I will slowly die
Wither away,
In arms unknown.
In a woman’s world
In Polygamy,
In diversity.
Without Patriarchy.
With tea parties and dinner toasts,
long silk dresses and empire waistlines--
Things will remain similar.
With talks of an impotent past
And struggle for a better society.
With trimmed hair growing long
And vice-verse,
Things will remain the same.
With description going Dadaist;
To margins taking the centre stage.
With a short lived love stories
And distant distinguished lovers.
Things won’t change.
My man,
My woman,
Fidelity: - never lasted for me.
Born of a lineage so proud,
Submitted to work so hard,
Breathe through every sigh n smile,
Every whimper and laughter;
Every kiss cherished,
Every comfort felt,
Every luxury used.
Still fear lurks in the allies of my soul,
Every time I look into the mirror,
Every time a new writer is born,
Every time I look back at my empty house.
Every time I think of everyone in history.
Living on a floating cloud
Scares you only
When it begins to rain.
Aug 31, 2007
Aug 29, 2007
Waiting for the Crow…
I threw it off from
my empty scald hands,
The cellphone
The cellphone
sparked that
evening.
It had happened.
I had tried running – farther every year.
I had to return never the less to the same
It had happened.
I had tried running – farther every year.
I had to return never the less to the same
cursed grounds,
The stifling stench of emotions,
Of tear pools.
The stifling stench of emotions,
Of tear pools.
My entry was a head turner,
The Hargreaves alley leading to the drawing room seemed endless.
Every head in the room turned,
Every eye cutting through me,
A fusion of chutzpah and hatred.
My cousin had forewarned her children-
They were forbidden to talk to their shameless aunt.
My sister pretended familial affection and loss.
Daddy was too busy crying.
After 33 years of marriage for the first time and maybe the last.
He already looked pale and drained.
I knew he would die sooner.
The Hargreaves alley leading to the drawing room seemed endless.
Every head in the room turned,
Every eye cutting through me,
A fusion of chutzpah and hatred.
My cousin had forewarned her children-
They were forbidden to talk to their shameless aunt.
My sister pretended familial affection and loss.
Daddy was too busy crying.
After 33 years of marriage for the first time and maybe the last.
He already looked pale and drained.
I knew he would die sooner.
Sitting there I was the only pulmonary artery amongst the veins.
They couldn't accept me,couldn't pull me out
I had embarrassed my parents
Denounced my Hindutva
Sang Hail Mary with Om Namah Shivaya.
They couldn't accept me,couldn't pull me out
I had embarrassed my parents
Denounced my Hindutva
Sang Hail Mary with Om Namah Shivaya.
I left the country and never returned.
I had lived against their teachings.
I had lived against their teachings.
My father once commented to an over-friendly relative:
“Our daughter believes in distant love.
Without fail we receive quarterly allowances,
Anniversary and birthday gifts – nothing else”
My mother vehemently added, “Our love stifles her.”
“Our daughter believes in distant love.
Without fail we receive quarterly allowances,
Anniversary and birthday gifts – nothing else”
My mother vehemently added, “Our love stifles her.”
All I thought was: 25 years were enough in a country bonded by tradition.
The reel replays every now and then:
“A pious mother’s- perverted daughter.
A religious mother’s- agnostic daughter,
A conventional mother’s- destructive daughter,
An Indian mother’s- diasporic daughter,
A heterosexual mother’s- bisexual daughter.”
“A pious mother’s- perverted daughter.
A religious mother’s- agnostic daughter,
A conventional mother’s- destructive daughter,
An Indian mother’s- diasporic daughter,
A heterosexual mother’s- bisexual daughter.”
Voices hummed as I sat across the shroud.
“She has a British girlfriend,' another fat lady added, and a Swiss boyfriend too--
god what shame befell on the family!”
“She has a British girlfriend,' another fat lady added, and a Swiss boyfriend too--
god what shame befell on the family!”
I insisted on seeing her burn away
They labeled that act as well:
They labeled that act as well:
I had never been a bad daughter-
I tried explaining, “I couldn't have been any different –
I would have been a lie.”
I tried explaining, “I couldn't have been any different –
I would have been a lie.”
Dark glasses are made to hide swollen eyes: retail mantra
And there—
Waiting for the crow, I wondered whether
It would come for me?
And what if it didn't --
Would it matter?
Waiting for the crow, I wondered whether
It would come for me?
And what if it didn't --
Would it matter?
Aug 28, 2007
There is a crisis.
Turning 25 and still not having enough testosterone to hold? Hmmm, time to reflect. Multiples is 20 and has been with who, what and where-all. I am 24- had 2 imp guys,terribly disappointed with one. Now, she's trying to hook me up with the ones I could be teaching junior college English. It’s not funny. It’s a crisis situation and I am trapped.
