Women, Sex and Other Issues

What's the most important entity and identity for a girl living in India according to the society?

Education? Financial success ? Independence? Talent and skill? 

Nah.

It's her Honour.

Honour and virginity are perhaps the most hyped ideas that the nation lives by. One of the chief reasons a rape victim is looked down upon is because she's 'impure'. Most people don't seem to think that it's a violation of her right, that it's the very helplessness that she's left with; that a man can take undue advantage of her proving his so-called masculinity in the most cruel way possible that hurt her more than the act of rape itself. But no, a woman has been raped and the society goes clicking its tongue on the fact that the most important image of the woman has been snatched upon by a wayward fox. It's not her Freedom and right but her virginity and honour. 

The importance the society attaches to sex is wholly on a negative side unless it is post-marriage. Everyone is happy when there is an heir in the making in the family. Did that baby magically happen? Did an angel bring the child from the sky and drop it within the woman's womb or at the hospital like the little girl in The Cosby Show believes? Of course not. We are all adults and yet we fail to acknowledge what is the most natural path of life. So, why is it that a woman post marriage is lauded for her baby-making abilities but shunned and scorned upon if she is a person involved in a relationship involving premarital sex or is a rape victim? How is the very same baby impure or unchaste? Fertility and motherhood are two factors that should never be contained within the realms of pseudo-morality. 

Sexuality and virginity has long been confused with morality. We have enough and more Indian movies that prove that point. Heroines who commit suicide because they are no longer 'pure' post rape or thrown out of the village limits for having lost their virginity before marriage are the front-running examples. A woman who is open about her sexuality is demoralized and called characterless while the shy, goody-goody woman clothed from top to bottom is the ideal image of an Indian girl. 

I love Superstar Rajinikanth beyond words but to merely hear him depict how a woman needs to be in the movie Padayappa still makes me cringe. Media, TV serials depict the ideal bahu as the woman contained within the house, producing the family heir while the woman who is open to her sexuality, who wears modern clothes or consumes alcohol, wears heavy make-up is generally the villain to the otherwise mellifluous life of the lead woman in the soap opera.Sexist portrayals of women are far too many to count, starting from small advertisements to statements made by famous personalities.  Many of our 'leaders' believe that chowmein, tight clothes, mobile phones, staying out after 7.00PM causes rape. 'Boys will be boys and make mistakes' is the most recent one that flashed by in the news. I can't even begin to explain how disgusting it all sounds.

Images are from the internet

Women are being judged for every single choice of theirs. We still live in a country where white bed sheets are laid out for the wedding night in many a households to check the purity of the bride newly welcomed into the groom's house just the day before. The 'modesty' and the character of a woman is measured by her virginity, her number of boyfriends etc. 

I have boy-friends who have told me that they will ogle all that they want at busty actresses clad in half-nudity but they themselves only want 'homely' girls for wives. Though it is a matter of opinion, aren't we all at the end of the day looking at women as prized objects to be safeguarded? Women are always being looked upon as property being handed over from one family to the other. If she is open about her sexuality, a woman who is too much into literature or talks too much, she might not be the right fit for the family.

As an Indian girl I don't have the luxury of taking a walk down the road to the beach at 2.00 AM, unaccompanied, well.. because it'll be my 'loss' at the end of the day. If in the process of enjoying a good walk at the wee hours of the morning someone does get raped, even the girl's family and extended relatives will chide the girl. 'Why did you "allow" her to go out at that time?', they will ask. Who allowed your son to go clubbing at 1:00AM in the morning? That is never a question that's asked, sadly. 

 Forgive my digression. It's just that there are too many things that we women are being unwillingly attached to that it takes a while to understand them all. It is no secret how many goddesses we have in India. Every single one of them are celebrated upon and worshiped, yet the woman is abused and called a slut and a whore for her choices. Why? Even today menstruating women are considered impure in many households. It's a sickening picture. A sign of fertility has been tossed upon to be looked at as disgusting. Bravo! Hypocrisy knows no bounds here. 

