It's a great day on the internet when something this ridonkulous:

...leads to something this lovely:

*music by Sebastien Tellier

Imma Stop You Right There My Friend

Have a look at this very interesting PSA on women's safety sent out by the Delhi Police via the well-meaning Farhan Akhtar:

For simple folk like me who'd rather not hit 'repeat play' on videos of sexual violence committed in this country (specially since a sizable majority of us have experienced such horrors in varying degrees in our own lives), it's easier to focus on smaller matters.

Like when Farhan makes this case for us: Woman are, by virtue of being daughters, mothers, sisters and wives (but not mistresses, whores or bosses), exempt from being assaulted. 

And as daughters, mothers, sisters and wives (but not mistresses, whores or bosses) women must also take charge of their own safety. 

Because, you know, shit happens.

Watching this ad (during a welcome break from the film 'Cocktail', where the 'broken', alcohol drinking, pre-marital sex having, white-man kissing woman doesn't have a hope in hell of securing a happy ending), riled me up a bit. Well, more than just a bit. More, even, than that disgusting Guwahati video doing the rounds (it's funny how we're uncomfortable listening to a woman talk about being raped or assaulted but we'll have the video of it go viral in 2 days).

Because here's the case I'd have preferred Farhan to make: Woman are, by virtue of being human (and not inanimate objects), exempt from being assaulted.

And as human beings (and not inanimate objects) women must also take charge of their own safety. 

Because, you know, sexual violence is vile and absolutely unacceptable in civilized society.

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Deepak points out (I'm guessing with regard to lines like 'Zulm karna ya sehna, dono gunah hai' line): "If I were in your shoes, I'd bring up the point of false equivalence: That perpetrating sexual assault is nowhere the same as being a victim of it."

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Also check out this fun, fun, fun anti-street harassment video: Shit Men Say To Men Who Say Shit To Women On The Streets  

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Then if you have the time, do read Natasha Badhwar's gut wrenching piece on sexual violence here. It truly struck a chord.

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And finally, if you must know, read why Cocktail pissed me off so badly. 

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After nearly a lifetime of experiencing and surviving some very unpleasant instances of sexual harassment & violence, I've come to the conclusion that I want to focus on the little things now: PSAs like the one talked about above, a seemingly innocuous mainstream film, a comment here, a grope there, the gentle banter of 'this happens, yaar' passed along like a frisbee at a picnic - it's here, in the tiny details that I find the seeds of the biggest crimes. To me, it's all connected and I can't just chill out about it. It might make me unfun for a while but you know what's really unfun? Molestation.

Behenon, What Is This Bakwas?

Us Indian women have many, many pressing problems to overcome before we can claim to be emancipated in any way, shape or form: Female infanticide, dowry, lack of education, unequal pay, sexual harassment, domestic violence, auntyjis nagging us to get married/ have babies etc.

But let's start small. Let's start with this new and obnoxious upper middle class import from the Western porn industry: Twat waxing. Somewhere between my teens and thirties, this ridiculous bit of tomfoolery took on manic popularity and now mine might possibly be the last generation of women (who can afford to spend unseemly amounts of cash in a single day at the salon) whose nether regions can be distinguished from that of a 6 month old.

As my new heroine, Caitlin Moran writes in 'How To Be A Woman':

" I can't believe we've got to a point where it's basically costing us money to have a fanny. They're making us pay for maintenance & upkeep of our lulus, like they're a communal garden. It's stealth tax. Fanny VAT. This is money we could be spending on THE ELECTRICITY BILL and CHEESE and BERETS. Instead we're wasting it on making our Chihuahuas look like a skanky Lidl chicken breast. God DAMN you, mores-of-pornography-that-have-made-it-into-my-pants. GOD DAMN YOU.

" 'But what about underarm hair? people will say - usually 40-something men (and guilty looking women who in their heart-of-hearts can't quite reconcile to their twat-baldness themselves - AqSt), who look uncomfortable when you use phrases such as 'lovely big Hair Bear Bunch-style minge' and then are downright alarmed when you bring porn into it.

" 'If you don't believe in Brazlians, do you shave your armpits? Do you shave your legs? And your eyebrows? You look like you pluck to me. What about your lady moustache?'

" And then they sit back, a little smug - as if they have just put a sausage roll in the bottom of the trapping pit and are fairly confident you're about to go in after it, and be captured.

" But the crotch, the upper lip and armpit are miles apart - well, on an average 43 cms apart. What happens to them, and why, is wholly different - primarily because armpits aren't intimately associated with sexual maturity or, indeed, sexuality at all, unless you're on some seriously specialist websites."

