Bad Word

This is going to be so serious, you may wanna wear your serious denims for this post. Or not. I had been ruminating on a thought that is close to my heart and that I strongly believe in, which is feminism. I have often been called one and sometimes spat on with this word. Feminism is a dirty word. It is , it is it is IT IS.

Anecdotal evidence: Recently I was in a women's network meet up where we were asked to raise our feminine hands if we identified ourselves as feminists. And my small hairy hand proudly shot up. My brain and heart were racing with adrenalin-induced pride, making my inner thoughts scream out loud, " YES I am with my people, this is where I hang, these are going to be my best friends (salivating)".
But to my surprise, nay horror, I was one of the 4 females who had raised our hands and the other 3 were the very reluctant ones. A dark shadow of fear fell over my face. Like the very next moment I would say good bye to mother earth and take my rightful place in hell. A slight tremor of doubt followed by a slightly bigger tremor of self doubt, raced across my brain. I wondered if my ears had not received the meaning of the question uttered in an Irish accent (have I become that American?!) or does feminism have a different meaning in the Oxford dictionary! Have I been looking up words in Urban dictionary all along!!? These moments of self doubt are harder to conquer than mt. Everest in my opinion but then again I am no Edmund Hillary. He must have had no self doubt hence he made the conquest and also because he is a man who did not need to look feminism up in his days, I assume. There were 30 women in the meet up FYI.

The shame that women feel when they have to stand up for another is not only incredible but makes me extremely uncomfortable. I have started following the path of no-judgement but such situations bring out the crazy in me. I refuse to understand the lack of empathy for a fellow woman in distress. I understand that a Utopian world would have HE for SHE and SHE for HE kind of balance but until then my dear ladies London bridge IS falling down, on our heads , everyday, in a big pile!

Feminism according to me is supporting, nurturing, standing up for women and believing in the existence of female human species. That they exist and that they should exist and have equal rights and be allowed to think for themselves. This is what I realized and understood growing up. When the hell did your definition get screwed up? Which route did you end up taking , when we all had decided to set out for equalville?? Why are you calling feminism as being man hating, talkative, bossy and a bitch?!

And if you call another feminist a hoarse hag or a bitch I am gonna slap you with the following transcript of my comedy idol Tina Fey. She did this bit with another great, Amy Poehler on SNL. Read and enjoy and learn something, anything! Note: this was in context to Hillary Clinton's candidacy for the president's post in 2008 and how some people did not like her because she was a "cut throat bitch".

Tina Fey:Then, there is the scrutiny of her physical appearance. Rush Limbaugh, the Jeff Conaway of right wing radio, said that he doesn't think America is ready to watch their president "turn into an old lady in front of them." Really? They didn't seem to mind when Ronald Reagan did that. 

I think what bothers me the most is when people say that Hillary is a bitch. And, let me say something about that: Yeah, she is! And so am I! And so is this one! [ she points to Amy Poehler ]

Amy Poehler: Yeah, deal with it!

Tina Fey: You know what? Bitches get stuff done. That's why Catholic schools use nuns as teachers and not priests! Those nuns are mean old clams, and they sleep on cots and they're allowed to hit you! And, at the end of the school year, you hated those bitches, but you knew the capital of Vermont! So, I'm saying it's not too late, Get on board! Bitch is the new black! 


Watch it if you like: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHnL8mUbopw

Anyway,

I can understand the decision to not voice out any opinion on anything but to selectively only be ashamed of being called a feminist or being scared to take any decision that might label you as one, is befuddling. I silently judge those. All of them.

So let us try to deconstruct why it is such a taboo to be identified as a feminist. Its almost akin to being a witch. If witches were hunted and killed in the past, the feminists are thrown dirty looks like they are going to enter your house and eat the portion of your chubby kid's food. No we are not! We have food too! We have chubby kids too. May be you think feminists would take away men's rights or they wont make docile wives or they will refuse to reproduce or worse they will stop applying make up and be ugly! I understand and sympathize with these concerns but really all this wonderful word and its definition entails is :
that we solemnly, politely and non intrusively fight for equal rights like right to education, right to vote, right to marry, right to financial independence, right to inheritance and right to breathe.

If you see a sister in trouble, you be a good woman and rush to her for help. Don't you turn your beautiful face away! And if a reporter comes , make sure you say I am a damn proud feminist. No seriously say it like you mean it!

