Being Indian: Silence v2.0

Recently I had the most prestigious opportunity of meeting a man, only about a year younger than me. We had a lot in a common, which is rare. He had lost his mother recently as I have and he also suffered from frequent panic attacks. So we got along very well and texted often which progressed to speaking on the phone during his breaks at office. Amidst one such conversation, he told me about how he hated Tamilians. How they were pseudo because they listened to Justin Timberlake. And in this conversation as he went on to demean an entire race, he mentioned how Justin Bieber, Justin Timberlake, Rihanna and Lady Gaga should all be put in one room and bombed. Since I hate music fanaticism, I was left flabbergasted and went on to pose the question,

“What about the men who were responsible for the Delhi gang-rape?”

“Oh I don’t give a shit about that!”

I gasped on this end of the phone line and we went on to discuss many many other things. Rape, homosexuality, racism and sexism.

I’d love to give you a transcript of what that conversation went like and I by no means intend to quote this man out of context. I continued to rationally interpret what it was that this man meant.

“I don’t care about rape. It doesn’t affect me. But listening to Justin Timberlake does, so yes, I want to see that end.”

“Gay people are so unnatural. They don’t need to do that. Why should they do that when women are around?’

“Any man who listens to Justin Bieber is not a man, he is a woman”

“Tamilians are just assholes”

The slurs continued. At his end he continued to laugh every time I revolted against everything he said. The conversation ended when I frustratingly hung up the receiver when he said,

“Gays should stay away from society. They should be banished…”

I met this individual in a pub and I really thought I connected with him. He studied in the best of schools in the city, had knowledge of every rave in Goa and was quite the brand-whore. He had no dirth of access to knowledge. But yet, in our first conversation he thought that I was just kidding about the Shiva lingam being a phallic symbolism. He called it blasphemy. This brings me to the most infuriating thing he said,

“You are a blasphemer, and that’s worse than being a rapist or a murderer”

I couldn’t believe what I was listening to. How can renouncing a religion be worse than forcing one to have sex without their consent, taking a life or being so judgemental of one’s choices that you’d rather have them leave society than change your uninformed opinion.

In our following arguments, he went on to say that

“Gays should be quarantined and if they try to leave, they should be shot on sight”

We argued until my throat went bad, until I was left alone in the dark crying and wondering how I ever encountered such a heartless individual. In all of that chaos, he very plainly asked,

“Why do you care? I think people have problems that they should deal with. I am not gay. I have not been raped and will never be raped. I don’t think anyone will abuse me. Why should I care? You should only worry about yourself. People should worry about themselves. You shouldn’t care about these gays or rape victims, how does it matter to your life?”

It does. I have been silent for long. And I know this silence has bought me much pain and misery. Some of it, I still struggle to digest.

Five years ago, it was a regular night in the university town I studied in. I was out with some friends and was looking forward to the barbecue party at home. There was this one guy, Vinay (name changed), a friend who I bumped into at the pub I was out at. I invited him and his friend to the barbecue.

The barbecue was great. The chicken was tangy and tender and music was live and peaceful. Vinay and I bonded over our love for music and I invited him over to my room to see the posters. And within minutes the tension unfolded and we kissed. Things got heated.

It had only been fifteen minutes since it had begun and I realised I wasn’t ready for where this was headed. I told him that I wasn’t ready and in response he pulled out a condom. I told him I didn’t mean protection, I just wasn’t ready to do anything more. My memory after this seems to be missing a few frames. I remember being slapped and his hand against my mouth. I remember his other hand clasp on to my neck as I tried to bite his hand off my mouth. I felt powerless and angry. But as a skinny tiny person, I couldn’t do anything to let go. I couldn’t stop this monster from overtaking me and putting on the damn protection. The last thing I remember is being slapped really hard across the face.

I woke up some time later naked next to him. I ran to the several corners of the room looking for my clothes. I could still hear the loud jam outside and the laughter. I asked him to get out of my room. I could feel pain in several places. I thought of the short story I wrote when I was seventeen years old about a woman who was raped by her husband on her wedding night. The veins pulled together. Things burned. I was not a virgin but I could feel something was lost that night. I put on my t shirt and sat in the corner of the room in the darkness and saw his silhouette leave with the little source of light from the living room. I cried for hours into the morning.

