A Call for Boisterous Feminism

As I sat down to pen my debut article on this DELL™, I noticed one thing in the very first place. It was a blemish which I never wanted a portable device I’d like to own, perpetrate. Yet I stopped caring. There’s a minute streak of line that separates caring from noticing: a streak quite wider than that which differentiates looking from seeing. There is a wide range of things worth noticing, but only a very few in this wide range are worth caring about. It’s simply the riddance of care that causes a lot of chaos! As to quote Shaw here, “People who say it cannot be done shouldn’t interrupt those who are doing it.” I’m sure a pretty good number of you seem perplexed at reading this discrete quote at likely a wrong place. I must say the quote is related to the article and I didn’t want my readers to be bored at my soporific introduction and scene- setting.

I’m able to reminisce a promiscuous guy who’s the protagonist (Yes! Believe me! He’s the protagonist, not the antagonist. ) of this Sanskrit work of fiction which I’d read in my middle school, although unrelated to my academics. This guy here does a big load of ‘good’ deeds: Agreed! But it oughtn’t to mean that he’s all perfect and that everything he does is right. It’s simply like taking me as a model and credulously giving into the conception that all I do is right, all the time, all the way. I’m very sure I make mistakes. I make them quite often, but I’ve always loved to confess and I do. A really perilous scene sets in, not even when I don’t confess my mistake but when I try to rationalize them. This protagonist, I’m speaking about here is one such dogmatic, dangerous guy who wanted everything he ever did, rationalized. (Why did this guy wanted his wife to prove her chastity just because she was away from him? Why wouldn't he get himself to prove his chastity by stepping into fire, because he was away from his wife too? Why is it the women of the species that have to undergo such perilous tests?) The story of this guy was handed down to children since generations and the people who grew up with these stories stopped thinking out of this box: out of this story. People began to live by the ways of this story. People began to establish some sort of a chauvinism at the end, over women. Women being the poor victims of this inhumanity became dumb by the end of the day, that they were too scared to question the “people”. It’s a couple of weeks back, my friends and I convened a rendez- vous with my mates at the High School. Many showed up, although there weren’t as many as who were invited. After all, we were quite certain that there are parents naive enough not to send their children: girls especially! Five girls showed up, and as many as twenty boys were at hand. We’d a stroll along the campus, talked to a few of our high school teachers and bade a good bye to the school. We took a stroll back to the carport and shared some beverages: sparkling for those who weren’t “health- conscious” and still for those who were! (And I know that sounds really brilliant! Umm… At least in India, perhaps. ) And I admit my mistake of dropping the throwaway cup down on the road and not even being able to realize that until a friend of mine pointed it out to me. (You know, that’s really so sad and uncivil of me!)

Well, let me get back into the scene: as we were about to leave for an old- age home (which was a part of our get together too.), it was almost six. And then came this curfew jackass who’s the biggest jackass almost every Indian girl is bound to encounter at least a countable number of times and at most to a really considerable times which makes them totally forget that they don’t have the freedom they’re supposed to have! And please clear your heads if you think I’m talking about freedom of choice (Although that must be discussed in a new article too.) here. I’m not! I’M TALKING ABOUT THE DENIAL OF BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS! I tried to make them understand that they must question such inequalities. 

They almost understood and everyone of them bade an almost similar reply which went on like, “Look, dude! You’re looking for drastic changes in the society for a society which would be perfect for everyone. But you know, we can’t just come out and speak the way you do. And if we do, we’ll only end up having a bad picture amidst the people. Also, our parents put this curfew just for our safety, right?” That really annoyed me and I’d to say a boisterous “Nope”. I tried to make them realize the difference between not learning to drive at all, and learning to use a seat belt so that they could have the difference between safety and liberty vividly stated. And again, they come up with the same reply, “We understand, buddy. But we can’t do what you do. We can’t step out of this system that easily. You know, we can’t even speak against the system, let alone thinking about speaking against it!”

*FACEPALM*

I, so desperately wanted to quote Malcom Reynolds’, “You think following these rules will buy you a nice life even if the rules make you a slave?” Yet I held back from quoting Malcom or speaking something which would convey the gist of the quote. But why did I?