The last I felt this confused, irate and helpless was at puberty. I was old enough to do anything; still not old enough to do anything. Now I am old enough for all the responsibility and the action ---I am having none. I am the new 24 and old 32: where everything is exhausted young (this digression will be dealt with in good time).
Men I like are married (happily or otherwise); the ones I date are looking for commitment. By the way,what is wrong with men? Since when did ‘I am looking for a long-term association’ become manly? -- In response, a male acquaintance noted that I was getting old and my options were narrowing, and isn’t it wonderful that so many guys want to really settle with you (a nasty invisible insertion was ‘knowing you’)? He also commented on the 'liberated woman syndrome' which was the cause of all anguish: '?' n '!' followed- all your friends r engaged!how was ur sis's baby shower? What do you do with your pay check except spend on shoes, clothes and drinks? (I will ignore the last Q).
Liberated women are farcical. i couldn't possibly accept that even if it's d truth. For, I remember, there was a time when sentences began with I and not WE. The sour part is that I don’t have a WE, graver than that is that I don’t want an ordinary WE. Am I too difficult and demanding? hmmm...
Mommies' are most cruel in this phase: your biological clock is ticking! you are going to get fat and lose the youthful lustre. You will be a hag trying to live on the scraps left by other women or bald men who u ignored forever, or a man wanting a lineage: you’ll be a baby machine; but the chances are low coz your clock is ticking!
I like children, as people like animals at the zoo. Children and marriage: my problem, is that I don’t see the connection.
I have myopia and its affecting my life in an extremely adverse way. The casual attitude has dulled out; nothing is just for the sake of it. I am not advocating one-night-stands but it’s just that more guys are behaving like girls.
When have you heard of a 25 year old guy married and ready to have his first baby-- they are now! Simply,no one wishes to wait and savour the time.
Torch asked me, 'what's wrong with that?' Nothing: it’s too dammed good! its what every woman wants. Just that I haven’t found my teddy bear, then again, I prefer a man in the good old dirty definition. I don't want these sensitive, emotional fools who break down and whine and crib and bitch. I want the cliched definition: clinched, not baggit, shark nichts dolphin! That is my problem*. There are only 3 real men that I have met ( Hubbles')and every where I turn to look there are only pretty pretty boys. Has ‘the man’ become a yeti? I am scared.
However the fearful aftermath is: it may be an ideal in my head but the chances of a woman’s utopia turning into a dystopia are always higher than its vice-verse. I am scared, the air is thinning.
PS* Theorists in my head are throwing hardbound notes of female, masculinity and androgene liberation at me. Elite mocking faces at their most hated display of disappointment and rage: aaaaaawwwwwaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!:(
The last I felt this confused, irate and helpless was at puberty. I was old enough to do anything; still not old enough to do anything. Now I am old enough for all the responsibility and the action ---I am having none. I am the new 24 and old 32: where everything is exhausted young (this digression will be dealt with in good time).
Men I like are married (happily or otherwise); the ones I date are looking for commitment. By the way,what is wrong with men? Since when did ‘I am looking for a long-term association’ become manly? -- In response, a male acquaintance noted that I was getting old and my options were narrowing, and isn’t it wonderful that so many guys want to really settle with you (a nasty invisible insertion was ‘knowing you’)? He also commented on the 'liberated woman syndrome' which was the cause of all anguish: '?' n '!' followed- all your friends r engaged!how was ur sis's baby shower? What do you do with your pay check except spend on shoes, clothes and drinks? (I will ignore the last Q).
Liberated women are farcical. i couldn't possibly accept that even if it's d truth. For, I remember, there was a time when sentences began with I and not WE. The sour part is that I don’t have a WE, graver than that is that I don’t want an ordinary WE. Am I too difficult and demanding? hmmm...
Mommies' are most cruel in this phase: your biological clock is ticking! you are going to get fat and lose the youthful lustre. You will be a hag trying to live on the scraps left by other women or bald men who u ignored forever, or a man wanting a lineage: you’ll be a baby machine; but the chances are low coz your clock is ticking!
I like children, as people like animals at the zoo. Children and marriage: my problem, is that I don’t see the connection.
I have myopia and its affecting my life in an extremely adverse way. The casual attitude has dulled out; nothing is just for the sake of it. I am not advocating one-night-stands but it’s just that more guys are behaving like girls.
When have you heard of a 25 year old guy married and ready to have his first baby-- they are now! Simply,no one wishes to wait and savour the time.
Torch asked me, 'what's wrong with that?' Nothing: it’s too dammed good! its what every woman wants. Just that I haven’t found my teddy bear, then again, I prefer a man in the good old dirty definition. I don't want these sensitive, emotional fools who break down and whine and crib and bitch. I want the cliched definition: clinched, not baggit, shark nichts dolphin! That is my problem*. There are only 3 real men that I have met ( Hubbles')and every where I turn to look there are only pretty pretty boys. Has ‘the man’ become a yeti? I am scared.
