The March, or May or June, of Sluts, Studs and Whoever the Hell Else

So much buzz about the proposed Slutwalk in Delhi. Really? And now, a proposed Studwalk in response? Again, really? Just who the fuck are you clowns, and clownesses, anyway? Or is clowness politically inappropriate, in much the same way words like actress are being phased out? How would Steven Tyler sound singing "Taste of India" if the song went "...sweet tantric priest..."? Like a nutjob (pun intended), that's how.

I can never stress enough my egalitarian credentials, but this sort of shtick makes me want to run to the conservative post and shoot some bra-burning delusional losers. Being equal is not being the same, because that can never be, and even if it could, it really shouldn't be. Not that this Slutwalk is about equality anyway. The Slutwalk is about making the word 'slut' so mainstream that it stops having negative connotations. In other words, it seeks to change the dictionary meaning of a word, all by a bunch of skimpily dressed women walking around with placards or what-have-you. Again, really? Please, someone poll the English-speaking Canadians about what they think the word means, considering that is where this supposed cultural (and linguistic) tour-de-force began.

Context, for fuck's (or sluts') sake. If a Canadian cop said something about some local woman being responsible for her own rape by being dressed sluttily, how does that affect us here in India?

For one, even typical everyday "Western" attire can be thought of as slutty by many here, given the HUGE cultural differences. So it makes me wonder how that poor woman must have actually been dressed. No, I am not echoing the views of the cop, I am just wondering about what the woman was wearing (or not wearing, for that matter). Really.

For two, women here (and elsewhere too, I am certain) get raped even if they are not dressed like a slut. A woman dressing like a slut does not change a non-rapist in to a rapist, and by corollary, a conservative dress will perhaps not save a potential victim from the leery eyes, grubby hands (and more) of a rapist. Again, really.

For three, must you emulate every fucking (no pun intended) movement that starts off somewhere in the West, especially if it has anything to do with Facebook? I mean, come on, if you really had to organise a Slutwalk, why not think of the idea on your own when the Delhi Chief Minister (a woman, by the way) said things strikingly similar to this Canadian cop, and much longer ago at that? Or are you admitting to simply being too daft to do anything about it on your own till such time as a Canadian movement makes it way over through Facebook? Why not spend your time using that defunct brain of yours once in a while instead of picking out slutty clothes to wear to the walk? Really.

For four, do all women really support this sort of protest, or even the very idea behind it, that of making the word 'slut' mainstream? To be fair, I do not know any women among the few I call friends who support this, and if anyone did, I will probably shift them to a category lower. I also know that the women in my family don't support this either. While all of them, family and friends, will support the right of women to dress how they want, they will all also not forget that changing the meaning of a word does not change human behaviour, and that dressing skimpily is not the benchmark of women's freedom or equality.

Of course, this sort neo-pseudo-feminist antic also gives rise, and room, to equally stupid and detestable pseudo-masculine crap, such as the Studwalk, proposed by men who feel (perhaps understandably) threatened. Not threatened by being one-upped by women, but of being branded rapists just because they have a schlong. Of course, the majority of them perhaps are coming along for the ride, as a way to get back at the women for some unknown but strongly perceived wrong, or just to check out the booty on display.

Good thing that Delhi is still under prohibition orders, banning all sorts of large public gatherings for protest. At least one good thing coming out of the Delhi Police crackdown on Baba Ramdev earlier this month!

Seeking Redemption from the Purgatory of the Past on the Surface of the Eclipsed Moon

Celestial events are tending to bring out the worst in me, and at the best of times at that. Well, some of them are also seemingly bringing about not so good times, but I prefer to think of that as part of the general shit in life. But given my general astral enthusiasm, it is ridiculous how so much shit has tagged along for the ride.

As the longest lunar eclipse in over 30 years is about to start, my thoughts race hundreds of kilometres, but not vertically. They transport themselves along the horizontal axis, to a time and place I had rather they not be at. Them being there takes my mind firmly off the present (which the wise old turtle in Kung Fu Panda tells us is a gift) and lodges it just as firmly in the past, therefore screwing up the future. After all, linearity of time is something I haven't, in all my wisdom, been able to alter.

Since the Purgatory is a result of one's own past actions, the only way to escape it is by trying to redeem oneself in the present. And that is precisely what I am being unable to do. Even at the risk of a blind world, I am crying for an eye for an eye. And then I am bemoaning the absence of eyes to gouge out. Maybe I should use mine to watch the night sky, lying on a mattress on the terrace, what with the spectacle about to unfold. Especially since I realise well that even if I did turn the world blind, I would still be pretty fucking upset about my own missing eye.

So I try to calm my stirring heart, which wants to leap out my throat. I try to calm my shaking fists, which want to break a certain face. I try to calm my quivering voice, which wants to scream and shout. And at the same time, I try to again convince myself that the magnificent bosom, my favourite pillow, better than them all, is better off without my head resting on it.

In the middle of this inert confusion, at least I am safe from committing another sin. But given this mind-numbing heart-rending soul-wrenching inertia, how the hell am I supposed to teach myself Japanese?

Cultivating the Taste Buds

Eating humble pie, like Chinese food, is a cultivated taste. And likewise, it is perhaps a useful taste to cultivate, given its preponderance in the world around us. So here I am, finding myself taking another big of the distasteful confectionery.

Just two months ago, I wrote with much vehemence about my office moving to Bombay and that being my cue to quit this lousy job and the much lousier company. And before another two months are over, I will be in Bombay with the same company doing the same job.

Sure, there are strong circumstantial reasons for me to make the choice I have. But it is still some sort of a choice, given how I love telling people that everything is a choice, and that it is not too difficult to say "no". It still feels like giving a pound of my flesh for something I don't have much to do with. And it feels like no amount of mouthwash can completely rinse out the foul taste of the pie, that no matter how fresh, always tastes like shit gone rotten.

Dark clouds tend to pour, but are also said to have silver linings. I have always thought it happens because if it weren't for some sort of an optimistic outlook at the larger level, humans would have been wiped out long ago. Not that I would mind, I am just commenting. But yeah, it is shitty situations that make us start sniffing around to catch even if only a whiff of the scent of a rose. And of course, that is when even the odourless roadside wild flower seems like the most fragrant blossom that has even been.

Anyway, I really don't mind the rain. So I am still following through with all the plans I had made for after I will quit this job. I have already started on a freelance gig, and the stage is getting set for another one to start next month. I will still apply for a PhD, and follow through with the Japanese learning. Of course, how I will manage all this while waking up at 5:00 every morning to go to work, running around banks to get a housing loan, finding a house in Bombay and shifting, and other things that keep popping up in life always, is well, my problem.

For the rest, well, the company has told me that they really need me around in a mentoring sort of role (more flattery than practicality, I think; in reality, I am just their most efficient cog in the wheel, and they know it), and is therefore being quite generous with their purse-strings to make this move to Bombay a rather easy affair for me. Despite my oft-declared lack of love for money, this is still something that I really cannot complain about. After all, one shouldn't just ignore the silver lining.