"Women should be seen not heard" REALLY?????

One of the things that I have begun to  ponder about, is how women are really not present in public discourse in small towns and suffer condescension and disrespect when they do voice their opinion in rural areas, towns and tier 2 cities in India. What I mean by this is not a criticism of my own sex but, just the fact that I have begun to notice how much we, as a voice are ignored by men, especially those men who I personally deem intellectually inferior.

One example of this, is the men living in our building, who completely ignore my mother and I, even our reasoned suggestions, and their generally condescending behaviour. What really gets my goat, is that they not only rudely interrupt and counteract us at every turn, they actually pretend to invite us into discussion in the name of "democracy" only to completely ignore us. It is mystifying for me, to come across the "women should be seen not heard" brand of misogyny in the second decade of 21st century India.

What can we as women expect, in reality ? In my opinion, men really are the product of what they learn at school and at home, especially from their mothers and other women. The Great Indian Joint family, according to me is capable of producing men who are the proponents of the most regressive, and misogynistic thought in current  times, as well as some truly remarkable men who believe in a diametrically opposite thought process. I believe that women are the most powerful agents of change in any society. It is on the laps of mothers, that sons must be taught to respect women and be open to change and accepting of difference.

The irony is, that many of the men, who I have come across in recent times are fathers of daughters, who have seemingly strong wives. What is mystifying, is that they are perfectly incapable of respecting women and display a disturbingly condescending attitude in particular towards women with strong personalities. This is what I find highly objectionable and alarms me on a personal level. I end this post with a question to all my sisters out there; if I as a highly educated woman have to suffer such condescension; how do those who are not living a privileged existence like me suffer through this?  

Why books trump life....

As a young girl, my heart raced every time I walked into the school library... What every pre-teen and teen were feeling for boys and girls, I was feeling for books. Yes, admittedly, I was and have always been an escapist, a runner. I hated reality then, I still hate reality now. However, that doesn't mean that I am completely delusional, I do realise that life is seldom fair or satisfying like the stories that I love reading. But what is really wrong with loving the new world opened up as one opens the pages of a book?


Some might say that being an escapist is not really the way to live, but I disagree. Characters from books do not laugh at your eccentricities, they laugh with you, they don't poke fun of talkativeness born out of loneliness, they sympathise,  books are seldom cruel, they are not rude or hurtful, some even understand grief and loss, love is always reciprocated if not appreciated. Books, in my opinion are are much better companions than people.

Books open up a world full of possibilities, one is not 'jobless' in a book, rather, the character is on a break, trying to find himself and/or the true meaning of life. Life's cruelties are always defeated and there is always a way to resolve issues and closure at the end. In my opinion books are the fulfillment of all our wishes. An example of this is the fact that the reader has all the power to choose, one can pick and choose whichever story strikes one's fancy from a plethora of choices.

Life is not the same, there are cruelties, disappointments, grief, loss, unemployment, unrequited love, journeys with unimpressive destinations and struggles ending with abject failures. Yes, I'd pick a book over real life any day.

Woe to be a feminist in this day and age!!!! The age of complete chaos….the time when it is unfortunate to even possess the wrong set of genitals in India….Whatever are we carping on about sisters??…. The subcontinent today is no place to even be a woman, this a place where the male of the species are so evolved, that they think nothing about throwing acid on ‘the hot chick who didn’t spread her legs for them, at the first crook of their finger’…..

Forget the so called annoying ‘vintage obsessed hipsters’ in the West my friend, the subcontinent has men soooo into the vintage and are such huge medieval age obsessed nuts; that they think nothing about abducting innocent girls belonging to the backward caste under the notion that it is still cool to exercise, the ‘droit du seigneur’, that reprehensible medieval notion that men in positions of power used to rape innocents and leave them without any personal liberty whatsoever.

So then my dear reader, I ask you; is it easy to be a feminist in the subcontinent, when it is difficult being a female? A few days ago a woman, whom I hold in high regard lamented at the stagnation of the women’s movement in India. Stagnation??? I couldn't help but disagree with her, I pointed out that post the December 16 Delhi Gang-Rape incident, we came together and fought for better laws…I stated that we have made our stance about zero tolerance to violence against women known more than ever before..So how was the women’s movement in India stagnating?

She countered by asking me a simple question that shattered all my smug self assurances about being a modern and emancipated feminist in India…. “Do you still carry that pepper spray and are still extra careful in crowds?”

I was floored. I realised that I really have been living in a fool’s paradise for the past couple of years. There are extremely disturbing reports of rapes, acid attacks, dowry deaths and other terrible instances of violence against women in the news every few days. Perhaps, the frequency of reported incidents have increased, but to what end? Are we able to prevent any of it? We express anger, outrage, regret and in some cases even fear, yet soon after, we cocoon ourselves in a sense of complacency and even go as far ahead as blaming ourselves, society, the government and alarmingly even the victim....but never the perpetrator...As if finding fault, will suddenly cause all these terrible incidents to stop.