The instances, incidents and happenings are innumerable.It's high time we learn not to judge a woman open about her choices. It's high time we didn't assume that the highest quality in a woman is her virginity. It is not. When a woman weeps when raped it is not because she's been penetrated but because she was rendered helpless at the point. Rape is an act of power and not sex. A woman is to be understood and approached on her skills, her abilities, her talents and independence and not her sexual choices. And just because someone has slept with another once doesn't mean she's welcoming all of the multitudes of men out there. This judgmental attitude is the biggest malice this nation has. 

If a woman engages in premarital sex, it's her choice. Leave choices as choices and not as foundations to build your useless hypocritical opinions and slut-shaming name-callings. Live your life and not someone else's. 

Peace out! 

Image from the internet. It doesn't belong to me. 

~Hemu 

Dark and Dreary

The afternoon set in, rainy and dark. The clouds had pulled over the sun for having trespassed over my dark period and cried till I felt safe within the multitudinous folds of my quilt. The room gleamed with an eerie gloom that could only be best described as my own mind while a lonely hand stretched hard and waved the curtains across to let in a passive stream of light, exploring the path of the dust that lay accumulated from time lost on its way to Earth.

    The  knocking hasn't ceased. The person is relentless and won't give up. Dragging my heavy feet across  a cold marble floor, I moved, blinking between sorrow and seeing through tears. Stopping at the door, I yelled that I was coming, wiping away the slate clean of any traces of smudged chalk with the sweater whose hands fill mine. The door creaked, almost out of practice from the last few days. I pulled open the heavy door.

 The light was unbearable for me to take. A door-ful of radiance hit me as he entered the house with a kiss and some big bear hugs. I couldn't but stare at the silhouette of light that lit my house like a Christmas star that throws its dots of light, life and hope according to engraved patterns by an artist, a lover in his own accord.

'Maybe you should try coming in,' he said.

I stood rooted near the door as he walked back to me, throwing his light and shadow across the room split by him alone and shut the door tight to retain the flavour this house has become accustomed to.

'You?'

'Yes, me.' he uttered, through those perfectly formed teeth. His overgrown locks fell across my face as he carried me in all ease and grace, that I have never seen anyone else do. Walking to my darker chamber with the single ray of light, I fondled his cheeks with those beautiful dimples that could very well act as the life-saving pond to fish in need of life, that which only grew deeper as my hands traveled their distance.

The imaginary boundary between us threw itself into the corner, the sides of the bed became but one. All I could perceive was his stubble against my collar bone, his body pressed to mine and hands that caressed what I was, every inch through. I twiddled a while, moving away only to be pressed against him, a little closer, some more passionate kisses and tickles transmitting across my own body moving onto his own. Every time he smiled, a burst of light burped out of my laughter, every time his hands played their tune across the boulevards of my body, strings connected from my head and till my toe; music flowed and resonated through the entire room. I could smell the smoke off him and we reveled in our own world of beer and vodka, the scent raising our sensitivity. No longer was any part of me insignificant or strong, it was but whet and vulnerable. For a long time there, we were but one fused mass that might have even melted had not there been that darkness in the air and the coldness in the light. In that warmth that he radiated, I closed my eyes to receive his love and never woke up.

  Hard, breathless raps on the front door landed on my ears.

  The darkness rolled under my eyelids, tears streaming hard as I woke up to an absence where presence was uncertain. The knocking on the door only grew harder. I wiped my face clean of pain and walked towards the edge of the world, in hope of death for a visitor. I passed the shelf and saw the calender lying around, the same from the last time I ever saw it.

Source:Google images 

~Hemu

Men, Women, Sex and Chauvinism

I had a text conversation with one of my friends some days back. It was in regard with one of my poems that I had put up earlier on my blog. From an outsider's point of view, it might have been a wholly feminist attitude, but to me it was sheer anger at women not being seen the way they should be or rather, being seen the way they shouldn't be seen.