Future: Being an optimist I feel the world is not too far away where everyone is equal. The words like feminism would become obsolete and archaic as they wont hold any meaning. And then perhaps and only then will I accept that Feminism is a bad forgotten word.

Khayal

                                                       
Aaye der se who toh kya hai
Aaye toh sahi                                                                        
Zindagi bhar na aaye toh kya hai                                         
Meri mazaar pe hi sahi                                                          

Rukh-e-gulzar pe noor aaya hai                                           
Muddaton baad sahi                                                             
Khursheed sa roshan na ho to kya hai                                
Raat ka aaftab sahi                                                               

Aashiq giraftaar hua hai                                                      
Kisi qaid me na sahi                                                        
Paak mohabbat ki hai lekin                                              
Hai toh mulzim hi sahi                                                        

Chand lamhon ka bhi karte hain farishtey hisab                                                               
Toh huzoor hisab sahi                                                           
Ta-umr hum unme guzaar lenge                                      
Thode khushnuma thode kharaab sahi                               

Rooh  nahi jism me toh kya                                             
Rooh-e-aks hi sahi                                                             
Sukoon mayassar kar aaye hum                                         
Mile na mile jahaan sahi                                                    

Translation:
Thoughts

They came late so what is there                                                                       
they at least came
they did not come during my lifetime
it matters not that it was at my grave

Beautiful face of theirs has lit up
after eons yes, but that is alright
it may not be as bright as the sun 
it is still like the moon of the night

The admirer has been imprisoned
but not in a prison
he has pure love in his heart but  
a culprit, he still is

The angels cruelly count the moments and give them to me, which are already too few
So let them do the math
I can live my whole life in those few
Some happy and some unpleasant

The body is without a soul so what is there
A mere sign of a soul is enough  
I have achieved my peace of mind
So what if I did not conquer the world

(mazaar=grave)
(rukh-e-gulzar is actually the ‘garden of their face’, but literal translation is not always pleasant J)
(muddaton=long time)
(khursheed=Sun)
(aaftab=moon)
(paak mohabbat = pure love)
Farishtey=angels of death/angels; chand= few)
 (hisab=math/balance)
(rooh-e-aks= soul's shadow/sign)
(sukoon=piece of mind, mayassar= to make available, to achieve)

tête-à-tête

A sense of familiarity makes me happy but at times makes me nauseous. Yes nauseous. I feel like I just want to run away into the unknown whenever that happens. Freud would diagnose it as one of the myriad disorders that he made up to sell himself as a serious thinking person but I feel this one's mine. My own unique symptom and my own unique disorder. I have diagnosed it so it belongs to me. I wanna be attached to it selfishly. Sometimes I want others to tell me that they feel that way too, but not really. Times when suddenly everything makes sense like your knowledge is fathomless and the next second you are at a loss of any basic understanding? This also happens.

I wish I had time to coin words for these feelings. Actually I don't, on a second thought.I am pretty sure some stupid page that comes up with words for obscure feelings will definitely come up with it and trademark it like a bitch. Schadenfreude is what I would feel when somebody sues those idiots for taking away the sense of vagueness from people's minds! They wanna name everything so that nothing remains hazy. Why does everything have to have a definition or a name or an identity! It does not, in my opinion.

Anyway, even as I pen these absolutely futile and dimensionless thoughts onto this white virtual paper, I feel like somebody is inking my own brain with something quite abstract, nebulous. I probably am appearing high right now but I am not. I am making perfect sense to myself, may be not to you guys who are skimming through this because you have something else to click urgently on the world wide wild wild web.

Going back to running away from the familiar, I wonder if it has to do with the upbringing. I have barely ever been present at a place for not more than a few years and part of those years have always been utilized to erase the previous place and the ties to it. Sort of like a fancy blackboard which is white where you write with a fancy fluid marker and use a fancy eraser to wipe it off. Erasing always fascinated me more than writing on those white boards. It probably comes from enjoying cleaning things. Life is not as easy to clean up as that fancy black-white-board, is it? Or it is. I am sounding like Schrodinger's cat who is and is not :)

Sometimes..


 I realized a while ago (I mean A WHILE ago) that no one really reads my blog so I don’t need to give a fuck about that I write and whether it is presentable or not, literarily or otherwise.