To this I would add: OUCH. Ladies, seriously? How does the brief twinge of pain on your upper lip when a tiny hair is uprooted, compare with the Spanish Inquisition-style torture in your pants that lasts for at least 24 hrs? How does a small razor nick on your calf stand up to the various grotty rashes that may pop up in your crotch as a result of allowing burning hot wax in its vicinity? Who are you doing this for? And would he/she really stop wanting you if you didn't? (If the answer is yes, you have bigger troubles than your fuzzy crotch.)

I won't lie to you. Somewhere in my 31st year, I had a serious sit-down with myself and wondered if I was doing something wrong by not going the way of all Brazilians. I seemed to be in a dwindling minority. Close friends were doing it, intelligent women. Was I missing something? The affection of a new-age desi boy, who, growing up in a sexually-repressed society like ours, expected women to look like the only ones he'd seen naked (porn stars)? The joyous experience of unveiling my cooch in front of a strange woman at the salon, every couple of weeks? 

Then I realised I was sitting down. Comfortably. And that sort of clinched it for me.

But I suppose at the end of the day, it isn't so much the mowing - how much or how far - that needs to be snipped down to an exact science. It really is about asking ourselves why we want to do it and whether we really want to do it at all. Are we in any way being coerced into this? Can we present ourselves with a logical argument that resonates honestly within us? If yes, by all means singe your pubic nerve-endings and you won't hear a peep out of me. But if there is any sort of shame or societal compulsion accompanying your decision, I'd urge you to reconsider. Look down at your darling beaver, appreciate its fuzzy goodness and then, stand up for it.

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.

Obsessed

With

BBC One's Sherlock based on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes Mysteries
Image Courtesy 'Eat Sleep Draw'

Probably because

“The Implicit Holmes”, Edgar W. Smith, 1946

And then there is inspired retelling of the Holmes' mysteries in the modern age and the logic of why it needed to be done:

Mark Gatiss, writer of BBC One's 'Sherlock':
"This may sound like heresy but really it isn't. Although Steven and I are second to none in loving the flaring gas-lit atmosphere of a lovely old London, it felt as though Sherlock Holmes had become all about the trappings and not the characters.
Also, the original stories are models of their kind. Incredibly modern, dialogue-driven, fast paced and short! What better way to get back to the roots of these fantastic creations than to make Holmes and Watson living, breathing, modern men just as they had been originally?"

Critical Mass

Today.

I'm 33 years old and, in my estimation, the strongest I've ever been. My body is healthy, my mind robust and my spirit calmer than it's been my entire history. There's confidence that comes from being here at this point in time and knowing that, as a result, my powers can only grow stronger.

From here on out though, society will try to make me redundant: First as a woman as I approach and then bypass the healthy age to bear children, then as a professional as I cross my sixties and finally, when my body begins to fail, as a valuable member of my community. At each of these stages, I fear that forces will attempt to phase me out in some way or the other.

My innate need to grow will progress in parallel with society's need to set me out to pasture and at some point, I imagine, a deadlock will be reached between these two swelling, yet opposing, forces. I will then, like many others fearful of ageing, be faced with a choice. To concede that I'm redundant and fade way. Or recognize the full weight of my acquisitions - the knick-knacks of experience, scrapes from different falls & nuggets of epiphanies - and hunker down; say 'I'm not moving, bitch' and insist on staying relevant.

Crossroads come up within sight as I try to guess correctly, which choice will gain critical mass first.

jim hamann photography

'Listening' According to The Vedas (not really)

It may not be news to you but:

There are two types of listening. In one type, information passes through a prism of comprehension...no, not a prism, some kind of internal transmogrification apparatus, where information is brutally converted into genres of thought & feeling we're more tuned towards (or our life-condition tunes us towards). Nothing new ever happens in this kind of listening, we learn nothing and are no closer to comprehending anything outside of us than we're able to look up our nostrils without a mirror. We find it easy to judge others from this place, because we can't tell how their story is different from ours. We are baffled by different behaviours because we never switch this apparatus of preconception off.

In the other type of listening, we're open. There is no apparatus. Information flows into us and lights up new spaces of darkness and we go: "Oh! I never looked at it that way!" The world is then an easier place to navigate, it's easier to decide when to care and when not to. It's more difficult to invalidate someone else's feelings or world views; harder to call them 'stupid'. It's easier to let go of 'shoulds' and concentrate on what's fun. It's easier to learn no matter how old we get. The panic of bafflement gives way to the thrill of exploration.

So...like...what I'm sayin is...When I crack this, I'll give you a buzz.