Did I give up?         

Did I think that, I can’t change the system?

Did I really want to stop arguing?

“Why did I not argue any further?”, was the only question which kept pinching me, hours later when I threw myself on the couch in my living room. I felt so bad that I preferred to stop arguing. It felt like, I literally stopped caring like the rest of them. But I didn’t! I cared. I always do! Maybe I realized that it’s no use talking to the victims, and reminding them that what had been done to them is a cruelty. After all, they had understood that it’s cruelty. But they aren’t able to fight their case. I must either help them fight the case for the time, or at least try to build a whole new generation which is totally free from this cruelty, in the long run. I had always dreamt of that time when the phrase, “because she’s a girl” becomes extinct. Yet, how could I make that dream come true? I scantly lost hope even after their bleak replies all of which summarized to, “Women can’t be as free as men.” It’s perhaps because I’ve found some open feminists even in my god- forsaken abode. I’m still able to feel that euphoria which I first felt right after I heard a few of my mates second, “I support you here: men and women must be treated equally, everywhere.” I had never had someone who would second me in this academic campus especially because most of my ideas were heretic and blasphemous. It gave me a lot of hope, that there are people by my side too, although the ratio was like one to a thousand.

When I was contemplating this topic, I could relate the scenario to my early days in agnosticism. I was primarily too scared to question the god hypothesis. I wasn’t even aware if I could question the very existence of any possible god. It was thru social networking sites that I could be sure that there are people like me and that it’s completely normal to question the god hypothesis, whereas restraining from such questioning is almost abnormal. I made a few friends with whom I could discuss topics which I then thought couldn’t be discussed in public. I could muster up courage and declare myself an open freethinker only when I was sure that there is enough people who themselves are freethinkers and that they are able to live without threats.

I thought of applying the same here. I thought it would be really heartening to these girls if they can be aware that there are enough girls who are bold enough to question the inequalities. I could understand that my friends were so convinced that only men can dare talk pro- woman. The picture my friends are in, is the projection of what the vast majority of the women folk here face. At certain places the condition is still shoddier. I just thought, it is time we help them understand that they can grab their rights, and no one has to give them rights which are solely their own. It is time, we helped each and every Indian woman understand why slutwalks were organized in key cities of the country and around the globe.

I pen down this post, as a call for every feminist around the country, especially for those unvoiced feminists who find it perilous to be open feminists. I’m sure this small effort can help build a society where curfew isn’t based on sex, where toys are not based on sex, where jobs are not based on sex, where administration has nothing to do with sexual difference, where everyone realizes that silence is different from prudence.


PostScript: I had a few messages pop up in my facebook inbox (after sharing a link to this post on my wall) asking me how I could take the right to criticize their "dignified culture" for granted, thereby attempting to rationalize all their patriarchal acts. I simply don't give a fuck to your dimwits. I wish you get the fuck off my facebook list! I put this PS here for posterity that whoever finds this post offending their misogynistic sentiments, please just don't limit yourselves to closing this window, but make sure you unfriend me from your facebook list. 'Cause this and similar stuff are most of what you're gonna see on my facebook wall, now on!

இவ்விடம் ஓரிதழின் கண்ணீர்

Prologue: I penned this down as I was contemplating on how stupid, oxytocin- overdosed and testosterone- overfilled I was in my High school days. Schooling meant love- making and memorizing to me. So naive, so crazy and so like a wackadoodle  I was... Back now, I just tried to imagine for myself how I would've been if my oxytocin- levels hadn't fallen in the past three years: this post is what I would've penned down.

 

கண்ணிநீர் தாக்கம்கொண்டு

வேல்விழிக் கண்ணிரண்டு

செவ்விழிகளானதென்ன?

ஆனதும் ஆகாதென்று

உன்மனம் ஏக்கம்கண்டு

என்மனம் தன்னில்கொண்டு

அப்புறம் சென்றதென்ன?

அப்புறம் சென்றவகத்தை

இப்புறம் வாராயென்றே

விளித்திட்ட நேரம்பார்த்தது

கட்டுற்றிருந்ததென்ன?