So I just moved to this 200 year old house which used to be a carriage house for horses in the 19th century! Its old and charming and I hope the horses had fun. It has these tall ceilings and an old world charm that reminds me of my grandparents although they weren’t that old. Yup they are no more. They passed away in 2011 taking a piece of me with them. A huge piece. Back to the house, which is my home now. I set it up and felt good about it. I oddly take pleasure out of mundane things like that. My kitchen, my bathroom, my vacant living room and my sparsely decorated 2 bedrooms look perfect…to me. I feel like now I could invite all the people in the world and make them sit on the floor since I have no couches or chairs and serve them my specialty aka Indian tea. They would like it but not their hurting butts so much, I guess.

Traveling, shifting, moving has been a way of life but each time it fills my stomach up with horrible nervous knots. I feel the inertia holding me back, not allowing me to take that final step where I would say good bye to all the memories made in that place and start pretending to be excited about a new life altogether. I have lost count of how many houses I have lived in or moved out from. It’s nomadic but strangely familiar. This routine has become a house for me. Ok wait that requires explaining. Basically in certain movies, sometimes an inanimate object or a place becomes another character; in the same manner my nomadic life has become a place to live at, for me. Well I don’t think I explained that very well but since no one is reading and giving a fuck, it’s alright.

I wanted to write something yesterday and thought will write it, the first thing I get up in the morning but now I can’t recall what it was about. By the way I am typing away furiously in Word than on Blogspot because guess what the new house has its internet all screwed up which resulted in having time to jot down my abstract thoughts. I even found time to read books. Yes, it’s amazing to have no internet but really..actually not. I wanna see my worldcup matches and other crap on the laptop that I devote my precious time to.
I wanted to talk about the brevity of life a little bit. Yes it is going to go into the existentially fraught thoughts. So embrace yourself. If anyone is reading this and has reached this point, please read the next sentence. Leave a comment asshole, so that I know you just didn’t electronically stalk me while conveniently taking a glimpse into my soul without my knowledge! Its creepy as hell!!

Where was I? You know what, let’s not talk about existentialism right now. It’s depressing as shit. But you know the other thing I realized? That blogging is so underrated. I mean you have this amazing piece of tool (the word tool makes me giggle! ) that helps you regurgitate your puke all over the world like you just don’t care. Its liberating as fuck, isn’t it?! Almost like taking a dip in a secluded lake when no one is looking, no one can ogle, no one can small talk with you and it’s the lake and you. I love finding simple small pleasures like that. Blogging needs to be a character of its own in a movie where blogging can think out loud and tell the blogger       “ seriously hun, you want me to showcase this piece of crap to the world? Mm hmmm”.  I think I just made blogging a sassy African-American old lady!

 I have been blogging for over 5 years now and it’s been wonderful. I am so grateful to whoever introduced me to it. My short term memory loss doesn’t allow me the privilege of remembering situations, dates, faces, names and other such memory trivia. None the less, I am grateful to you my friend.

This house inspired me to write. I can’t stop thinking about that specific old world where there was no electricity and there were horse driven carriages. I mean the Victorian era. There is an old mansion nearby, to which my place acted as an ancillary horse carriage place. I wonder who lived there. I wonder about the problems of all those people who passed away worrying about building a mansion and a house for horses. Did they worry about food, healthcare, water, utilities, education, partner in life, entertainment etc? Did they know they would, one day, not exist and all this hard work would be passed on to a babbling renter like me? Think not.
Ok lost my train of thought.



Poison Ivy

Last summer
I often saw you near the pier
prickling my skin
like poison ivy

Shooting memories into my veins
where have I seen you before?
may be some other life
a different time

Intangible as a shadow
you appear dark inside
or do you shade me?
Wish I knew

The more I seek
the more you slip away
you try to forget me
as I forgot you

Sublimely
you evaporate, but
take it along with you
the poison ivy.

Can I get my melancholy suit dry-cleaned, please?

