Hot & Bothered

Any time Adam listens when Hannah is talking, it gets me...yeknow.

Conversations With Boys

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Mid Life Problems

Just as it’s time to leave, he leans in and asks like it’s a secret, “Are you happy?”

I lean back. My brow knots up. “Wrong question. Ask me if I’m excited about the future.”

“Are you excited about the future?”

“Yes. Even if the happiness comes & goes.”

 “Hmmm…”

“You? Are you excited about what’s up ahead?”

“I don’t know. I’ve checked all the boxes – degree, job, marriage, money. I expected something more than this.”

“More than what?”

“More than…vanilla.”

“Talk to your wife more. Be vulnerable. You’ll be surprised how meaningful it can make your life to share like that.”

“I think I’ll start a band.”

 ******

Reminiscing

They meet after more than decade but one might say they’ve never met before because this is the first real conversation they’ve ever had.

And she says, “I used to be so scared of you back then.”

He looks surprised: “Why??”

“Oh I was scared of everything in those days.”

“No no. I’m pretty sure it was me. I used to be an asshole.”

 ******

Body Issues

He texts me from an out-of-town wedding: “God everyone is *so* fat here. The women are cows.”

I text back: “I’m fat too. You seem ok with it.”

“You’re different.”

“Why?”

“You change. Your face changes.”

“In bed?”

“Yes.”

*****

Insomnia

She is half a country away from home and from him. It’s a lonely hotel room, where the TV only plays Tamil channels. She has an early morning but sleep won’t come.

“Why not?” he asks on the phone.

“I have trouble. Insomnia.”

“I can sleep anywhere, any time.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’m going to help you sleep.”

“Best of luck. You won’t succeed.”

“Oh I will. Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to the sound of my breathing and breathe deeply with me.”

She inhales and exhales with him. For a good ten minutes.

“Are you asleep?”

“Mmmmm…no.”

“Ok. I’ll keep trying.”

 ******

The Turning Point

I dream of forevers with him.

But he says, “I’m only going to be a chapter in your autobiography.”

“Impossible. Only one?”

“Yeah, I’ll be the one after the assholes. Just before the love of your life.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

“No. I’m the turning point.”

******

Wah, mazaa aa gaya!

Little Heartbreaks

Sick and tired of my one big heartbreak, I joined Tinder because who wouldn’t want to curate the Book of Tiny Humiliations & Disappointments? Technology is so helpful.

I signed up with a bad attitude, cynicism seeping from every pore and found a couple of adequate fellows to chat with.

Them: Hi

Me: Hello.

Them: Wassup?

Me: Nothing much. You say.

Them: Happy Diwali.

Me: Same to you.

Indian men possess charming dating skills. As do I.

There was this one chap though, going by a generic and not-hard-to-find-in-a-haystack-at-all name, with a single photo in which you could just about figure out half his face. He had a sense of humour, we seemed to be getting somewhere, when whoosh, for no reason I understand, he ‘unmatched’ me.

It’s hard not to take it personally when you are rejected not just by a human but also by his mobile app.

Now I’m left with the ‘Hi-Wassup-Happy Diwali’ gang and it’s back to square one.

Yet (as Amit if-that's-even-his-real-name said before we were consciously uncoupled) there is always something to learn from setbacks.
My conduct on Tinder has shone a light on how I am in real life.

I aim low, am consistently apologetic and insecure in my interactions with men, all the while imagining that I’m vastly superior. And then, when they behave like subpar humans, I am distraught and tragedy-struck.

But this is Tinder, see? It doesn’t matter. It’s about swiping left or right. I should be braver, aim higher. I should fake (high self esteem) it, till I make (high self esteem) it. I should catfish my personality – instead of a people-pleasing, short-selling apologetic wimp, I should be the straight-talking, deludedly confident, penis-shriveling diva-bitch of my dreams[1].

I should go after the good lookers, the guys whose profile pics have them paragliding in Guam with a champagne flute in one hand, the IIM-As, the Punjabi-chiknas[2].

