Hellfire

Men are the answer

2011-11-24T11:41:00.000-08:00

I was raised to be a feminist. It wasn't a conscious effort on my mother's part; in fact, when she sees me blustering with anger and frustration and going on about feminism today, she can't understand where those feelings come from. But that's how it is.

For the longest time, there was the silly refusal to wear pink clothes and act like a girl. There was the tough as nails I never cry act, there was the constant refusal to admit weakness or defeat around a guy. Then I grew up.

Then I read a little of the feminist theory I had grown up putting in practice. Then I looked around and found, to my amazement, that a lot of people were actually feminists or had feminist beliefs, but refused outright to associate with the school of thought.

Women seemed to have got what they wanted out of the movement, and were unwilling to risk being considered man-haters. They had the vote, and chivalry to boot. They had the right to call a man out on abuse, but also get to be bought flowers. What more could they ask for?

The men that weren't feminists tended to be confused, annoyed, furious or indifferent. Feminists were man hating crazy bitches who wanted female dominance at the cost of men's rights. We were the people pushing s. 498A, putting husbands and their entire families in jail on false counts, squeezing spouses for obscene amounts of money, manipulative women who refused to let husbands see their children.

Men's Rights Activists (MRAs) sprung up in the US. Websites and organizations like Save the Indian Family Foundation mushroomed in India. There was talk of abuse of the laws in favour of women in India and the destruction of the family system in the US.

The result? We have feminismS and feministS of various stripes, agreeing on little but the goal of fairness in gender relations. We have the MRAs in the US and their counterparts in India, some of whom think that their interests and those of feminists are mutually exclusive. We have the women who want nothing to do with the feminist question, and men who think that the cost of being a man is outweighed by its benefits. We have the Good Men Project and its kin.

What do these developments tell us?

A lot of men have ceased to think of themselves as un-gendered and have come to realise that their gender comes with its own baggage. A lot of men are trying to grapple with what some call a “post feminist” world, understanding how to negotiate unfamiliar terrain where usual gender cues no longer hold good.

The SlutWalk Bengaluru page has, of late, been inundated with angry comments by masculinists who want freedom from the role of a protector, who seethe at feminism and the great injustice of today’s world.

It is, therefore, now more important than ever for feminists to make a conscious effort to “ask the man question.” It is vital that feminists think about the repercussions of a particular legislative or policy demand on men as well as women. This is for a few reasons.

One is that any benefit to women that comes at the cost of unfairness to anyone else is undesirable and unethical. Moreover, in the long run, this unfairness will lead to greater hostility against women and feminists and a blanket refusal to be supportive of our agenda: something we are already seeing.

The other is motivated by self interest: feminism will not work if there are no men to adhere to it. bell hooks has said this in a more eloquent fashion than I can manage:

“Separatist ideology encourages us to believe that women alone can make feminist revolution - we cannot. Since men are the primary agents maintaining and supporting sexism and sexist oppression, they can be successfully eradicated only if men are compelled to assume responsibility for transforming their consciousness and the consciousness of society as a whole...”

My amendment to that quote would be that everyone is an agent in maintaining and supporting sexism; even if men at present have ostensibly more to lose from a drastic restructuring of our society along the lines of gender.

The last reason is that freeing men from mandated gender roles is already a rightful part of the feminist goal, as I see it. When sex became gender, feminism automatically became about more than just women. And so, in my view, feminism that is not concerned about men is not feminism.

And so feminism must proactively be concerned with men. To a large extent, it has been for quite a while. But the perception of feminism and men’s interests being mutually exclusive persists, and must gradually be eroded.

**

This post is titled “men are the answer.” I came to this conclusion when I first bumped into the Good Men Project and realised that while most women had had enough of and from feminism, it was men who were starting to wake up to their gendered existence and asking questions that could catalyze meaningful social evolution.

This opened up room for a lot of discussion and debate, of the realisation that societal mores hurt everyone, not just women; and that everyone had to gain from questioning these mores. With men questioning their own binds and seeing themselves as participants in this societal evolution, I figured things would move faster; and so far that belief seems to be well placed. There is also the obvious fact that in order to stop domestic violence or rape, you need to reach out to its perpetrators/silent supporters; thus making men “the answer” in the context of assault on women.

**

We need men to work with us, not only for us, but also for themselves, and a freer society in turn.

This Blog is part of the Men Say No Blogathon,* encouraging men to take up action against the violence faced by women.
More entries to the Blogathon can be read at www.mustbol.in/blogathon. Join further conversation on facebook.com/delhiyouth & twitter.com/mustbol

*I don’t agree with the name “Men Say No” because it plays on what it means to be a “real man,” which in turn buys straight into the kind of accepted stereotyping I try so hard to subvert.
However, I agree with the aim of this campaign, and this is a small step in furthering its goals.

Backpacks and Puris

2011-06-30T11:55:00.001-07:00

I see myself linking the GMP a lot, and here’s another piece that resonated with me. http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/stillness/ I know I have the I-need-to-do-something-exciting-or-I-will-go-crazy syndrome, and it can be a huge drain on finances, productivity and the patience of those around me.

But I digress. I meant to write about the beauty of travelling. Apart from the usual getting to meet new people, eating strange food, seeing the sights jamboree; there is the absolutely liberating realisation that all you really need to negotiate the big bad world can be stuffed into one 20 litre backpack.

I mean, yeah, the clothes might surface with a bit of yesterday’s hurriedly eaten chocolate croissant on them, but meh.

Anyhow, you start to get far less finicky about trivialities like bathing everyday and having every hair on your head pinned neatly down. You don’t have to dress to impress anyone, you’re a strange person from a strange land who will attract strange looks no matter what you wear- so you might as well wear banana print boxers and kaftans with skulls hanging off of them.

You can make a fool of yourself and get away with it; as long as you’re not an obnoxious, disrespecting fool, you can get away with quite a bit. Everything is new and exciting, and even better- when you get back, you suddenly start to appreciate the quirks of your own people. Take for instance the strange way in which Indians will refuse a tenth helping of puris while simultaneously stuffing one in their mouths.

Finally, you realise that though the foreign is shiny and we need to learn so very much from them, as clichéd as it sounds, there’s nothing quite like home.

"Ready" to be scarred?

2011-06-28T12:14:00.000-07:00

This post is not about the cinematic merit of the movie “Ready.” Suffice to say that “Ready” is a hysterical assault on all human senses, including those we as a species haven’t developed yet.

But not only is this movie absolutely god awful, it is also profoundly disturbing. Unfortunately, I have yet to come across a review that criticizes the movie for being sexist and even racist in parts.

Some gems:
1) Paresh Rawal encounters a security guard of African origin. Ends the exchange with: “tujhe to dekhke desh ki nazar uttar jaye” (Looking at you is enough to ward off the evil eye for the entire nation)

2) Salman Khan responds to one of Asin’s infrequent dialogues with: “Pehli baar aurat ko kuch samajhdar kehte hue suna hai” (This is the first time I’ve ever heard a woman say something sensible)

3) During a drinking session with the gundas, Mr. Modi asks his wife to go ahead and eat without him. The gundas chuckle and inform him that as real men, they refuse to let their wives touch even a morsel of food before they’re done imbibing ethanol for the night.

4) Mr. Modi responds: “Auraton ki duniya bahut chotti hoti hai. Humse hi shuru aur khatam hoti hai. Isiliye unke saath acha bartav karna chahiye” (The lives of women revolve around us men. Their universe is very small; it begins with us and ends with us. That is why we must treat them well.)

5) Subsequently, the gundas rush off to their respective wives and very magnanimously inform them that they are free to eat the meals that they cook before the men drag their drunken selves to the table. (Note- this is a prime example of homosocial behaviour as discussed here- http://goodmenproject.com/featured-content/bros-before-promises/)

There’s still more, but I think this is sample enough to prove that the scriptwriter(s) are off their rockers and more importantly, Salman Khan ought to have thought ten times before agreeing to the script.

The man is well aware of the influence he has over India’s millions, he knows that his sporting a stud in each ear will soon spark a nation-wide trend; and his latest offering is reinforcing the idea that belittling women is a legitimate sport. One of the few sports Indians naturally excel at.

Bravo, Salman. Way to exploit your influence.

(Note- the quotes from the movie haven't been reproduced verbatim, I had the misfortune of watching the movie on a bus ride and refuse to pay good money to be insulted all over again. However, I am ninety nine percent certain I've reproduced the content accurately, if not the exact words.)

Idiot, insecure Indian men

2011-04-03T05:01:00.000-07:00

A man is expected to be powerful and so is belittled for being unable to lift a bag or bolt a door. A woman isn’t, and so does not expect herself to be powerful. The rare specimen that does is met with astonishment or ridiculous behaviour.
Not many men can handle powerful women. I see no other explanation for the way my friend and I are met when we take our bikes out on Nagarbhavi roads. Yesterday, we had the pleasure of encountering two fat, ill behaved a#$#^&*(% on a Dio, if you please, coming within two centimetres of us, trailing, gesturing, even turning around and coming at us head on (in the wrong lane), hoping for... I don’t know, it is a mystery.

Realising that in customary style, I had gotten angry and sped off in the wrong direction after aforementioned buffoons, my friend frantically signalled and got me to turn around. We headed towards the mythical Enamor sale, this time on the right track, and were met, in addition to the usual bevy of stares and calls; by an idiot on a pulsar who felt he had to do one better. So not only did he tail us for a bit, he also came within two inches of us, and pulled a wheelie, right behind a big fat bus that could’ve slammed on its breaks at any second.
He then moved to one side of the road, stopped, looked at us expectantly, again, hoping for what? Perhaps some acknowledgment of his manliness or superiority, search me.

It doesn’t stop here. On this same day (that India won the World Cup, no less), this friend and I went to grab burgers at KFC and were met by a fool, OPENLY STARING at me with an expression of utter entitlement, like I was put there by the forces of the universe for his viewing pleasure. I turned and stared at him, and this only spurred him to make sneering faces at the other fool sitting across him. We ate our burgers and feeling his stare again, I turned to find him looking at me with that same infuriating mix of expressions on his face. So I said to him “Could you stop staring at me you **)#R$@)##? And of course, like the typical cowardly, lecherous Indian man, he immediately cowered, feigned utter and absolute ignorance and looked away.

UGH. My hatred of this variety of the Indian man deepens by the day, this man who is never in short supply, always goggle eyed, unabashed and deeply depraved.

Flamenco at Siri Fort

2011-02-16T20:34:00.001-08:00

Jose Porcel, two lovely ladies whose names I'm not acquainted with (go figure) and lets see.... two vocalists, one male, one female; a flute/harmonica player, a percussionist of some description received a standing ovation yesterday (16 Feb, 2011) for an endearing, enthralling, energetic Flamenco performance. Oh excuse me, Ballet Flamenco.

To be honest, I'm not very clear on where the Ballet came in. Perhaps Flamenco does not traditionally tell stories, and some the broad themes of the "items" (I'd so much rather they be called pieces) performed yesterday can be attributed to a Ballet influence.

I couldn't say.

What I can say though, is this. Jose Porcel is an incredible, incredible, incredible performer. He is cocky, cock sure, flamboyant, fiery and you can see he's giving you everything he's got. But I'm not a fan of the technique. I could very easily be very wrong, but the contrast between the clean, flowing lines of the female performers and the dervish like frenzy of Porcelo's act left me bewildered. It does not make sense to me that female Flamenco could be so beautiful and refined, and the male part so very undefined and composed of merely energy and footwork.

Oh, but the ladies. The synchronization was a bit off in places, which is a pity, because when they got that right, it was such a mesmerizing treat to watch. I love the arrogance and anger that underlies Flamenco. The bold lines, the graceful twirls, the lovely full skirts that these ladies breathe life into, making them rise with their pirouettes. The sleek, low bun that gives every turn of the neck greater definition and renders it clean and elegant. I could go on and on.

And good lord, the music. I have to say this- we could really learn something from the way that Porcel interacted with the musicians. For one, they were up front and centre, which, though it made focusing on the dancers a wee bit difficult, really enabled them to create a mehfil type atmosphere, and gave them equal respect.

Secondly, you could tell there was a lot of jugalbandi going on, a lot of interaction between the dancers and the musicians and that was just beautiful, because you saw an art form in a conversation with another art form.

Then there were the hoots and the exclamations from the musicians themselves. These came out of nowhere, and made the whole performance come alive and seem very accessible.

I have never witnessed a more relaxed and more audience friendly performance. The spectators were involved throughout, a bunch of emotive, gasping, clapping Indians responding to an equally emotive bunch of flamboyant Spaniards.

And the vocals. What power. I could feel tingles going up my spine and I thought, wow, this is what we share, two cultures going back centuries, with our unique and raw music that touches our souls directly. What amount of digital technology and tweaked vocals can give you that? That direct link to the emotions that are equally pure and raw?

Jose Porcel kissed Ambika Soni on each cheek, which elicited titters, giggling and gasps from the audience. Then the female vocalist stepped up and sang for about two minutes. She has this gorgeous, slightly husky, deepp deeepp deeep voice that she can hold for tens of seconds at impossible pitches.

There was clapping, there were cat calls, there was sweat flying off of the dancers, there were sharp head turns, and spotting, glares and gentle caresses, laughter and sighs, and good old Indian bureaucracy. Coming up for an encore, two of the musicians showed that they too can dance the Flamenco, and what more does an Indian audience appreciate than an unexpected shuffling of inexperienced feet, rendered with a touch of shyness and equally, a try this on for size attitude?

Lovely. Just lovely.

Desi music and Dilli's Men

2011-02-14T21:04:00.000-08:00

I've been hearing Menwhopause and TAAQ on Delhi Radio and though I'm not sure whether Menwhopause every played at SF, TAAQ sure did (and won) and its a good feeling to be a part of an event that promotes excellent Indian music. (Woot!)

