Politicising Sex

I am sure there will be those who will argue that sex is always political inherently, just like everything else is. But I am not walking that academic path, where everything is seen through the lens of power equations with no room for reciprocated feelings like such as those of unbridled lust or sublime love that have no regard whatsoever for power or politics.

However, women are Togo are planning to thoroughly politicise sex. There are calls for the President to resign and at least one woman feels that the men of the country are not doing enough to ensure his resignation. So her group has called for women to withhold sex from their husbands/lovers/partners for a week, in the hope that the lack of action in the bedroom will prod the men in to taking more concrete action against the President.

A novel idea, I thought, if not the smartest one. But apparently, it has been done before in Liberia about a decade ago. I don't know if it worked there in its calls for peace, but I doubt its efficacy in general. If you want the President to resign, ask his wife to stop fucking him. And if you can't convince her, why deprive your own husband? Next thing you know, you have a country full of women complaining of marital rape and such. Instead of solving one problem, you create another one.

The Chinki Fleeing Terror

Alarming text messages, doctored videos, sensational posts on social media, and of course, the good old word of mouth whipped up enough hysteria for chinkis from various states to flee whichever south Indian cities they were in, to go back to the safety of their homes. The government has now blamed elements in Pakistan for the mischief and what is being labeled "hate terror". Maybe the Pakis have a role to play in this conspiracy that I find particularly sinister, maybe they don't. Either way, I don't care.

Whoever planned this, however, must be an intelligent person with his (his sense of deviousness rivals that of a woman) finger squarely on the pulse of modern humanity. Send someone a fucked up text, it will reach 100 others. Minimum expense, even less effort and spectacular results that take on a life entirely their own. This whole business is based almost entirely on fiction, with not a single factual element to substantiate it. He must be orgasming constantly at the mere thought of this mobile & Internet age.

Junta has been obsessing about showing solidarity with the fleeing chinkis and leaders from the Muslim community, allegedly responsible for the threats, have been making regular appeals for peace and for the chinkis to return. All very commendable and back-slap worthy. But what about the actual effects of these people leaving?

My Manipuri friend has not left town, but he hasn't been going to work either. He is enjoying a 5-day weekend, helped by the two days he took off between Independence Day and the weekend. Because of the risk his life faced had he stepped out of his house, living as he does in a neighbourhood dominated by Muslims.

Security agencies in town are having a tough time. My own building complex has depleted security staff, prompting the managing committee to issue a notice seeking resident volunteers who will patrol the complex late at night and early mornings. Great way to teach the youngsters about vigilante behaviour. And what happens if there aren't enough volunteers? Should I feel unsafe too? And all because the chinkis, feeling unsafe, have left? Should I also leave town then? But where do I go? For me, this is where home is.

The Insolence of Being Usain

I adore Usain Bolt. Not so much for his athletic feats, which are worthy of much too much admiration. After all, he is the first man to take consecutive Olympic gold medals in both the 100m and 200m races. He holds the Olympic record for the 100m, which he bettered this time around. He also holds the world records for both the 100m and 200m dashes. So yes, his track achievements are supreme, and worthy of adulation. But that is not so much why I adore the man.

I like him for his seeming insolence that infuriated many a television commentators. I love him for how he runs, wins and breaks records with such irreverence. He has been called disrespectful for thumping his chest before crossing the finish line. He has accused of not being serious enough for slowing down before the finish line when he saw victory was assured. But that is what I love about him. He does things his own way, without giving a shit for what the world may want. He wins races, takes gold and glory, breaks records if he feels like, and if he doesn't, he just saunters across the finish line. It is an individual achievement, and the individual should be left free to achieve it any which way he likes.

His persona dripping with nonchalant confidence before races and flashy celebrations after winning them also raises a frequent eyebrow. The man knows he is good and has no reason to be worried. Is it so bad to not be like one of those nerdy book-worms who know the entire syllabus better than their own faces but are pathetically nervous before even a useless class-test? And if he has won a race where he chose to slow down and yet beat everyone else by a few metres to spare, he can pretty much celebrate any which way he likes.

Of course, Carl Lewis had to say something stupid about Jamaicans and the drug-testing standards being lax in the country. Here is my theory, Mr Lewis. All the theories about Jamaican dominance of sprinting are talking about tapioca and yam. I think it may have something to do with ganja. Ganja is legal in Jamaica and maybe ganja smoke in the air is good for sprinters. Maybe you should have moved there when you still had the feet to run, you sore loser. Of course, now they won't take you in.

Dreaming Emotion

I can't remember thinking too much about emoticons recently, even though I did mention it in my last post, which was only this morning. And that was only because I read and was greatly irked by the usage of "sad smiley" in a newspaper article. The last time I gave emoticons any serious thought was a couple of years ago after watching David Mitchell rant about them and abbreviations peculiar to the Internet chat, such as BRB or LOL.

But last night, I actually dreamt of an emoticon. Not in some abstract way where it had grown wings or fur or a penis. It was just there as it usually is. In fact, it made up an entire text message. It was a 2-character text sent to me that I woke up at some dark hour of the night to read. It made me joyous to read it, especially once I realised who the sender was. And then, I also realised that I was only dreaming. For some reason, the joy lingered despite the realisation and only went away a while ago when I remembered the dream.

:D

Maybe my subconscious was playing tricks with me, telling me in the language of a dream emoticon text that she is happy. And more importantly, that she is also choosing to tell me about it. But in my conscious mind, I know otherwise. For one, she is quite likely not exactly happy. And if she is, she is not going to give me the pleasure of knowing it. She had probably much rather I suffer in not knowing. Not that she thinks I suffer anyway.

I miss her.

A Form for Non-Hindus

While I have held religion in pretty low esteem for many years now, my belief in its general astute stupidity still gets reinforced from time to time. Such is the power of this all-pervasive phenomenon.

The latest example comes from Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanam, one of the richest religious bodies in the world. They have enacted a new rule, to be enforced from next week, which makes it mandatory for all non-Hindus to sign a declaration, in triplicate, no less, that states their faith in the deity presiding in the shrine.

How do they go about deciding who is Hindu and who isn't? Many Indians are from different faiths, and it is impossible to tell by just looking at them. Just asking people outright may not always get the right answer. What about foreigners who may have converted to Hinduism? What about people who may sign the form but may not actually have faith? If one didn't have faith, why would one stand for hours in the queues to catch half a glimpse of the deity from 50 metres away while being jostled by sweating crowds? Why would one even travel to the town itself, which has nothing but the temple and its associated infrastructure?

Beyond all this, the temple administration needs non-Hindus to sign three copies of the said form so that one can be returned to the non-Hindu and two be kept with the temple folk for administrative purposes. I can't imagine what administrative purpose those forms will serve, other than maybe a boast at some point in the future, when the temple authorities hope to have enough numbers to turn around and say "Look, we have so many non-Hindus coming here and expressing their belief too. Goes to show how cool our deity is." And what does the non-Hindu do with that returned copy? Frame it for the living room wall? Or do the temple folk expect it to serve as a reminder for life-long commitment to the faith?

Take something normal and make it strange, one can always count on religion for that.

On another note, what the hell is a "sad smiley"? Why has the word emoticon gone so wrongly out of vogue?