An Afternoon Well Spent...

...is not an easy task when you are me and work 7 days a week and thus have a precious few afternoons to spare. This last month, I've rediscovered the perfect recipe of an afternoon well spent.

Ingredients:

• A film - preferably a good one, but even a strange film does the trick.
• Some good food - it does not have to be fancy, even the most basic food at a place completely devoid of ambiance can work like magic if the ingredients are mixed well.
• The company of a good friend - some would say that this is optional, but nothing works for me more than the certitude of a good conversation over that cuppa tea.
• A lovely warm Sunday afternoon with a gentle breeze fanning the face, keeping the droplets of perspiration at bay and gently whistling through my hair even as it makes the skin on my arms break into goosebumps.

Method:

Toss all the ingredients together in a large bowl and serve warm :-)

My Students and Other Animals...

Times a plenty when I find myself wondering why people must insist on behaving like the lesser evolved species and display a complete lack of culture befitting a cow or worse a bull. It doesn't help that I have been chased twice by a cow, making me not the least bit fond of this animal, sacred or not. If you ask me, it's a dumb creature with some seriously disgusting eating habits. And then I walk into class and see a student's jaw moving in a circular motion and I see the student metamorphosing into a bovine creature and when the student says "Bonjour," I hear "Mooo!" I'm referring to the abhorrent habit of chewing gum which always reminds of masticating cow. I'm forced to ask the human cows to go and spit out the gum, more out of my intense disgust at this image, than because of their obvious and dismal lack of manners which permits them to chew gum in the presence of a professor.

But human cows aren't the only animals that inhabit my classes. For the longest time, I was teaching in a classroom (where I still have to teach every once in a while) which had boxes and boxes of the last decade's archives (read junk which should be either sold or simply burnt) belonging to the Alliance Française de Poona. Now cartons and boxes provide perfect nooks and corners for spiders and other vague insects and creepy crawlies to thrive and where there are creepy crawlies, there must be reptiles, or at least lizards...and thus every now and then, a lizard would decide to come and attend class. And of course the lizard would just *have* to be the more ardent of my students and had to come padding its way closer to me, while my insides squirmed in disgust and I tried my best to restrain the urge to jump over to the other side of the class like a skittish foal!

The appearance at my classroom window, of the occasional crow who tries his level best to drown out my voice, much to the mirth of my students isn't quite as comforting to my teacher's ego...but little beats the damage done by my canine friends. On one occasion when I was teaching and fifteen minutes into class, the door was suddenly pushed open. Turning around expecting to see a student and prepared to ask "Pourquoi es-tu en retard?" I was puzzled when my eyes didn't fall on any face...searching, my eyes fell further down, to encounter a muzzle...the owner pushed the door further and in walked Monsieur Deshpande, the local dog. He proceeded to saunter right to the center of the classroom and settled there with a rather questioning look on his face! I had a tough time getting him out of class - and much to my chagrin, I was forced to acknowledge that this was not one of my fans, for he was there not to gain the seeds of knowledge or bask in my enthralling presence, but to inquire about the source of his daily dose of Parle G biscuits!

Recently, I had to teach once again with a canine friend in class - much to my disgruntled amusement, this one also didn't seem to find my pedagogic practices particularly interesting for once he'd rubbed himself against my calves and got himself petted, he proceeded to stretch, yawned straight into my amused face...and then stretched himself at my feet and promptly fell asleep! I continued to teach, hopping over him and moving around him till he finally roused himself from his power nap some thirty minutes later, threw me a bored look and sauntered out of class once again!

I've now been teaching for nearly four years and just when I thought I'd seen all sorts of creatures stroll through my class, with the strangest of mannerisms and gaits, I have yet another visitor...one who walks sideways. A handicap, I'd say but this fellow moved with amazing speed and accuracy, making his way across the room speedily towards me. Spotting him from the corner of my eye, I paused in the middle of explaining the conjugation of a verb, and turned my head to ensure that I wasn't hallucinating...and it truly was a crab that was racing across the floor towards me! Funnily enough, despite my alarm, I continued in almost the next breath, calmly as though I was still talking about the verb, "Il y a un crabe dans la salle..." I leave you to imagine the chaos that followed my declaration!