Also, Delhi's junta is full of contradictions. On the road, people have their fangs bared, their ears blocked, their eyes blinded; they're a hair's breadth from sending you spinning across the road and yet, and YET these same people are warm and largely friendly when on their own two feet.

Now, I can only talk about the men; because for some reason, it is men who cut your hair, men who help you park, men who give you directions, men who sell you food and water, but these guys are really quite chivalrous is their own way. There's the odd exception but in their own, earthy way, they try to make you laugh and help you park and treat you like a granddaughter or didi.

I know this is not what one usually hears about Delhi's men, but I have to say this; I've hard my share of oglers and gropers and exhibitionists and goggle eyed fools, but there are also courteous chaps who discretely steer clear of any shady business. Its quite charming really. And very Indian.

This is life

2011-02-02T23:50:00.001-08:00

A meal of cold chicken and left over pulao on a sunny gardened terrace, muddy, damp pants from sitting in the grass, a panting dog laying next to you with her paw on your thigh; tired from having begged for the chicken, licked the tiffin box, your hands and your feet and getting only some belly scratching and indistinct noises in return.

A little cotton fluff of a Maltese eyeing you, and your managing to lure him with pathetic attempts at gaining his interest. Trying to get this interest to remain steadfast even in the face of your stupidity and boring-ness, your silly grinning face, the pointless cooing, the inexplicable happiness at being around something so cute and content.

Seeing the Lab and the Maltese run around, in the sun, following their mistress and occasionally darting glances at you. Hugging the big lab around her neck and thinking of days spent with Fluffy, my 5 year birthday present and faithful companion till she was rechristened Gudia and left for my grandmother's house.

This is what I want. A sunny winter day, a good file to read and work on, and two dogs to follow me around and keep me company.

On blaming the victims and feminism being an f word

2011-01-28T21:49:00.001-08:00

Much has been said about these two fascinating phenomena and I am no closer to understanding either than I was a year ago. Lets start with the first-

We shifted to Dhaula Kuan recently and a lovely mother daughter couple made a house call to welcome us into the cold draughty fold of DK Is houses. They were both great fun to talk to and at one point, the ‘sation turned to the need for mace in these here parts. I made the appropriate gasping noises and asked why they said I should venture out only with a knife and a ready punch. The answer- recent rapes in the neighbourhood. The shocker- the lovely aunty wondering aloud “who asked that girl to come back late in a bus, usse call centre cab leni chahiye thi na”
I hate having to ask my guy friends to drop me home or having my parents waiting anxiously outside till I meet them; I hate having to live in fear and inconveniencing people because the men in this city are depraved and under policed. And I know that if I step out of these boundaries, the way I’d like to, I’ll be blamed if I am raped.
How is it that a woman who is brutalized is blamed for taking a bus instead of a cab? THAT is what you have to say to the RAPE of a young, innocent woman? That is the first thing that comes to your head? Not that that man was crazy and sick, but that this woman shouldn’t have tried to use a cheap and environmentally friendly means of mass transport to get home? Look at me, trying to glorify her choice. She could’ve been a hooker, high on cocaine, and even then, the first thing that ought to have been said was that that man was off his mind, not that this woman was asking for it.

This city, this country, we’re all crazy for letting this attitude prevail.

And what is with educated, privileged, low cut blouse wearing women trying their best to distance themselves from feminism? Yes, there are crazy feminists, yes I used to hate pink, yes some of us hate men, yes some of us are off our rockers. But this is an inclusive, vague, massively varied movement. You get to decide what feminism means for you. You get to make it sane, you get to make it inclusive and non prescriptive. Be a part of the movement that has given you the options you cherish and wouldn’t dream of living without. Stop free loading.

Alone, Alive

2011-01-07T23:05:00.001-08:00

....... .

This is Karnataka

2011-01-07T22:26:00.000-08:00

Yes, its been a while. Perhaps because I tend to make the monumental effort of logging in to blogger and writing only when I'm monumentally pissed off, which I am right now.

The incident, for your benefit-
Aqseer is cruising down the road on Juno at a leisurely 30 km an hour. Flicks on the indicator to take turn into hostel gate. Sees small maroon car in rear view mirror, within touching distance. Slows down so crazed man who is blind to indicators can overtake. Man starts honking LIKE A MANIAC. (Aqseer)Stops completely (Punjabi blood, plus it would have been dangerous to turn), drops jacket. Turns around and yells at the man, tells him to pick it up since he's blind to indicators and such. Says this in ENGLISH. Man replies in Kannada. Several people around start honking. Turns, parks, picks up jacket and man is mysteriously still there, blocking the road, yelling in Kannada. Yells- I DON'T SPEAK KANNADA.
Man yells- THIS IS KARNATAKA. I says- (I'm feeling a bit sheepish about this, but I guess thats what happens when you study THREE courses in constitutional law) What do you mean this is Karnataka, haven't you read the Constitution? Man says- (hehe) Laaiiars (lawyers). I say- just go away *@#@$##$#%^^^#$@. And he does.

I have now resolved never to learn Kannada. Good going, language chauvinists.

How much nicer it would be if you could put across the beauty of your language and that it would make you happy if we showed some love for the state in which we currently have the pleasure of residing. Maybe if you gently taught us some swear words (which is all anyone learning a new language wants to know), followed by some handy words like bega, jasti bega, kodi, madi etc. BUT NO. Fine. Yell at me.

I'd rather chop off each individual digit on my hands and fry em in a pan than learn your language.

:)

All hail Juno

2010-12-02T02:01:00.000-08:00

Not for the first time, I'm thanking my stars I have super cool parentals and grandparentals who let me get Juno. I read this interview of Gul Panag, and it struck me that she said riding a bike isn't so much about being cool, but much more about the independence and freedom that comes with.

I now know exactly what she means. Juno doesn't yell at me for ten more rupees. Juno doesn't play terrible songs very very loudly, or smoke stinky bidis. Juno doesn't guzzle more fuel early in the morning, or around siesta time, or late at night. Juno isn't fussy. Juno will not try to kill/kidnap/rape me.

Of course riding a bike comes with its own share of miseries. But at least you're in control.

So many women in college are coming and asking me little questions about Juno. Its awesome. I really do think that your height is the only thing that can come in the way of being 100% comfortable on a bike. Not your weight or your strength. Men ride bikes because they think they can, they're cocky about it.

They're not necessarily always stronger, they don't necessarily have fighter pilot reflexes. They're just cocky, they think they belong on a bike. And their feet reach the ground. That is all you are needing, I say.

The Itch

2010-11-28T06:35:00.000-08:00

GAHHH. I have NEVER hated Sundays. Except this one. I'm itching. Physically and metaphorically. (Sari mummy :P, its not my fault the best law school in the country can't provide 24 hr hot water)

I'm itching to be off somewhere, doing something, riding, eating, coffee drinking, even just sitting anywhere but in this tiny room with the tiny bed that I've spent too many hours lolling in.

Which is why I think I'm either a busyness junkie, or a workaholic. I don't think the latter is too likely, I'm not crazy, I have a life that isn't my work. But nothing beats that weird buzz when you're doing something you care about and you want desperately to make it happen; for it to turn out well.

Which, in turn tells me two things- 1) I've got to do what I like and 2) I've got to do a lot of it and 3) I've got to also be able to chill, eat out and ride my bike.

Monotony + having nothing to do- cannot be taken. This is why I'm such a bad candidate for a nose piercing. I got bored of my little stud and pulled it out, (intending to replace it with something else) and now I might have to get it re-pierced for the sixth time. Ouch.

Where is the Rock?

2010-10-18T02:01:00.000-07:00

Driving back from Chandigarh yesterday, I was super excited to have the player belting tunes from my pod and so on and so forth, till the paternal figure posed a relevant question. (Something Mr. Roy from Brunch often comments on) “This is music from our generation, what do you guys listen to?”

So then I explained how these days it is
1) either ear wormy-but-not-much-else-pop, or
2) heavy, heavy metal, or
3) emo/alt rock, or
4) indie stuff, or
5) techno/house/what have you, or
6) all of them slammed together.

And my dear chaps, where IS the rock? Almost nowhere, and hence the obsession with the songs of yore.

I think.

Do tell if I’m missing out on the great rock experience of the new millennium, I implore you.

A reponse to "Kannadigas, stand up for Karnataka"

2010-10-18T00:02:00.000-07:00

Maybe I’m mental, but there is something very odd and disturbing about Arvind Adiga’s recent piece in the Times. (http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/home/sunday-toi/all-that-matters/Kannadigas-stand-up-for-Karnataka/articleshow/6762547.com)

“Your Delhiwallah might associate virtues like modesty, thrift, and hard work with the Madrasi, but in the south we have always thought of Karnataka as the ultimate locus of these values.”
How much more clearly could you demarcate boundaries between us, and them? YOUR, and but IN THE SOUTH. I mean, Jesus Christ.

“Film stars did not rule Karnataka (as they did Tamil Nadu); Naxalites did not over-run parts of the state (as they did in Andhra Pradesh); and strikes did not cripple its economy (as they did in Kerala).”
Oh hey, wait. Here he is, doing it more clearly.

Now he’s talking about the political crisis, there he is, trying to pin the blame on the money flooding the state from IT and other sectors, but particularly from mining interests in the North.

At this point, I’m thinking, ok, the man is going to talk about the need for accountability, for the proper exercise of democratic rights, about governance, transparency and all of those seemingly relevant measures.

But oh NOO! Lookee here “Culture, in the south of India, has always been a bulwark against money”
A bulwark against money? You want to bulwark-ize your money? What did money do to you, man? It doesn’t force itself down your throat and make you lose sight of what is important. It doesn’t magically acquire propelling powers and push you towards a Louis Vuitton bag when you think the money would be better off growing fat in a bank account.

Mr. Adiga, I wish you’d thought out your argument, for I feel unable to respond appropriately, being unable to see ANY logic underling ANY of your assumptions.
So tell me two things- 1) what is it about money coming in that is so very dangerous, and how is it responsible for the recent debacle in the legislative assembly? 2) how does culture, dancing, costume, food, language etc, how does all of this protect you from these evils? How would my knowledge of Kannada prevent said debacle, or even stabilize the situation?

“…the Kannadiga sees his language and culture being eroded everywhere”- it’s called being a cosmopolitan city, sir. And yeah, that “erosion” accompanies the money. For heaven’s sake, do you know that this country’s Constitution celebrates diversity? Change your vocabulary, get a little less resentful. Call it “multilingualism” instead of “erosion”. Call it a wonderful amalgamation instead of dilution. Or stay there, in your little houses with your steady, stagnant, income, we’ll take our business elsewhere.

“There is money, but there is no pride in Karnataka any longer.” Oh no honey, you got pride alright. It’s actually starting to resemble jingoism. You might soon start giving Maharashtra serious competition, if you keep on like this. Won’t that be a day worth celebrating?

“New malls are being built, but serious issues lie untackled: deteriorating infrastructure, environmental pollution, and tense Hindu-Muslim relations in places like South Canara.” Ah, yes, and my knowledge of Kannada and the great Kannada poets is going to fix all of that.

“Part of the problem is that many of us have divided loyalties.” DIVIDED LOYALTIES? Are you hearing yourself, man? You don’t have to tell me about pride in one’s history, language, culture. But to put that down in this manner, to say that if a person speaks Telugu and another speaks Tamil, their LOYALTIES are divided, why, you might as well set our pretty Preamble on fire right there. Call me crazy, but a writer with a following should really watch his words more closely than that.

“If you live in Karnataka, you are a Kannadiga; and your children are the inheritors of Krishna Deva Raya and Professor UR Ananthamurthy.” So I am to lose my sense of identity as a mongrel with blood from ten corners of the Earth and say that I’m ethnically a Kannadiga? Call myself a proud resident of beautiful Bangalore with all the pubs and the great, sweet people, I’ll do gladly. But call myself a Kannadiga, I won’t, and I’m not so sure Kannadigas would appreciate it if I did either. THAT might be seen as dilution too, ye know.

“Please develop some sense of ownership and belonging in Karnataka — for the sake of your own children.”

Now this might be the first sensible thing he’s said in this piece. Yes, a sense of ownership and belonging helps make better citizens, people who care about the city and its advancement. But does knowing the language necessarily contribute; or put differently, is that the ONLY way in which to develop a sense of ownership and belonging?

A person feels like she belongs if she is made to feel welcome. If you’re going to wrinkle up your nose at me and say ohhh chee north Indian, look she doesn’t know ANY Kannada and her family throws huge parties and wears their gold where it’s visible, hell no, I won’t feel like I belong.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against promoting vernacular languages, and preserving our dances, culture and costume. I’ve studied Kathak for six years and I understand why my Tamil friends get angry if they’re expected to know Hindi. Hell, my mother tongue isn’t Hindi either.

However, what I do not appreciate is being told that if I am to live in a particular state, PAY for my food and board and actually help said State’s economy by consuming its services and what-have-you, I must learn the local language and culture.
Let us come to you.

The more you raise a hullabaloo, repeating learn-my-language-learn-my-language over and over till our ears are bleeding and we feel like clubbing your varied and beautiful languages into one big bracket that we call the jalebi languages; the less respect for said language and culture you are going to see.

And if you were truly confident about your culture and identity, you would be feeling too damn superior to ask us to learn Kannada. You would be thinking- his loss, this is my language, it is beautiful and I feel privileged that I am of a select group of people that speak it. Yes, Adiga says that the Kannadiga is in the middle of an identity and culture crisis. Dear sir, its not just Kannadigas, its everyone from anywhere in this country. And that’s for y’all to figure out. And not by counting on us to speak broken Kannada with awful Punjabi twangs, eh?

Trust me, I came to Bangalore and loved it- for the trees, for the weather, for what I was told was a city full of nice people and yes, for the filter coffee. Yet more and more, I am irritated at being told repeatedly to learn the language. If you’d just let me be, I’d pick it up myself, I’d even come to you all excited and want to know how to say “I hate you, you thieving autowallah!” in Kannada. But now, I’d rather eat you first.