However the fearful aftermath is: it may be an ideal in my head but the chances of a woman’s utopia turning into a dystopia are always higher than its vice-verse. I am scared, the air is thinning.
PS* Theorists in my head are throwing hardbound notes of female, masculinity and androgene liberation at me. Elite mocking faces at their most hated display of disappointment and rage: aaaaaawwwwwaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!:(
Aug 25, 2007
Identity--Crisis
Buzzing in my head are metaphors,
Polite and impolite delineations,
Chaos of authentic writing.
In an age of lit-crits and
Opposing theorists….
I am looking for Iser.
Searching for Wordsworth’s bridges
I am torn between Plath and Barthes,
Identity and location.
Between my surreal self and my ghost-writer.
Who am I?
Caught in the myth of the postmodern climax of hyphenated passports.
Throwing up in the face of Tibetan struggle for regaining its negritude….
Where are we heading?
With half the capitalist third world struggling to posses its roots?
And the rest to erase their colonised past….
Moving into the synthesis of things
Into the un-mowed pastures of split-ideas and schizophrenic beliefs…
We are moving into yoga.
Into Vippaassana
Into soundless energy.
In the dangerous mint of self-help books.
Are we welcoming the synthesis of hyphens?
Unlike Rushdie I refuse my lost identity …
I shun hybridity,
I live on polished rice, sulphured sugar and veggies grown by the gutter.
To be honest, girl, this blown up shit about post modern assimilations
Is sheer nonsense.
They build up vitriolic thesis based on id.(ie) insecurities.
Ignore the fuckers’ girl,
They haven’t a real life like you and me.
We have gone beyond the modernist depression and its post joy.
We live in the world as gaste-arbeiter.
Don’t fool yourself and call it your own: instead
Embrace the world of technocratic revolution.
The world of resurrected fantasy...
Potter and the plotter are our crisis.
Identification is not…saving its remains is! ]
Today’s delight is not free sex but nuke bias.
Let your foundations sink in.
Don’t read into things much…
Remember the only worse thing to misinterpretation is
Over interpretation and
They don’t teach you that in lit class.
Just clear your fucked head,
Read how your predecessors died,
Know that you don’t want to shove your head into a microwave.
Don’t push yourself….
It’s not worth a bullet in your brain.
Polite and impolite delineations,
Chaos of authentic writing.
In an age of lit-crits and
Opposing theorists….
I am looking for Iser.
Searching for Wordsworth’s bridges
I am torn between Plath and Barthes,
Identity and location.
Between my surreal self and my ghost-writer.
Who am I?
Caught in the myth of the postmodern climax of hyphenated passports.
Throwing up in the face of Tibetan struggle for regaining its negritude….
Where are we heading?
With half the capitalist third world struggling to posses its roots?
And the rest to erase their colonised past….
Moving into the synthesis of things
Into the un-mowed pastures of split-ideas and schizophrenic beliefs…
We are moving into yoga.
Into Vippaassana
Into soundless energy.
In the dangerous mint of self-help books.
Are we welcoming the synthesis of hyphens?
Unlike Rushdie I refuse my lost identity …
I shun hybridity,
I live on polished rice, sulphured sugar and veggies grown by the gutter.
To be honest, girl, this blown up shit about post modern assimilations
Is sheer nonsense.
They build up vitriolic thesis based on id.(ie) insecurities.
Ignore the fuckers’ girl,
They haven’t a real life like you and me.
We have gone beyond the modernist depression and its post joy.
We live in the world as gaste-arbeiter.
Don’t fool yourself and call it your own: instead
Embrace the world of technocratic revolution.
The world of resurrected fantasy...
Potter and the plotter are our crisis.
Identification is not…saving its remains is! ]
Today’s delight is not free sex but nuke bias.
Let your foundations sink in.
Don’t read into things much…
Remember the only worse thing to misinterpretation is
Over interpretation and
They don’t teach you that in lit class.
Just clear your fucked head,
Read how your predecessors died,
Know that you don’t want to shove your head into a microwave.
Don’t push yourself….
It’s not worth a bullet in your brain.
Aug 22, 2007
Dreams Do Come
I see him
Across the fields and beaches
I gather his hand into mine
We hold,
For the past.
His son, I see playing in formless sand
Talking about laptops on
My beach house footsteps,
HIS son.
I don’t see, what I don’t want
A wife, a mistress
Another body --- female.
Red pyjamas or linen sundress.
That is I ---silenced in cloth.
He is just as happy as he could be.
Times shared and
Lives lived
Are two different things.
I look into the blank window
And disappear.
I break my own records---
Of delusional nights and
Clipped winged birds.
Across the fields and beaches
I gather his hand into mine
We hold,
For the past.