No. Wait.

The White Man.
I should seek out the White Man.  

---

[1] I realize I don’t even know what my ‘type’ is. Physically speaking. I’m so consumed with feeling bad about my own schlubbiness that I choose the schlubs by default.

[2] Call me racist but most Indian men look like such douchebags in their profile pics. Hardly an open or warm smile amongst the lot of them. And everyone poses with cars that are not theirs, bikes that are not theirs, horses that are not theirs (but wives and children that are theirs? That seems to be the way our chaps wish to attract the opposite sex.)

Binary Code Boyfriend

He speaks in binary
Grunts and silences
1's and 0's
There is a novel in there
Maybe a mathematical mystery left unsolved for centuries
Mmmphhh----
Mmphhh----Mmphhh Mmphhh----
Meaning,
"I need a holiday"
or
"Pass me the ketchup"
or
"You're kind of cool how you make me laugh and give me the benefit of the doubt"
or
"Stop annoying me"

It takes some dedicated decoding
And a possible career as a spy
To figure out the difference between
I love you
&
Goodbye

Queen

-->

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.

We Are All A Little Yo Yo

So this happened on Twitter last night:

Nothing more beautiful than a woman who doesn't care if she's looking beautiful.
— Oculus (@daddy_san) January 24, 2014

Following which the gentleman tweeter faced a fair bit of ire from a section of the Indian female population on Twitter.

And that's where the politically correct part of this post ends.
*****

My first impression when I read the tweet was discomfort, like an itch you can't track the source of, that has you scratching the back of your left leg when the itchiness is being felt in your right ear.

So I stared at the tweet some more. This came to me:

We all know how problematic this is. I mean, I wish they'd just COMB THEIR HAIR!

So anyway, I thought some more.

*****

I have never been 'beautiful' (except in a Maya Angelou/ My Mama Thinks I'm Beautiful kinda way). Therefore, I have pretty much always cared.

I have always cared because I have seen the more beautiful girls get advantages I never could, in spite of my sparkling personality and dazzling wit.

(Sidebar: Conversly, because of my sparkling personality and dazzling wit, I have had advantages that beautiful girls haven't - like a chance for someone to get to know me, a chance to be appreciated for who I am rather than what I look like.)

Inside me, live two people (well...more...but I'm only bringing two to the table).
There is a 13yr old fat girl who is trying SO hard to be validated by men because everything she's ever been surrounded by has informed her that men have the final word in how she measures her worth. Sure, she will also learn that getting a good job and having her own independent thoughts makes her valuable, but by and large she's figured out that she is not quite 'right' unless a guy tells her so.

Sucks coz guys never really end up telling her so.

What they do say is: she's too fat, she's too dark, they wish she'd dress up better, show her cleavage off more, trim her eyebrows, show her cleavage off less, grow her hair, wax her moustache, join a gym, smoke less, be cool and share a smoke.

Of course, they are stating a preference and what kind of a world do we want to live in if we can't let a human being state a preference? Besides, us women appreciate beauty too, don't we?

  This Guy Vs. That Guy

I digress.

Point is, I wish this preference would be just that: a preference in a world of infinite choices. Just an opinion. Unfortunately, the 13yr old fat girl living inside has come to understand it as a form of 'quality control'. In fact, it's all so messed up that she can no longer tell the difference between a preference and QC.

Now, this pisses the 34yr old woman off. She thinks: I'm not an object dammit. I'm not on some assembly line! My whole is bigger and more complex than the sum of my parts. And 'preference'? Like seriously? There's no such thing as a preference anymore. You can sugarcoat the opinions all you like, boys & girls, but it will always be a bit like saying: "It's just that I don't like when a Dalit drinks from my well. Am I stopping her from going to Venkatachallapthyrajulu's watering hole? Hell no! Am I telling her not to hydrate herself? Hell-er no!"

Here's my politics (which, as we all know, is always personal): A 13yr old confused fat girl, who's been dealt with cruelly a LOT. And a pissed off 34yr old who has no patience for anyone telling her what constitutes 'beautiful'.