  One thing led to the other, we had a good discussion on women, some meaningful conversations that I have with a few people until we reached a point where chauvinism came into blown up view. Not that it wasn't present until then for it is always a constant presence that runs in the sentences framed to express views. Or as I noticed, most of the conversations that the two sexes share falls into one of the following frames.. One with people who hate chauvinism (which mostly turn out to be women like me), one in favor of it (men and women who genuinely feel and think that women are meant to be under men) and the ones in between. Now, it's easy to argue with a male chauvinist for you can never possibly discuss issues with him/her. You see, most often, they never listen. What happens to begin as a discussion would lead to an argument where mindless shouting is all that is left at the end. I generally avoid discussions with such people. I just smile and walk away with a hidden smile of the knowledge that their thoughts always tend to amuse and baffle me. 

    

      On the other hand are my co-people, who are against chauvinism. We, for the record are not female chauvinists. I personally feel men and women are on two different standards altogether. One just can't be compared with the other. It was actually a late realization that I had, some years ago when a friend managed to knock that into my head which until then was hot with the ideas of equality among men and women. I used to think men and women are to be considered equal whereas the whole two groups couldn't be equated at all. One was different from the other. The grounds of measurement weren't the same. Though, I believe in both genders being treated equally. 

   

    Both these kind of people are easy to handle. It's actually rather simple. You either hate them or love them. The third are the difficult lot. They are those men and women who are in between. Out of the mass of this kind, its predominantly the men that I come across. I don't know how to almost always converse with them, given I don't know which side they are inclined to. These are the regular people I come across everyday. The boy-friends I know of, the educated uncles who fall here due to their age and all other sorts of people. I don't mean to offend them for it's with some of these people that I talk a lot, though it is difficult sometimes. I learn, I realize and feel more mature. 

     Well, as I was saying, I am guessing my friend fell in the final category of people. The conversation was smooth for when both parties involved talk with an open mind ready to accept something they are convinced of by the other.It did until I reached a point where it reached Women, men, sex and chauvinism. Women, men and clothes. Women, men and skin. 

      I think this is something I could never get or get over. The whole idea is rather muddled to me. I noticed that most of such people have an attitude that a woman whose skin you can see is either morally 'retarded' or a counterpart fully covered and clothed being a 'better person' upon the first impression. Agreed there are women who wear revealing clothes just to get attention or what not? But what about the ones who are comfortable in those clothes? What if that is what they are? Why doesn't it ever occur to people, men and women alike that a woman can wear clothes of her choice? Why does she have to be judged, stared at and be morally backward to wear clothes of her choice? How does it affect you lot? It's like judging a man and saying he is of the 'wrong kind' because he wears lungi and roams about bare-chested! 

   Of course, there's the anatomy. But is that the only thing? 

   And oh, coming to sex. Virginity in women is a prize for men. At least the one marrying her, right? Casual sex from the side of men is something that has been passed over as ordinary and 'ever-happening' while one move towards anything even hugely less in magnitude on the woman's side is wrong. And it beats me out, how the men always scorn and condemn those women a.k.a 'whores' they hook up with ? It existed generations back when it was broad daylight and accepted for being so. It exists even now, but just to be observed under microscopic light. The so-called broad-minded guys with trace amounts of chauvinism they so claim wouldn't take a girl who has been with another man, while he can have all the sex he wants in his life. Who's there to question? Why is it always down to women? The women of the kind is labelled a 'slut' with an intense connotation while the guy of the type is called a 'playboy' with some sort of pride. I really don't get that one. 

   The friend of mine had said it was for genetically good reasons, to safeguard women and the like of phrases which I found to be utter rubbish. Okay, working towards the society? What about that woman the guy just hooked up with? She doesn't count? (Unless 'she' was not a woman). My point here is not that me or many others like me(women) want to have sex and are fighting for the right to do so. One may exclaim : "Alright. Go ahead! I'm not the loser." This is not the point. Point is why is it right for men to do so, while a shame if women do. I'm from India, a land where women are taken to be Goddesses. Well, we don't want to be on that level but you could stop treating us like shit. How hypocritical can guys get?