PS- as for the economy, the infrastructure, the state of the government, look elsewhere for more concrete solutions, “m’kay, pumpkin?” Maybe my broken Kannada ain’t gonna fix that, maybe you’d have better luck with proper planning, accountability initiatives, citizen involvement et al. And I promise you, as a RESIDENT of Bangalore, I’ll be there.

LIfe decision, MADE!

2010-10-14T01:50:00.000-07:00

This question has been haunting me for months now, and ironically, it has been resolved at the weirdest, most unlikely forum in the company of the most unlikely people.

I went into my boss's office to ask the simplest of questions, and as the discussion veered toward's intellectual property rights, the boss started telling me about his experiences as a litigation lawyer. At the time, I was reflecting on how chatty he is, and thus how very different from my other bosses. But as I took the elevator down some hundred floors, I started getting excited. I realised that litigation makes most sense, and the decision has me euphoric, surely a good sign. Here's my pros list

1) I. do. not. have. to. think. about. what to wear. Its penguin suits all the way, and though that would be depressing for some, for me its a god send.

2) Its like LSC on speed. I might've mentioned this earlier, but I get a monumental kick when I find something to help an LSC client, and imagine doing that for a living!

3) Arguing. Muahaha. Shredding arguments to shreds. Favourite pastime, turned profession.

4) Barely any money, so no tension about where, how to spend, how much I earn in comparison with peers (I know I can afford chai biskoot, thats good enough)

5) Since its supposed to be difficult for women to litigate, OBVIOUSLY I want to :D

6) I won't have to sit at a desk all day, I'll be going to court, standing in lines, getting frustrated, driving long distances and THEN sitting at a desk

7) High pressure, totally exhilarating.

8) Caffeine addiction, and I will prize a day's vacation. Perfect.

9) Nice blend of dull, unthinking work and really intense work involving lots of creative thinking. Again, perfecto.

PS

10) I know that after having gone through law school, I will want to actually apply the stuff I learnt, and the image of the black robe billowing behind me as I stalk corridors with my head whirring and arms full of books and papers is aaaa so exciting.

11) I can't stand central air conditioning. So no office job for me until I get my immunity nicely built up.

12) This feels nice and desi, you know. Sweaty, hard work, dhaka muki, this is the kind of work that will make me feel like I made my place in the world, so I can look back and say, boss, bahut dhakhe khaye the. Whats the point of entering the adult world with a nice cushy job and all possible comforts? How will that help you prize what you make for yourself?

And boss tells me the career graph for people who take regular corp jobs is something like this- start HIGH, plateau, keep plateauing, and then enjoy gradual growth. He says even if you choose to go corporate firmy later, you'll make a better lawyer, know more and seem like you know more, so you'll do better faster than your contemporaries. Which means that when I'm a little older and wanting to rest my behind and have had my share of excitement and sleepless nights, I can do a firm job (if I decide to stick with law) and get meatier work AND a nice chair and awesome view. THIS IS SO PERFECT.

13) And if I decide I've had enough of pure law and want to do some policy type work-my experience as a litigating lawyer will expose me to a wide enough range of issues, government policies, degree of implementation, manner of implementation etc, which will help me be a better analyst. Sooo perfect.

14) I really like IPR and tax. So I had it listed as one option, to work with an IPR or tax firm. But I was listening to boss talk about how TM is fun, but "kitna karoge" and it got me thinking, it might be true, you know, much as I like IPR, too much of it would probably make it run of the mill and mechanical as opposed to being a breath of fresh air to enliven my days of drugdery, bail applications and miscellaneous petitions. I mean, litigation will be like the first year at grad school abroad, you dabble in a range of things and discover what you're truly passionate about, then you specialize.

Yesa. Versatility, a degree of independence, a feeling of impacting someone's life, being responsible blah blah. Yessir.

Cons

1) No money. Meh, big deal. If after two years, I find that I'm not a good litigator, I'll go abroad, study, come back and turn to my other love, policy and make enough to be comfortable. If I'm good, I'll eventually earn enough.

2) Er... Long work hours, lots of pressure blah blah. All pluses for me. Heehaw.

Can't think of other cons.

This feels right. :D

PS- I have to say that the great Mr. Mohan has always been an advocate of my litigating, but like the decision to quit smoking, something like this needs to be figured out for oneself. Non, Ayush?

Thoughts on riding Juno (my Pulsar 135)

2010-09-18T13:30:00.000-07:00

1) She’s beautiful. Lovely flank (fuel tank), nice cuts like on the Apache
2) Prettier face than the Apache’s, which was my problem with said bike
3) Sounds GREAT
4) Makes me huppy when I ride, feel weird if haven’t ridden in a while
5) Taking helmet off is always fun, in a melodramatic-wait-till-I-shake-out-my-hair kinda way (J. k. Not really.)
6) Only the tip of my big toe reaches the ground when I’m trying to manoeuvre. Trick- to get off and wheel her around, or risk severe discomfort in the crotch area from trying to produce momentum from... nothing.
7) Can get her on centre stand, woot! Absolutely not about brute strength or anything, all about the right angles and little tricks, or physics, for the less romantic
8) Sponge stuffed shiny blue horse keychain- nice statement, but stinky. Sponge doesn’t dry post rain. In Bangalore, always rain.
9) Weird noise when riding fast-ish with visor up. MAJOR whistling in ears. (not from bike, from wind)
10) Shifts to the first gear not always crotch friendly. Especially for the guy sitting behind you
11) As with most other things, a lot about being confident
12) Earrings will poke, hair will escape and get in nose and mouth. Will get cold, must carry jacket at all times
13) Full tank for 300 bucks. :D Great mileage, tis awesome.
14) No up when going up, no down when going down. (Err, gears. Moving on)
15)Excellent for learning how to- stop caring if you’re embarrassing self, learning self control and crisis management. :P :P

---------
Why is it that when its 1:35 in the morning and there’s nothing left to do but sleep, I feel the need for a book to read, a movie to watch, someone to text? Are we, as a generation, unable to occupy our time with our own thoughts, and with doing 'nothing?' Why the need for constant distraction? Woe the inability to focus on one person/thing for any length of time, because of the constant pinging in the background.

Such a good feeling

2010-07-20T05:30:00.001-07:00

Being on Legal Services Clinic gives me a high. It sounds corny as all hell, but the sense of purpose and excitement and I don't know, its just awesome. Teeheee!
But its not just the work we do, or try to do. Its also being around people who care about the same stuff, who are positive and looking to make things better. Such a good feeling.

On being a rockstar (for just a minute)

2010-07-20T05:16:00.000-07:00

The LLP that I went for yesterday didn't promise to be very much different from the others I've been to. We went to Christel house (good place that does good work, will not bore with the details) and spent ten minutes wishing we'd gone to school there, such was the prettiness of the place. The LLP went as they usually do, skits, questions, explanations, skits questions explanations skitsquestionsexplanations. In the middle of it Nidhi and Nishita looked at me with this expression on their face and told me the teachers wanted us to talk about sexual harassment, something we've never covered in our LLPs, EVER, for fear of offending or being thought of as "corrupting" influences.

So I went up and said something or the other, with the able aid of Nidhi and Nishi and came away feeling like I must've made a fool of myself. We took pictures with the kids, read their feedback with no little amusement (they didn't hold back, some of them, in the communication of their view that we were very boring. Most of them did love us, though) and made our way back to the bus. And thats when it happened. Two girls, then another girl, then two boys came up to me, said they liked my "speech", that I spoke very well and made sense, and that they'd wait for me to come back to their school; and I felt like I wanted to do this for the rest of my life.

Hijabs and Why-are-women-frisked-inside-cabins?

2010-07-18T13:08:00.000-07:00

Went to UB City today. Part of the hunt-for-the-hijab. What stood out, apart from the slightly silly interior decoration, was the public frisking of the ladies. Which got me thinking, why do women get felt up inside the confines of a cloth tent? What warped sense of modesty makes it okay for a man to be frisked in public, but necessary for a woman to be shielded from public eyes when being thus treated? Very, very odd phenomenon.

On the one hand, women are treated as visual ice lollies; and on the other, their lajja must be protected, they must go forth into the world armed with modest clothing, mace and spiky stuff, and be frisked only inside a tent. I. do. not. understand.

Also, Ayush the perceptive recently remarked that it was a sad commentary on the state of our society how I saw my dooshang (wooden-hair-keeper-upper-thingamajig) as a convenient weapon to blind a gropey man; and how it was even sadder that as a society, we've made women so jumpy that often innocent men get lambasted for having looked in the wrong direction at the wrong moment.

I agree. Its almost heart breaking.

PS- Anyone who thinks all Muslim women must hate wearing the hijab would do well to just google it once. welovehijab.com is a starting point.
http://www.islamfortoday.com/hijabcanada4.htm contanis some interesting arguments for the hijab, which might make some of us think twice about how liberating it really is to strut about in almost-birthday-suits. I'm not arguing this way or that, just saying that there are people out their who love being hijabis, and who see hijabs as an expression of their identity and as a shield against lecherous men, and regressive liberation.

Logistical update + on boredom

2010-07-07T06:22:00.000-07:00

Boredom or a lack of things to do spells depression for me. Buh. Also http://gwscomic.com is an awesome comic.

If you've been wondering (my scant readership) where all the feminist stuff is- its all on the facebook group I created, called "Discussing Feminism". Check it out here- www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=121788191186506 Its fun, promise :)

PS- I can't figure out how to embed links. The insert links feature had somewhat invisible results Help?

Misc Observations

2010-07-01T08:18:00.000-07:00

Daddy doesn’t talk unless he has a glass in his hand and/or everyone's eating
Tumsa nahin dekha inspired him to dance around nani
Fluffy is now old and doddering a bit, but food still gets her excited. (There is photographic evidence. In daddy’s words- “paagal hoi phirdi hai”)
I think I’ll be the same when I’m old
Doctors are sometimes like bad lawyers. They don’t listen to clients, and they’re quick to provide “solutions” that might or might not be appropriate.
Manna Dey and Mohd Rafi are awesome fun. Indians are MENTAL, but in a good way.
The BRO has a sense of humour that helps them do a decent job at telling people to slow down along the roads in the mountains. Some gems- “If eager to last, then why fast?” “Better late than Mr. Late”
Your family is the only group of people you can relax and be utter slobs around. They'll love you anyway and they've seen you in every possible state and mood you're capable of being in.
I'm sick of how American my music is.

The youngling's manch pravesh

2010-06-23T00:19:00.000-07:00

My little sister is kathak graduating today. In a sense. She's performing at Stein auditorium at Habitat Centre, and doing a choreography my guru ji (the best guru ji in the WORLD, btw) calls jaan leva. As I type this, I'm waiting for the nail paint on her very tiny little fingernails to dry off. I never knew her finger nails were that tiny until I did this. Its such a typical elder sister younger sister thing to be doing, and we've never done it until today, the day of her big performance, and a couple of months before she leaves for the foreign lands.

I'm even wearing a magnata (magenta, as pronounced by my maths tutor) sari to mark the occasion. Sigh. All senti, this post.

Bleh
Aqseer

Caste Consensus

2010-06-22T09:23:00.001-07:00

Should a caste consensus be carried out or not? The Headlines Today anchor says that it reinforces the relevance of caste in our society today, something we say we want to rid ourselves of. I think that that’s a real pity, because the argument in weak and crude; in fact, much stronger arguments could be made against the caste census, such as the ones in this piece- http://www.business-standard.com/india/news/surjit-s-bhalla-dishonesty-in-caste-census/395687/ What we do need is a census that highlights the real economic and social depression of alleged backward classes in India. It would save this country and its people a lot of resources and internal conflict if reservations went to the deserving. Some of us have been crying ourselves hoarse, asking for economic reservations rather than caste based ones, a properly conducted census with clear aims and focus is what we need. Not some inflammatory and miserably under thought rhetoric on national TV. You, the media, have a powerful tool at your disposal, please use it constructively.

Chaps

2010-04-29T07:19:00.000-07:00

My father is to blame, really. He’s the reason I can’t get any place on time. There’s something magical about getting ready with music playing in the back. It’s so personal. You, your clothes, your chosen tool of de-odourisation, your appearance, your music.

That’s how I remember getting dressed for Air Force parties as a child, mum ready well before time, tightening the screws on her big earrings while pa sashayed from one room to the other, head bopping to the dulcet tunes of some or the other song, winding his big pagdi round and round to the beat of JJ Cale, or maybe BB king. Occasionally, we’d play tug of war with the long winding piece of cloth that seemed to magically end up on his head, secured only by five shiny all pins. The smell of talc and Chaps in the air, mum giving herself a once over in the mirror, straightening pleats and perhaps mumbling under her breath, sneaking peeks at the clock while papa confidently assured her he’d be ready in five.

It might’ve lowered mum’s life expectancy a wee little bit, but it’s given me a store of wonderful audio visual olfactory memories. There is something very poignant about your parents lightly bickering with each other about stuff like being late for parties. How the papa will try and make it up to the mama by complimenting her or maroing some old hindi dialogue, giving us little ones good reason to giggle in the backseat.

That whole unchanging sequence has left behind a legacy where junior-senior Sodhi takes about twice as long to get out of the house as strictly necessary. How can you bring yourself to stop Nothing Man, or Three o Clock Blues, or Us or If you think you need some lovin’ half way through? You can’t. And I don’t want to.

The Humanity of Dawn

2010-03-31T02:13:00.000-07:00

At the twilight hour of dawn
The two legged beasts
Become less than-
Reclaim the land they built
With their human, feeling feet
Lunge on forlorn park benches
Feeling air instead of exhaust
Stand under trees, look up at leaves
The axe resting a while
The molestation put on hold

The humanity of dawn
Doesn't last very long
But the two legged beasts
Become less than

"Rape" as metaphor

2009-12-27T22:53:00.001-08:00

http://contexts.org/socimages/2009/12/18/politics-and-the-rape-metaphor/

The word's everywhere, even I'm guilty of using it to indicate that I'm not prepared for an exam, or I haven't practised enough to perform on stage blah blah. But is throwing that word around lightly justifiable? And what does its rampant use say, if anything at all?