The next morning, I texted him saying I remembered what happened and that what he did wasn’t right and that I was going to tell.

“Complain if you want. My dad’s a high powered lawyer. Nothing will happen.”

I called a couple of my closest friends and told them what happened. One said, I deserved it for inviting him to the party and one, that I deserved it for kissing him. My roommate asked me the same afternoon, suggestively,

“How was last night?”

“It was kind of rough”

I responded.

I couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone what had happened. I blamed myself for a long time. My thighs hurt for weeks. I couldn’t go to the toilet without it burning for almost two months. I had visible cuts around my vagina and bite marks on my stomach. I tried to tell some people but they never believed me. A year later, it came back to hit me when I saw him again. And I had a meltdown and told people. My sister, my friends, everyone. They all wondered why I of all people chose to be silent about this. They were angry with me for being silent and I was too.

I still am. I can’t see the current me walking away from this in silence and taking defeat. I’ve met him on a few occasions after that, some of which ended with me violently punching him. I thought with every punch, I’d let go. I thought when I’d write this, I’d feel better. And I just realised I don’t.

So mister, it does matter to me. I know how it is to choose silence. I know how it is to be blamed for something that I will carry for the rest of my life. I am that woman who has been raped or that homosexual who has been ridiculed – they are not all in the newspapers. They are not in cities far away, they are not in villages in secluded farms. They are you and me. They are next to you on the bus. They are in the table next to you drinking coffee. They are having a drink in the bar with you. They are voting with you. They are talking to you. And all in the silence of the shame you contributed to.

Being Indian: Silence

Today, I wanted to write. And then I wondered how many times I was going to rant about rape in this country. How many times I was going to emphasise on the fact that every day I feel a little less safer in this country. My social networking pages are clogged with statuses and photos asking for capital punishment for those six men who gang-raped a girl on a moving bus. The incident has even moved those apathetic people who, most of the time, have no idea what is going on in their country. Many of these posts claim that we Indians are passive and don't really get out on the streets or express our anger towards these atrocities. Little do they forget that all this while they are the ones who have been passive and oblivious to the many attempts that citizens have made to voice their dismay in light of the growing incidence of rape in the country.

The heterogeneous nature of these posts amazes me. There are a few ideas that are dominating, the most prominent being those in favour of capital punishment and castration. How is that a solution? How is such a violent punishment any solution? Dig a little deeper and you will find that in Delhi, the abundance of this crime is due to many loopholes in the system and society. Only a small percentage of it is contributed by the lack of a more trusting judicial system.

I have always opposed the use of death penalty but what is most wrong with this method is that what people want is to get rid of the criminal rather than the crime – to get rid of the problem at hand rather than the root of the problem. Instead, what we need is to rethink our ways of education and outlook. There is so much that contributes to a society that flourishes with sexual violence. Our outlook is outdated and largely dominated by judgement. The men and women who contribute to stereotyping another as “easy”, stripping them of dignity without more than just a glance. Those who will question the attire, the place, the caste, the family life and the choices of the survivor of such a gruesome crime. The society that prohibits its men and women from interacting with each other until a certain age and then throws them into a bed with a complete stranger. The naive society that glorifies its stronghold on the lack of sexual expression and yet considers Bollywood item numbers as glamorous and ultimately wonders why there is rampant sexual violence.

The worst part of this entire episode is that we have all gone on a man-hating, woman sympathising spree. We are talking about violence against women. About the safety of women. About how this entire thing is about the way our culture treats women. At this point, it would be the most obvious thing to also question and stand up for the the safety of and the violence against the men. But this is where I believe we are all lost. It is not about men and women. It is about a crime against humans, a black mark on humanity itself. No human being, regardless of gender, should be treated like this.