'பசித்ததுபோல் புசித்திட்டாய்

செவ்விதழை நீயென்றே'

ஊடல்கொண்டு புறம்கொடுத்த

கோலமுங்கதையானதென்ன?

வயிற்றுக்கும் தொண்டைக்கும்

உருவமில்லாதொரு உருளையும்

உருளக்கண்ட காலமின்று

இறந்தகாலமானதென்ன?

வானத்து விட்டத்திற்கீழ்

கையோடு கைசேர்த்திருந்து

விண்மீன் கிளிஞ்சலெல்லாம்

பொருக்கிச்சமைத்துண்ணும்படிக்கண்டிருந்த

தேனிலாக் கனவுகலெல்லாம்

புலராதுதிர்ந்த பூக்களானதென்ன?

வீற்றிருந்த கடற்பரப்பும்- கண்கள் நான்கும்

பார்த்திருந்த நீர்வீழ்ச்சிகளுமெல்லாம்

கானல்நீராய் வற்றிப்போக

தானழுவதற்காய் ஒருசொட்டுக்

கண்ணீர் யாசித்தெந்தன் கண்கள்மட்டும்

கையேந்தி நிற்பதென்ன?

PS: The epilogue doesn't mean that I'm not crazy at all now. It means I'm out of the high oxytocin levels that drove me crazy in the past.

PPS: And now, I go crazy if you don't laugh when I tell you, "The bartender told Helium, "We don't serve noble gases here" and Helium didn't react." :-P 

Yes! I AM a bad son!

This happens to me all the time...
And this is obviously not the first time. A typical incident that happened when I visited this forbidden island- Dhanushkodi lately.
Here, now I want something really important to be proposed.
Something which I think, deserves your comments.

Scene 1: The scene at Dhanushkodi:

We were a group of five: Me, my parents, my uncle, and my li'l cousin. As we reached the island, there were remains of the buildings that once adorned the place. People around said the place was devastated by the 1964 cyclone.
I was so attracted by the serenity of the place...
A very few people...
No noises except for the sounds and calls of nature...
There were also a few temporary stalls which sold sea shells, shell arts and other such stuff.

We had a stroll along the beach. And there was a temple. I'm sure it was a temple and sorry I didn't mind to notice the deity there.
Aarti was carried out as I moved on to capture pictures of the ruins and the beach amidst the rain. (I didn't even want to shelter myself from the rain at a temple :-P )
Then yelled my mother, "Cibi! Come make prayers." She cared for me. And wanted me to be fine. Moreover I didn't want to hurt her sentiments saying, "I DON'T want to damn PRAY!".
I moved on to her and she took out some money for me to drop at the temple's drop box which accepts nothing but money and gold.
"Too much for a piece of rock to buy food, Mom", I said to my mother as I winked at my Father.
"Come on son! Just stop doing this! Everytime you blaspheme, I pray to god not to punish you and that's the reason why you're fine. He is the father of everyone here!"
"I don't remember the last time I bought my dad food."
"You're only speaking to disprove whatever I speak. There's no point in it, Cibi.", my Mother ranted.
"Yeah, Mom! There's no point in it!"

As we stalked, these kids they approached us, marketing their sea shells. Those sea shells had nothing special in them. Those were just simple sea shells. I can say this so confidently since I grew up going to the beach at least once in two weeks, and collecting sea shells had been a hobby to me, my cousins and my aunt. And we always come up collecting whatever we thought were sea shells. Aunt used to select a few of them to adorn her fish tank. But those shells these kids sold were something better than what we, as kids always came up with. They knew which shells might attract the tourists; which were worth selling.

Moreover, something which I found so important to be mentioned: They believed in WORK; they knew work always pays;
They knew, they had to work to earn money; they knew they needed money to buy them what they needed. (Although I'm sure, all they needed was food.)
I wanted my father to buy me all those sea shells. He pointed towards mother, as all our wallets were stuck in her hand bag, since we were in dhotis.
She reluctantly opened up her hand bag and pulled out Rs. 40 from a wallet. (It vividly isn't a matter to be considered whether the rupees were pulled out of my wallet or dad's one, since my wallet is filled by my dad always :-P )
I demanded Rs. 40 more, seeing the glad faces of the successful sellers, so that I can make the other marketers glad too :)
But my mom denied my request, saying that is enough for them. She finally added, "Ask them if they're ready to sell it for Rs. 10"
I couldn't get her point there, "What? You buy for Rs. 40 from the other two kids and for Rs. 10 from these two kids? This is unfair!", I exclaimed.
The conversation got heftier as time proceeded. And I eventually had to hold back tears when I finally could convince her buy them.
Those kids were happy then. They all smiled in gratitude. I wanted to capture their smiles in my Canon and I did.