What is the word rape a metaphor for? I don't think its usage is gendered, at least not in my immediate environment (i.e., on our campus). Thus I don't agree with some of the theories touched upon in the post that is linked above.

But I do think that its usage trivializes the crime, and in some cases, such as in the context of winning a game (our basketball team raped theirs, man!) or outsmarting someone (she was trying to argue in favour of xyz, I completely raped her) it lends a dangerous connotation to the actual act. One that associates rape with victory, greater power, success and celebration. Doesn't such usage also legitimize rape to an extent, if only at a subconscious level?

Yes, I know its not meant that way. But Yellow Submarine was not meant the way Helter Skelter understood it. And the makers of Gossip Girl certainly didn't think that a "vella" girl in a Hyderabadi high school would create an account on facebook, undertake the 'tremendous burden' of being one and deeply hurt her friends.

Meaning to say that such usage would a) hurt a victim of rape very profoundly and b) let some sadly misinformed kid somewhere feel that its cool to commit rape. Doesn't sound likely, but you never know.

How much this sucks

2009-12-13T14:21:00.000-08:00

People are making music, people my age, spinning at MOS, playing in bands, making music, and I'm sitting her, typing out a completely unoriginal, patently useless CPC project cause that's how my prof wants it. What could suck more?

I want to dance. Play. Write. Sing. Also research and write academic stuff, but if its exciting. Like jurisprudential crap. Very very interesting stuff, that. Or policy stuff. Not the procedure that needs to be followed when making an application for admission of additional evidence at appellate stage.

Bleh.

FML.

And FINALLY, some hard facts.

2009-11-19T02:03:00.000-08:00

For the "women can't drive" bunch- http://www.sptimes.com/2007/01/19/Worldandnation/Bad_female_drivers_It.shtml
For the "women can't fly" bunch- http://www.af.mil/information/bios/bio.asp?bioID=10439

Ooohh today is a happy day.

More coming. I promise you that.

Abusing the "I am a woman" Card. Stop doing it!

2009-11-18T02:16:00.001-08:00

http://news.in.msn.com/national/article.aspx?cp-documentid=3420454

Women in combat seems to be the flavour of the week. I missed the show, but apparently it was the subject of NDTV's big fight yesterday. One argument that people tell me is made a lot is that women expect to have their cake and eat it too. So they join the forces but then ask not to be posted to risky terrain where they'll be surrounded by 50 jawans who might not be able to handle it well.

Now I'm not saying you should chuck female officers/butchers/auto drivers/bus drivers in the deep end and say- 'hey, you wanted the job, you got it, now deal'.

Throw 'em a line. Its going to be a long long while before women in this country feel safe anywhere, especially on top of a glacier surrounded only by men. And you can't blame them for it.

But if you want those opportunities ladies, you gotta stop expecting to be treated with kid gloves. Cause otherwise you can look forward to continue being denied equal opportunity on the ground that you can't handle the pressure. And I'm frankly very sick of hearing that. I'd think it would be the other way around. Entering the boxing ring, I felt the need to work harder than any other guy in that room, to show that I deserved to be given the opportunity to box. I felt the need to over-compensate. I'm not saying that that should be expected of women. But you're going to be a big pain in your own rear end if you expect to be treated like you're made of glass and be given an AK 47 too.

And lets be real. If you followed that link and read the comments people have made, you'll know what I mean when I say the psyche of both men and women in this country needs to go a LONG way. Women need to stop seeing themselves as people that need protecting, men need to get over their "women are naturally less physically, emotionally and genetically capable of handling combat" mindset. Having said that, realistically speaking (in India), the male psyche will change only when women start pushing themselves harder and deny them the opportunity of making comments like those. And just talking about it ain't gonna help beyond a point.

Morning namaaz

2009-10-25T16:55:00.000-07:00

Pulling a laaaatttee nighter for crim law end term today. Highlight- apart from the almost rat-invasion, hearing the morning namaaz. Its funny how there always seems to be a mosque around, no matter where I am putting my head to rest. I like the sound. Its soothing, transportational and somewhat hypnotic.

My grandparents house in Hyderabad, we used to have a baby mosque right in front. (Also a mental hospital and tuberculosis facility down the street. Funky locality.) As the house grew older and changed colours (it is currently a VIRULENT shade of blue) the mosque grew, until it turned into a huge structure with loudspeakers almost edging into our windows.

So when the family gathered, there'd be a clamour to secure rooms farthest from the source of omg-isitfouralready-butiwantto-SLEEP!

Must get back to chargesheets.

PS- hols in two days!

Moo-jic

2009-10-14T04:30:00.000-07:00

Country makes me feel- happy, sunny, sad
Metal- takes care of any anger i'm feeling
emo- the above, plus if i feel like being morose, the best.
classic rock- for all occasions
classical- hmmmm, difficult to classify. a lot to do with memories for me.
indie- just regular
blues- oddly, rarely for when i actually have the blues. more for a bit of that rhythm and mellow, relaxed mood i cant find words to describe. well words other than those :P

Music. What would I do without it. It would put most therapists to shame.

Aliyah

2009-09-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

I really felt like playing this morning. I don't do that a lot in law school. I think this was the fifth time in two years that I actually dusted her off and played. It feels good. I'm now looking for help reading tabs.

Songs I want to play so far
a)Morning yearning by Ben Harper
b) The Sky is falling by Sajid Akbar

Aliyah. I love that name. Close contender- Abla, meaning full bodied. But Aliyah just sounds so much better. It means sky, heaven some shit like that. What the hell, form over substance any day :P

I think i'm deviating from the mandate I'd set for my blog when I started off. But I think I'll settle for whatever I feel like writing, cause atleast I'll be writing.

PPS (for those of you who have not read Daddy-Long-Legs, PLEASE do) I think Aliyah and I are going to be very happy together! :D

My first angsty law school post

2009-09-29T12:54:00.000-07:00

Its about time, eh?

I was a big deal in school, and it wasnt a small school, so you cant give me the big fish in a small pond thing. And now, I'm far from studly. I study my butt off, but am not smart about the way I work. So I don't do well. It sucks. I can't tell you how much.

Essentially, law school isn't working out so well for me. I'm not the person people tally scores with, cause I'm a middle feeder. I don't know how people see me, but I'm willing to bet they don't think I'm the smartest or most hard working person around, even though I am both smart and hard working.

But you know what? It doesn't matter. For one, it can't. If it did, I'd never be happy. And law school isn't worth my happiness. No grades, competitions, or external sources of validation are worth my happiness.

And why should they be? Do professors here, or class mates or college mates know me better or do I? Obviously, the latter.

Besides, in three more years, I know I'm going to get what I want.

Another thing. Relationships here, so transient. Just when you think you've finally found someone you can rely on, off they go. And it happens with such a frequency that I think people even stop fighting it. They just let you drift away, and you do the same.

My best friend and I sometimes draw up lists of people that we actually trust and count as true friends. The list never goes beyond 5 or 6. But hey, who needs a whole entourage?

The lesson that I've learnt is that external means of self validation are all very well. I was the kid that wanted to win, I still am. I like achieving, I like putting up good performances, I like praise. But the absence of the above isn't going to make me feel like shit, cause that'd just be stupid.

I am, and will always be studly :D

Awesome lassi and Assorted Delhi-isms

2009-08-27T06:17:00.000-07:00

Went to the most awesome Lajpat nagar market to help dad with some shopping. Found that this market, like Karol Bagh, is dominated by sardars and punjabi paraphernalia. The best by product of this dominance is the most AMAZING lassi I've gulped down in too long a while. So creamy. Just the right amount of sweet. Huge, sweating steel glass, the only way to have lassi, in my opinion. So frothy. Mmmm.

Also, very decent kachori. And paneer bread pakora, for the adventurous. The bread pakora really anchored my stomach, but the chutney was beyond brilliant.

Sigh. Contemtment, thy name be small halwai ki dukan. (If you want to find this shop and try the lassi, which is something I very strongly recommend, just sniff the air a few metres off the main entrance to the market. The shop will reveal itself to you. There are two. I went to the one more tucked inside.)

On a different note, by jove I heart dilli. Kya style hai baap, logon ka. They're aggressive, but aaaa how they talk. Feel aati hai, tagdi waali. How they sell. And the city! Wide roads, awesome street food (BUNTAAAA! Tandoori momos!), monuments alongside flyovers (which is probably not so good for the monuments), a decent amount of greenery, sarojni... sigh.

Been a long time

2009-08-24T02:59:00.000-07:00

Apparently I last posted on april 29th. Shame on me. So many things to write about.
the contempt of court law in this country
"meat-ing"
the joy of watching corny movies
how great it feels that the sister, the mater, pater and I are in the same house for a coupla days
how scary credit cards can be
discovering Delhi
souffle! not the dessert, karan's dog- souffle

So. I didnt know this, but apparently, the contempt of courts Act allows proceedings to be intiated in a number of situations, one of which is... drum roll... SCANDALIZING the court. Im sorry, what? So if I flash you, or am drunk around you, or dont double over enough, you get to intiate proceedings against me?

I intend to write a more.. ahem, academic piece about this, but basically, I think it serves the end of the Act to limit liability for "obstruction of justice". Maybe then we wont have judges giving railway officials hell for denying them first class tickets on the ground that it lowers the majesty of the court, and therefore amounts to contempt.

Its not the colonial era anymore. Remember?

PS- had a lonnng discussion with a fellow law schoolite about this, but would like your views, and the question is not about the magazine, or literal. To quote fellow law schoolite, its about the socio-cultural construct of male v. female sexuality. The question is- what is the female equivalent of a playboy? Slut?

More on the big G

2009-03-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

I mean god, y'all.

God = optimism. Optimism = god. Things are a blessing if you chose to seem them that way. My extended two weeks of internship in Bangalore are a blessing in diguise, cause I'll get access to the library when its empty and I don't have to come up with devious schemes to get photocopies.

Amen.

Post script- forced sis to accompany me to a shopping trip today. Score! (it is almost impossible to get the young 'un to go shopping with me. I'm usually painfully, exasperatingly indecisive) Also, hashmi for 35 bucks. Lutera man in Bombay sold to me for Rs. 120 Argh. No mrp on the package. Hm.

Kick Like a Girl

2009-02-26T21:11:00.000-08:00

In the ring, a familiar refrain always was- don't hit like a girl Aqseer, hit harder! (em, what?) The flip side was that boys/men dared not lose to girls or cry, for fear of being thought of as sissies.

Kick Like a Girl is a really cute documentary that busts these two gender stereotypes, and how. About the "Mighty Cheetahs", an eight year old girl's soccer team, the movie shows how the boys, and their parents, learn than kicking like a girl can be a good thing too!

The Mighty Cheetahs are so sick of "creaming" all the girls teams, that they decide to sample tougher competition (itself a bit of a cliche). So enter the boy's division they do, with confident young lads thinking they got it easy.

They so haven't.

These tiny masses of grit and energy go to work, and end up winning 5 out of nine matches, tying two, and losing two. (as I remember the numbers) Guess who won the series.

Along the way, a ref responds to a foul against one of the girls by saying something to the effect of- learn to handle it if you wanna play in the boys division. Em, fouls are fouls. The girls respond by saying- "that made us want to win even more, so we did!"

They cried, some of those girls. That didn't make them any less capable sportspersons. They were better team players, they passed better and the tears DID NOT come in the way. At all. In fact, I think they might have angered fellow team mates and made them want to play tougher, better.

There's this one point in the movie where the coach's daughter says- "they used to tell me, you kick like a girl. Well... I AM a girl!" (Hoot hoot hoot! :) )

The film ends with clips of the oppposing team members answering the question, "what would you say if someone told you you kick like a girl?" The answer-"I'd thank them!"

Guess why the film made me cry.
(Yeah. It made "boxer bhai" cry. I cry. A lot. I don't break stuff, or drink to deal with it. Crying wins this won. Oh, and just cause I cry doesn't automatically mean I can't bust your ass if you mess with me. :) )

About the new name

2009-02-26T10:59:00.000-08:00

Seeing the way my blog is going, I decided it would be apt to call it - "the fire of hell, considered as punishment for sinners".

Lance Black's Speech. Or not.

2009-02-26T02:50:00.000-08:00

www.queerty.com/did-india-de-gayify-dustin-lance-blacks-oscar-speech-20090225/
I'm pretty sure they did, cause I dont remember Black's speech being half as moving as the women at feministing.com say they found it.
Now I know why. Really, what is left to say? This sucks.

(just watched the unedited version on youtube. It IS a moving speech. He tells gay and lesbian kids that no matter what people say, god loves them and they're beautiful. Also promises that they will have equal rights across the US. ARGH.)

Would Art be as Much Fun if they Didn't Name their Works?

2009-02-26T00:40:00.000-08:00

Case in point- "Chef to Go". Or even "Bottoms Up". (both available at allposters.com)

In a way the caption (or title) for a piece of art serves as a reference point for the beholder. A clue to the insides of the artist's head. It gives you a hint of the artist's view, and you're free to interpret that work the way you want. But sometimes, you wouldn't understand the work without the caption. Does that make art "smaller" or less effective in any way?

I don't think so. I think its just testimony to the very nature of art... how it can be subtle enough or symbolic enough to escape being understood. Just because its not that easy to understand what Murakami is trying to convey doesn't mean writing as a tool of communication is ineffective. Its the way that you chose to employ the tool that decides its effectiveness.

Its easier getting away with obscurity where art is concerned though.

Why does a 50 year old's morality apply, in ALL spheres, to a 20 something's?

2009-02-25T21:49:00.000-08:00

Think about it. Twenty to thirty year olds are adults too. Credit us with the sense to know what is decent, and what people of a certain age group can handle. http://groups.google.com/group/greenyouth/msg/91c668142e58c20c?pli=1

Maybe some of us are forgetting Indian culture, or "Indian" values of decency. But heck, who defines whats Indian? People from the last generation, or the generation before that, or the generation before that?