I can’t seem to help but ponder on my own sense of shame, post the thin bubble that I was living in burst. Why shame? Why that particular sentiment? Yes, it is indeed shame that I feel, that, coupled with rage. Have I really been so disconnected with reality? So secure in my feminist beliefs that have arisen from my privileged and excellent education that I completely forgot what being a feminist really means.

I think, I am amongst those who got lost and have found my way back. I realise that I have a long way to go, before I am justified in claiming to be a feminist and a women’s rights activist. I found the very foundations of my outlook and beliefs burnt to ashes; only to find that there is still life, like the phoenix, my beliefs and faith have risen, renewed. There is hope still, as there are women like my friend who are perceptive enough to see the stagnation behind fancy speeches, and jolt even a smug, insular feminist such as yours truly out of complacency. So yes, woe to be that kind of a feminist indeed! I end this article with a fresh resolve to try and bring about an actually useful change before calling myself an activist again.    

Clair De Lune

I love listening to music, I love all kinds of music, but what I love most is listening to classical music. I am listening to Clair de Lune by Debussy; for some reason it reminds me of peace tinged with fiery turmoil, of happiness tinged with a sorrow, of contentment tinged with loss.

I don't know why, but every time I hear this particular piece of music, I get an ache in my chest....or perhaps my soul, for it really makes no sense... Ah, perhaps that's what good music does...it tends to be an experience designed, not for our bodies or minds, but for the soul. That inner being behind the masks that we wear daily to fool people into thinking that their cruel words and actions do not have the power to hurt and possibly maim.

Oh how I wish I could go on listening, just listening to the sublime music that, somehow always manages to bring tears to my eyes. It reminds me of the happy times spent with my father. Of listening to his heartbeat as I hugged him. It is as if the music seems to come from within me. It speaks of the grief that I feel of having lost him and of the joy that I felt just hugging him and loving him.

It is my companion, my only friend.That's what Clair de lune means to me... A piece of melody that transcends everything. It is ME right at this moment... It is a partner in my silent grief but still gives me hope, because in the end it is all in there, the aching beauty of the melody, the haunting notes, that somehow remind me of how much love I have for my father and what I meant to him.

Clair de Lune existed before me and even my father, it gave millions of people comfort, joy and a sense of peace, that is what music does. That's what Clair de Lune will still do, when it's beautiful notes ring out long after I'm gone.

I finish this with a thought I just had, this feeling that I'm not really listening to these hauntingly beautiful  notes alone, I think that right at this moment Debussy is playing Clair de Lune up there in heaven and my father is right there sitting in front of him listening and thinking of me.

Waking Sleeping beauty or Sleeping Monster

I could talk about so many things... where do I begin.... I'll start with a confession, I hate being woken up before I've finished my quota of sleep.... I turn into Mr Hyde....The Hulk, Voldemort, and a number of other dudes with major anger issues rolled into one... I sting the poor soul brave/stupid enough to wake me up. It is a terrible, terrible habit, and the worst part of it is that more often than not, I don't remember much of the bad behaviour when I do regain consciousness aka when I wake up properly.

In an ideal world, this could be a theme straight out of the script of a bone tickling yet thrilling sitcom about a normal superhuman who turns into a monstrous supervillain whenever her peaceful slumber is untimely interrupted. However, it is not an ideal world, or I would surely have come out of these situations with nary a scratch. But, the rule of the jungle says that if you roar, there will always be a roar back (no one really said that, I just made it up to look cool and wise).

I am sure that there are those of you out there who share my affliction. Well here's my question to you wise beings. How do you deal with waking up on the wrong side of the bed daily? Is there a formula to counter the ill humour which always accompanies the first couple of minutes after I wake up? I send this question out into the void and eagerly await sage words of wisdom.

I could write about this and I could write about that.... but really I break out in hives when I think of writing about my life. You see I lead a very dull life and have done absolutely nothing...

I turned 28 last week and was forced to see my life as it is now, and it certainly wasn't thrilling.... I realised that I have been spending the past couple of years unemployed and dressed in highly comfortable yet highly ugly clothes... Yes, realising that sweatpants are not really the epitome of glamour was quite a shock.

The thing is, I am unemployed for a reason, but the fact that I didn't have to get up in the morning or follow any routine really made me sloppy. This is something that I should have avoided. So, after that awful moment of looking in the mirror to find my dumpy, sweatpant clad self, I decided to dress up everyday, even if I didn't go out.

In that vein, I have dressed up everyday, certainly not haute couture but definitely more suitable than baggy old clothes. The reason that I am writing this is because I am certain that there are many out there who have let themselves go a bit. I would just like to say that despite this dull attempt at introspection, I empathize and hope that you'll find purpose like I have.  

