Conversation

Kal Kid: Are you from the community?
K: Why?
Kal Kid: You don't look like one.
K: (Chuckle) Is it so?
Kal Kid: Could i ask you something?
K: For sure.
Kal Kid: How can I distinguish a lesbian from a woman?
K: Look for the Horns.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Red Eye: So how long have you been associated with Lesbian rights?
K: More than a decade now.
Red Eye: So you have a girl friend?
K: No. I have a boyfriend.
Red Eye's jaw drops. Silence fills the air and K holds her laughter with all her might.

Man, Woman and The Other

Well. (‘Well’ is the safest way to start a piece of writing. It gives one an impression of the writer being in a perennial thinking process on the topic.)

This is an open forum and in praise of Ricky Martin being Gay. Whatever. The whole LGBTI (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender and Intersex) bandwagon is going gagagaga about it with large bronze trumpets with pink ribbons!

Why the celebration of the other? Who is the other? What makes them so special? Why are Hetrosexuals curious about them, to the extent of being offensive? Why make jokes about the Other? Is the other responsible for its treatment as the 'other'?

Why do some people end up as their sexuality? Is it that we have failed to educate ourselves? That we no more realize that branding people and even us for an inch of our identity is a humongous synecdochical mistake.  A golden haired woman becomes ‘blonde’ by the definition of what a blonde is theatrically characterized, Sardars become ‘stupid’, Maharastrians become ‘Ghatis’, and so it becomes of the sexual side, Gays become ‘gays’ (a small slice from the ‘other’ category)!

The worse part of sexual choice is that you cease to become anything other than your sexual identity; you cease to be human, forget being a man.

Today I am writing from the Other side. (As writers, it is a bit easier to walk in many shoes, to dissolve into another emotion, mingle in a territory, as if it was your habitat, little amphibious, we writers are. The truth is, in our twisted mind, we vicariously live many lives, walk in many skins, become many people.)

 “We are not perfect. At the most, we are intriguing. And the fun part ends there. Like you, we made our choices and are living them out. Then, what is it to not be a heterosexual? It is to be not common, to be not a million people. It is to be free, free to choose, choose to be me, or a thousand other things, even free to choose to be a heterosexual. Sexuality, you see, is fluid and individualistic. So who are we? Gays, Bi, trans…? We are more, more than our chosen sexualities, more than your clichés of them, more than our professions, more than our projected quirks, more than our casts, more than our religion, more than our colors; just as you are more than everything you portray.”

This post is dedicated to you, as much as it attempts to celebrate queerness. It is for you, to look, smile and carry on with life after you’ve witnessed a rainbow. We are the colors of the rainbow, you and I – the pink and the purple.    

Ornate Love

Love is always adorned, complicated and ostentatious. It can not be otherwise.

And it is wonderful when people are in love. it is often the only time when they are most accepting, generous, forgiving, brave and utterly selfless. Mind you, it lasts briefly, but it shows us what we are capable of.

Oyster Seeker, I shall be punctual.

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Blogger Buzz: Blogger integrates with Amazon Associates

Black Pearl

We became strangers so familiar,
We'd politely nod at each other.

Converastions

People are indeed very different. Here's how I found it.

If i were mistakenly stuck in a freezer. what would I do to keep myself alive?

K: Find a way out, call for help, break into the hinges, etc...

Capricorn Rook: Run to keep his body from freezing.

Oyster Seeker: Masturbate

Rand and Polarization

Amongst other things, man invented Religion, Time and War. Over time, to not have a clutter of Religions (and their subsequent gods) - man invented Cult Ideologies. 

Ideology - is usually a line of thought that a person or a group arrives at for themselves and the rest to admire or even apply.  In my opinion all ideas are born pure, they are birthed to fill a void, to improve hope and to spread knowledge. 

However, man is a being who uses only a sliver of his brain. Over Analysis has led to muted instincts. The result, as we view it, is excessivism and polarized thinking.   
Before I digress into oblivion, what triggered this post was a link:

http://www.partiallyexaminedlife.com/2010/03/17/randinetics-the-modern-science-of-permanent-adolescence

Reading this post was a déjà vu. [ Cut to final year college lit class. (I was silently listening to the scathing words of my HOD who felt my criticism of T.S.Eliot's essay 'tradition and individual talent', made me unfit as a student of literature.)] My contest then and now has remained unchanged. Rand needs rescue now, or maybe people who read Rand need to be rescued form its addiction.