After calming my students, who had succeeded in making the crab take refuge amongst the wires in a corner of the podium at which I was standing, I continued teaching, keeping a wary eye on the crab that crawled out a few minutes later and settled himself a few inches away from me. The crab insisted on scurrying after me every time I moved, leaving me quite pleased by his devotion to French. Now if only I inspired such devotion in my human students! Sigh...

P.S If you found my experiences even remotely interesting and/or amusing, you'll definitely enjoy this book.

Whisk Me Away...

The recent trips seem to have stirred the wander-lust in me for I find myself strangely restless, unable to focus on work for long and amazingly enough loath to spend time at home. I find myself building castles in the air about trips I'd like to make later this year - Aurangabad for another visit to the Ajanta-Ellora caves and Bangalore to *finally* visit Hampi with Umelette (she seems to be the only one who has not yet been there)...

So it is that in the middle of planning a new class or slogging my way through a translation I suddenly find myself wondering what is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare?

Flights of fancy apart, I've been drowning myself anew in the world of literature (or atleast attempting to do so) and thus the pile of books on my bedside table is becoming taller and increasingly precarious as I pull out a different book every night, depending on my mood, and proceed to drench myself in a world vastly different from mine. Joyce Carol Oats, Gerald Durrel, Michel Tournier, Franz Kafka or Sue Rose - every night I'm whisked away to a new world and slip blissfully into a wonderful dreamless sleep. :)

Now if only, someone would organise a magic carpet that could truly whisk me away!

Appreciating the Female Nude...

While I've always admired and appreciated art, not until very recently did I start understanding it and learning to read a painting and see what the artist is trying to say. Obviously in my less informed days, I expected all art to be beautiful in a gentle, pleasing manner and anything that was raw, asymetrical or unconventional failed to inspire me. So it is hardly surprising that my favourite artists were all Impressionists. I did however admire a few other artists, Edgar Degas being one of them. Very often recognised as an Impressionist, Degas infact worked more often in the studio than in the natural light and his subjects and techniques differed slightly from those of his contemporary Impressionists. I've always appreciated Edgar Degas' series of women at their toilette, finding the voyeur's perspective fascinating and sensual at the same time. That was perhaps my first step towards appreciating nudes in art.

As I slowly discovered other works with the female nude as their subject, I began to analyse them further. For instance, none of Degas' women meet their viewer's eye, unlike Velazquez's Venus (1644-48) who coyly looks at her viewer through the mirror held up for her toilette by an angel.

The sensuality of Ingres' Odalisque (1840) who looks over her shoulder and meets the viewer's eyes with an open frankness and not the slightest hint of coyness stole my breath, even if the proportion of the back in comparison to the rest of the body was a little skewed. Or maybe it was that sensual curve of her back that added to her appeal?

Odalisque with a Slave, in stark contrast presented a frontal view of Odalisque stretched out sensually while a slave played music for her pleasure and another one stood at guard. Obviously influenced by Ingres' study of Oriental culture, it is an incredibly sensual work of art, but I personally prefered Georgione's Venus Asleep (1510). The casual indolence with which Venus is stretched, demurely covering her sex with her hand is far more sensual than the obvious sensuality of the Ingres' Odalisque.

But if Georgione's Venus hand covering her sex is a demure gesture, when one sees Titian's Venus of Urbino (1538-39)covering her sex, it seems almost like an after-thought as she stares straight into the eyes of the viewer. The dog curled at her feet and the familiar household scene in the background seem to add to the erotic nature of the painting. However, she still seems demure, despite the openness of her look.

On the other hand, Manet's Olympia (1865), reposing on her bed while similarly covering her sex is anything but demure. The bold look invites the (male) viewer to enter her private chambers and sample what's very obviously on offer. The blatant sexuality of this work scandalised the public in the 19th century. While the nudity itself no longer shocks, the intent of the painting when considered in its contemporary social setting does indeed shock me as well. But I must profess to hugely admiring this particular work of art and all that it suggests, whether subtly or obviously.

