven't figured it out. But until I do, I can't scream bloody (sexist) murder at Mayer.

********** 

(Another thought experiment: If Mayer was a male CEO, would the outrage target him personally for his life choices or would it focus on Yahoo! as an organization?)

(Additionally: There's something very creepy about expecting her to be a card-carrying feminist just because she is a head honcho. And then demonizing her because she's not.)

***********
Slightly off-point but connected : Read about the feud between Rebecca Walker and her Pulitzer Prize winning author mother, Alice Walker. It's the seamier side of what happens when a woman tries to make a go of both profession and motherhood and gets it all muddled up. Not saying all woman are unable to handle both. Not even saying that all women don't want to handle both. But here is a woman (Alice), who clearly couldn't and didn't and the consequences were painful for all parties involved.

The mother-daugher wars: Phyllis Chesler

"Rebecca: Trust me, a woman really cannot do both. The myth that we can is a dangerous one."

Notes From The Fringes

If you follow this blog then you know that over the last 2 months I have hovered around one of the many movements that have gained strength in the weeks following the Dec 16th gangrape.

I say 'hover' because I'm drawn time and again into a space I'm not sure I understand in its entirety. But still I go.

I go because I want to learn what women across this country are thinking.

I go because I want to learn what women across this country are feeling.

I go because I want to understand their, our, history of struggle.

I go because I want to appease the part of me that has suffered violence, harassment & injustice.

I go because I am curious about the men who turn up to watch.

I go because I am curious about the men who turn up to support.

I go because I am curious about the men who own these issues as their own.

I go because I want to add my voice to a movement that might get lost in the din of several other problems this country faces that are 'more critical' than women's issues.

I go to soak in the collective energy of a group of women, standing together, unapologetic about putting their needs at the top of this nation's to-do list.

So once again, some really rubbish photos and a brief description of proceedings as they unfolded on the 21st of February at Jantar Mantar in New Delhi. 

The 'People's Watch Over Parliament' was purposed towards reminding the Indian Parliament, on the first day of the Budget session, that they had a serious responsibility to discuss the Justice Verma Committee recommendations & rethink the hastily drafted anti-rape ordinance.

The idea of this gathering at Jantar Mantar was to stay put on the streets from 12 to 5pm. 

I was only there till 4:30 and don't know what happened after. 

But for most of the hours I participated in the 'sit-in' (with a sore bum to prove it) I heard many speeches & performances (music, poetry, dance, theatre). Here are some highlights.

************

Some sloganeering (from the Bekhauf Azaadi repertoire) to get the crowd pumped up, a musical performance & some hulchul near the stage (which later turns out to be Shabana Azmi) and things get underway.

Ranjana Kumari begins with a reality check. 35 years of experience in trying to push women's issues into the consciousness of our political machinery has taught us one thing, she says. 

It is not priority for this session of parliament to discuss the JVC recommendations or the ordinance. 

(This is a much needed reality check for those of us who are new to activist movements. In the past weeks we've had a corruption scandal, riots over price-rise and a series of terrorist attacks.  These are bound to get the attention of the House and national media before gender justice makes it to the floor. Us lot had better be mentally prepared for disappointment.) 

Some more music. 'O Ri Chiraiya' is a hot favourite and it won't be the last time we hear this song this afternoon. (The song actually grows on you if you dissociate it from the memory of Aamir Khan's Social-Cause-Game-Face.)

Next Binalakshmi Nepram speaks. She speaks of having just met with Irom Sharmila, who has a message for the protesters in Delhi: "Don't let my life become a drama." By this, Nepram explains, Sharmila means that the movement requires more investment from us than just appearing at protests and invoking her name.

She (Nepram) speaks of aligning movements from other parts of the country (like the northeast & Kashmir) with the Delhi one. She tells us how the AFSPA (instituted in 1958 in what was supposed to be a temporary provision for 3-6 months) has overstayed its welcome (to put it mildly) and how the women of states like Manipur, Nagaland and Kashmir have suffered in its shadow.

Her pitch goes up a notch and one can sense her deep frustration as she explains how opposing the AFSPA does not make the women of these regions 'anti-national'. 

(When activists like Nepram speak it's easy to see how women get the shorter end of every stick - be it communalism, casteism, regionalism, poverty you name it. And this is what places it at the top of India's 'to-do' list. I can't imagine the horror & humiliation of having to repeatedly prove your allegiance to the country in order to get social justice.)

Then, there is movement from the sides of the crowd. A high-energy group of young women dressed in grey & red descends upon the gathering. They occupy the area just in front of the stage. These are the ladies from Delhi University's Maitreyi College. 