Their culture is what Indian culture WAS. Which is not to say that our generation strikes a particularly appreciable balance between traditional Indianess and the far more accessible, and aggressive UK, US culture. It doesn't, we don't.

So I'm not saying that harbingers of "Indian culture" should put away their sitars, or sarees (the saree is actually a garment that the British forced us into adopting, btw). PLEASE, I do want to know more about my own, uninfluenced by Gwen Stefani, culture. I AM ashamed I know English better than I know Punjabi.

But while you do try and get me to learn my mother tongue, appreciate that "Indian" values are no longer the same as they were in your time. So if people with a different idea of decency decide to make a sensitive movie for a select audience that they think can handle it, keep your nose out of it. We don't destroy your harmoniums just because its not "Indian" enough for us.

Modi's Gujarat

2009-02-25T21:33:00.000-08:00

I do not pretend to know much about politics. I am especially ignorant of Modi's capers. Of course, I know he can't boast of being very secular.
Two fellow interns at the office share the (apparently) widely held view in Gujarat that - Modi is a workaholic messiah for us, our welfare. Which I'm sure he is. But here's an interesting piece on the subject of secularism in the state. http://kafila.org/2007/04/03/cows-women-and-hindu-manhood/

Our Beloved Chief Justice

2009-02-25T21:27:00.001-08:00

"Anuradha Roy of Permanent Black sent out the following:

On the 9th of February 2008, remarks by two eminent judiciary members the Chief Justice of Karnataka, Cyriac Joseph and State Human Rights Commission Chairperson Justice S.R.Nayak, stating that immodest dressing was the cause of increasing crimes against women were reported in the press.

The Hon’ble Chief Justice further elaborated his statement by mentioning that “Nowadays, women wear such kind of dresses even in temples and churches that when we go to places of worship, instead of meditating on God, we end up meditating on the person before us” and that the “provocative dresses that women wear in buses” put the “men travelling in the buses” in awkward situations and hence “women must dress modestly.”

The Chairperson, State Human Rights Commission, speaking on ‘Human Rights and the Lawyers Role’, gave his opinion on the Mumbai New Year molestation issue, when two women had their dresses torn off by a mob
of men outside a nightclub: “Yes, men are bad… But who asked them (the women) to venture out in the night…Women should not have gone out in the night and when they do, there is no point in complaining that men touched them and hit them. Youth are destroying our culture for momentary satisfaction.”

Anuradha sent this out without comments. I understand her mood. I’m done too. No witty commentary, no smart asides. I’m just plain exhausted."

-http://kafila.org/2008/02/20/judging-women/

Of Sparkly Autos and Musical Bigotry

2009-02-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

So I think firang music is all or nothing. Either its all electronica, or its all rock. Or all pop or all country or all punk or all "iron and wine-y". Know what I mean? Which is why I have such rigid taste in that department.

On the other hand, Indian music does a lot of blending. Any recent AR Rahman track will reveal multiple layers of sound, and textures, genres, flavours of sound. Its not all or nothing. Its a superb mix of a lot of things.

Even Chekele by Avial. There's some funky electronica inspired stuff going on there, but I dont mind. Not one bit. Heck, I love that track.

...........

Autos in Delhi have gone funky. Or funkier than I remember. So I get into this auto, and I'm flanked on the right by Priety Zinta with very silly beads in her hair, and on the other by Priyanka Chopra in a lehenga with her nose in the air (to give the viewer a stunning view of her sparkly blue eyeliner).

My sister tells me she got into an auto once that was lined with pictures of former president Kalam, and that the driver had hair exactly like his.
I even came across Winslet and Caprio in their immensely identifiable Titanic pose on the back rest in one auto.

Bangalore on the other hand contents itself with fancy fur or shiny interior decor.
Sometimes even disco lights. Them chaps in England would charge for that, but here, its on the house man. :D

:s

2009-02-24T22:27:00.000-08:00

http://www.hindu.com/2009/02/25/stories/2009022550050100.htm

Annnnndddd the Oscar goes to..

2009-02-24T01:51:00.000-08:00

I swear to you, Kate Winslet is the most beautiful woman I've seen in a long time. Was especially so when Ledger's family was talking about him.

Jackman was actually quite cute I thought. I was pretty shocked at all the antics, but they're definitely preferable to dull speeches.

Wee for Slumdog!

Such escapism I indulge in... Swarovski crystals ka shining curtain and glitz everywhere instead of the news, or reading something "socially relevant" etc.

So the SC ruled that bloggers will be liable for comments from other people on their posts. No more allowing hateful comments, or your behind goes to court. http://kafila.org/2009/02/24/supreme-court-on-liability-of-bloggers/

Sigh. Although "fair comment" should still work... right?

Meanwhile, learnt something yesterday. The result counts at work. And the way you present your work. You could've worked like a dog, but shoddy presentation, and you're done for. Give em what they want, they way they want it. Down to the frills and the wrapping.

Going to try and watch the Hamlet and the Clown Prince (I think its called). Theatre... Finally!!! Life, is good :)

And Oday to ze Moon

2009-02-12T20:48:00.000-08:00

Me mater and pater bought me running shoes. With the cost of the purchase weighing down on me head, I decided to paisa vasoolo. (All lies, I want to lose weight. Hehe. Actually, no. I want to lose flab. There be difference. Vital difference) Anyhoo.

So six thirty am, when the mater rises, is too early for me. But me mater be quite the persuader. So I hauled posterior at ten thirty last night and ventured forth into the moonlight.

You know what I like about the moon? It doesn't hurt the eyes, its pretty and calm and spotty, it changes shapes
and most importantly...

it goes wherever you go. Like hutch puppy. Everywhere man! I'd be thinking of something slightly negative, and look up, and there it'd be, solid and true and calming to boot.

Awesome stuff.

Running is awesome. I've never liked it, as a form of exercise. Too boring, I've always though it is. But its kinda nice when you can master the art of adjusting ear phones while running.

All hail the pod. I think apple's a bit complacent about the pod though. They do only so much to make it worth all the hype.

Chalo ji
very random
"And in this moment I am happy"
Aqseer

Go Here for a Laugh.

2009-01-31T02:01:00.000-08:00

http://www.jesus-is-savior.com/Evils%20in%20America/Feminism/feminism_is_evil.htm

This I did not write, but everyone should read- Its on Frida

2009-01-31T00:45:00.000-08:00

The Trouble with Frida Kahlo by Stephanie Mencimer
(emphasis mine)

If only I had been born a decade or two later. As a 6th grader in 1981, instead of enduring taunts about my emerging mustache, I could have found myself in high style, mocking those poor stylish Hollywood blondes who are now struggling to grow peach fuzz as they mimic the style of the late Mexican painter-cum-icon Frida Kahlo, who was so proud of her luxurious facial hair that she painted it right on to her self-portraits. My self-esteem could have been bolstered by any number of Frida storybooks, paper dolls, and art kits now available for millennial children in need of a unibrowed role model. Thanks to an extraordinarily enduring run of "Fridamania," the mustache and the unibrow have become vogue--particularly among museum-goers visiting a recent exhibit of Kahlo's paintings (along with those of Georgia O'Keeffe and Emily Carr) at Washington's National Museum of Women in the Arts (NMWA). Sporting their own unibrows, they leave with new Frida totebags full of Frida memorabilia: Frida watches, the "martyr mouse pad," dolls, full-length wall hangings, books, pocketbook mirrors, photo boxes, and dressing screens.

Never has a woman with a mustache been so revered--or so marketed--as Frida Kahlo. Like a female Che Guevara, she has become a cottage industry. In the past year, Volvo has used her self-portraits to sell cars to Hispanics, the U.S. Postal Service put her on a stamp, and Time magazine put her on its cover. There have been Frida look-alike contests, Frida operas, plays, documentaries, novels, a cookbook, and now, an English-language movie. Mexican beauty Salma Hayek recently debuted as Frida at the Cannes film festival (reportedly playing the role mustachioed, despite protests from Hollywood). Hayek, who wrestled the role away from Madonna and Jennifer Lopez, will join a star-studded cast that includes Latin Lothario Antonio Banderas.

The Kahlo cult has been well documented since it first emerged in the early 1990s. Back then, the artist was making headlines because her paintings were breaking records, fetching up to $1 million at auction, thanks in no small part to Madonna, an avid collector who claims to "identify with her pain and her sadness." Today, those paintings have wildly surpassed that mark, breaking $10 million--a price that puts Kahlo in a league with Picasso, Pollock, and Warhol.

What looked like a fad a decade ago has only grown stronger as Kahlo has been embraced as a poster child for every possible politically correct cause. By 1998, Cosmopolitan magazine was urging women to read Kahlo's biography as one of 10 ways to "celebrate National Women's Month." In a new book of essays celebrating resistance to the evils of global capitalism, John Berger writes an homage to Kahlo saying, "That she became a world legend is in part due to the fact that . . . under the new world order, the sharing of pain is one of the essential preconditions for a refinding of dignity and hope."

The fledgling NMWA has broken all box-office records with its recent show, drawing more than 28,000 visitors, in large part due to the Kahlo pilgrims. Susan Fisher Sterling, NMWA's chief curator, says "Each group seems to find some validation in Kahlo. In some ways we're obsessed with ourselves and sexuality. Kahlo was very much a part of that narcissistic body culture." Kahlo's art is to painting what the memoir is to literature--self-absorbed, confessional, and hard to dismiss as a flash in the pan. "Frida Kahlo has been the right artist at the right time," says Gregorio Luke, director of the Museum of Latin American Art (MoLAA) in California.

Feminists might celebrate Kahlo's ascent to greatness--if only her fame were related to her art. Instead, her fans are largely drawn by the story of her life, for which her paintings are often presented as simple illustration. Fridamaniacs are inspired by Kahlo's tragic tale of physical suffering--polio at six, grisly accident at 18--and fascinated with her glamorous friends and lovers, among them photographer and Soviet spy Tina Modotti and Leon Trotsky. It's the stuff that drives Hollywood, and the kind of story that has become de rigueur for entering the pantheon of "great" artists.

But, like a game of telephone, the more Kahlo's story has been told, the more it has been distorted, omitting uncomfortable details that show her to be a far more complex and flawed figure than the movies and cookbooks suggest. This elevation of the artist over the art diminishes the public understanding of Kahlo's place in history and overshadows the deeper and more disturbing truths in her work. Even more troubling, though, is that by airbrushing her biography, Kahlo's promoters have set her up for the inevitable fall so typical of women artists, that time when the contrarians will band together and take sport in shooting down her inflated image, and with it, her art.

Entering the Boy's Club

The inflation of the artist over the art is certainly not unique to Kahlo. As the old saying goes, there is no great art, only great artists. Art history has focused on the personalities of the artist as far back as 1435, and even more so after the arrival of Caravaggio, who was forced to flee Rome in 1606 after stabbing a young man to death in a dispute over a tennis score. Caravaggio helped cement the romantic ideal of the artist as troubled rogue and bohemian who flouts the norms of polite society. That artistic tradition has made good fodder for screenwriters; the lives of Jackson Pollock, Jean-Michael Basquiat, van Gogh, and Michelangelo have all been immortalized on film. Implicit, too, in these biopics is the notion that artists must suffer to experience the deep emotion that infuses their art. "The story of great artists is that they suffer during their lives and then their art is recognized as great after their death," says Margaret Lindauer, professor at Arizona State University and author of Devouring Frida: The Art History and Popular Celebrity of Frida Kahlo.

Until the 1970s, though, there were almost no "great" women artists, and virtually no literature describing where and how they might have fit into the history of Western art. As the feminist movement gathered steam, women sought to rectify that problem, but it was a difficult project. Historically, women's limited opportunities meant there were few women artists to begin with, and even fewer whose work had been collected and could be definitively attributed to them. (Male artists and scholars have, over the centuries, made a habit of appropriating the work of talented women or attributing it to men.) Once scholars did identify significant women artists, they had to demonstrate that those artists met the male standards for admission to the canon--i.e., they had to suffer and be mostly ignored during their lifetimes. This being the male canon, it was also helpful if the emerging female artists were beautiful and had glamorous friends.

Kahlo made a perfect candidate. She didn't lop off an ear, but Kahlo had a horrific story. In 1925, when she was 18, she was riding a bus in Mexico City when it was struck by a trolley car. A metal handrail pierced her abdomen, exiting through her vagina. Her spinal column was broken in three places. Her collarbone, some ribs, and her pelvis were broken, and her right leg was fractured in 11 places. Her foot was dislocated and crushed. No one thought she would live, much less walk again, but, after a month in the hospital, she went home. Encased for months in plaster body casts, Kahlo began to paint lying in bed with a special easel rigged up by her mother. With the help of a mirror, Kahlo began painting her trademark subject: herself. Of the 150 or so of her works that have survived, most are self-portraits. As she later said, "I paint myself because I am so often alone, because I am the subject I know best."

As if her bodily injuries weren't compelling enough, Kahlo's drama--as well as her art--was enhanced by what she referred to as the second accident in her life: Diego Rivera, the famous Mexican muralist to whom she was married for 25 years. Rivera was a notorious womanizer, a habit he did not abandon after marrying Kahlo, his third wife. Legend has it that for American women traveling to Mexico, having sex with Rivera was considered as essential as visiting Tenochtitlan. The 300-pound Rivera even had an affair with Kahlo's sister Christina. (Kahlo, in turn, had her own affairs with men and women.)

Both Kahlo and Rivera were active in the Communist Party and Mexican politics. More importantly, when Kahlo met Rivera, he was a leading proponent of a post-revolutionary movement known as Mexicanidad, which rejected Western European influences and the "easel art" of the aristocracy in favor of all things considered "authentically" Mexican, such as peasant handicrafts and pre-Columbian art. Kahlo also became a diehard adherent, adopting her now-famous traditional Mexican costumes--long skirts and dresses, which also had the practical effect of covering up her polio-withered leg. Rejecting, too, conventional standards of beauty, Kahlo not only didn't pluck her unibrow or mustache, she groomed them with special tools and even penciled them darker.