A friend of mine put up a very interesting status on the issue suggesting that Delhi rapists must stop raping because they are giving feminists a reason to get things their way:

“I guess it should be made official. Delhi – The most dangerous city in the world for women! Heinous, atrocious and merciless monsters dwelling in the place. Time and again hearing the same news again and again. Thank you Delhi rapists, you're giving the feminists exactly what they need – stringent laws meant for women against men. Laws where even false accusations count in any other safe city or any part of India because of what happened in NCR/Delhi. Bravo, bravo! Thanks to Delhi rapists, the threat of feminist laws would be the order of the day for the entire nation's innocent men. Sentiments from an anti-feminist.”

Firstly, this guy has got the meaning of feminism completely wrong. Feminism is the belief that men and women are equal or gender equality. I understand there are feminists out there whose ideas are simply repulsive but to completely misunderstand the word feminism is sheer stupidity. I agree that the literal term may be misguiding but a little research will lead you to discover that feminism is not pro-woman and anti-man, rather it is adhering to standards of gender equality. Sexual violence is not a women's rights issue. It is a human rights issue. Completely and wholly a human rights issue. The more we exclude the plight of men and focus on a woman's rights in a society like ours, we encourage exclusion. The only way forward is inclusion.

I'd like to keep up with the composed and tempered style in which I have, in the past, penned down my frustrations but at the moment, nothing seems to shake off the anguish that has filled me with this incident. What irks me more is the overwhelming response. In the past we have had the death of Keenan Santos and Reuben Fernandez, the many incidents of rape in Delhi leading to an imposition of a curfew, the gang-rape of a student in National Law School Bangalore, courts not recognising marital rape as a crime, khap panchayats blaming chowmein and countless similar incidents. Did it take this one girl and her friend's brutal torture for you to wake the fuck up?

While I am glad that this incident has finally pushed the media to relevantly deal with and question on the subject, I fear that this too shall pass like the many instances of sexual violence that we have seen on the news. I fear that these stories will come and go as fads for us to exercise armchair activism and at the end of it we too shall contribute to it. What happened to that girl, her plight was not only in the hands of those six men. It was in our hands too. Our society is but a reflection of our thoughts. How often do we walk through the streets, get felt up and walk away in silence? How often do we see other people get teased and molested and walk away in silence? If we don't do so now, at some point we have contributed with our silence. At this point I urge you to not lose the anger, wake up and scream. No more silence.

In the words of a friend, it is not the end of the world we are approaching, it is the end of humanity.  

Being Indian: Independence

Whenever I feel the need to blog here, I have to find that perfect moment when I am angry but not absolutely overwhelmed by anger. But today, as we approach our Independence Day in a few hours, I am f***ing angry, just knowing how unbelievably false this day is. The one day when we paint our profile pictures with tricolours and finally come around to respect our country and celebrate it. This year, maybe we should all go out and find the first house party and beat everyone up. We should find a young girl on the road, strip her naked and try to grab every inch of her skin; for I am led to believe, that is what Indian culture is.

This year alone, I have had three experiences that have shattered my faith in the fact that I am safe on the roads of this country. Let me begin by the most common one. I was at a restaurant with some friends at about 12:30 am, buying dinner after attending a concert. As I walked towards the food counter, a middle-aged man in a lungi grabbed my crotch as he went past me. I turned around and yelled “Bastard!” and continued towards my friends. It then struck me that that wasn’t punishment enough and that this man would probably go grab some other woman again. So I went on to find him.

When I found him, I asked him “Why did you touch me?” His friend began to defend him as the man in the lungi stood sheepishly behind. I continued to explain that he had no right to touch me and demanded an apology if nothing more. At this point, two of my male friends had joined me and a crowd had gathered. My friends began to shout at them and I explained that I would like to deal with it by myself. Following the apology I received, as I walked away, another man in the crowd exclaimed, “Abey! She just wanted to make a scene!” So, I turned around and asked him if he would have made a scene had I been his sister. At this point, the man happened to push one of my male friends and the next thing I know they are about to get into a fist fight and I am being escorted to safety by a security guard. The man had a knife. While, my friends got away safe, he had absolutely no qualms about bringing the knife out to protect his ego. A knife for his ego and a sleazy comment for my dignity.