   I meet multitudes of people. For all that I have known, I have hung out with more men than women. Let's say sometimes they are a lot more comfortable kind of people to be with. Brothers, friends.. everyone I have ever seen, ever in my life have chauvinism in them. Agreed you are born with it. You are brought up with it. But don't you have to evolve at some point of time? Open your eyes and see what is actually going on instead of you just judging the woman in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt? Judgmental attitude, my friend is tiresome. 

   Please shrug off those covers of pretense that you have. I think all the lines of 'we do this to protect you' and 'I'm not the loser' are just pure crap. Try to respect the woman you see as a human. She surely is not a cross of the road-side 'bitch' and a chimpanzee. I'm sure you do agree with me on  that one? And at last, please stop acting like saviors. I know you are physically more strong and can ward off men who pose a threat to our 'honor' but that doesn't give you the right to define how we live. 

   Thanks to those hormone-raging men out there (I mean only those sexually perverted guys out there. Not everyone.) I can't travel the country or the world as I wish. I love, totally love being a woman. I'm so proud of being one. But sometimes it doesn't feel good when I'm made to regret for being born as one.  

 I hope I meet one guy who will know and feel the way I do about this issue. But I guess the other guys might not find him to be a guy/man at all. 

Anyway, cheers still! 

  

The Roadside Whore

I had never seen such a man before, 

in all epitome of his handsomeness, and a smile that washed ashore worries.

I called forth to him, while he stood at the end of the street, 

by the lamp post crossing his legs and staring at me. 

My rouge grew redder, like I've never felt before,

I set my hair, smoothening my curls looking at the man. 

Not knowing if a second call would be needed,

So, I just stood watching his body, naked behind the clothes I shed from my vision. 

He looked like a man of word, more than flesh,

as I hoped what he would be, in all his being. 

He would be different I hoped, a writer perhaps, 

documenting miseries and glees. 

Perhaps, he'll understand my pleasure at seeing a man like him, 

a man in that black suit pressed to the last crease now invisible. 

As my thoughts grew, he walked towards me, 

holding a smile that kindled my inner soul.

What if he was the one? What is this was it ?

I held my breath as I walked with him as he slipped his arm around my shoulders, 

unlike the other men who walked away from me, 

only meeting me in a cramped place so desolate. 

Probably he is, oh, he is. 

We walked somewhere, I don't know where, a man with me, 

who didn't throw me dirty looks, looked at me as a woman. 

Like a person who knows what femininity means. 

Into his room, I waited for him to say something.

Yet, there were no words.

He tore my blouse down to mere shreds of cloth, 

releasing himself from the stiff clothes.

Raw feelings grew as we hit the bed, him biting away at my flesh, 

full of meaning. Everything he did, was a feeling 

I had never felt before in my life. 

Our bodies locked, the world faded as I gave myself to him in a way 

I never gave myself to anyone else. 

More than mere flesh, more the lips to tear open. Something beyond.

Something special. Something like him. 

Hours passed and the rage subsided as he slid out of the bed, 

bereft of a blanket around us, there is nothing to hide. Nothing to conceal. 

Fumbling into his pants, he looked at me through the dim light.. dressing back to what he was. 

He stabbed into his pockets bringing out some pieces of highlighted papers. 

And kept them in front of me. 

I stared up in shock and nodded, acknowledging the pay. 

He pulled his coat over and adjusting his tie, 

just like before, dressing in perfection, just like the 'perfect sex' he just gave me. 

Only now, there were creases on his coats, that stood out laughing at my face. 

Laughing at my crumpled hopes.

He turned and walked away without a second glance, 

as I sat naked, my face down in disappointment. 

But I won't cry, I won't lament.
For I've seen more than this. 

I'm the roadside whore, calling out to you, 

I, who fake groans and moans in bed. 

I, who still search for miracles everyday.

Waiting for it to hit my bed before another man does. 

For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.  

I shall live. I shall fight. 

For, I'm the roadside whore calling out to you.