Likewise, her paintings, rooted in 19th-century Mexican portraiture, ingeniously incorporated elements of Mexican pop culture and pre-Columbian primitivism that, in the 1930s, had never been done before. Usually small, intimate paintings that contrasted with the grand mural tradition of her time, her work was often done on sheet metal rather than canvas, in the style of Mexican street artists who painted retablos, or small votive paintings that offer thanks to the Virgin Mary or a saint for a miraculous deliverance from misfortune.

The paintings often reflect her tumultuous relationship with Rivera, as well as the anguish of her ever-deteriorating health. Between the time of her accident and her death, Kahlo had more than 30 surgeries, and a gangrenous leg was eventually amputated. She dramatized the pain in her paintings, while carefully cultivating a self-image as a "heroic sufferer."

While Rivera was painting murals at the Detroit Institute of Arts in 1932, Kahlo had a miscarriage, which prompted her to paint some of the most gruesome of the self-portraits that later sealed her reputation as one of the most original painters of her time. During those months in Detroit, she broke taboos and painted her miscarriage as well as a work entitled "My Birth," a startling look at a partially covered woman's body with Kahlo's bloodied head bursting out of the vagina. (Madonna, naturally, now owns that one.) In his autobiography, Rivera said, "Frida began work on a series of masterpieces which had no precedent in the history of art--paintings which exalted the feminine qualities of endurance of truth, reality, cruelty, and suffering (what makes these qualities so FEMININE? SUFFERING??? ENDURANCE? so we're a bunch of weeping willows shielding ourselves from ever present pain? or enduring this pain instead of countering it like we are expected to? or are we so sensitive that everything around us hurts us? this is obviously me, aqseer, talking). Never before had a woman put such agonized poetry on canvas as Frida did at this time in Detroit."

While Kahlo's work never attracted the attention her husband's did, it did win some critical acclaim. The great surrealist Andre Breton came to Mexico and fell in love with Kahlo's work (and Kahlo), calling it "a ribbon around a bomb." He arranged for her to show her work in New York in 1938--one of only two shows during her lifetime. Eventually, though, her failing health left her addicted to painkillers and alcohol. She continued to paint, but the addiction destroyed the controlled, delicate brushwork that had characterized her best work. In 1954, suffering from pneumonia, Kahlo went to a Communist march to protest the U.S. subversion of the left-wing Guatemalan government. Four days later, she died in what may or may not have been a suicide.

Reviving the Cult of Personality

Kahlo largely disappeared from the mainstream art world for almost 30 years, until Hayden Herrera's famous 1983 biography. When it was published, there wasn't a single monograph of Kahlo's work to show people what it looked like, but the biography, which could have been the basis for a Univision telenovela, sparked a Frida frenzy. By 1991, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was using her self-portrait to advertise an exhibit on the side of New York City buses.

Today, Kahlo's legend is much more akin to that of Evita Peron than of van Gogh. (It's no coincidence that when Madonna was unable to play Kahlo in a movie 10 years ago, she went on to star as Evita.) Among all the Kahlo tchotchkes now on sale at the NMWA gift shop, only her self-portraits adorn the fridge magnets, not "My Birth," or "A Few Small Nips," a disturbing image of a bleeding woman lying on a bed with a man standing over her wielding a stiletto. Kahlo's visage has become a symbol in its own right--a trend evident in the number of artists now creating tributes to her. Chicano artists in California have been incorporating her image into their murals since the 1970s in celebrations of their heritage. But the practice has become so common that the Japanese performance artist and drag queen Yasumasa Morimura recently did a show called "An Inner Dialogue with Frida Kahlo," in which he painted himself as Kahlo self-portraits.

Plenty of people have been thrilled by Fridamania, and not just because it may represent a feminist triumph. "I don't necessarily think that the excessive popularity of an artist is a bad thing," says MoLAA's Gregorio Luke. "You can agree or disagree with the sideshow, the marketing of it all. But we need a younger generation to get involved in the art world, and she draws them in. Young people dress like her. It's a fad, but a welcome one."

He might also mention that it's a profitable one, as Kahlo's icon status has driven up the value of her work, giving museums something besides the ubiquitous Impressionist shows to draw large crowds and gin up gift-shop sales. But Fridamania does have its downside, revealing particular dangers for the work of women artists who are treated as phenomena rather than simply as artists.
Kahlo's move into the cult of personality is a familiar pattern in which women stop being the artist and become the subject of art, transformed from a powerful creative force to an ideal of quietly suffering femininity. In her book Women, Art and Society, Whitney Chadwick traces the trend back to the 16th century, with stories like that of Marietta Robusti, the eldest daughter of the Venetian painter Tintoretto. Robusti worked full-time in her father's workshop for 15 years, developing skills that were considered indistinguishable from the great master's. Her fame as a portrait painter earned her the respect of emperors and the devotion of her father. After her death during childbirth at age 30, Robusti became a subject of fascination for other artists and writers, not because of her great work, but because of her tragic ending. According to Chadwick, Romantic artists of the 19th century transformed Robusti from a gifted prodigy into "a tubercular heroine passively expiring as she stimulated her father to new creative heights."
Some feminist art historians have struggled against such reworkings of women artists, but Kahlo's pop-culture mania revives it with a vengeance. Kahlo certainly facilitated this process by painting herself as the quietly suffering female. In every possible sense, the mass-culture Kahlo embodies that now-poisonous term: victimhood. She was the victim of patriarchal culture, victim of an unfaithful husband, and simply the victim of a horrific accident. But that's probably one reason why she's so popular. "People like to see women as victims," says Mary Garrard, a professor of art history at American University.

Just Like a Woman

The art establishment's demand for tragic bio as a prerequisite for greatness has given talented women artists wings of wax. Take the case of Artemisia Gentileschi, whom The New York Times dubbed "this season's Œit' girl," after an exhibition of her work opened in February at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Born in Rome in 1593, Artemisia was the daughter of Orazio Gentileschi, one of Caravaggio's most important followers. Artemisia is the first woman artist in the history of Western art whose historical significance is unquestionable. She also had a good story. In 1612, she was raped by one of her father's assistants, which prompted an O.J.-style trial during which the teenage Artemisia was tortured with thumbscrews to establish the truth of her statements. Despite her ordeal, she went on to become famous as an artist during her lifetime, and was the first woman admitted to the famed Accademia dell'Arte del Disegno in Florence. She was one of feminist scholars' first rediscoveries in the 1970s. But, as is the pattern, much of Artemisia's recent celebrity has not come from her art but from her story, which has inspired a number of plays, movies, and books, including Susan Vreeland's recent novel, The Passion of Artemisia, and the play "Lapis Blue Blood Red," which opened in New York in mid-February.

Unlike the fawning reverence accorded Kahlo, though, Artemisia's work is now taking something of a beating, particularly from the Met exhibit, which is curated with a highly skeptical view of her contributions to Western art. Met curator and spokesman Keith Christiansen has said that feminists, preoccupied with her biography and victimhood, have exaggerated Artemisia's achievement. She is, in his estimation, a mediocre artist. Yet Christiansen seems to be reacting more to the pop-culture inflation of the artist than to the art itself.

Her celebrity notwithstanding, Artemisia is an important figure in art history, having painted women in a way no one ever had before her. Her "Judith Slaying Holofernes," for instance, shows a muscular Judith hacking off Holofernes's head. Previous paintings of the story by men (and there were many) had always portrayed a squeamish Judith taking a gingerly approach to her grisly task, as befitting their view of women. If nothing else, Artemisia could do something men of the Accademia were not allowed to: She painted women from nude female models, making her all-nude paintings of Susanna and Cleopatra rare works for that time.

The backlash over Artemisia illustrates an artistic double standard: The female artist needs a compelling tragic biography to enter the male canon, yet her work is then trivialized because of that biography--something that rarely happens to men. (have I written yet about how women have to do this crazy juggling act of remaining "feminine", matching and then SURPASSING masculine standards in order to have people acknowledge that they might be equal to the task men have monopolized?) Critics have complained about the overemphasis on biography in art marketing by promoters of van Gogh. But as Garrard points out, nobody ever says van Gogh is overrated. "It's the women's artists' reputations that are always vulnerable," she says.

The Rise Before the Fall

Kahlo will no doubt suffer the same fate as Artemisia--although it's a testament to her work that the backlash hasn't come sooner. At the same time, Kahlo's work might benefit from a clearer examination that focuses less on her painting as autobiography. The NMWA exhibit is a good example of how the current view of Kahlo often fails to acknowledge that perhaps her images transcend autobiography and speak to universal themes, as all great art should. Walk through the NMWA's exhibit, and you'll see that even Kahlo's still- life paintings are treated as a reflection of her personal life. The "open fruit," we're told, depict her aggressive sexuality and obsession with fertility, as do the monkeys in her self-portraits, even though she had them as pets. (Apparently her pet dog, which she also painted, carries no such connotations.)

This kind of analysis, which is just as often articulated by women as by men, follows another long tradition in art criticism of attributing stereotypical female values to the work of women painters and eroticizing their subjects, regardless of how the painters intended the work to be read. For instance, one of the common interpretations of Kahlo's work is that it demonstrates how much she mourned her inability to have children. Herrera writes, "Many of her paintings express this fascination with procreation, and some directly reflect her despair at not having children. One of the most moving of the latter is 'Me and My Doll,' painted in 1937. " Yet that painting is hardly the image you'd expect from someone desperate for motherhood. It is a self-portrait of Kahlo sitting on a bed next to a lifeless looking child/doll. She is smoking a cigarette and looks bored, and is sitting some distance from the child on the bed--a reflection of, perhaps, her real lack of maternal instincts. Her other images of childbirth and pregnancy are some of the most violent and disturbing ever to grace a canvas.

Arizona State University's Lindauer has argued that nowhere in Kahlo's letters does she reveal a deep longing for children, and that whatever regrets she did express publicly may have been because her culture demanded them. In fact, Kahlo's letters reflect deep ambivalence--if not outright rejection--of having children, if only because she recognized that children would distract Rivera from his work--and from her. She volunteered for an abortion after one of her pregnancies partly because of this. When she got pregnant again, she considered another one, but ended up having a miscarriage after intentionally disobeying doctors' orders to stay in bed. (She took driving lessons instead.)
While it's impossible to know whether Kahlo's injuries would have allowed her to bring the child to term even if she had stayed in bed, her behavior is hardly that of a woman longing for a baby. The current view of Kahlo's work seems more a reflection of our current hysteria over childless professional women than anything in the art. "People make her a screen for their projections," says Chadwick, now a fellow at the Clark Art Institute and a professor of art at San Francisco State University.

It's entirely possible that Kahlo was conflicted, experiencing both longing for motherhood and relief at not having to endure it--a sentiment many women surely recognize. Yet that view would detract from the hagiography. "If [Kahlo's] paintings were looked at closely, she would become a dangerous woman," says Lindauer, explaining that Kahlo's paintings actually challenge lots of feminine ideals. If they really took a good look at her art, she adds, "People would be less comfortable buying her fridge magnets."

Because she died young, at 47, Kahlo never had a chance to repudiate some of the interpretations of her work as did Georgia O'Keeffe, who once threatened to quit painting if critics kept imbuing her flower paintings with Freudian interpretations. "She didn't want her flower paintings to be identified as the essence of womanhood," says the NMWA's Fisher.
Biography, Warts and All

If the focus of the art business must be on biography, that biography should at least include the artists' warts. Truly great artists, after all, can survive such scrutiny. But, because it seems a woman must become a saint to gain admittance to the Met, there is a great tendency by Kahlo's marketers to overlook the less appealing part of that biography. It's similar to the way the left likes to ignore the fact that the Guatemalan Nobel laureate Rigoberta Menchu invented much of her memoir. Heroism serves the cause, and there is much of Kahlo's life that is not heroic.

Many of her surgeries may have been unnecessary. Even Herrera notes, "If Frida's physical problems had been as grave as she made out, she would never have been able to translate them into art." Kahlo's close friend, the famous doctor Leo Eloesser, believed that she used her many surgeries to get attention from people, particularly from Rivera. There's no doubt that she was obsessed with him in a way that should make feminists cringe. She also made several suicide attempts and spent much of her adult life addicted to drugs and alcohol.

More importantly, though, Kahlo's Communism--now treated as somehow sort of quaint--led her to embrace some unforgivable political positions. In 1936, Rivera, a dedicated Trotskyite, used his clout to petition the Mexican government to give Trotsky and his wife asylum after they were forced out of Norway. Rivera and Kahlo put up the Trotskys in Kahlo's family home, where Kahlo seduced the older man. (She painted a self-portrait dedicated to him that now hangs in Washington's NMWA.)

After Trotsky was assassinated, however, Kahlo turned on her old lover with a vengeance, claiming in an interview that Trotsky was a coward and had stolen from her while he stayed in her house (which wasn't true). "He irritated me from the time that he arrived with his pretentiousness, his pedantry because he thought he was a big deal," she said.

Rarely is this unflattering detail included in the condensed Kahlo story. Nor is the fact that Kahlo turned on Trotsky because she had become a devout Stalinist. Kahlo continued to worship Stalin even after it had become common knowledge that he was responsible for the deaths of millions of people, not to mention Trotsky himself. One of Kahlo's last paintings was called "Stalin and I," and her diary is full of her adolescent scribblings ("Viva Stalin!") about Stalin and her desire to meet him. Less scandalous but worth noting is that Kahlo despised the very gringos who now champion her work, and her art reflects her obvious disdain for the United States. One wonders what the postal service was thinking when it put Kahlo on a stamp. "Visas are denied to [foreign] artists with Frida Kahlo's politics," notes Chadwick.