Whatever be the intent and the style, none of these have truly bared the female sex to the viewer as do the modern works of art. Call me prudish or conventional, but I prefer this sensual representation of the female nude in comparison to the deconstructed nude which holds little as sacred (and the female sex is definitely not sacred for the modern artist). If I had to have a print of any one of these works of art in my house, I'd reach out for Olympia without batting an eyelid.

Diasporic Angst...

I remember the first time I went back to Bombay in June 2004 - my heart was singing from the moment we crossed the toll naka in Vashi, my eyes soaking in the sights of the familiar roads, rolling down the windows to take deep, gulping breaths of that salty wind. It was the same each and every time I disembarked from the plane on my way back home from Germany/France. Muggy, disgustingly hot even in the middle of the night or not, breathing in the air of Tinsel Town put a spring in my step. Bombay, I have always maintained, has a unique smell that only a true blue Bombayite can appreciate. My trips to Bombay decreased in frequency over the years, but the feeling of going back home everytime didn't change...till this time.

This time, for the first time, I felt out of place. The humidity and heat made me feel almost sick the first evening - the squalor and dirtiness of the streets made me wonder when the city had turned into a gigantic garbage dump - the smell pervading the streets made me screw up my nose in disgust - the ambitious metro project which is being awaited eagerly by everybody struck me as a huge eyesore. Of course work is still under way and what I saw of it, was just dug up roads, leading to mucky roads and massive traffic confusion, but it hasn't appealed yet. The worst was the feeling that I no longer recognise the city. The shopping centers and malls cropping up at every corner make me feel rather lost, when I can't locate the familiar landmarks.

Yet, I can not deny that the city still rocks my boat, like little else. Is it merely because nothing better exists or because my city truly does rock, mugginess, squalor et al?

Impressions of a Sunrise

Have you ever woken up before the crack of dawn and sat in the dark listening to the sounds of silence envelopping you in their silvery embrace?

Have you ever heard the adhan from the neighbouring masjid or the crowing of the roosters announcing the dawn of a new day?

Have you ever seen the fiery rays of the rising sun streak across the sky and set it aflame? Or watched as stars twinkling against the inky blackness of the night slowly fade as the sky became progressively lighter?

Have you ever started your day with nothing for company but a mug of tea/coffee, your myriad thoughts and the strains of the santoor strummed by none other than the great maestro Shiv Kumar Sharma?

If you haven't, you must, for I have mere words which don't even come close to describing the pleasure of these experiences.

Claude Monet - Impression du Soleil Levant (1873)

Rien de Spécial

Standing at the fag end of the weekend, I smile as the warmth of content spreads slowly but steadily through my tired body, making me forget how sleep deprived and exhausted I am and that an extremely tiring week lies ahead of me...so what did I do this weekend? Rien de spécial - a visit to one of my favourite places in the city, i.e. the Khadki cemetery(which is also hopefully the first of several such visits in the Pune Darshan plan for a new friend), efficient and quick shopping expeditions for friends, rambling conversations, drinks and a midnight meal of Maggi with friends, Dhansak and Salli boti at Dorabjee's café with Extempore who is here to help Landmark shift across the road to a much larger space with a hugely improved stock which makes it difficult to resist the urge to splurge which obviously means new books, in this case two new books by Gerald Durrel (whom I blogged about here) both of which I'm most eager to start reading...

As I said, rien de spécial - just an extremely satisfying week-end :)

Tchin Tchin

From 2004 to 2009, I've attended five 14 juillet soirées organised by Alliance Française de Poona. I started the journey in 2004 as a new student lost in the crowd, painfully awkward and bored stiff due to lack of company. A year later, I still didn't know many people but sure had fun with Kitana and PJ. The following year saw me in a new position as a professor, but back in the old shoes where I found myself isolated since I didn't know any of my colleagues well enough to spend time with them and ended up spending the evening on the dance floor with students...it was also the first time I condescended to drinking beer! A couple of years later, things have changed so much. For one, the party was not on 14 juillet but (for a bunch of strange reasons) on the 1st of August. Secondly, I now enjoy glugging beer. Thirdly, our party was a complete disaster in comparison to the rocking parties we've had in the past. There was no music and I never got around to eating so I can't comment on the food. Yet for some strange reason I had a great time - I was on my turf, flitting from one group of students to the other, stopping in between to gossip with P, N and K. Times like this, I am most tempted to pinch myself and check if this butterfly is the same Plain Jane who would not so much as indulge in small talk with people, leave alone flirt outrageously, tease mercilessly and refuse to let anyone get bored or feel lonely. I think I quite like the butterfly, so let's drink to that, shall we?