The scene ends here.

Scene 2: The scene at our drive back.

"You see, that kid was not ready to sell the shells for Rs. 10 anyway, how cunning?", My mom asked.
And I was like, "Excuse me? Did I really hear you say that?"
"Yeah, the kid was cunning and that's the reason why she didn't sell for Rs. 10"
"Oh! Is that so? I'm afraid I thought you were cunning since you were partial to that kid. You bought for Rs. 40 with each at Rs. 20 from the first two kids, and wanted these two kids to sell the same stuff to you on Rs. 10 each.", I ranted.
"Yes! I'm cunning, right? See, now he supports those kids in the street and his own mom is cunning to him!", my mom complained to my dad!
"Yeah, you mean, whatever you do is the correct thing, fine? And whatever the 'other' people do is wrong? And you brought me up, making me apply the same syllogism everywhere! You taught me things bad! You wanted me to praise anything that was mine! You didn't let me analyze and understand which was worth praising! Simply, anything which you belong with, IS the best. And because we are Hindu, the Christian prayers and rituals are ridiculous? On the other hand, if we are Christian, the Hindu rituals must sound ridiculous to us right? I find both equally ridiculous when those kids were left astray!", I yelled as I failed controlling my temper.
"You are really a bad son. You are disobedient. You don't know how to respect your parents! Now others have become respectful to you that you're not able to respect your own parents!"
"Yeah mom, I AM A BAD SON! And don't try to generalize anything with the term 'parents', I didn't mean dad anywhere!", I said in an active tone.
"Yeah mom, I AM A BAD SON!", I repeated to end the conversation.







Yeah now, I am a bad son, ain't I?

அன்னமிட்ட கைதனக்கு

Usually, I don't come up with something as short as this:
Since, "Brevity is the soul of the wit", says Shakespeare ;)
Yet, here it goes, my shortest poem ever:

Picture Courtesy: zestysouthindiankitchen.com

அறுசுவை உண்டி
அன்னத்தோடு கலந்தே
அத்தைமகள் இட்டாலும்
அன்னைகை பிசைந்தளித்த- பால்
அன்னம் போல் வருமோ?

வால்வோவும் நீரோழுக்கும்...

தேனார் பூஞ்சோலையாமே திருவேங்கடம் ?
குலசேகரரே காணீர் நீரார்த் தார்ச்சாலை!

ஆம்- சென்னையில் ஒரு மழைக்காலம்!

It was, of course a Volvo!

I'd always loved Volvo.

That was perhaps the first time ever I hated one.

I had always loved my AT. As I sat down on that seat marked W11, I hated AT for the first time.

It was perhaps because Chennai got drenched in rain. 

Yeah, "Life After Life" was shedding tears, as I held it tight, getting it off my backpack.

That day was a real terrible one for me!

Everything I had along, wasn't just wet,  Literally, "DRENCHED"

I'm sure anyone new to Chennai,

would have found it hard to differentiate Coovam from the roads in Chennai.

Not so late did I realize there was a leakage from atop the windshield I was sitting beside.

"I'm not booking Volvo anymore", I said to myself

As I added, "I'm not going home for any reason if Mercedes runs out of seats."

"No snoozebus, no Volvo, not even Corona."

I make such silly and crazy resolutions pretty often.

No matter what, the Volvo only did me good.

I had a good night's sleep.

வழக்கத்திற்கு  மாறாய், அன்றைய தினம்
மழையின் நிமித்தம் தாமதமானது வால்வோ.
வால்வோவின்  ஜன்னல் வழி முதல் முறை, சூரியக்கதிர்  பார்த்தேன் .

ஆரல்வாய்மொழி குளியல் முடித்திருந்த  நேரம்.