His son, I see playing in formless sand
Talking about laptops on
My beach house footsteps,
HIS son.
I don’t see, what I don’t want
A wife, a mistress
Another body --- female.
Red pyjamas or linen sundress.
That is I ---silenced in cloth.
He is just as happy as he could be.
Times shared and
Lives lived
Are two different things.
I look into the blank window
And disappear.
I break my own records---
Of delusional nights and
Clipped winged birds.
Aug 21, 2007
Night School
Minutes of an emotionally wreaked night, bundled with 3 women,a crumpled toilet-paper roll, 2 bags of french fries,1of smileys, 2 ice cream tubs, and yukky pizza hut 12'inch trash, 24 steamed momos in sauce.
Men are fools.
1)They don't understand hints or signs: you need to put up a billboard or have an across the table conversation: that will get the message through.
2)Do not treat a man like a woman: their EQ is inversely proportional to their IQ.
3)Dates are not important: the same date kms every month, year, decade.... Recall the emotion and start with, 'remember that time when we...' that works. 'doesn't today mean anything to you...' doesn't work.
4)Don't repeat his mother's mistakes, not baby him (i.e. NO- cribbing, whining, nagging,cleaning, feeding, handing him everything ). Treat him like a man and he will become one (well, SPACE: give him, have yours).
5)Have a life. I know it sounds crazy, but mandatory. I spent 3 years revolving around a man, trying to better him, love him, pamper him: i ended up as ' kya muchmuch hai re'! Fact was, i put my life aside for us (or so i believed), it didn't give me or him any positive returns.
He hung out with his friends, went for his football, cross-state drives and trekking stints; his life changed -- little. My priority list had only one name and umpteen reminders for that one name. What did i do in 3 years except concentrate on him? Nothing! Those years aren't kming back.
Lesson to the feline: It's heavenly when you're in the joy ride but once it is over and you look around- you the tipped balance scales: Bad Decision.
Men are fools.
1)They don't understand hints or signs: you need to put up a billboard or have an across the table conversation: that will get the message through.
2)Do not treat a man like a woman: their EQ is inversely proportional to their IQ.
3)Dates are not important: the same date kms every month, year, decade.... Recall the emotion and start with, 'remember that time when we...' that works. 'doesn't today mean anything to you...' doesn't work.
4)Don't repeat his mother's mistakes, not baby him (i.e. NO- cribbing, whining, nagging,cleaning, feeding, handing him everything ). Treat him like a man and he will become one (well, SPACE: give him, have yours).
5)Have a life. I know it sounds crazy, but mandatory. I spent 3 years revolving around a man, trying to better him, love him, pamper him: i ended up as ' kya muchmuch hai re'! Fact was, i put my life aside for us (or so i believed), it didn't give me or him any positive returns.
He hung out with his friends, went for his football, cross-state drives and trekking stints; his life changed -- little. My priority list had only one name and umpteen reminders for that one name. What did i do in 3 years except concentrate on him? Nothing! Those years aren't kming back.
Lesson to the feline: It's heavenly when you're in the joy ride but once it is over and you look around- you the tipped balance scales: Bad Decision.
Aug 20, 2007
Empty Vessel to Fill.
The more i read, the more i watch, the more i browse- I feel saddened by the fact that we were led by a bunch of idiots into the 21st century. However the dark ages are over with a simple realisation that they are idots and will have be replaced.
The work begins.
ps. when you hit ground zero, there only one wayto go- UP
The work begins.
ps. when you hit ground zero, there only one wayto go- UP
Aug 18, 2007
Diet Control
Married men are a dessert treat. Also the best breed of tarty flingers one can encounter. Being born a woman, my morality and conditioning kicks me in the arse when my eyes go 'stare stare, blink blink, want want'.
I think of everything including his wife, mother-in-law, how his kids will be treated in school... everything and more that the man I am about to go out with doesn't think!
*Sigh* they start with a casual hello, generously peppered with looks, to simply ignoring to irate, to smiling at oneself when you r around.
For the past week Marshmellow is dressing to kill. Funny part is he, looked in my direction for a certain approval and I ignored... Lolololol. being a childish gorrila man, he got back at me- I had a simple Q with his game partner. I was looked at and ignored by him. The game is going good, we are in-step!
However the steps end there... his alter starts. I can't walk that road, I can't accept the 'date'. This is when my mind is buzzing with: 'heck what-his wife, if he isn't worried, why are u?'
But then like mom says: there are certain foods that give us immence pleasure, but they also decay our system in the end.
I think of everything including his wife, mother-in-law, how his kids will be treated in school... everything and more that the man I am about to go out with doesn't think!
*Sigh* they start with a casual hello, generously peppered with looks, to simply ignoring to irate, to smiling at oneself when you r around.