Because...

...I was grounded today because of the most severe stomach upset I've had since February 2006, I am going to ramble once again.

I absolutely hate having a stomach upset. It unhinges me like little else, leaving me feeling mightily crabby and out-of-sorts. A nasty cold with a running nose, sore throat accompanied by a spell of sounding sexy and husky (read, braying like a donkey) and congestion that leaves me with palpitations and breathing problems - now that I can handle. I may claim that I'm dying atleast five times a day, but I can keep moving and more importantly, teaching. But a stomach upset like this, leaves me drained and forces me to cancel class. I do not like. At all.

In a house that increasingly resembles a zoo with two little brats we had a little incident a few days ago that tickled my funny bone immensely once the initial trauma had subsided. I was cleaning the chicken for dinner when the elder of my two nephews came running out of his room bawling his lungs out. My mother, sister-in-law and I came running from the different corners of the house and were just standing there in mute horror, aghast at the sight of my nephew's bleeding mouth (or so it seemed to us), till one of us sprung into action and got ice from the fridge and the other ran to get some ghee for some desi treatments. While they were busy trying to calm his wailing, I went to investigate and what should I discover but a brand new razor with some soft hair lodged between the blades. My four year old nephew had decided that he needs to shave like his father! I emerged from my brother's room chortling with unbridled amusement and proceeded to chuckle over it for the rest of the evening. Boys can be such monkeys!

Every once in a while I come across a student that presses the wrong buttons and sends my blood pressure shooting by the mere fact of having opened his/her mouth. But I have never come across somebody who is so skilled in accomplishing this feat, that not a single class goes by without me wanting to exterminate him à la manière de SG who once threatened to incinerate his students. Not only is this student too big for his boots and extremely irritating, his abysmal lack of manners makes me want to throw him out of my class (after slapping him and if possible breaking his teeth).

I Wanted...

...to go for a long drive in this glorious weather. So I put it down in my diary of "wants" - sure enough it came true! I went for a long drive (three hours, if you please!) - to freaking Phursunghi (don't even ask) with a doddering old lady to meet "intelligent" engineers who wanted to know if it was possible to "shrank" a course that requires 150 hours of teaching down to 45 hours of teaching and think that they can actually be able to converse with engineers in French about work at the end of this "shrank" course in French! HELP! What did I do to deserve this?

...to bake a date and walnut cake for the birthday of senior colleague for whom I have the deepest admiration and respect, even if he is a complete madcap. I've learnt much from him - including, I think, my recent penchant for the exaggeration and drama! Well, after a day that started at 5am and a wonderfully productive trip to Phursunghi (no, really, don't ask) I was exhausted to the point of wanting to just collapse on my bed. End result? I forgot to buy the dates, and have been forced to settle for a chocolate cake. It's still delicious and will still melt in his mouth and is packed with dollops of love (corny corny) but it isn't what I promised to make! Gah!

...to go for lunch at Prems this Sunday with E Vestigio, sit in those plastic chairs with my feet crossed, allowing the breeze to play havoc with the hair which has been recently cut and is quite wild, drink lots of beer and talk through the afternoon. This was after wanting to go to Tinsel Town for her birthday, a plan which got cancelled when she said she's coming to the hamlet instead, which also didn't happen, so I couldn't be with her once again for her birthday!:(

...

Looking back...