As we proceeded to leave the restaurant, I sat by the parking lot just trying to wonder how me demanding my right to safety turned into an ego clash between two men. While many of my friends came and applauded me for having “balls”, one went on to tell me that I didn’t need to be such a drama queen. To date, I try to understand the rationale behind that statement. Somebody, please explain to me how telling a man that he had no right to grab my private parts without consent is being a drama queen.

A few months ago, we parked our bike outside UB City at 10:15 pm. After returning in barely fifteen minutes, we found that the bike was punctured. We wheeled it down the road and walked back to UB City where our friends offered to take us back home in their car. As we waited for them, five men on three bikes went past us, made a few comments and parked ahead. We crossed over to the security cabin and waited for our friends, quickly realising that those men were going to follow us. As soon as our friends arrived and we got in to the car, the men got on their bikes and started them. They followed us for a while we slowed down to let one of them overtake us and noted down the number of the bike. A friend in the car couldn’t control her anger any longer and hit the man on the bike with the car door, yelling at him. He scooted and minutes later, so did we towards the closest police station, just in case.

The following day, we took the bike to a puncture shop and asked to see the tube. There were two clean slashes on the tube and they had appeared to have been made with a small blade. The men had punctured our bike in an attempt to handicap us and probably then attack us. After filing a police complaint against the bike, we went on to ask a few people around the parking lot if they had seen anything. They hadn’t seen anything but were happy to provide us with free advice “That is why you should not go out after 9, madam!”

If you ask a woman how many times she’s been felt up at all hours, wearing all kinds of clothes, the answer will be countless. We can’t even count the number of times we ‘have been subjected to street sexual harassment; it’s an experience that we have been “warming” ourselves up to since we were 12. I have been angry for years about being a target simply because I’m a woman. But recently, after watching the news, watching the Guwahati incident, watching the Hindu Activists thrash innocent men and women in a home stay, reading about the deaths of a number of women who are targeted simply because they live their lives differently, I am scared. And I don’t want to be scared because then they get the victory.

The reason I started this blog was to explore what Indian culture really is – the many deep trenches in our society that we hang on to for the sake of tradition? Or is it the way ahead? At this point, I don’t see a way ahead. Unless, everybody stands up against street sexual harassment and moral policing. Unless, women educate their sons and daughters that sexual harassment of ANY kind is an absolute wrong. Unless, the media stops running after the story and calls the police instead.

I mentioned three experiences and illustrated only two. My third experience is every day. Every day, I look at people on the streets and everybody looks like the Hindu Activist, like the moral police and I won’t deny that I am scared. But, I am not completely broken. I will NOT change my lifestyle, my choices and give up my freedom. I know today, that when I walk out of my house, my dignity is a target. My safety is compromised. While all of my posts on this blog end on a positive note, sadly today is not the case. How am I going to celebrate this special day? By going and buying myself a can of pepper spray. That, my friends, is how I am going to celebrate Indian Culture. Pepper spray. Who would’ve thought! Happy Independence Day.

Being Indian: Freedom Of Expression

I try to vent out my anger with this country and my fellow Indians by posting once a week. Most often, I don't feel better when I let it out but with this blog, I am able to channelize my anger productively. But now, the newspapers tell me Facebook, Google and most of these open spaces are going to be banned. This makes me mad because I know that my writings and many others are going to be targeted and defined as “objectionable and offensive”. This is an abomination because you and I are entitled to our right to freedom of expression and this does not happen in a democracy.

In a situation like this, I feel naïve. I remember in school, we were taught to think of our constitution and country with pride, a country that was for the people, of the people and by the people. A democracy. And we spend years believing how true that is and are stunned at a point like this. What part of pre-screening content on social networking sites is democratic? A cartoonist would use his drawing board to express his anguish against the many issues that haunt our society.* As much as we believe social networking is a complete waste of time, it is a common man's canvas to express himself about the same.