Since her rediscovery in the 1970s, one of the few people to openly criticize Kahlo for her politics was her fellow countryman, the late Nobel laureate Octavio Paz. In Essays on Mexican Art, he questions whether someone could be both a great artist and "a despicable cur." In the end, he says they can, but suggests that, because of the way they embraced Stalin, "Diego and Frida ought not to be subjects of beatification but objects of study--and of repentance . . . the weaknesses, taints, and defects that show up in the works of Diego and Frida are moral in origin. The two of them betrayed their great gifts, and this can be seen in their painting. An artist may commit political errors and even common crimes, but the truly great artists--Villon or Pound, Caravaggio or Goya--pay for their mistakes and thereby redeem their art and their honor."

It's not an omission necessarily inherent to women's art--Pablo Neruda, the beloved left-wing Chilean poet, wrote poems to Stalin, which are almost never reproduced in books of his poetry. But neglecting the dark side of the artist's narrative deprives the public of a full appreciation of the art. Without knowing that by 1953 Kahlo was so strung out that she could barely pick up a paintbrush, how can the public possibly know why some of her late work is so bad? A casual observer might instead simply conclude after looking at one particularly sloppy, scratched-up canvas in the NMWA exhibit, that perhaps her work is overrated. The museum, after all, doesn't provide a reason to think otherwise.

Which is the really tragic part of Kahlo's story. Because when you sweep away the sideshow, ignore the overwrought analysis, and take a hard look at what she painted, much of it is extraordinary. Her paintings tap into sex and violence, life and death, in original and profound ways. "Suicide of Dorothy Hale," for instance, one of her lesser-known works, was commissioned in 1939 by Clare Booth Luce after her beautiful friend had thrown herself from her New York penthouse. Hale's bleeding corpse is shown smashed at the base of the high-rise, still looking stunning in a black cocktail dress. One shoeless foot is painted as if hanging off the frame, which is itself painted to look splattered with blood. Its surrealist influences are apparent, as are hints of the retablo style. Rather than soften Hale's suicide with American-style euphemism, Kahlo used the Mexican tradition of placing death front and center, in all its horror. The painting, even reproduced in black and white, as it is in Herrera's book, makes you stare guiltily the way you might driving past a car accident. Few paintings have such power. As Gregorio Luke explains, "Her work is very inclusive. She was able to incorporate elements of pop culture, Indian, Aztec mythology, surrealism, a whole variety of things in which many people can identify. She is the multicultural artist par excellence."

So while women might celebrate Kahlo's success, it may be that real progress has come when a woman can be remembered both as a great artist and as a despicable cur. Because in the end, as Garrard notes, "Life is interesting, but art is what the interesting person made."

The Little Things

2009-01-22T21:14:00.000-08:00

Tis a song by Colbie Caillat that I thought my sister liked, and therefore heard more than once. Its what I call a pink song and so I really had to sort of steel the stomach to hear it four times, and then I started liking it, a LOT and then I came back home and played it..
And my sister puked.

Sigh.

So I just heard it again.. and its too pink for me man.

NOT the point of the post.

So things haven't been peaches and cream (nicesong by the John Butler Trio btw)and lets just say happy happy Aqseer has been pretty much dead. Funnily enough, I felt happy happy today in the shower because I liked the smell of the shower gel my supahsistah uses (some palmolive shite. Palm Olive. Oo) and because Gilmore Girls is showing tomorrow at ten on Zee Cafe (I sound like an ad agency) and I've been wanting to watch it for a while.

Oh and cause I drank out of the coffee cup thing the Gilmore Girls are always drinking out of, so FULL happiness happened :P

The little things, indeed.

I remember a time that Samar stopped by while I was standing with my palm outstretched for a bit of dew that was dripping of the OAT's drapery, and grinning stupidly to myself cause it felt so nice in the middle of my palm

He said- 'cheap thrills eh?'.

They're the best, cheap thrills are, most times.

Old and New

2009-01-22T07:14:00.000-08:00

Hi

I'm Aqseer. I used to be an outspoken, opinionated, unafraid girl. And then I lost myself in law school diplomacy and the idea of making balanced, fair arguments. You could argue it was a gain rather than a loss, and I might agree. In fact, to an extent, I do. Except I lost that girl to some other things as well, and that, I regret.

I lost it to people who thought it's wrong to be so opinionated so early in life, and to people that think feminism is a load of crap. Also that idealism is a load of crap, and that one person can't do shit to change anything. In fact, I think I let em change the way I think, a little bit.

Old Aqseer's back.

And thank... me.

A lot of malice
Just for show :)
Or maybe not.
Aqseer

Quotes from the "Fair" Side

2009-01-21T21:43:00.000-08:00

"I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch." -- Gilda Radner

"If high heels were so wonderful, men would be wearing them. -- Sue Grafton

"Nagging is the repetition of unpalatable truths." -- Baroness Edith Summerskill

"If men can run the world, why can't they stop wearing neckties?
How intelligent is it to start the day by tying a little noose around
your neck?" -- Linda Ellerbee

"Don't compromise yourself. You are all you've got."
—Janis Joplin

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." —Margaret Mead

"I can honestly say that I was never affected by the question of the success of an undertaking. If I felt it was the right thing to do, I was for it regardless of the possible outcome."
—Golda Meir

"I think the key is for women not to set any limits."
— Martina Navratilova

"People think at the end of the day that a man is the only answer [to fulfillment]. Actually a job is better for me."
—Princess Diana

"Remember no one can make you feel inferior without your consent."
—Eleanor Roosevelt

"I think it's very important for everyone in America to realize right now the state of our country, not just on this issue but on a lot of issues, that it is time to get active again. People have just sat back and just sort of said, oh, let somebody else do it for a long time, and we're seeing what's happening to the country, even freedom of speech. It's not going well. So I think this is a real opportunity for people to see, yes, if you do get out and you do get active, there are other people there. You just have to seek them out."
—Mary Steenburgen

"In my heart, I think a woman has two choices: either she's a feminist or a masochist."
—Gloria Steinem

"You can tell how high a society is by how much of its garbage is recycled."
—Dhyani Ywahoo
(Native American)

"It's so clear that you have to cherish everyone. I think that's what I get from these older black women, that every soul is to be cherished, that every flower is to bloom."
—Alice Walker

Random (atlast)

2009-01-21T21:06:00.000-08:00

Its a new day and I just feel like typing. Maybe cause there's nothing better to do. A mark of this blog's evolution into a real blog perhaps.

They're airing a lot of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. on television.. back to back episodes and all. Must be cause people still watch. Epic, that show. Forced humour sometimes, as I realised this morning.

I might have to read bare acts in Hindi, translate to English and collate. Not looking forward to it so much.

Are lawyers liars? We're people who argue one side and try not to highlight stuff that doesn't go in our favour. That makes us biased, and hey, that's the job.

But yeah sure, I guess some of us do lie through our teeth.

I like the idea of doing law. I'm glad I'm studying law, even if I'm not getting the bestest legal education on Planet Earth.

I NEED to watch stupid movies! Even corny stuff'll do.

Bleahry
Aqseer

What would you rather have? The picture or the Kid?

2009-01-20T23:19:00.000-08:00

Remember the Pulitzer winning picture of the dying baby girl crawling towards a UN camp and a plump vulture waiting for her to die?

I used to think he was x number of horrible things for not having helped the kid. But before writing this, decided to google him and well..

First off, he wasn't an unaffected, cold man who would use the girl and her situation and cut cause it was convenient to. He hated apartheid and was part of a group called the Bang Bang club that was committed to exposing the brutality of the practice. All the stuff I've read on the events of the day says that he was disturbed about the picture and was very depressed after he took it. Also, most websites say that that wasn't the only picture he took that day, that he was overwhelmed by all the death around him and walked away, chanced upon this girl, saw a vulture settle down nearby, waited for 20 minutes for the vulture to fly away, took a shot, shooed the vulture away and left.

In circumstances like those, how many dying kids could he be expected to help? And how can people say with certainty that he was a cold, heartless man?
Visit- http://www.thisisyesterday.com/ints/KCarter.html for the whole story, and http://blogs.spokenword.ac.uk/mediaethics/2008/11/14/30/ for not so well informed people debating about whether his actions could've been justified as properly utilitarian or are inexcusable from a "basic human virtue" point of view.

Their arguments, in my opinion, are slightly irrelevant given the facts of this particular incident.

But in life in general- I think its an important debate- the 'classic dilemma' a journalist would face- the picture or the kid? Save the drowning people or report the incident so I can retain my job and expose the government?

Its true that images are more powerful than words, its true that photojournalists have got mouths to feed and that they can't go around saving every person they're taking pictures of and therefore its okay for them to click ten powerful pictures rather than take one and save a life.

But is it okay for them to shove kids in the line of fire to get a good picture, even if it does generate a lot of public outrage that might then stop the conflict thats killing people? I think not.

If thats the logic, some people need to get their priorities right.

I remember watching a video of a chap burning himself because Sonia G refused PMship and wondering why the hell the chap taking the video couldn't just pour a gallon of water over his head.
I get it now. Its his job, its important.

But what about the people standing around? They weren't creating awareness by standing around and watching. They were saving themselves a little inconvenience and a little time, thats all. But the degree of passivity Indians display in situations like this is another subject altogether.

More aware than ever, of the need to know the whole story afore judging,
Aqseer

Masseuse thumbs

2009-01-13T20:04:00.000-08:00

So Jagriti's got spondilitis or some less scary variant of it. Guess whose the new masseuse on the block.
I've done this twice so far, massaging her back i mean, and I don't last more than ten minutes. The thumbs just can't take it after that.
I wonder how masseuses? take it.

And I intend on closely examining their thumbs for signs of mutant development the next time I find one.

In peace,
Rare bird as it is,
Aqseer

Anger and Indignation

2008-10-14T06:39:00.000-07:00

Also old, 2007.

I am sitting, squatting, wind blowing, on the tank of my ancestral home, overlooking a mosque, 5 houses, a well and a mental hospital. It has been a while, a long while since I last wrote. Actually I'm scribbling more than writing. Across from me is this tree that bears this fruit that this boy, 17 hopefully, sells on the main road. He can write, or so i gather, and maybe he goes to school. But while I have the luxury of squatting on a tank in my ancestral home, he's inhaling exhaust fumes on the main road.

Some things I will never understand. They hurt to think about.

How are rich people, or even decently well off people, that drive across/over poor people on the streets, still able to look at themselves in the mirror without flinching? Doesn't some part of them scream? What that coconut boy does is not easy. He works hard. Why do i get to live here and he on the street? WHy do boys with shaved heads and awful infections, dribbling noses and pot bellies crawl upto people and ask them for money?
yeah i know, because they havent any. a rhetorical question dear reader.

These are questions oft asked and seldom anwered. They'd break my heart if I let them and then NLS would have one student less.

Really. What humans have done to this planet, no one can equal. You dont need me to tell u that. Everybody already knows. But everybody thinks "what if I switch off lights and fans? What difference can one person make?"

I dont @$#%^&* know. What if you did that and so did 10 of your friends and so did ten of theirs eh? what then?? maybe if you just took SUM TIME to look BEYOND YOURSELF and looked across the street and were kind to someone or spat in a bin instead of at someones feet or something... maybe then the "world" would be a better place and maybe then we'd have a better chance of survival, CAUSE THE WAY IT IS RIGHT NOW, I DONT SEE US GOING TOO FAR.

And thats the crux of it btw. Save not the World you have to. the "world" is YOUR world. the people around you. you dont have to be a hero and do a medha phatkar. i'l do that for you. just be a little more aware and a little less cynical and a little kinder.

thats all

Womankind's Curse?

2008-10-14T06:34:00.001-07:00

My writing here is heavily influence by my reading on the subject. Not much of this is original. The language is, however, mine.

Admittedly, I’m not too fond of getting my period. There’s just too much tension and nervousness, checking and changing involved. It’s this huge issue- you stain your bed, which means you stain your sheets, the bed cover, your panties and sometimes even your mattress. God help you if you stain your host’s sheets. The embarrassment and desperate scrubbing constitute a royal pain. With time, you learn to sleep on your side, spread towels underneath, “clean up” afterwards.

All the time you’re wearing either tampons or sanitary towels.
Tampons keep the stuff that’s supposed to come out, in, defeating the purpose of the whole affair. Sanitary towels [diapers for you- oh insensitive male/ pad hating female] become a hot bed, literally, for bacteria as well a source of great discomfort.

Stocking up involves watching a wo/man hide your preferred instrument-of-control beneath layers of plastic and/or newspaper.

Over the years I have grown tired of this routine and now refuse to let the wo/man satisfy her/his sense of “decency”. Usually s/he looks on in horror as I whip the package out of her/his hand and saunter down the road barely stopping myself from holding it high in the air. I can’t help but not be discrete you see. And why am I required to be discrete?

Why am I required to furtively tuck a pad under my shirt, or in the pocket of my jeans or what-have-you when I need to change? Why am I kept out of temples? What’s UNCLEAN or shameful about getting your period?

Menstrual fluid is 2/3rd blood and 1/3rd the stuff that composed of the lining of a woman’s uterus. It’s not smelly or unclean like urine. The reason you get the smell is because of the bacteria that thrive inside your panties when you wear the pads. It’s normal to pee, to ejaculate- but getting your period is gross, unpleasant, something you don’t talk about, a pain.

It also makes the WOMAN unclean for that period. She can’t enter temples because she’ll render them unclean. Like they’re pristine pure otherwise.
It’s not like the bleeding woman who entered your place of worship is not taking measures to hide that fact anyway. It’s not like she’s letting the blood drip onto your precious idols, or your furniture or your cloth or whatever else it is, that is not rendered “impure” or “unclean” when a man scratching his testicles or a kid with unwashed hands fresh from a trip to the toilet touches it. [You're telling me washing your hands with water before entering the temple makes it any better?]