...I sometimes wonder how I did it all without asking for anybody's advice or help. And when I did ask for help, none was forthcoming so in the end, I ended up doing it all myself. Seeing my compatriotes go through the paces with constant guidance, I don't know whether I envy them or am proud of myself for having done it all independantly. It was a huge risk and I knew I couldn't blame anyone if it had been a mistake since every last (little or big) decision was mine and mine alone - from deciding to finance my entire stay with my own money to deciding to settle for a Diplôme in lieu of a Masters and choosing the University Stendhal and refusing to even consider Sorbonne to deciding my entire itinerary and fixing my accomodation - not once did I ask anyone what to do or how to do it. Yet another sign of my stubborn nature and that streak of independance and refusal to admit that I need help. It didn't backfire this time, luckily. No regrets either, but sometimes I wonder where this facet of my personality will take me.

Lungi v/s Veshti

Crash course on the difference between a Lungi and a Veshti

Special class conducted in Dijon by our unique prof Meenakshi! :)

Addicted to...

...love?

You wish.

I'm addicted to the virtual world of emails, inane faceless chat conversations on instant messengers and (horror of horrors) status messages on Facebook! I sign in eagerly every morning, afternoon and evening to see if I have new email, chat with friends (sometimes just an hour after having met them or spent the entire day with them) and waste so much precious time on Facebook. Sure I also work online and am constantly browsing and looking for more erudite things to read, but when I think of the time I spend in front of my laptop simply idling away time or waiting for that one email, I am most appalled! The peak of my addiction to the Internet was in 2000 when I would spend all day online, sometimes even skipping meals to chat with friends in the US. Reality hit big time when I fell ill and I cut down on my Internet time drastically. I wouldn't say I was disconnected but the importance I had given the Internet in my existence had definitely been put in the right perspective.

Cut to 2009 and I find myself leading a pretty solitary existence where very often the only conversations I had in the whole day were virtual...and the devil rose it's head again. Six months later, I find myself unbelievably addicted to the Internet...so much that I sometimes spend the entire afternoon in bed with my laptop on my lap, shift to the table in the evening only to be back in bed after dinner - once again with my laptop for company...and I find another day has gone by without my having so much as touched the books piling up on my bedside table and in my bookshelves waiting to be read.

Last week, I spent the entire day with the girls. The morning spent in a flurry of activity didn't leave me the time to login (thankfully) and I got back in the evening with a pleasant after glow that only comes after a wonderful day chatting, giggling, window-shopping and seeing an absolutely crazy film with friends...and I immediately got online! It was a beautiful day, the rain coming down in sheets - ideal for an evening snuggled in a cozy blanket with a book and a huge much of hot chocolate or coffee! But what did I do? I spent it in front of the laptop! I was going to do the same this afternoon, only to pull myself up. My excuse in France was the lack of any company/alternate activity, especially in the initial months when it was too bitterly cold to be doing much outside the haven of the heated room. Can I dare hide behind a similarly concocted excuse now?

I wish...

But since we've already established that wishes do not exactly work the way we want them to work, I had to run a reality check and reprimand myself for being so weak and giving in to the temptations of the darker pleasures! And so I got into bed with A History of the French Language Through Texts and spent a delightful few hours lost in the history of the language. This evening I sternly put aside the little box once I had finished the task at hand and settled down to watch an old favourite Sister Act, before seeing to my dinner.

The first step has been taken. There will be withdrawal symptoms and temporary setbacks, but I know I can do it. *Patting myself encouragingly on the back* :-)

Currently listening to Shout from the OST of Sister Act

Lessons Learnt...

For the past few weeks, people across the city have been experiencing water shortage and complaining about not having enough water. Fortunately we didn't have the same problems since our building which still doesn't have full occupancy and thus the water we get from the corporation combined with the borewell water was more than sufficient for us. So everytime somebody complained about water problems I'd just smile indulgently....till yesterday!