Even if that definition of beautiful implies not caring about being beautiful: like piling on truckloads of 'natural' makeup to look like you just fell out of bed.

So here's my two cents, fellas. Perhaps there will be a time in the future where we will not be asked to take a magnifying glass to each definition of female beauty. But today is not that day.

And I know it sucks, but if you could, just take a hit. Take one for the team.

******

Also read: Dark Spots and Confessions for a more nuanced explanation of the itch I was trying to scratch.

Girl In Box

-->

“Wait…sir! Sir! Don’t walk away…here, sir, here! I have one last piece to show you, then you decide. Just one more, sir! I think you will like it.”

“---"

“Yes, surprising no, sir?”

“---?”

“No-no, not GIB! She’s not a piece of hardware or management jargon.

Girl.

In.

Box.”

“---"

“It’s alright sir. Everyone makes this error. Trying to simplify something that’s simple enough to begin with. But simplification is an art no, sir? Do it carelessly and you end up mistaking cutting-edge innovation for a glitch in the design, no, sir?”

“---"

“Of course sir! No time to dawdle.

What you have here is the very latest in downsizing. Yes. You thought ‘downsizing’ was a dirty word, didn’t you? But it’s really just making something smaller and smaller and smaller until it fits in your palm just so. That’s all this Girl is. Tell me, sir, what do you wish Girl In Box to do? Don’t hold back.”

“---"

“Yes of course, sir. This isn’t the only…she comes in many aesthetically delighting designs. Now I can see you’re a man of some taste – not ordinary taste. Give Girl In Box a chance. She will configure to your imagination.”

“---"

“Not too flashy eh? In your league, you say? Smart choice sir, good choice. Fully damage-proof, scratchproof. Toss it about & see. See? The ergonomics are just…I mean I still get a bit emotional about this product. I’m very attache--- yes, yes – you’ll need to do that...customized programming – I mean, that’s the whole point of Girl In Box.”

“---"

“Technology can be intimidating, sure. I understand what you’re saying. But there’s really no wrong you can do. Girl In Box has self-correcting features built in. Very little headache to you. Plus you look like someone who’s not afraid of reading the manual. Ha ha ha true, sir, true. We only read maps to pick a direction to point in – we choose the routes ourselves. You’re a man after my own heart…

“So as I was saying, Girl In Box is a highly intelligent machine. She has an advanced parallel computing system – multiple CPUs that splinter up complex problems…distribute the fragments to individual processors, get answers, put it all back together again like a giant puzzle made up of tinier puzzles made out of tinier puzzles made out of---

“No, no – it doesn’t matter how arcane your expectations are. Once programmed, you don’t need to spoon-feed Girl In Box with too much data. She can access your deepest needs, your expectations by - there’s an algorithm for that.”

“----!”

“Oh no sir. Nothing is ever that! Too good to be true ha ha. Of course, the Girl In Box requires maintenance. But we’ve been trying to minimize it with each version. The version before this? It would send out periodic audible alarms – beeps – if it needed to be charged or if some part was failing. If its juices were running out, you know? But users felt it was too disturbing, too distracting – I mean, if something were wrong, it would beep loudly at regular intervals until the user addressed the problem. Maddening, am I right?

“So now we have a new feature that runs on Suppression Technology™. Sounds fancy, no?

“---"

“Basically, Girl In Box identifies what she needs before you’re even aware of it. Her motherboard takes necessary action to repair itself without alerting you. Business as usual, as far as you’re concerned. In a meeting? In a movie? Out for drinks with friends? Chatting with the mum? You won’t hear a peep. You’ll never need to concern yourself with all the circuitry inside; you have more important things to worry about, am I right? You see, we understand – leave the nuts & bolts to the geeks, let the user’s experience be smooth.”

“---"

“Well yes, ok, I won’t lie to you. This latest feature has been in the news for all the wrong reasons. There were some kinks with making the logic board compatible with Suppression Technology™. But I assure you – those kinks have been ironed out. Absolutely.