Google, Facebook, Youtube, Twitter and many others serve as platforms for free speech. Anyone can log on to any of these sites and write or post a video with his/her opinions. There is no editor telling you that your opinion doesn't count. There is no authority that is preventing you from being heard. It is absolute freedom of expression where every opinion counts. The best part about these websites is that any information that you find offensive can be reported and removed. It is a reflection of the democracy that we want to see in our country.

Yes, this kind of freedom is not always used productively. It is being misused by many to defame people and to spread hate speech against certain races and communities. Desecration of religious symbols too are common but generally don't last because people retaliate and make sure that these images and posts are removed. But is the solution to hate speech controlling free speech? No. Free speech in fact is the way out of it. Free speech enables one to sensitize people to issues. It invites discussions that use rationality to help people realize that in a public forum you must watch what you say. And this happens everyday on our Facebook walls, our blogs, on Youtube, etc. Most people are using these mediums responsibly, very well knowing that they are accountable for what they say thanks to traceable unique IP addresses.

While many us waste a lot of time on the internet browsing memes and taking stupid tests, the web is also being used productively to implement change in the society. The internet has helped mobilize many movements – today more people know about Irom Sharmila's protest thanks to pages and posts while Anna Hazare received attention from mainstream media. People are able to be vocal about their support by signing petitions from the convenience of their desks. The Ugly Indian on their birthday using Facebook, made people get out of their comfort zones and clean up parts of their neighbourhood. For activists, the reach is endless, it is no longer local – an activist can gather support for a cause from across the globe. As we speak, people are contributing money to buy this child a real drum kit to play on. That is the power of the web.

The internet is also a rich source of knowledge and is extensively used by students and working professionals to keep themselves up to date with the fast changing world. Harish Gupta from Bengali Market was recently quoted in the news stating that the children in his school often use Google to write their assignments. This received criticism from many stating that there is a lot of pornographic content on the internet and that children should be protected from the internet rather than encouraged to use it for educational purposes. This is absolutely irrational. This is saying we shouldn't step out of our houses as coconuts may fall and land on our heads. What is necessary instead is to educate parents and children to use this medium safely. Plenty of software is available to prevent pornographic and offensive content from showing up on search engines. A number of controls are already in place to prevent this. What we need is a better understanding of this medium rather than a ban.

My biggest concern however is how this is going to affect artists. A few years ago, social networking opened up countless opportunities for artists to showcase their talent to a large audience, absolutely everyone who's on the internet. The entertainment industry may have suffered a hell lot with the rampant piracy of their material. But upcoming artists have gained a platform that has helped them establish themselves without going through the mainstream media. What happens to these artists? What happens to the livelihoods of social media consultants and media professionals whose jobs revolve around the web? It is not just our ability to share the mundane details of our life that is at stake here. It is a lot more than that.

But what happens if the government decides to ban these sites and takes control of the user edited information that is being posted on the internet. It is a term that we are all well aware of. It is an act that we have at some time been victims of. Moral policing. Who decides what is objectionable and offensive? My friend said my blog is sure to go if the government has its way simply because everything I say will be defined as not Indian Culture. The writer from Mumbai will surely agree with them. If the control of information on the web goes to the government, the political party in power will decide what you say, what you see and what you should think.

Right now the power to decide what we say and see on the internet lies with us. But if this ban is in place, it is going to slip away. I am sure that people will stand up to this then. But why wait? Are we waiting for them to take our freedom away before we do something about it? This is a democracy. We all have the right to freedom of expression and if there's anything money can't buy, it is that. So before it's too late, stand up to this – write to Kapil Sibal, change your profile picture, put up a status about it or write a blog. Trust me, they are listening.

*Courtesy: Cartoonist Sudhir Tailang on Big Fight, NDTV

Being Indian: Gender Discrimination

I'm sure that as a woman, it is only expected that I write something about gender discrimination. The entire discussion of gender equality has been done to death and therefore I'm not going dwell on it. What really bugs me however is gender stereotyping. Boys don't cry, men don't gossip, women love commitment and so on.