We woke up to find our taps dry. After the initial panic, we realised that there was plenty of water in the tank at ground level. The problem was in the pumping mechanism which allowed the water to be pumped up to the reservoir on the building's terrace. Unfortunately, knowing the problem doesn't mean that one has the solution at hand. With nobody to repair the pump at 06:30, I was forced to brush my teeth, wash and bathe in a bare minimum of water,i.e. 1 bucket of water, which had to be lugged up from the borewell to our flat! I might as well have been living in a village or be out camping in the forest. I thought the problem would have been solved by the evening, but much to my dismay dusk fell but the motor had not been repaired. Facing the sight of dirty utensils from the previous night piled up in the kitchen, my mother decided to set me the task of washing at least the basic stuff, once again in a record amount of water - 1 bucket of water for 5 dinner plates, 4 quarter plates, 3 bowls, 3 saucepans, 8 glasses/cups and assorted cutlery. I had to repeat the minimal bathing and washing feats again this morning, which made me realise a couple of things...

I have an alternate profession lined up incase AFP decides they no longer need me - domestic help! ;-) More importantly - if I could achieve so much in such little water, I must be wasting a colossal amount of water otherwise. I always thought I was careful about not wasting water (except for my insistence of taking a shower instead of a bucket bath), but I don't think I can say that anymore...lessons have been learnt. Can we please have water running through the taps by this evening? I'd really like to wash my hair tomorrow morning and it's a little difficult to do that in 1 bucket of chilly water. :-(

If only...

There are times when I feel so tied down by our traditions and culture, which force us to maintain relations with people with whom we share nothing but the same extended family. I fail to understand why we are obliged to regularly meet, pretend to like and respect people who neither deserve respect nor love and would themselves never wish us any good. Do family ties build real relationships? The elders of the family threaten to disown children who don't toe the line...I'd really like disown several people for being an embarassment and a real pain in the wrong place! Sigh, if only...

Currently listening to : No Son of Mine - Genesis

Make me a Memory...

It's no secret that I love the rains...I've grown up watching my city get drowned in a deluge every year. The months of June, July and August during school always spelt afternoons and evenings spent cuddled in a blanket with a mug of coffee or hot chocolate cradled in one hand while the other held a book in which I lost myself. As the years slipped by and I entered college, I built new memories of the monsoon madness in Bombay. Memories of getting wet on the rock beach in Versova and tipsily composing a silly poem with K and A that went something to the tunes of "It's raining in paradise, you are my fire, I am your ice..." (No that wasn't inspired by several bottles of alcohol, we were just drunk on the rain). Memories of folding my jeans upto the knees and screwing up my nose as I stepped gingerly in ankle-deep water on my way to college / university. Memories of getting drenched to the skin at Bandstand, again with K and A and coming back home to mugs of hot coffee and midnight conversation with them. Memories of sipping garam masala chai with A, while watching the waves lash the beach. Memories of walks and meandering conversations with M after dinner, discussing the travails of adolescence, puppy love and our favourite songs as the rain fell pitter-pittar and fed the greedy earth. Memories of walking down streets lined with trees showering me with water, hours after it had stopped raining. Memories of those crazy afternoons spent in South Bombay when A and I dug into the most delicious bhel at Marine Drive, got wet and then had that softy at Churchgate station when I apparently got away with a bigger scoop because of my wet (white) tee-shirt! Memories of the city drowning in 2006 and being marooned at K's house, using the opportunity to shamelessly extend my stay in my favourite city and catch up with friends.

It was raining the day we left Bombay for Pune...the first rains of the year. 7th June 2004. Five years later, I have many many memories that will keep me connected to this city forever, even if I move on and move away. Memories of langourous, sultry summer afternoons spent drinking chai or nimbu pani and wrangling with a friend. Memories of the long days of oppressive heat when I felt my soul stir restlessly, seeking something more. Memories of chilly winter mornings, going to PIFF or AFP bundled up in a sweater and scarf. Memories of cozy autumn evenings when the cool breeze caressed my arms and made me yearn for the forbidden.

But I have no memories that link monsoon and me with this city. Even after all these years, I still think of Bombay during the rains and inevitably slip into nostalgia. I want to make new memories this year. Memories of the rains that bring with them a welcome relief from the unbearably heat of an endless summer. Memories of the rains which quench the thirst of the parched earth of the Deccan Plateau and leave that heady fragrance, which I so love, lingering in the air . Memories that tie the rains and me to Pune.

Get out of my face...