For the past week Marshmellow is dressing to kill. Funny part is he, looked in my direction for a certain approval and I ignored... Lolololol. being a childish gorrila man, he got back at me- I had a simple Q with his game partner. I was looked at and ignored by him. The game is going good, we are in-step!
However the steps end there... his alter starts. I can't walk that road, I can't accept the 'date'. This is when my mind is buzzing with: 'heck what-his wife, if he isn't worried, why are u?'
But then like mom says: there are certain foods that give us immence pleasure, but they also decay our system in the end.
Aug 17, 2007
Haves and Have Nots
Too many women want padded bras. And that has become a problem for many who don't want that extra cushioning. 'the lady behind the counter sensed my frown and said, “Wonder bra is wonderful maam!” Do it need it? I ask her and she just smiles. Her notion is the bigger the better- but if I wore a padded bra I'd look like Pamela Anderson or Pamela Chaddha.
The problem with wonder-bra is that makes you wonder initially and disappoint forever! That cup 32f doesn't exist. Apart from being odd, if you had that bulbous a chest, it'd give you a terrible back.
Retail shopping teaches you there has to be a market for this scary cloning of your stats... boobs size xxx, waist - x and arse in the circumference of xx. There is a problem with that unrealistic proportion: Anorexic women. Chicks who fit into kids clothes; they, I concluded are simultaneously fueling, and are dead-doltish-victims of capitalist lingerie market.
Here's why, “I want a double butt pad, g-string ,size small panty”, the Chiquita next to me was casual, tiny, teeny twit with the twit's voice. Thank god that mum wasn't around to give her an uninvited embarrassing talk on 'its is not healthy to be thin and a woman should look like a woman... how are you going to hold a baby in the 24 waist womb , your breasts have nothing to feed or hold,beta you look like a dried date (litotes)!'
My mother over-did that with me-- I have inherited boobs that can feed half of Cambodia. However, its better to have it, than pad it. Too dammed difficult to go through the grind: step 1:starve. Step 2. avenge the treadmill. Step 3. alter clothes. Step 4. hit the lingerie shop- pad up of what is left of those butt 'n' boobs.
I couldn't help staring at Chiquita's thin-ness, and the over looming halo around her saying, 'I fit in'.
Short of smacking her on the head, I replied, And yes, I want to be your clone!
The problem with wonder-bra is that makes you wonder initially and disappoint forever! That cup 32f doesn't exist. Apart from being odd, if you had that bulbous a chest, it'd give you a terrible back.
Retail shopping teaches you there has to be a market for this scary cloning of your stats... boobs size xxx, waist - x and arse in the circumference of xx. There is a problem with that unrealistic proportion: Anorexic women. Chicks who fit into kids clothes; they, I concluded are simultaneously fueling, and are dead-doltish-victims of capitalist lingerie market.
Here's why, “I want a double butt pad, g-string ,size small panty”, the Chiquita next to me was casual, tiny, teeny twit with the twit's voice. Thank god that mum wasn't around to give her an uninvited embarrassing talk on 'its is not healthy to be thin and a woman should look like a woman... how are you going to hold a baby in the 24 waist womb , your breasts have nothing to feed or hold,beta you look like a dried date (litotes)!'
My mother over-did that with me-- I have inherited boobs that can feed half of Cambodia. However, its better to have it, than pad it. Too dammed difficult to go through the grind: step 1:starve. Step 2. avenge the treadmill. Step 3. alter clothes. Step 4. hit the lingerie shop- pad up of what is left of those butt 'n' boobs.
I couldn't help staring at Chiquita's thin-ness, and the over looming halo around her saying, 'I fit in'.
Short of smacking her on the head, I replied, And yes, I want to be your clone!
Aug 14, 2007
Happiness is happening
I have a spine. After 24 years of my stupid life, i realise i have one. I have never confronted anybody ever-- not even my father. If i didn't agree to something, i simply stepped away. i have also never had any-self respect either; the fact that my life is tainted with memories of some really evil people with dangerously strong conviction, sweeps clean my confidence.
Being a Gandhian, fights depress me and i often blame myself for everyones bad behaviour: victim mentality. Years ago, i concluded that i was misunderstood and gave up. The fury within has always manifested itself in munching banana chips with cheese dip.
Sify did something to me; during the court matter, i shielded myself from everybody who was breaking down or provoking. I had made my mistakes, believed in the wrong people: now,I refuse to be responsible for their crimes. That was it, the day i stood by myself in the court, i knew i was not a loser.
Months later, i worked with an incompetent, bitter, insecure, eyebrow twitching wench, who couldn't spell 'battle'. I was determined to let my regained happiness die an easy death; aware that many had left without a word. So it was more of 'do your job and go study'. I wasn't going to slog, Sify had taught me that. Three stories a day and that's it. However Miss crib-joy wanted her coffee hot when it was cold and wanted cold when it was hot.