“How, you ask? Two revolutionary features:

Number One: we’ve put the power of calibrating her responses in your hands. If the battery needs charging and you haven’t kept track of it but you don’t want to be nagged every 5 minutes, you can click on the option to turn the reminders off. What’ll happen is, just before the battery discharges, she switches off with a brief warning…

“You don’t look too impressed. It’s a very popular upgrade. Market research has shown us that users prefer the temporary inconvenience of sudden death, over the persistent annoyance of periodic reminders.

Number Two: We’ve made the user interface so minimal, noiseless & efficient that beyond satisfying your immediate needs, you really don’t have to interact with Girl In Box at all. She betrays virtually no signs of her internal circuitry – not unless you desire to see it, of course. I mean, we’ve embedded icons in the display that could provide you with that information. Their invisibility feature can be turned on or off as you desire.”

“May I ask you sir, are you intrigued yet? Even remotely enticed?”

“---"

“Sure. Sure. I understand. Information Overload. Ha ha. Ok, let’s talk about something less tech-y. I hate needlessly convoluted chatter too!

“Girl In Box is constructed from highly futuristic materials synthesized for super-elasticity & durability. How does this make your life easier?

Answer me: How big or small is your life?

“Fit her in the tiniest corner of your one-bedroom apartment or expand her to suit the high ceilings of your bungalow. The bigger your home, the bigger Girl In Box gets. Your world is smaller? She squeezes up real tight too.”

“---?"

“Now you’re just playing with me, sir! Why, you can do just about anything with her in your pocket (or wherever else you choose to install her). In fact I find it difficult to answer ‘What’s she really good for?’ not because she hasn’t a purpose…but because there are so many it’s difficult to mention them all.

“But let me try anyway. Everything you are, everything you want to be, everything you need, everything you like, every effort you desire to make, every effort you don’t desire to make – she will find a way to make it simpler, easier and more fun. She will calibrate herself to you, she will grow with you and she will fall with you. She will exist for you. She will perform her function and nothing more…but you can always rest assured that she could be bigger, better, stronger, wiser. If you so choose.”

“---?”

“Hmmm. Tough one to answer. Between you and me, sir? Nothing breaks Girl In Box. She learns and she learns and she learns. Just like a summafabitch, she learns.”

 *****

 

A Distressing Realization (in which she's becoming everything she mocks & mocks everything she's becoming)

The boy I am currently observing closely for the purposes of long-term-companionship-shortly-to-be-followed-by-imminent-rejection, has an intriguing habit.

We'll be coasting along merrily, when I will turn to him and EMOTIONS.

At other times, I might gently (or not so gently) CRITICAL DECONSTRUCTION OF SAID BOY'S BEHAVIOUR OR CHARACTERISTICS.

When this happens, he usually does a swift about turn and zips off into the horizon as fast as his Road Runner stalks can carry him.

Without so much as a beep-beep.

At this point, I usually take a moment - or several - to fall apart in a fashion not unlike that popularized by this fresh thing:

Yes, Uncle indeed.

  

Then I gather myself, wipe off the snot (or not - I work from home) and realize that there's a major part of my brain that's now freed up to think about other things. Like politics and my bank balance and travel & exploration. Yoga perhaps? Or Twitter. Aah Twitter. With a gaping boy-shaped hole in my cerebral cortex, other things of CNN-level importance can now pour in.

Over the last 5 months, these boyless interludes have resulted in (1) an accelerated rate of meeting work deadlines, (2) me powering through several unread volumes in my Kindle (including a David Foster Wallace book, which is worth not one but TWO 'boyfriend-stonewalls'), (3) writing a film script on ceramic crucibles made out of something called Mullerite (which I may have misheard as Miller Light and taken on), (4) planning a vacation to South East Asia and (5) being nice, in small doses, to my mother.