மலையிடைப் பெய்திருந்த மழை:

"என்றோ ஒருநாள்  இடப்படும்
என்று

ஏதோ நம்பிக்கையில் தவம் தொடரும்
கிராமத்து
கிராவல் சாலையில்
கல் தடுக்கி
கால் இடறி
விழுந்தழுத
பக்கத்து வீட்டு
பால்வர்ணம் அக்காவின்
வருடாந்திர வெளியீடுகள் போல்

பறந்து திறிந்து
பாதை வழியில்
மலை  தடுக்கிச்
சிறகிடறிய
வெண்பஞ்சுப் பறவைகள்
 சிணுங்கின

- சாரல் என் ஜன்னல் நனைக்கிறது!"

So, now 'atheism' isn't a religion!

To make a point here, 
Making it clear "Atheism isn't a religion" since most of my friends keep asking the same stuff, 
Let me explain {If you're ready not to pretend that you didn't understand}

 
Take this situation: I'm listening to music in my portable phone. 
This action doesn't require a service provider, does it? 
Hence there is no SIM inserted in it, and is offline. 
A friend of my roomie wants to call him up for a long conversation, and that friend of my roomie has a special offer from his service provider of free calls within the same network. 
So, now my roomie asks me "Which service provider are you a client to? I really have to talk to this friend and it's important and urgent": 

Since I don't even have a SIM inserted, I tell him, "My fone is offline"
He doesn't get that, so I say, "You can't use this for calls, it's offline."
He gags saying, "Doesn't matter! Which network does offline come under? My friend can make a call on that if it falls under the same network he uses"
As I could sense his innocence, I say, "Pal, offline isn't the name of any operator, it is just the mode of your portable phone when you've no SIM inserted"
 

He thus REFUTES [ ;) ] me saying, "You're really crazy dude! Tell me you don't know! Offline must be an operator that comes under some bigger service provider network, you're not aware of!"
He also adds, before I put myself into a total silence, "How could it be so? You say 'offline' isn't an operator and it still shows your portable is offline"

I could hear something synonymous with, "How could it be so? Religions mean to believe in God, You say you don't believe in one and so you're an atheist. Thus, isn't atheism a religion?"

"Express" was just a word, until you gave it an action!

This post is a special dedication to the one who makes me pen this.

I was a kid then…

I was so candidly into customs, traditions and ethical values then.

So blindly into them just unable to even think of following my own ideas.

Then did you come into my life,

You broke the shackles for me…

I didn’t realize you’ll be so important to me when I first met you!

I guess I was fourteen then;

Going back in time to that special occasion that we first met:

I hear your voice diverting me from gaming ‘Roadrash’.

So smooth, so sweet, so cute, so awesome:

To sum up, so girlish does your voice flow into my ears.

I don’t understand why you didn’t offer to ring the doorbell?!

I would’ve been less bothered then.

It is quite a hilarious time of the day…

The PC’s UPS device beeps for me to realize there’s a power- cut.

I walk down the stairs to see whose this sweet voice is;

As the sun had already dived into the dusk, I’ve a poor vision.

I see the silhouette of a girl, (Ah! Did I say silhouette? I’m sorry)

The hair, coifed into a double- plait,

So schoolish;

As mom lights up a candle I see the bindi on your forehead,

Glittering like against the dawn’s sun, like it has just dawned in your country;

I see your face and repress saying a “Wow!”

I hum and haw, being unable to utter a word;

Mom introduces me to you; I stand there with no idea how to react!

You say a, “Hi” and I reply with a “Hello”

We then shake hands, “Melba”

“ZeeBee”

You’ve a pretty long conversation with Mom and Dad;

I stand there, saunter there helplessly pretending that I’m okay when I’m not;

You then leave, unsettling me… 

I can say, I had a crush on you right when I saw you, right by that day, right by that moment!

A crush which I never thought would turn out to be such a lovely friendship.

I don’t recollect intricate details of our second meeting…

 It was at a b’day party. You were serving cake slices to the guests!