Dear Reader, sometimes during the day, I find myself in the grip of a sadness....is it even sadness, I wonder? It is like that silence that can only be heard in the middle of the night.... that perfect silence that can make one even hear the thoughts that run in one's head at a zillion miles an hour....

I have come to realise that I actually crave this disjointed and alienating sadness....... Perhaps, if I let myself feel.... I would feel too much...That I would crave to be loved and wanted too much... It is not that I'm hated exactly, but I realised a long time ago that people don't like me much, even when I try hard to be liked.......

I know that you're thinking that I probably need to go see a psychiatrist, I have long thought so. However there are circumstances that have often made me rethink. You see I live next door to an asylum for the mentally infirm. I see them roaming around in the gardens subdued and becalmed due to the medicines they are on, and it makes me think about my own inner turbulence.

From my high vantage point of the neighbouring apartment building, it seems safe to observe people going through extraordinary calm lives, even if they do so under the influence of strong medication. I frequently find myself actually thinking that turbulence, fury, anguish and constant melancholy are preferable to the becalmed numbness, these medicines seem to bring on. Perhaps, I'm wrong in thinking thus, however I have decided that on reflection I prefer my peculiar kind of insanity to mundane sanity.

Dear Reader, will it surprise you if I told you that I have recently become addicted to going to the Gym?However, I loathe this particular addiction, unlike my addiction to books. I suppose that after going on and on about the beauty of nature and the outdoors, you are sure to have deduced that I love the outdoors. However, it is rather difficult for anyone to go for a nice run when it is pouring, courtesy the 'Great Indian Monsoon'.

I crave the sense of normalcy of working-out on a regular basis. I really like running and I find that it lends coherence to my otherwise turbulent inner dialogue. I also like the fresh air and sense of achievement that only a nice long run can provide.

I must admit, that I do find these things whilst working out in a gym . However, at the risk of courting the wrath of all you serious gym aficionados..... I confess that I hate running on a treadmill. I feel absolutely no sense of achievement.

In a philosophical sense, I must explain that my love for running stems from my desire to lead a life full of movement. I want to go further than everyone I know, explore new avenues as opposed to doing all the work, going through major exertions yet staying put; quite akin to running on a treadmill; where you run but don't go anywhere.

So, I confess that despite the wonderfully plush surroundings and swanky equipment, the gym still hasn't managed to lure me away from the siren call of the asphalt on the open road.

Of Euphoria, Parikrama, Strings and Junoon......

Dear Reader, today I stumbled across a song that I used to really love when I was in school....an indie rock song by a band called Euphoria....Oh how I loved Euphoria... I remember that I gravitated to all these songs with the fusion beat.....I think that indie songs especially with a folksy-rock fusion beat is especially IN right now but, Euphoria was seriously something.


I prefer hard rock and old school rock and roll when it comes to english music but when it comes to hindi music I really like folksy-pop-rock... I suppose that it might even be an oxymoron but who cares. I remember spending countless evenings listening to Euphoria, Parikrama, Indian Ocean, Advaita, Junkyard Groove etc and even those amazing Pakistani bands.... Strings, Junoon, Jal, Fuzon and Zeest....

I love the fact that today all I have to do is tune into MTV Indies/ Coke studio/ Sound Treck/ The Dewarists/ Youtube  and listen to Papon, Monica Dogra, Swarathma or even Bangla Rock, but I do find myself longing for those days of innocence when one waited for a Euphoria album or an Indian Ocean/ Parikrama Concert and felt really cool to even know about Indian Rock.. :)


For those of you who are Indian/ Pakistani and grew up in the subcontinent during the 90's and early 00's I am sure that you know what I'm feeling nostalgic about. It was an experience that I am sure is up there with watching shows like Hip Hip Hurray...... kids now-a-days don't know what they've missed do they?

Ah..'Strings' I was crazy about this band! :)

In which I muse about the importance of 'Readers' for 'Writers'

Dear Reader, life is an interesting journey full of ups and downs....I have always felt the need to write about the interesting, mundane and sometimes bizarre turns that this journey takes. Things like the feeling of being loved by some, hated by others, successes and failures, flights and crashes and so on.

Unfortunately, my muse has been most uncooperative during the past couple of months and also certain personal roadblocks have proved to be distractions that have prevented me from writing this blog. I know and realise that I have a responsibility to myself as a blogger to maintain a steady flow of posts. With this in mind,  I have resolved to post regularly from now on, in order to always be in a position to write and to ward of writers block.

I know that most of my posts might not be interesting or useful. But are writers ever really fun, or even that interesting for anyone? Except of course for those select few called 'Readers'. I firmly believe that, it is our readers who make us identify ourselves as writers.

And so for all my noble and patient readers out there..... I will try my level best to be a good writer and communicate more through this blog. Until the next post.....