And they go on to put up a gutsy, funny and no-hold-barred streetplay on India's dodgy relationship with its women.

This street play has a way of divesting patriarchial tropes of their power over our collective minds and presenting them stripped of logic. Of showing them up as jokes that everyone can laugh at. (There's a lesson in here for all of us who ask what good a campaign like 'Slutwalk' is.)

They use real ad campaign slogans, misogynist comments of political leaders, statements made by military & government spokespeople, quotes from Bollywood etc. Without twisting the actual words, they use their tone, body language and theatrics to say: ISN'T THIS BLOODY RIDICULOUS? It is right? Right.

(And suddenly these immovable traditions, this 'maryaada' we've unthinkingly accepted, loses meaning. I can tell you there were some men in the audience who were a sight to see. They would laugh because it was all so obviously funny but then they would stop and look confused. Then laugh again.)

Speaking of men, let me break the chronological telling of events and bring in Gautam Bhan, who directs his speech towards the men in the audience.

He's the Boy in the Brown Sweater (with mic)

He asks: Have the men, who've collected to support 'Bekhauf Azaadi' understood what it means and what their role in it is? Bekhauf Azaadi necessitates the shattering of patriarchal structures. It has implications not only for women but also men. 

He also addresses the dangerous notion of making sexual violence laws gender neutral in India. Gender neutrality may be sold as a means to achieving equality but it's a red herring. Unless the inequality in society is accounted for, it is more than likely that sexual violence laws will be used against women & men who are on the wrong side of the patriarchy debate.

He underscores the fact that feminism is not anti-men and us citizens can't afford to be divided on the basis of gender.

In my favourite bit from his speech, he says that protesting isn't enough. We must make the time & effort to understand the political nuances of what's being demanded, granted and debated over.

It's nearly 4pm. Lawyers have spoken, as have activists from groups working on dalit causes & human trafficking issues. One fellow called Vidrohi has recited 3 poems that I haven't quite understood. Kavita Krishnan gets up on stage.

She is an incredible orater, always able to draw in attention, no matter how distracted the crowds may be.

She speaks of 'naitikta' or morality and how it's used & abused to preserve patriarchal structures. (Apparently there's a Delhi Police banner outside all women's colleges in Delhi that lists out a series of 'dos and don'ts' that must be followed to be safe in the city. Apparently no such banner has popped up outside any other type of college.)

She tells the delightful tale of meeting Union Home Minister Sushil Shinde, who seems most foxed about what women really want. 

The way she tells it, I imagine him shaking his head sadly, looking hopeless yet secure in his knowledge that his people did everything they could do to protect women, by drafting an ordinance that no one asked for.

Krishnan talks about how she & other leaders attempted to explain their points of view. But what language do you use to explain your stand when the other person has already decided it for you (and isn't really interested)? 

And so she talks about the lack of seriousness accorded to issues affecting women. At its best relegated to 'not so critical'. At its worst, twisted into devious machinations of women, who've gained quite the reputation for being liars, manipulators and all-round troublemakers ('narak ka dwaar' is the phrase she used) throughout our mythology.

(Fun fact: In Urdu & Arabic speaking parts of the world the word 'Dajjalan' has been flung about. There is even a wikipedia page about it. Thanks @imsabbah)

Some of Us Jolly Narak Ka Dwaars

The crowd has grown in the past few hours. Some folks from a neighbouring protest ("We Want Gorkhaland!!") have spilled into this one. Chaiwaala, papadwaalas, chaatwaalas and vadaawaalas have started networking. One lone fellow from a 'rival' 16th December protest walks around forlornly sporting a 'Hang The Rapists' signboard (What's happening in that head of yours, sir? I'm curious but timid to ask.) The newsreporters have finally settled down. 

As the clock inches towards 4:30 pm, I get up to leave.

************

I don't know how the rest of the evening panned out. 

As for the pariament, there was buzz that the issues would be discussed the next day in the Rajya Sabha. But then the Hyderabad blasts happened so I don't know about that outcome either.

Doses of Reality

'Lincoln' is Steven Spielberg's take on the weeks preceding the passing of the 13th Amendment in 1865. It's not really about Abraham Lincoln. At least it wasn't for me. 

After following & participating in the recent wave of women's rights protests that have taken over India (especially in my hometown, Delhi), I was taking furious mental notes as I watched.

 

The film traces that magical climactic moment (well, one of them - no social change happens in one fell swoop) in a movement where idealism, popular(ish) opinion, doggedness, strategy, corruption and plain blind luck converge and allow society to take a historic leap forward. 'Lincoln' does a superb job of laying out the nuances of a freedom struggle taken to its logical conclusion and it's not all romantic.