There are alternatives to pads and tampons. Visit this links for ideas.
http://www.mum.org/collectionwash.htm
Here's a link to women on whether they would stop menstruating if they could.
http://www.mum.org/collectionwash.htm

I don’t know what it’ll take for people to treat menstruation as a normal, regular, HEALTHY, POSITIVE occurrence and not something that has to be covered up, all evidence destroyed. Hygiene and cleanliness is one thing. It’s essential. What is not essential is treating something that’s not dirty as dirty. If you let yourself bleed freely, and let the bloody dry up, you’re actually being cleaner than when you wear pads. I’m not suggesting that women worldwide wander around butt-naked while menstruating. That’s impossible, at least at present. I’m saying they consider letting themselves stain “menstrual clothes” freely at home and wash afterwards or something. Basically, look at alternatives. Heaven knows I’d be a lot more comfortable if I didn’t have to wear pads 24*7.

Here, by the way, is why it is a positive occurrence. Getting your period means you’re not pregnant, it means you’re healthy and normal, and you’re not going to have a baby keeping you up at night. No gynea visits or pills or diet changes.

I’m going to stop complaining and saying things like “why does this happen to women” and “periods are such a pain” now. Because getting my period means I’m capable of giving birth. And that’s pretty darn amazing.
--------
Of course, not everything I've said applies to women that have painful periods, I thankfully don't]

The Flip Side

2008-10-14T06:31:00.000-07:00

I grudge some women a few things. I grudge hypocritical feminists. They taint the movement and the concept. I’m not pretending I know everything there is to know about feminism. Tried educating myself, got irritated and bored.

My version revolves around equality and liberation. Men and women are human beings, and we’re equal. If men are stronger physically, women are more emotionally mature at an earlier age. One balances the other. Ultimately, neither is superior. Women are bound by a lot of social norms- of modesty [the other kind], of genteelness blah blah. Load o crap.

This is my problem. On one hand, you want to vote, you want social norms that inconvenience you to fade away. But are you willing to be treated equally in every respect? Are you willing to be rough housed when you get into the army? Are you willing to give up ladies seats and pay for your meals? You can’t ask for equality and want special treatment too. That’s hypocritical.
[Some women btw, take more shit than required to prove themselves. It’s something that, apparently, needs to be done to earn respect from generations of socialized, blind men. A guy slacks off at work, the boss might overlook it. One wrong step from the woman, and it’s proof she ought to have stayed home and wiped her baby’s bottom. A thing of the past you say.. agreed, but only where women aren’t an uncommon sight. What do you reckon will happen when women start driving buses and cutting up meat? “Tere bas ki nahin hai”. That’s what. Other women, of course, will bat their lashes and threaten to cry.]

You’re not extra special woman. Womankind is not superior to mankind. We’re oppressed, we’re wonderful, but we can pay for our meals, we can stand in buses, we should be prepared to be treated equally in the boxing ring, in the sports field, in corporate houses, in the court.

Chivalry in particular, I don’t stand for it. I think it’s disrespectful to me, I think it’s unfair to the guy. I don’t want chivalry. If being chivalrous makes you feel like a gentleman, go ahead. Don’t expect me to be grateful or think better of you for it. Don’t expect me to accept it as adequate compensation for exclusion from “a man’s world”. I HATE that phrase.
My version says chivalry is over-rated and ought not to be expected. Why do you want doors opened and bags lifted eh? If you’re capable of doing the same work as he does, you should be able to carry your own bags.
Deviating..
Why can the girl not make the first move? Why is that haw ji? Women won’t let you, btw. The guys’ll be thanking their stars they were saved the trouble and females will say- AQSEER! You don’t DO that? Arre why?
It’s almost as if some women don’t want to be liberated. It’s almost as if they like being bound with norms and traditions. There’s this big confusion between femininity and being treated as fragile. I’m a woman, to be womanly I must be treated like I’m made of glass. But oh no, don’t take any opportunities away from me. Give me those and keep treating me like I’m made of glass. I’m a woman na.. that’s why. Bollocks.

Start acting equal, start acting liberated, and somewhere down the line, you’ll be treated that way. Don’t go running to your coach crying when you get hurt, grit your teeth and deal with it. Like the guys do.

Palm Corpse

2008-10-14T05:50:00.000-07:00

He fit into the palm of her emaciated hands. He should have been as big as her forearms, but there he was. Like a palm baby. She knelt over him, her hair matted, her belly distended, rocking back and forth, trying to keep her coughing infant alive.

We passed her and one of us did a double take. The double-taker told us there was a pregnant 13 year old on the pavement with a tiny dying child in her arms. We looked at the pair of them and gasped, then went on to have flavoured milk a few steps away. I couldn't get the image of that tiny baby out of my head, so I bought a bag of milk so the mother could drink it and breast feed the baby. Milk handed over, we went on our way.

Coming home I cursed myself for not having done more. My grandmum had given me a ton of money for diwali and I had bought em a packet of milk, nothing more. The least I could have done, I thought, was give her Rs. 500.

But then I thought the Rs. 500 would last her a few days only, so I decided to try and get them to a shelter. Called up some NGOs, found a place that might take the pair of them.

Went back the next day to look for palm baby and his mother, I couldn't find them anywhere. So I asked a jhola seller if she knew about them.
Was the baby really that woman's I asked. Thats all it took to get her started.

That woman told me more than I learnt about begging in the course of researching for my project.

So the woman was rocking back and forth because she was high on smack. The baby was dying because the woman wasn't his mother, she fed him milk people like me gave her instead of breast feeding him, and he couldn't/can't digest it. The palm baby was given to the lady by her sister. The strategy was to use the baby to "earn" money, and then split the earnings.

She told me that that lady and other beggars duped people, and those that were naive and had a heart gave them money. They duped, she said, not to earn a living, but to blow up whatever they earned (anything from Rs. 500 to 1500 a day) on smack. The palm baby lady even stole money from other beggars. If I'd have given her Rs. 500, thats where it would have gone. (She added ruefully that she engaged in honest labour and didn't earn that much in days.)

So I asked her, what if I asked the police to take the baby away? She said the police doesn't do much because they can't do much. If they take dupers into custody, the addicts start to die without their drugs and the officers are questioned by their superiors.
So, I said, the superiors really tick them off for not showing daya to the beggars? Oh yes, she says.

So, I said, this kid is going to die eh? She said yeah, they'll find another the day after this one goes. India's future she said- the educated higher class people are blowing up their lives on expensive nasha; the uneducated, poverty stricken people are blowing up their's, and their children's lives on cheaper nasha.

Thus, palm corpse. Palm baby's going to turn into palm corpse from diarrhoea in a few days.

I asked her if the beggars at the traffic light at least were earning honourably, so to speak. She said they pretend to sell stuff to you, and when you look away, they steal. What about the magazine sellers, I asked. She said they don't steal, they sell to survive.

Women On the Street

2008-10-10T07:50:00.000-07:00

It's inevitable methinks. Tell women that the odds of them getting raped on the streets are as high as the probability that a bomb blast will kill em, and they will freak.

Have you noticed women on the street? For the women, have you noticed yourselves? I have, and its freaky cause even on a good, happy day, on the road, I resemble a bull ready to gore someone. My fists ball up, my nose is flaring in retaliation to some unprovoked (as yet) incident and boy am I striding. March, march, march; look like you'll hit if someone tries to rape you; look pissed off; stare back if some ash-ole stares at you.

It's like I'm programmed. But it isn't that at all is it? It's not that I do these things cause I have some button in my head that flicks when I'm out alone.
Sadly enough, I do these things cause I'm genuinely afraid I'm going to make the news tomorrow.

A very close friend of mine recently did btw. All the more reason to purchase a swiss knife early.

Interesting site, this- http://blog.blanknoise.org/

Joey

2008-07-23T07:16:00.000-07:00

I love life now.
For too long, I’ve asked too much from my circumstances. I haven’t tried to be happy, I’ve tried to be “alright”. I’ve almost liked being sceptical and miserable. I’ve accepted that as my state of being, my comfort zone, my armour protecting me from everything outside.
The Calvin quote- "happiness isn’t good enough, I demand euphoria” is making sense now. In an odd way, I see I'm progressing as a person.. I’m holding on to (happy) life more. Its interesting...this evolution.
I wonder what’s sparked it off.
As of now, life is good. And maybe in the future, I’ll know how to make it stay that way.
As I see it though, to love life you need- music, to be passionate about something, to have a way of working on/with what you’re passionate about, family, friends.
That’s it.
That isn’t too bad is it? It’s stunningly achievable for most homo sapiens.
Dogs, of course, were made to love life.
Lucky sods.
Incidentally, a pet would only help, methinks.

To Be a Boxer

2008-07-07T03:31:00.001-07:00

This is something I wrote on 29 March 2007.

Boxing is an art. A difficult art to master, moreover. [i dont like that word overmuch]
So when a pudgy little kid fresh from swimming in talkatora/ National stadium entered the boxing hall..... she cudnt breathe.
Cause the place stank. Until the smell became really really sweet to her. Until she was one of the 50 odd people in there, warming up, running until she was ready to collapse [except the times she was lazy and very tired] skipping until she learnt how to do those beautiful things gud pugilists can do with their ropes.
It took time. She wasnt, and still isnt, the kind to just jump in and start leaping around without one clue as to the technique. While the other newcomers immediately started punching the air, this female stood about, very sheepishly, waiting for instruction.
"it was okay mum.. i just dont know anything yet and they arent teaching me!"
Her first mentor was Jyoti didi. She'd been a swimmer, not seen much success [like this girl] switched over to boxing and found a national medal in her hand in three years.
"its not easy to get beaten up aunty, lekin ladki ki personality acchi hai. u dont worry.. we'l take care of her"
i stil dont know what "ladki ki personality achi hai" means.
My coach was, is, a tiny little sardar, an amazing boxer, [lightning footwork] and great at his job. He just dint have enough time i think, for us foundlings.
But we learnt. The bhais [i refused to call them that, i dint say anythig to any of them the 4 years i was there. WHY AM I SO SOCIALLY INEPT?] kept correcting us, pushing us.
The part of training i ADORED was the weight training. I had sum sort of an advangtage over my elfin, petite, featherweight contemporaries there.. it felt good :D

Fast forward to my first delhi state at munirka. The place was a municipal park, the ring was in the middle of it, the sun beating down on our heads, the prize bicycle glinting proudly in a corner. Apart from the locals, and the parents, the only other spectators were the cows.
I was to fight my own friend, [there wasnt much competition], for the gold. [there wasnt much competition] I was convinced i was gonna get RSCed. I'd been boxing for half a year then. I did. I got pounded left right centre, my mum was too scared to look, but the blows surprisingly dint hurt. And i stood for 2 rounds. And i dint fall either.
The punches dint hurt. I did. I cried.
Boxers dont cry.
:D oh lord.... anyway... all in all it was fun. I beat gunjan later, and that was reeal good.

The part i loved BEST was the people. They'd tease me about my english.. and then thump me on the back after my tenth result- saying "hamare 3 saal ke marks mila kar bhi itne nahin bante"
Earthy, human, wonderful people they were.
No airs. Nuffing
i miss my hall.
i miss the pulpy, ten ounce gloves.
i miss the scramble for the gloves when the whistle blew and sir said..punching baag
i miss cheering
i miss the people
i love boxing. =)

Cucumber Crunch

2008-07-07T03:07:00.000-07:00

One week into law school and the fresh meat has turned stale. Granted, there's the odd prawn in the sea of tuna (track the changing metaphors please) but one is a mother of three and really doesn't have the energy to tackle any but the scaliest.
Ha. As if.

Coming to the point of this post.

Ever wondered if people could hear you crunching your cucumber at the dinner table as loudly as you could hear yourself in your head? I always have.
Most people are quite audible always, but the question has and will continue to haunt me- how loud am I?

I recall being embarrassed and hesitant about consuming the greens for fear of being taken for a concrete cruncher. It's one of those odd questions that stay with you always.
An answer, dear reader, would be greatly appreciated.

Yours wonderingly (FN1- refer Daddy-long-legs. A work of art, I've always thought)
Aqseer the lost

An Answer to The Old Whyarewehere

2008-06-24T07:25:00.000-07:00

Why are we here? A question that haunts most people at some point in time. It could be at a time when things aren't going quite the way you'd like, or it could be an existentialist, permanently haunting sort of question.
I think answering that question becomes a lot easier if you don't believe in an after life, or the concept of souls, or god. Notice I don't say God.
Because if you don't believe in those things, this life, of 80 odd years on an average (maybe less, I don't know the stats well) is about all you've ever got man. You ain't gonna get another chance to experience everything life, despite being a pain, has to offer.

So then, if this is what you believe, and I do.. I think we're here to make the best of what we've got.
Notice how vague and open ended that is.

I'm here to use whatever little I have by way of talent/capacity to help whoever I can, to be gentle when someone's unecessarily being harsh and so on; and to taste every kind of food, travel everywhere, read a lot.. the reader understands.
Of course, at this stage, there are no readers.

Deviating completely..
The upshot of this sort of belief is that suddenly, time seems a lot more precious. Now, all I want to do is what I want to do.
And for that reason, being horribly famous or well respected etc is just not as attractive as it was before. That by itself means nothing. Money by itself, or some really important position in the government means nothing.
What's attractive is anything that allows me to make the most of my time on Earth.

I've believed in "God" for most of my life. But I find this change in me now that I don't. Earlier, I wanted to be succesful. Now, I want to be happy. For some people, like the Dalai Lama perhaps, being succesful means being happy. But what I mean is that I no longer care for success as society envisions it.
It's liberating and it's scary, this non-belief. Because suddenly, there's no super power to turn to. I'm responsible for everything I do. So it's also empowering.

I think this insight stems from both non-belief (I wish I knew another way of putting this) as well as general influences and the odd thinking session. So I'm not saying there's a correlation between non-belief and this understanding of what I'm here for. I didn't think about that question before I stopped believing.
What I AM saying is that when you believe that this life is all you've got, your priorities change. A lot. Mine have.