In my opinion, every writer should be looked at from a certain mandatory stand point. The author's life, personal (family, ideology), medical, socio-political scene at the time of his life, the economic state of the country and the author, influences of other nations and literature on the author - all need to be taken into account. 
{For example, Eliot was deeply affected by his incapacities and was ridiculed in social circles for being an oddball that stressed on him to create a dreamy image of who he wanted to be.
Rand came from a very wealthy Russian household, with everything at her beck and call, she saw it being snatched away and the people for whom her mansion was made home for. Not in the least did she feel that either they or she had deserved any of this. She had then concluded that for each man to get what he desired, he had to device his own merit - every one else was unworthy of it.}

Irrespective of what we want to believe, everything around us affects us, impressions our minds - and it reflects in our behavior, our humor, our tastes and our expression. Writing is an expression. You could take a book as a stand alone testament of work/ art. But the author behind it will never be dead as long as the book survives, as long as its pages are turned, as long as it has found a space in the shelves, or is made into a PDF  or is plugged into someone's ears as an audio book. Negating the writer is foolhardiness. It may seem I advocate Autobiographical criticism, but then - when your vision broadens, you shall know the right thing to do.

The second and more grave a folly is being a disciple or boarding a hate brigade. Rand was a self-centered, to an extent self-deceptive too, she was a fierce protector of her ideology. Agreed - she saw the world was black and white. It was filled with creators and parasites. There was no other way out for her and she represented her ideas as her charcters in her novels. For Eddie Willers did not find a place in Atlantis. She has completely forgotten about his survival ... when he was neither a moocher nor a creator. He was the shade of gray that she could not comprehend. She has flaws, but at no point, she advocated inhuman, corporate cold capitalism - it is always Laissez faire. This is her book, she wrote it, becase she wanted to. She in no words forces you to read it.

It is a cardinal rule taught by none - never forget what you think when you read a book, or assess an author. Making gods out of people has only disillusioned the people and belittled the innovator. Read Rand as a person in a time with an innovative line of thought and end it there. If you feel that her 'knowledge and attitude' work for you - great, if they don't, still better.

We are all 'human', with human failings and human successes.... and all of that is worthless when we are not there.

Conversation

Wise Capitalist: You are jealous of me and my good life.
K: I don't want your life.
Wise Capitalist:  Then what do you want?
K: I just want everything that you have, just better, just more.

Fact

It is intriguing and funny, how when too many people believe in the same thing, it becomes a Reality.

When too many people say the same thing, it becomes a fact.

Fact

Once you have tasted pure Lust,
Love seems a burden too heavy.

K, the Gymnosophist

Why me? Yup, I too have often asked that question, in vain. When the honest part of my brain knows it's all been my making. It’s been almost more than a year that I have not earned a penny, not worked a day and have been waiting and making futile attempts in writing to magazines and newspapers to hire my unworthy typing services. The result:

~Am lazy as a lump.

~I sleep in the afternoon.

~Eating is my only exercise. I wake up, eat, watch TV, eat, sleep, surf the net, Facebook the world, eat, sleep. 
~I haven’t seen the sunrise at all!

~Every time I travel, I feel like a firang who is being taxied along with a swarm of smelly people.

~I can not anymore travel to three destinations in a day. One trip questions my age and my stamina.

~There are weeks at a go, that I do not cross the inner court yard to feel the uneven tar under my shoe.

~My shoes are biting me – for I have not worn them for over a year!

~My fuss quotient is unusually high.

~My skills are getting rusty, haven’t written in a while.

~I now seriously believe I am not good enough.

~I have become that fat mule, I thought I would.

~I am now the maid; cleaning, swabbing, rearranging my wardrobe. Folding and unfolding my clothes. 

~The easy way out seems to be: hunt for a rich husband, shopping, and filling my womb. (I can't even get myself to strike that deal!)

~Self deprecating humor is on a high. I often hear myself calling me a 'numb skull, goof ball, simpleton....

~I, now, do not want to be rescued by another 16 hour job. 

~My consciousness is becoming more hostile to every thing that is Alexandrian - every thing ambitious, every thing preposterous, every thing that demands labor from me. 

~I am with utmost persistent snail pace working on the path of the Gymnosophist. 

~My mind is becoming increasingly naked, my lard is oozing out of my clothes and I am mutely resistant to everything that I won't see myself doing another year from now!

~Somewhere (in some part of my haughty soul) I mock people for their desires, their clock-in clock-out  hours, their cyclical workaholic routines. 

~Somewhere I vicariously live in NY/ NJ, walk down Liverpool street in London, eat a smoked salmon, drink wines, guzzle beers, sing in the snow...

~I yearn to be what I want to be...

for that I have to be come who I really am. 

And that is fucking scary, for it will take a lot more effort that typing this out.