It's funny when ur boss takes you into the corner to tell you about a certain lady you have be-friend is warming the director's bed: when u have heard the same about her?! - the place lacked spine and my new found one was stubborn enough not to dissolve.
She made a mistake, she lied: I wanted to leave it to karma, like the rest but when i saw her, i decided to face it. We had poor fireworks: she went below the belt and i did my best to rein my tongue. i got my voice through. It was silly, it also gave others' courage to confront.
As women's studies student , i don't sympathise with her. i know she is fragmenting: bad marriage, bad love life, terrible job, crashing dreams, sick child... all of that doesn't qualify her to take it out on others. And its juvenile to believe that you can poison someones mind against others.
Dear,
Papa Bear, “Dignity is not always in silence; sometimes, you have to shoo-off a barking dog.”
Pork sausage SMSed asking if i was okay? I haven't been more okay in my entire life! :))
Being a Gandhian, fights depress me and i often blame myself for everyones bad behaviour: victim mentality. Years ago, i concluded that i was misunderstood and gave up. The fury within has always manifested itself in munching banana chips with cheese dip.
Sify did something to me; during the court matter, i shielded myself from everybody who was breaking down or provoking. I had made my mistakes, believed in the wrong people: now,I refuse to be responsible for their crimes. That was it, the day i stood by myself in the court, i knew i was not a loser.
Months later, i worked with an incompetent, bitter, insecure, eyebrow twitching wench, who couldn't spell 'battle'. I was determined to let my regained happiness die an easy death; aware that many had left without a word. So it was more of 'do your job and go study'. I wasn't going to slog, Sify had taught me that. Three stories a day and that's it. However Miss crib-joy wanted her coffee hot when it was cold and wanted cold when it was hot.
It's funny when ur boss takes you into the corner to tell you about a certain lady you have be-friend is warming the director's bed: when u have heard the same about her?! - the place lacked spine and my new found one was stubborn enough not to dissolve.
She made a mistake, she lied: I wanted to leave it to karma, like the rest but when i saw her, i decided to face it. We had poor fireworks: she went below the belt and i did my best to rein my tongue. i got my voice through. It was silly, it also gave others' courage to confront.
As women's studies student , i don't sympathise with her. i know she is fragmenting: bad marriage, bad love life, terrible job, crashing dreams, sick child... all of that doesn't qualify her to take it out on others. And its juvenile to believe that you can poison someones mind against others.
Dear,
Papa Bear, “Dignity is not always in silence; sometimes, you have to shoo-off a barking dog.”
Pork sausage SMSed asking if i was okay? I haven't been more okay in my entire life! :))
Aug 4, 2007
Patriarchy and man
Sometimes it seems that I have spent my whole life fighting men and women injected with unreasonably strong doses of “a man is a man is a man” syndrome.
Male as a gender evolves from being a child, to a teen with pee pee, a man with broad shoulders, moving forward to his shark like qualities in the conference\ bedroom, to finally ending up as an old salesman trying to sell machismo to himself.
I am in my mid-twenties, not too old but old enough to get every action and grasp every interaction of human society. What do I conclude: Men are pathetic. At the end of their life, they are Michael Henchards’ of the world, all you can do is feel sad for them. There is nothing much to offer, even if you wanted to. Too much pride,too much gratitude,too much distance,too many walls… fathers, husbands, uncles: all become pitiable characters.
I believe a man's job is harder than a woman’s and truly so. The world takes a man’s failure and a woman’s success too seriously. Today, men can cry but they can’t be whiners’, although I respect a metrosexual male with impeccable sense of hygiene, perfect taste in food and clothing and a money making drive, there are really few of those, and those also come with a baggage. I found one such guy with a mother fixation: I ran so fast that the recollection of it makes me pant.
Apart from that, men are never given the best part of the pie, even though they are made to believe in the antithesis. They are the bread winners, the party goers, the ones with great jobs and all the money. Of course, they are the swingers, the seducers- the men who are tired coz they work so hard and all they get when they come home is an irritated wife and cranky children. They are the ones that single women like me have sympathy for; we cushion him from his unemployed-bitch-wife. 'The cab ride home and the slow kiss and the sweet talk is like the well waxed floor of a hotel lobby, even if you slip they guarantee no scars.'
When he was young and kicking, you were a child just born and being cradled in your mother’s arms. By the time you learn to recognise him; he has forgotten in which grade you are in; forget your class role number! You don’t see him often, when you wake up for school, he is doing his duty to drop you to your bus stop, so that mom can have her peace and make breakfast. By the time he comes home, the repeat telecast of your favourite show is on air and you have to dump the remote and run to do your homework: its better that way than you being asked to do so.