“Nakedness reveals itself. Nudity is placed on display. The nude is condemned to never being naked. Nudity is a form of dress.” – John Berger ,Ways of Seeing

Way before I read Berger’s classic essay on the female body and the male gaze, I never really considered nudity as vulgar. The human body, beautiful or ugly, is an oeuvre d’art that can not be surpassed and if the artist chooses to make it his subject, I think he is justified. What put me off was the flagrant use of nudity to seek attention and make a statement. After being exposed to nudity on the beaches of France, where I saw male and female bodies of all sizes, ages and conditions spread out on a display like the wares of a garage sale even that ceased to bother me. Walking down the roads of Barcelona I was treated to the sight of a naked (and extremely virile) man, with tattoos all over his body strolling down the road nonchalantly with not so much as a fig leaf to cover himself! Once I overcome my initial shock and amusement, and discovered that he roams around the city like that for as long as the weather permits him I couldn’t help but ask how the city reacted to him. The tourists of course were amused and fascinated and couldn’t stop taking photographs. I was informed that somebody had filed a case against him for obscene exposure and indecent behaviour and that the person has lost when the man turned around and said that he was just walking around in his natural state and far from doing something to hurt others he was subject to endless offensive remarks and thus he was the aggrieved party!

What exactly is this pontification about you wonder? Well simply to say that nudity doesn’t offend me and I fail to see (without getting into our mythology, rah rah and rah) why we kick such a fuss about it in this country. Why persecute the poor man or woman who can not afford to cover his body with adequate clothing when there are jerks roaming around the streets of the country servicing themselves in open view? Yep, you got it right…this morning crossing a posh area of Pune on my way to work, I crossed a man who was openly jerking off right there in the middle of the road. Not a homeless man. Definitely not drunk or stoned. He looked perfectly sober and probably had a job working as a delivery man in some shop. And he was just standing there on the pavement servicing himself in broad daylight. This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered something of this sort. Yes this too is natural and nothing particularly aberrant as a practice…but really in public places? At least find yourself a bush, (a fig leaf won't do the trick in this case) whatever, just get out of my face! This morning I wanted to first cover that man up with a sheet, then have him arrested for lewd behaviour. How come men get away with such atrocious behaviour? I don't get it...if we turn a blind eye to such things, why not permit public displays of affection, or for that matter public copulation? And why make such a big deal about nudity? I'd much rather see naked people than be subjected to jerks of this sort.

I want to be wild again...

Mid-year resolutions...yes, I made several today, including shedding that brooding mantle of self-doubt that has been dogging me. New anthem for the moment : I want to be wild again. I haven't crooned that song since I stopped going for morning walks / jogs on saat bungala beach, way back in school and college. Fits the current mood. Plain Jane is going to let the world get a glimpse of the naughty me that hides inside! Amen!

PS I'm hoping that putting this up in virtual ink will make me stick to the resolution, but don't be surprised if I put up a dark post within a few days or disappear back into my cocoon!

Legally Gay

In a world where we dream of homogenous societies where differences between men would cease to exist, why have we attached such a pejorative signifcation to the word "homo"? I fail to understand why we, as a society, attach so much importance to the gender of the person with whom somebody decides to go to bed. Is homosexuality an abnormality? I've heard the scientifc arguments, the theological arguments, the sociological/anthropological arguments as well as the plain incredulously ridiculous arguments that brand homosexuality as abnormal and /or immoral, but I've never really bought any of those arguments. If the Greek gods could sleep with all and sundry, man or animal, same sex or different, surely it can't be all that abnormal and immoral? In my ideal (and homogenous) world, all of mankind had the same origins before we decided to don our respective skins and cultures that marked us as different. So the argument that Greek mythology is not Indian mythology and thus what may not be abnormal in the occidental world is not necessarily the case here just fails to impress me.

I tried hard to resist the urge to join the bandwagon of people unleashing the spate of write-ups reacting to the recent amendment to the Article 377 which has finally legalised homosexuality in India, but I finally decided I don't want to hold my silence anymore.