"Tere ishq mein tanhaiyan, humne bahut bahlaiyan".
This simple line means:- there are different kinds of loneliness in your love that I have humored innumerable times.
Simple but a world of philosophies packed into it. Simple and heavy. Brevity with depth. It can apply to a lover humoring and nursing his heart break or a connoisseur of life entertaining the ups and downs of it. I leave the interpretation to the reader. The mind often wanders and clings on to the memories that have made you weep, sad or just made you think. Don't you just hate when things make you think? A dear dear friend of mine says he has a feelings-switch which he switches off, on command and switches it on if need be. That's a super power that we lesser mortals cant afford. Why does melancholy feel more welcomed at times than the world of happiness surrounding us? Birds to watch, Skies to look at, rivers to touch and flowers to behold, yet the pangs in your heart cling on to you like a spider on a cobweb in a dilapidated forgotten building.
So should we stop feeling melancholy, stop acknowledging it and try to unwelcome it as soon as it knocks on the door?
We often look for meaning, patterns, purpose to life. And the revelations, results sometimes make the already difficult existence even bleaker. But should we just sit and let life pass us by because of that? I don't think so. So here is what I have realized, if something moves you, then you move! As plain and simple minded that sounds, it kinda makes sense. Do something if it moves you! Anything, even if it is talking about it or writing it down in your journal. Life would be a little less mechanical, trust me. Cynicism and pragmatism and hundred other 'isms' would tell you that nothing can be done, nothing can change but don't give up just yet :):)Hang in a little longer. Just a tad.
Perspective can be ruthless and a downer but we need it in life. Through perspective we can try nurturing empathy, at the least, if not an out and out helpful nature. It is better than apathy right? What's a man who cant shed a tear externally or inside for the ones suffering. Suffer a little with them. Just a little bit. It would bring melancholy faster to your heart than light but we can turn it on its head and make it purposeful as never done before. If melancholy helps you get up and go through the motions, for just one more darn day in order to be of use and alleviate the pain of someone else, then its a feeling worth keeping inside you. Don't you think so?
So next time when you look for solutions of how to always be happy, in a self help book, wait and think. Give it a fleeting, cursory thought that what if it is fine to leave the wretched melancholy in your heart, searing. What if it can make you more empathetic and relate more to the 'Les Misérables' and their miseries. After all, you are also looking for every one to understand you better, aren't you? A tad, I bet.
This is the only solution that I can think of which could turn melancholy into some kind of a catalyst to attain a semblance of happiness which is often misunderstood with success. Music, books, movies, food, healthy body, fame, travel, money, partner, kids can add so much to one's life, but if even in the company of these blessings the pangs attack, do not panic. Let melancholy, sorrow, sadness be another facet to your being. Don't send them for dry-cleaning as soon as you feel the pangs and the twinges and the stabs. Humor them a little. Let them co-exist along with the happiness, brightness, mirth and the light that dwells inside you. Let them do their work and move you. A tad.
Let me know if it works?

haya

haya na aayi unhe jab khilkhilaake hasi woh
wafa mujhe zaroor ho gayi
jafa-e-ishq unka aisa,
nigahein utha ke bhi na ek bar dekha
mehar phir bhi us khuda ki ho gayi

Rukh par unke lagaye taktaki
shab se nisha ho gayi
saans rok kar palkon ke uthne ka,
jhukne ka, karte gaye intezaar
befazool aisi meri aadton ki inteha ho gayi

Hamari maujoodagi me woh parda karein to karein
Zulfien unki bandishein todkar befikri ho gayi
fana jo na hue hum un beparwah
behichak behaya adaaon pe toh
had haamari kafiri ki ho gayi

Sehra-e-tanhai dil me mere
mulzim tasveer unki  ho gayi
aashiqon ko ruswa kare woh amooman
ajnabi bane rehne ki unki raza me
ek poori ghazal ho gayi

English translation:

she felt no shyness when she laughed merrily
but I definitely fell in love
her love is a disloyal love
not once she looked at me through her eye lashes
but I still felt the blessings of almighty

Looking endlessly at her face
day turned into night
having held my breath I have waited
for her eyes to look up and look down
this inconsequential habit of mine does not ever cease

Let her hide her face in my presence if she wants to
but her hair strands have broken shackles and they wave around carelessly
if I dont give up myself in her love, when she is her careless, carefree, unbridled self
I would end up an atheist who does not believe even in love

there is a desert of loneliness in my heart
her image has to be blamed for it (for she never comes,I just have the image)
she does not care for her admirers usually
she wants us to remain strangers, and in the acceptance of her conditions
I penned a complete song.