Yup, it was your li’l cousin’s b’day…

I was really happy that you’d recognize me even on our second meeting <3

That was the first day we’re able to spend some private hours of chat;

We shared our interests; I didn’t know why you chose to spend your time with me that day;

But to me, I had none there who I really knew except you;

That was the first day you told me you like me; I was on air then!

We then gave it a long break, or perhaps you gave;

We never met again until it was Easter’s day;

You had a vacation for Easter and were to visit me, at my house!!!

We spent the whole day together…

I started liking you so much that I had nothing to think about, but you;

You made me words to speak;

I must confess I was too formal to talk to anyone before,

And when you came into my world,

My world which knew nothing but to shake hands, and exchange greetings when I meet people;

My world was a bit different from that of the rest;

I was into my teens and my interest in linguistics;

That was the time when I was learning Hindi, Sanskrit, and even Malayalam;

I was so mad about meeting you and you were so happy about meeting you.

That day when we’re at St. Xavier’s Shrine (Ahh! Is it a Cathedral?),

It was a festive season and we’re strolling by the stalls;

You’d that usual craze any girl has: the craze for cosmetics!

“Does this bhindi suit me?”, you asked holding a golden dotted bhindi against your forehead.

And I said, “Anything suits you as long as you keep asking me! J”

We dawdled, holding arms, down the street…

I must admit, that was THE first day I’d held a gal’s arm!

(Walking beside a gal, was, I thought, a sin then ☻ )

I was speaking loads and loads to you, expressing all that I’d;

We used to sit for long hours in the patio chatting, narrating incidents;

I was never tired listening to you, neither were you tired listening to me!

We used to speak everything and anything;

Only through you did I know love stories really exist!

You narrated your friends’ love stories and I was like “OMG”!

“I thought people love only in movies”, was my credulous reply. :p

 Until I met you, love was only a word to me.

And the most amusing part there was that it was a loathsome word in ma dictionary!

You even bickered with your aunt, saying you’d stay back in my house.

From then you started staying back with me on all your vacations.

Yet, I was very much troubled when you’re not able to spend your b’day with me.

But it was all fine, as you got back in the evening to narrate the fun you had with your friends;

I still remember that Christmas eve, we spend together.

We’d a sleepless night, lying on the bed, with the TV switched on.

You went on narrating all the Christmas eves you’d had,

And I was listening to you even without any idea of getting some sleep!

Those days that followed Christmas, got us even closer;

That day you fell sick with fever and cold, was my life’s second sleepless night;

You’re sleeping, with your temperature running high and I was monitoring if you’re fine,

The whole night!

Those days were indeed my life’s more beautified days!

(Of course, my life’s most beautiful days are copyrighted to ma sweet Dad J)

 Then came the saddest part in…

Then came a winter in our garden!

The High school held you back in its hostel for an in- school coaching;

I was feeling bad, and you convinced me saying it was so important.

So important for you to grab a good scorecard;

I’d to live 51 days terre bina then...

Those were ma days of torment, agony, suffering, ma days of hell!

I recorded those 51 days of pain of missing in ma log,

It's Very sweet when someone knows every single detail about you.. Not because you told
them.....
But because they've noticed...♥

We then met, after those fifty one days of hell;

You’re sorry for not being able to establish any means of contact.

And I handed you ma log, to say, “That’s the way I missed you”

And that log is the only gift I’d ever given you.

Perhaps those fifty days where a pre- test for me;

A pre- test taken so as to examine if I’s eligible for the main test.

Yeah,

You then got shifted to a place called far away, so as to pursue your higher studies.

You then made a phone call everyday for a month;

You shifted yourself to frequent phone calls the next month,

And occasional phone calls in the month that followed.

We’d phone conversations so rarely then;

You simply gave me a lame excuse:

“Talking over the phone isn’t as funny as our old chats rite?”

You said you’d started liking your place called far- away;

You said life there was so exquisite;

You said you’d made new friends there and you loved them a lot.

Weeks elapsed, months slipped away, and a year went by…

You were so busy to pick my calls, and I went so steadfast to call you again.

Yet we’d very rare occasions of phone chats and chat texts.

Oh did I miss reading, “You’d made new friends there and you loved them a lot.”

Hmmm… Yeah,

You’d made new friends there and PERHAPS you loved them a lot.