The time you enter puberty, you know your mother could have done so much better. I always pushed my mother to separate from my father. His ambition had reached his prime and he never realised I had moved from school to college. 'You have never seen your father treat your mother badly but you have known the subtle things that he has done very cowardly: like taking his mother’s side in a fight between the two women and apologising to her in the bedroom stating that his mother was old.' Or never showing any inclination to understand her taste in gifts and bringing her just the opposite or worse --gifting her home-utility items. (Women too derive happiness from these; like being ecstatic over a free bucket on a washing powder brand.) I have seen my mother bargain for a rupee and at the end of the week calculate how much she saved from all the fretting and fighting: often when she neared her expectation, she cheered saying that “See, I am an economics major!” I never felt proud of her, still don’t.
However, I blamed my father for a lot of the above, until I saw clones of him all around me. Big talk, suits and cars: all of that crumbles when you grow up. You see that they are lonely old asses whose front and hind legs have been tied in labour and family. It is not the best phase to be in-- ever. You will hate him for the very things that he stood for; even the good ones: loyalty, consistency, ambition, friendliness etc… everything that he wants to give you after all these years; is what you don’t want!
From that golden time of the youth; this is what happens when a man grows old: he is monetarily useless, he is constantly reminded of all the things that he did not do, the inadequacies that the children are now fulfilling, add to that all the negative qualities that make him the hateful man that he is!
And why? Because he never had the epiphany in time that his relationships are the only saviours he has, not his friends, or his firm or his designation. It’s that time his life when his every word is neglected, every suggestion rubbished in order to deflate his ego. It is a kind of revenge that your family takes on you. They do the meanest things in the most hilarious fashion. Kids say the worst words in the most casual of situations.
Chameleon propelled me to write and revisit all the men I have known when, he voiced his feeling for his daughter, “You know; I never had the feeling that she was my child. Never felt that connection: till now, it was just like - okay I have a daughter, big deal! Today I feel she is my child, my blood.” All this comes after racing out of the door faster than superman when his baby shits. Or when a year and a half ago, I heard him coaxing his wife to dump her job and have a baby as he didn’t want to be an old-dad. Why all of this, so late and how long will this feeling last?
If we believe in the motif “All's well that ends well” then the women clearly get all the good stuff. Be it enjoying the husband’s money, to getting all of their children’s affection, to settling down to a good pampered life in the old age where, she has her children’s treats and her husbands insurance. The children are compensating for what their mother never had. The father figure is missing, and its better that way for many families.
loudmouth makes me feel sorry for him when he bitterly says “I know who needs me how much. I know I am not needed here. I will be around till I think I should, it’s my duty.” I feel sad for him, genuinely. He is like the washer-man’s dog, who escorts the washer-man from his house to the river but never has a confirmed place to sleep. The river is too cold and the house is too warm. loudmouth had to choose between his wife and his mother: he ignored his wife till his mother died whom he never pleased enough. And when his mother died his wife had grown weary of him and his family: she had realised that her children were her only buoy. loudmouth struggled for his mother’s acceptance for half his life and now he struggles for his children’s affection in his old-age.
Men are sorry characters, puppets in different ways, the problem lies in an observation that they forget that the high tides of their lives aren’t going to always remain that way. The shallow misery that follows is their pitfall. When I chatted over my thoughts to the wise-capitalist she as a matter of fact stated, “Everything in this world works on performance. You have to constantly perform and compensate with better performance in other areas when, you fall short in some. And marriage is all about exploiting the partner. We all do it, but when you do it consciously, you have the upper hand. Men have been losers from the 1st day: its easier to give a man what he wants because then he will give you ten times in return. If you invest wisely and in the right places: marriage can be the most profitable venture you ever had! Women need men as much as an enterprise needs that ‘x’ employee: but you don’t need to voice that now, do you?”
This exercise answered certain questions like why men die before women. And whoever believes it’s a man’s world; is illiterate about the politics of the underdogs.
Male as a gender evolves from being a child, to a teen with pee pee, a man with broad shoulders, moving forward to his shark like qualities in the conference\ bedroom, to finally ending up as an old salesman trying to sell machismo to himself.
I am in my mid-twenties, not too old but old enough to get every action and grasp every interaction of human society. What do I conclude: Men are pathetic. At the end of their life, they are Michael Henchards’ of the world, all you can do is feel sad for them. There is nothing much to offer, even if you wanted to. Too much pride,too much gratitude,too much distance,too many walls… fathers, husbands, uncles: all become pitiable characters.
I believe a man's job is harder than a woman’s and truly so. The world takes a man’s failure and a woman’s success too seriously. Today, men can cry but they can’t be whiners’, although I respect a metrosexual male with impeccable sense of hygiene, perfect taste in food and clothing and a money making drive, there are really few of those, and those also come with a baggage. I found one such guy with a mother fixation: I ran so fast that the recollection of it makes me pant.