One of my closest friends is not straight, and every time someone realises this, I'm subjected to the strangest and most intrusive questions which leave me amused, horrified and more often than not, plain disgusted with the person asking me the questions. The idiotic stereotypes leave me wishing I could send the people cracking those ridiculous jokes for an MRI scan, for surely there has to be something seriously wrong with their cerebral organ for them to come up with such incredible nonsense. As for the perverse interest in somebody's sex life, it leaves me with a acrimonious taste in the mouth and makes me wonder who is abnormal one in the equation. Heterosexual couples probably indulge in just as much (if not more) kinky sex, but do people interrogate them about what they do behind closed doors? So what's with the obssession with how homosexuals do it?

The amendment in the law that had labelled homosexuality as a criminal offence for ages is a big step forward for our country, but I wonder when people's attitude will change. I still remember the day my friend finally came out to me - I had of course suspected it for quite a long time but I never really felt that it was important whether my friend chose to be with somebody of the opposite sex or the same sex. I'm not sure how my friend expected me to react, but I remember wondering if this revelation was expected to change anything between us. If anything, I am actually more secure in our friendship, since everytime one of my heterosexual friends has entered a relationship, there is always a fear of losing the friend, especially when the friend is a man. Over the years I've often been asked why I am such a staunch defendor of gay rights. Perhaps the fact that my closest friend is not straight and I now have several friends who are not straight, all of whom are the most wonderful people and of whom I am very fond, has made me more aware of the mariginalisation they have to go through and how difficult it is to first accept that you aren't following society's norm and then live in the closet for most of one's life, to never be able to come out to one's family because of the fear of rejection. What enrages me the most, however, are not the people who are anti-gay for I merely think of them as unenlightened idiots, of which there are plenty scurrying over this planet. What truly gets my blood boiling are those people who are apparently "cool" with homosexuality but see all gay people as just "gay" and have little interest in them as people. Why can't we see beyond their homosexuality and see the person? I hope this change in the law will slowly open people's eyes, but I question how many of my homosexual friends will be able to tell their families about their preference even after this law. I know homosexuals across the country are celebrating the dawn of a new era, but I wonder how long it will take for the sun to truly rise in our blindfolded society.

Convicted...

I've been developing a theory using my wonderfully convoluted theories on life and I'm getting increasingly convinced about the applicability of this current theory. I am increasingly convinced that a parenthood test should be imposed on every couple planning or expecting a baby and people who fail should not be allowed to bring a child into this world.

Without mincing any words, I think that people who have children because of family or societal pressure when they are incapable of bringing up children, have no particular affinity towards children, have nothing in common and are merely sharing a roof and fooling themselves that they have a marriage / living out a farce of a relationship knowing fully well that what they are living is nothing but a lie, should be slapped for their weakness of character or flogged for their selfishness (depending on the case) and then thrown into a dungeon for the rest of their lives.

How can people play with a child's life just because they don't have the guts to stand up to society or face the fact that they can never provide the right atmosphere and upbringing to child when they are completely incapable of doing that? How can they play with a child's life when they aren't even good for each other, leave alone a third person? How can they gamble with somebody else's life in the vain hope that it might miraculously create a relationship for them and make the family / society happy?

Talking without being in those shoes - isnt that what you are thinking? Valid accusation. I accept it. I have only observed people. closely and suffered because of their mistakes, but not yet been in those shoes. But did I mention that I've had the most wonderful parents and I could not have had better role models than my father and mother? And that I don't think I could do even half as good a job and wonder then, with my own high standards, if I will ever have children...

Rah rah I know I'm being harsh and unreasonable and over-idealist, but I'm really sick of seeing screwed up relationships and bad parents play with their child's life....sick to the point of wanting to throw up on their faces before dragging them by their hair and throwing them into a dark dungeon.

Ok I'm done. Now that I've said this and put up my impossible and super convoluted theory up for all and sundry to read and dismiss, I feel much better. Of course I still hold the above mentioned people in deep contempt and would gladly slap them and tell them exactly what I think of them, but alas that will not fix the problem. It will not undo the mistake and it will not stop that child from growing up emotionally disfunctional and probably repeating his parent's mistake. And it will not make people better parents.

If only wishes were horses...I would probably choose a different race to run, but well...