It's long-drawn out, confusing and makes men & women do things that are surprisingly proper and improper. People die. Not everyone who contributes to social change necessarily believes in it or understands it wholly. Not everyone backs it for the 'right' reasons. Yet, there is an unyielding thread of noble intention that runs through it all, tying it together.

Strangely though, in 'Lincoln' there's precious little screen time spent on the oppressed themselves. There's no mention of the Black abolitionist movement and in a story that's about emancipation from slavery, there are barely any African American faces through the nearly 3 hour film. It's an intriguing choice for a filmmaker whose earlier work includes the hard-hitting & uplifting 'Amistad'.

Which, for me, drives home the point that social change doesn't happen simply because the oppressed are ready to rise up and demand better. It happens when they become loud & persistent enough to turn the minds of the powerful majority and it happens when the oppressive institution becomes outdated or irrelevant. In that sense, 'Lincoln' really is about that point in history when the most powerful (white) men in America decided that slavery was something they were now willing to do without. It's about their moment of transcendence, not the African Americans'.

(And while we're at it: Am I allowed to use the word 'black'? Is it PC?)

(Also, Tommy Lee Jones as Thaddeus Stevens is pure genius.)

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Earlier this week, on a cold & miserable Monday there was a call for protesters to collect at Jantar Mantar in Delhi to oppose the Anti Rape Ordinance signed that morning by the president. It was a hastily organized, last minute gathering and presumably because it had been raining all night & was a Monday, attendance was very low. It was a crowd of usual suspects from the two universities that have so far driven much of the protests.

Once again, there were powerful speeches made, mostly clearing up confusion about why the ordinance was objectionable and how the government had (mis)used the JVC recommendations to offer an attractive but empty package to appease the public. Even more terrifying was the prospect of how easily the ordinance might be used against women. It was a spectacular betrayal by the government I'd voted into power & whose salaries I paid with my taxes.

This was an important moment in my fledgling career as the angry oppressed. 

It made me truly empathise with the millions of Indians who live in the shadow of injustice and aren't guaranteed their rights just because they demand it. It was a necessary wake-up call: We were now firmly tangled in the web of politics. What we'd imagined were basic inalienable human rights were playthings in a bizarre political game. The whole affair was like having ones head shoved into a bucket of ice-cold water and being shocked out of a naive stupor.

It is one thing to know injustice exists, quite another to experience it. I recommend everyone try it at least once in their lives.

(In other news, I can't be sure but I may have become a 'comrade'.)

This guy (holding the mic) had been at Jantar Mantar for 42 days (and counting). He was more distressed than any woman at any protest there. And while many were distancing themselves from his loud rants, his message was unique: "We are all unsafe," he kept repeating, "It's not just the women, even the men are unsafe!!"

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This past week I also experimented with a different kind of campaign for gender justice. It was at a gathering for the spiritually inclined (I'm a bewildered fence-sitter). The group leaders were 'seers' who would help us collectively heal the community through visualization techniques (I had to imagine my brain was caught up in a rainbow-coloured inferno).

They explained how the sorry state of affairs in the country represented a spiritual breakdown, where we had become disconnected with the Source - the energy that connects us all as one. By reconnecting with this source, we could not only maximize our potential but in effect, transform society. So far, so good.

Then they explained how science had proven it by locating the God Particle i.e. the Higgs boson, inside each human cell, where it was busy connecting us to God, like a divine SIM card. (They also implied that science had proven we could change our DNA in our lifetime. Has it? If you got the memo, do pass it along.)

After that, pretty much all my chakras shut shop and I gave up on trying to spiritually heal my nation.

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Tonight, I've returned from the book launch of 'Seeing Like A Feminist' by Nivedita Menon.

 

When I was 19, I took Menon's Pol Sci class in college and she'd rocked my world. 

None of us had elected to specifically take her class. We were all majoring in other subjects and required this to pass our exams. But once there, many of us were rivetted. 

Before her, I'd never known what a feminist was. I'd never realized there was a better world to aspire for: one in which my being a female was synonymous with freedom.

She had a light (no, not 'light', as someone at tonight's launch said: 'weightless') way of explaining the most complex ideas in feminism, ideas that challenged the status quo and also, us. 

She'd routinely find ways to nudge us outside our comfort zones. She had a laconic sense of humour and could spot bullshit from a mile away.

From what I gathered today, her book is the same. 'Oddly cheerful' as she described herself and her writing. If that's the case, I can't wait to get started.

(The book launch started with a few words marking the execution of Afzal Guru. Thus I learnt that feminism is fundamentally opposed to the idea of capital punishment. What a relief.)