In contrast, when things are peaceful in the realm of boy, life takes on a decidedly free-flowing-no-responsibility tenor, where social outings and alcohol intake rise and a new daredevil attitude takes over me, where things such as caution, deadlines and reading the newspaper are thrown to the wind in lieu of weeknights out and pretending I still inhabit the body of an all-nighter-pulling 20 year old. There is sweet, sweet chaos in my otherwise ordered world - the kind that makes me wonder why I needed order in the first place.

Which all makes me come to a distressing realization. What kind of woman am I? The kind who can't function at her best when she's happy? Or someone who's governed so thoroughly by hormones that she has to drop practically everything in her life just to stay upright? Oh God - can I not have sex and a tweetworthy political opinion at the same time? Am I not - shudder - a female and hence a multitasker?

If this is indeed the case then I should perhaps, instead of weeping at the temporary loss of a cootchie-cooing counterpart, focus on all the things I neglect when in the throes of romance. Like reading a book, doing my taxes, taking in a show or an exhibition (haha who am I kidding, I never do that anyway), writing down all the wisdom I've gleaned from relationships with men and once and for all deciding if I want to audition for Indian Idol or not.

More importantly, just in case the boy returns before that hard-earned final chapter of DFW's book ends, I can always just EMOTION or DECONSTRUCTION OF CHARACTER more time to complete it.

At The Risk Of Sounding Like The Worst Woman Ever

....allow me to reproduce an extract from an interview with comedian Rob Delaney:

Any advice for a 21-year-old who hates their job and has the possibility of traveling the world? And has a boyfriend that they like. (This is for a friend.)
Go do it. Fuck him. Is he a guy in his 20s? Then he's the least significant type of person on the planet. A male in their 20s? Run in the opposite direction. Nothing he says matters; his fears, his hopes his dreams are garbage. Men in their 20s are the worst thing happening on our planet. Go, go to Uzbekistan, go to South Korea, just go anywhere he isn't because men in their 20s are bad for young women.
 
So what do women in their 20s do?
Masturbate. Date other women for a while. Use men sexually for a while but don't ever invite their opinion or be bound to them in any way.


Men in their 30's however? Yum.

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

Link via @daddy_san

Two Guys

One of them is the kind of guy I'd like to go out with.

The other is the kind of guy I keep ending up with.

"I'm taking my serious girlfriend to Mexico."
"To kill her?"

On (Wrapping My Head Around) Intimacy & Love

This is the big work of my life. 

As I begin to pick apart the debris of my personal history, I try to work out a new way of thinking about myself at this age, in this time, as a woman who is ready & willing to love wholeheartedly or not at all.

A big part of that is to move from a place of abject mistrust of men (as emotional creatures) and begin to believe that they are capable of love. 

So, I'm reading a book by bell hooks. 'Communion: The Female Search For Love'. In it, she writes:

"Shere Hite published her voluminous report Women and Love. Providing an accurate and realistic examination of women's attitudes toward love, her data suggested that far from 'loving too much', most women were cynical about love. She reported an overwhelming majority of women in relationships with men testified they did not feel loved. Hite commented, "Given the assumption in our society that one grows up, falls in love and gets married, it's surprising that few women say that they are 'in love' with their husbands and how acceptable this seems to be to them." In her section 'Loving Men At This Time In History' she documented the reality that women involved with men felt they had surrendered the hope of finding love, accepting in its place the pleasures and/or benefits of care and companionship. In short they...gave up their desire for men to embrace emotional growth and become more loving. They repressed their own will to love. Denial and repression made life more bearable and relationships more satisfying."

I linger on this passage for a long time. I type it and send it to my closest friend. I re-read it several times. The pull of this extract becomes clearer and clearer.

I am the consequence of what bell hooks & Shere Hite write about. 

Born of a woman who bartered her definition of love and a man who refused to partner her in emotional growth. She needed more than children and a roof over her head. He understood marriage as just that. 

I have always carried their denial & repression inside me. It started sprouting at a young age until it spread its tentacles to the extremes of my body. Reinforced repeatedly like a self-fulfilling prophesy, like a cancerous growth so malignant, I could see no virtue in allowing men anywhere close. They could skirt the peripheries, yes. But my greatest asset: my loving & caring heart was hidden safely away from them.

