My love loses direction,

It often ponders and startles itself,

It often wonders what it is all about.

My love is lonely,

Seeking refuge in the corners of rooms,

And pillows long stained with wetness.

My love is conditional,

And then it goes ahead and forgives,

Lets go, holds hands,

And takes back the head on her bosom.

My love is silent and mournful,

Melancholy and slightly happy in repose.

My love is abstract,

Not knowing what to make of the world,

Or the colours within;

My love is blue.

My love is within, without,

And slowly flowing down the ravine,

While the vulture pecks lethargically at its prey

Wondering if it was worth it.

My love is lustful;

Craving flesh and mouths,

And bodies writhing on sheets.

My love is crowded

With emotions, handshakes, hugs and cuddles,

With tears and the little water boiling for tea.

My love is luxurious,

Ever forgetful with expenses,

There’s more debit than needs to be…

When everything is over,

My love is here.

Right where it was all along.  

She smells like sex,

Like freshly aroused senses.

She feels like pins and needles

And goose bumps on your neck.

Her eyes smoulder when she’s irate,

And she might use violence to resolve issues.

She’s lazy; all scatters and piles.

She will ignore you for a book,

Disown you for a comment.

She loves ferociously,

And hates passionately.

She is incorrigible, even obnoxious at times.

She’s far from perfect;

Stumbles and falls more than she stands,

She hates her nose and bullies her hair,

She laughs like a racoon and farts like a dog.

She smokes. Out drinks the alcoholics.

She fights. She believes. She goes on.

She looks you in the eyes,

And you don’t block her way. 

Another Women's Day And I Am Still Weary

Another women’s day round the corner. The internet is abuzz with brands campaigning, showing their love and devotion to the welfare of women. The blog sites are full of content that might or might not be useful for women or feminism. I mean I don’t know whether men really want to know how female gestures are better than her saying I love you. It’s all relative, but not quite I guess.

As always, the hashtag activism team is spread out over twitter, talking about #IndiasDaughter and the #BeefBan; both hashtags trending in the top five on twitter. While the beef ban discomforts me, making sure to let me know that more bans on personal choice is yet to come, the ban on the documentary by BBC boils my blood. The hypocrisy is astounding! The documentary supposedly maligns the Indian culture. Hence, our good government officials have banned it. The stupidity lies in the fact that if you ban it in India, it still goes out to the public everywhere else. Notice the irony.

A documentary by definition, records the truth. Nothing is falsified, nothing is imaginary. India has a growing rape culture and it is high time, the government accepts that instead of rallying against documentaries and justifying rape. 94 women are raped in India every day. More than 50% of the children in India are sexually abused. Our country is ranked 114 among the 137 countries in the Global Gender Gap Report. Wake up India, and smell the rape culture. It’s here. You cannot ignore it by closing your eyes.

The last time I was in Gokarna, I met this British woman who said “India is the rapiest country I’ve been to. I have never had more men trying to rape me and groping me out of nowhere.” I had no response because I knew she was right. This is what tourists are taking back from our country. Our men grope, lech and take pictures of women in bikinis without their consent. They treat women like objects and playthings. Banning a documentary isn’t going to change that.

And why the ban? What the rapist said about the victim in the Nirbhaya rape case is what half the country thinks. Does it offend you to see the truth on camera? Does it offend you to introspect? I have first-hand experience of what people think ‘gets women raped’. Educated people, people with PHDs and people with wealth and culture think women should not go out at night, that they should wear modest clothes, that they should not visit pubs and clubs. And a documentary offends you? Your hypocrisy offends me.

Also, no one seems to be talking about the title of the documentary, ‘India’s Daughters’. Women are citizens, individuals, not daughters or mothers or sisters. We need to stop defining a woman in possessive terms. The paradox being that even a documentary that defines a rape culture, uses a name that further negates our fight for equality.

None of the discourses on the internet that trend, help feminism. Most of the rape cases in cities and lesser urban areas don’t even find coverage in the national dailies. Indians are an accommodating race. We are accommodating a culture of rape, of male dominion, of fear without doing anything substantial about it. Oh wait, we are doing something. We are blaming the victims, we are posing philosophical questions and we are suggesting yoga as a counter measure for rape.

I am weary of all the inconsistencies and the sexism and misogyny hiding in plain sight in the virtual and real world, and I am just 25. What keeps me going are the wonderful women who are trying to fight it all. I am grateful for all the feminist authors, comedians, entrepreneurs, singers and everyday women who are fighting patriarchy one day at a time. This women’s day is for you. My fight gets stronger because of you. Thank you.