Apart from that, men are never given the best part of the pie, even though they are made to believe in the antithesis. They are the bread winners, the party goers, the ones with great jobs and all the money. Of course, they are the swingers, the seducers- the men who are tired coz they work so hard and all they get when they come home is an irritated wife and cranky children. They are the ones that single women like me have sympathy for; we cushion him from his unemployed-bitch-wife. 'The cab ride home and the slow kiss and the sweet talk is like the well waxed floor of a hotel lobby, even if you slip they guarantee no scars.'
When he was young and kicking, you were a child just born and being cradled in your mother’s arms. By the time you learn to recognise him; he has forgotten in which grade you are in; forget your class role number! You don’t see him often, when you wake up for school, he is doing his duty to drop you to your bus stop, so that mom can have her peace and make breakfast. By the time he comes home, the repeat telecast of your favourite show is on air and you have to dump the remote and run to do your homework: its better that way than you being asked to do so.
The time you enter puberty, you know your mother could have done so much better. I always pushed my mother to separate from my father. His ambition had reached his prime and he never realised I had moved from school to college. 'You have never seen your father treat your mother badly but you have known the subtle things that he has done very cowardly: like taking his mother’s side in a fight between the two women and apologising to her in the bedroom stating that his mother was old.' Or never showing any inclination to understand her taste in gifts and bringing her just the opposite or worse --gifting her home-utility items. (Women too derive happiness from these; like being ecstatic over a free bucket on a washing powder brand.) I have seen my mother bargain for a rupee and at the end of the week calculate how much she saved from all the fretting and fighting: often when she neared her expectation, she cheered saying that “See, I am an economics major!” I never felt proud of her, still don’t.
However, I blamed my father for a lot of the above, until I saw clones of him all around me. Big talk, suits and cars: all of that crumbles when you grow up. You see that they are lonely old asses whose front and hind legs have been tied in labour and family. It is not the best phase to be in-- ever. You will hate him for the very things that he stood for; even the good ones: loyalty, consistency, ambition, friendliness etc… everything that he wants to give you after all these years; is what you don’t want!
From that golden time of the youth; this is what happens when a man grows old: he is monetarily useless, he is constantly reminded of all the things that he did not do, the inadequacies that the children are now fulfilling, add to that all the negative qualities that make him the hateful man that he is!
And why? Because he never had the epiphany in time that his relationships are the only saviours he has, not his friends, or his firm or his designation. It’s that time his life when his every word is neglected, every suggestion rubbished in order to deflate his ego. It is a kind of revenge that your family takes on you. They do the meanest things in the most hilarious fashion. Kids say the worst words in the most casual of situations.
Chameleon propelled me to write and revisit all the men I have known when, he voiced his feeling for his daughter, “You know; I never had the feeling that she was my child. Never felt that connection: till now, it was just like - okay I have a daughter, big deal! Today I feel she is my child, my blood.” All this comes after racing out of the door faster than superman when his baby shits. Or when a year and a half ago, I heard him coaxing his wife to dump her job and have a baby as he didn’t want to be an old-dad. Why all of this, so late and how long will this feeling last?
If we believe in the motif “All's well that ends well” then the women clearly get all the good stuff. Be it enjoying the husband’s money, to getting all of their children’s affection, to settling down to a good pampered life in the old age where, she has her children’s treats and her husbands insurance. The children are compensating for what their mother never had. The father figure is missing, and its better that way for many families.
loudmouth makes me feel sorry for him when he bitterly says “I know who needs me how much. I know I am not needed here. I will be around till I think I should, it’s my duty.” I feel sad for him, genuinely. He is like the washer-man’s dog, who escorts the washer-man from his house to the river but never has a confirmed place to sleep. The river is too cold and the house is too warm. loudmouth had to choose between his wife and his mother: he ignored his wife till his mother died whom he never pleased enough. And when his mother died his wife had grown weary of him and his family: she had realised that her children were her only buoy. loudmouth struggled for his mother’s acceptance for half his life and now he struggles for his children’s affection in his old-age.
Men are sorry characters, puppets in different ways, the problem lies in an observation that they forget that the high tides of their lives aren’t going to always remain that way. The shallow misery that follows is their pitfall. When I chatted over my thoughts to the wise-capitalist she as a matter of fact stated, “Everything in this world works on performance. You have to constantly perform and compensate with better performance in other areas when, you fall short in some. And marriage is all about exploiting the partner. We all do it, but when you do it consciously, you have the upper hand. Men have been losers from the 1st day: its easier to give a man what he wants because then he will give you ten times in return. If you invest wisely and in the right places: marriage can be the most profitable venture you ever had! Women need men as much as an enterprise needs that ‘x’ employee: but you don’t need to voice that now, do you?”
This exercise answered certain questions like why men die before women. And whoever believes it’s a man’s world; is illiterate about the politics of the underdogs.
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