Except in hiding it so carefully, I encountered the same paradox again and again: How is a heart supposed to do its job of loving if one keeps it boxed in? 

Is this a dilemma that other women (whether currently in relationships with men or not) face? Is there a cynicism born of repeated disappointment with their men, who while wonderful at companionship & security, are failing to embark on emotional journeys? I see it in the eyes of so many wonderful women I know - all in relationships with remarkable and caring (in a way) men. And I wonder, have they completely surrendered their version of love to accept whatever the men are willing to give? 

If yes and if this is the norm, I can't see myself following in their footsteps. It's a path I've already walked down through the lives of my parents & their parents and I know how it will end. Because you see, I am their heart's desire never fulfilled. I am the consequence.

Image stolen from here

Just One Little Fact

I live in a city where, everyday, I walk through crowds of men not knowing how many of them could be criminals.
A Could-Be-Criminal, who might never become aware that his desire to attack with brutality is even a crime. Whose brothers, sisters, mother, father, wife, lovers, friends, neighbours, local politicians and policemen might never realise that his actions are unlawful, inhuman or savage.

I live in a city, where I must assume that I will be raped. 

I live in a country, where I am expected to feel grateful if I manage to live out the rest of my days unmolested.

Are you KIDDING me?

So now they give us Benedict Cumberbatch falling in love with a feminist? Kill me now.

A pox on you, BBC Two.

Happy Birthday

There was a young man Cumberbatch
Who struck gold with a role perfectly match-
-ed. To his looks that could kill,
With mad Shakesperean skill,
Now even my Amma agrees he's a catch.

Arthur Conan Doyle's Women

We interrupt the scheduled broadcast of 'Justin Bieber: This Is My World' to bring you this important fan-rave.

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Reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories has been a revelation in more ways than one. Especially how he depicts his women. So much is made of Irene Adler - 'The' Woman featured in 'A Scandal in Bohemia' - but there are many female characters across other stories, who (whom? - I never know) Holmes respects not just for their 'sensible' nature but also for their brand of instinct and logic. Holmes recognises feminine values and, driven by reason as he is, finds no need to dismiss them like others do unless given due cause.  His women are neither idealized archetypes nor irrelevant pieces of furniture. They're interesting, multi-layered with things to do in the story.

As one reads these stories, one is suddenly - and sadly - aware of how rare this attitude would've been in the 19th century and how it continues to be fairly uncommon in today's world as well.

(Also 1000 extra points for his views on race relations and class distinctions in 19th century England.) 

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This Bieber documentary is delightful. I can imagine it being made by someone like this.

Let Us Take A Moment

To ponder the question: Does talent come first or hotness?

Jean Dujardin

You Heard It Here First

It may not seem so today, but decades (perhaps centuries) from now when the feminist movement has achieved & reached beyond its goals, the male-empowerment movement will trace its roots back to this:

(And me? I'll be the visionary who knew, way before it was fashionable to say it, that men are as sexy as women.)

Tag, I'm a F*&$%st!

Recently, I was challenged (on this blog & in other spaces) on where I stand in the 'battle' of gender equality. I was asked to pick sides - Was I a feminist or not? Last evening, grumbling & irritable at myself for not knowing how to answer this, I attempted an angry post part-blistering, part-petulant. 

It was horrid.

Then this morning, a rather charming blogger tagged me as part of IHM's 'My Sins Against Gender Stereotypes' thingamajig. I was to list out 10 things that I've done in my life which go against prevalent notions of gender roles. So here goes:

1. Am an absolute lover of gadgets & love unraveling the puzzles of technology.
2. Am enthused by physics.
3. Have done 'highway driving'.
4. I ask to be paid as much as my male colleagues.
5. I work the same shifts as male colleagues (periods or no periods).
6. I expect men to share housework duties.
7. I sometimes travel in autos after 10:30 pm, drunk. In New Delhi.
8. I have earned significantly more than the man I lusted after.
9. I refuse to marry just because I'm getting older.
10. I plan to take care of my parents as they grow older.

Where this list places me is irrelevant.
We're all stuck between shifting notions of gender roles, these days. The men are confused (does she want me to open doors for her, does she not?), the women are confused (do I support the banning of burqas or not?) I've never had a man block my upwardly mobile, professional aspirations but I've never worked in an office where sexual harassment did not creep in, in some form or the other.

Am I a feminist or not? Yes, I am. If being one supports an idea of freedom of choice, no matter the gender.
I feel equally outraged at the French ban on burqas as the Iranian laws that force women to wear them. I feel that those who commit heinous 'honour killings' are as trapped by skewed gender notions as the ones who were killed.
I find human trafficking abhorrent, yet don't agree with a blanket ban on prostitution.
I don't believe that rape is the worst thing that can happen to a woman.
I also believe that men are wonderful creatures, crucial to the cause of gender equality.

To me feminism is not about which side of the fence you're on. Because there is no fence. Never was.
To me, being a feminist, means bringing the feminine experience out of the closet. It is to talk, listen and to understand what a woman's world looks & feels like.

So don't be afraid of the word 'feminist'. Chances are, many of you rational thinking people already are one. You really don't have to roll your eyes every time a woman talks or writes about her unique experience as a female living in an unequal world. If you're a guy, don't exclude yourself from those spaces (I for one would love to have you participate). If you're a woman, don't be afraid to jump right in. This is not a scary, angry place that can exist without men. Far from it. It is a world more complete than the one we know now, where everything is finally in its rightful place, as it should be, serene, peaceful and empowering of oneself & the other.

Shucks, it might not be a battle after all.

Slim Pickins

31 and single. And here is a brief history, in dialogue, of why that might be:

2009
Me: I believe that marriage can be a beautiful thing, where two individuals come together because they are destined to teach each other karmic lessons of love...
Man: Yeah I know what you mean...I've noticed couples start looking like each other after a few years of marriage.
*****
2001
Me: Why can't we go out for dinners and movies in public like normal couples do?
Man: Because I'm your boss and I say so. And listen, I want that 'How Cement Mixers Work' script on my desk by five.
*****
1996
Me: My favourite part of a man's body? His eyes.
Man (Well...boy, really. He was 16): What colour?
*****
2009
Man: A writer for TV, huh?
Me: Yup!
Man: Saas-bahu serials?
Me: Err...no. Non fiction.
Man: But why not? I watch those serials all the time, they're great.
*****
2010
Me: Remember that awesome conversation we had about life, love, feelings, emotions and puppies?
Man: Yeaahhhh...
Me: So...when I told you how I felt, what did you think about it?
Man: Dunno man, don't remember. Had some brilliant maal man...
Me: But I told you important stuff about me and you!!!
Man: Sorry man...drag?
*****
2003
Me: Hullo?
Man: Hey!!! Where you at?
Me: Ummm...I'm with AnotherMan.
Man: Faaaccck!!!
Me: Are you drunk?
Man: Fuck man, I love you man. I just love you. But I tell you, man...I gotta tell you this...
Me: Yes?
Man: Don't ever fall in love with me, ok? It'll ruin everything.
*****
2005
Man: Gotta light?
Me: Nope.
Man: Go ask that other dude for a light, no. Here, take the cigarette. Go light it.
Me: Ok.
(Cigarette lit, triumphant return)
Man: Fuck! That guy didn't even look at you once.
*****
2003
Man: Writer for TV, huh?
Me: Yup!
Man: You know, you should do an MBA.
*****
2004
Me: If you want us to have a future then I don't want to hear about other women ever again.
Man: You mean you don't want me to tell you?
Me: No, I mean NO OTHER WOMEN if you want to continue with me.
Man: Yeah...about that...I don't think so.
*****
2009
Man: How much money you got in your account?
Me: Errr...don't remember...
Man: Let's go to the ATM and check it out.
*****

(Doomed to a life with cats or bullets dodged? - who knows....)