When I browse through Facebook, I often find these lists and posts that pin specific characteristics on a gender. There are a number of lists about things men should know about women and vice versa. What men and women like. How they behave in relationships. Social networking sites are practically self-help books with dating tips. The sad part about this entire thing is that if a man expected me to have these qualities, he would be more than disappointed.

I don't take 45 minutes to shower. I have had a bigger fear of commitment than some men I have dated. I have not been planning my wedding since I was 10. I don't expect you to pay the bill on a first date, in fact, I would be offended if you did. I believe chivalry is not just a man's job. I don't fancy muscular men, bar fights and trash talk. I like fart and poop jokes. And yes, I'm very much a woman.

Now, I have been told by many that maybe I'm the exception and not the rule. Some men even tell me that they get along with me more because I'm not very feminine. What I'm trying to say is that even with these gender stereotypes, my lack of femininity gives me brownie points. But when it comes to masculinity, the stereotyping is a lot more aggressive and is strongly reinforced by the media.

Men are expected to be strong in every way – physically and emotionally. The ideal image of a man in advertisements and film is that of a muscular and well trimmed man who has great physical strength and is less likely to get into a situation, he can't fight his way out of. Emotionally, men are portrayed as less communicative – they are rarely seen in situations where they are vulnerable. The media projects an image of a man who is unreal and predictable – creating a pseudo standard by which we measure the real men we interact with.

What agonizes me the most is that I feel that by pushing this stereotype on the men we meet in the real world, we are denying them the opportunity to live up to their full potential of feeling and understanding certain natural emotions. I honestly like men who tear up during an emotional discussion. I have seen many men cry and not once have I felt that these men are not masculine enough. Also, I have found myself tongue-tied during emotional conversations wherein the men have actually led the talk to a productive conclusion. While physical appearances are a personal choice, for me bulky muscular bodies are a complete turn off. And still there are articles circulating the web telling men that women like their men muscular.

Thank you for taking the time to speak on my behalf but I'd rather you not.

The birth of these lists and posts comes from the age old obsession of the two genders trying to understand one another. I solely think the problem arises when you attempt to understand somebody based on their gender rather than plain simple human beings. Yes, scientifically, I will suck at driving whenever I learn to do that. But analysing my likes, dislikes and habits based on my gender has no logic at all. A friend of mine recently saw my room and exclaimed that for a woman, I was quite messy. The truth is for a human being, I'm very messy. I have no sense of cleanliness whatsoever and it is not because I'm less feminine. I'm simply lazy and have less discipline when it comes to keeping my room clean.

I have met many kinds of men and women. I never have trouble understanding most of them because as a mish-mash of these so called masculine and feminine characters, I feel that these traits belong to people of both genders. There will always be exceptions to the rules because there are no rules. The only things these so called rules do is create false expectations not only from others but from ourselves.

Some part of me hopes that these lists were created in absolute humour with the sole intention of making people laugh. But then again blogs like these make me realize that there is a huge market out there that relies on these gender stereotypes. Sadly, we are in that market and until we realize that all this is a bunch of rubbish, we will probably expect every woman to gossip and every man to fear commitment.

Being Indian: Dignity of Labour

I grew up with an engineer for a father, a teacher for a mother and an extended family full of educators, doctors and scientists. I remember when I was 8, my sister was 15 and just out of high school. She was the first one to take up Commerce as her specialization in 11^th Std. At that point, I realized just how “science-oriented” my family was. I loved chemistry and mathematics, maybe because while I was growing up, I would pretend to be one of my mother's students while she took tuitions at home. Surprisingly, I just about passed in History. Despite that, I went on to study Arts in my 11^th and 12^th.

My parents never questioned my chosen path. I received a lot of criticism from an uncle (a scientist) who insisted that if I wanted to get into psychology (my then interest), I should do it through science as there was more money and scope for science. I stuck to my decision and completed my arts course. I went on to take up journalism and psychology in my degree. Less than two years into college, I realized being in an institution and studying just didn't work for me. I found myself bunking college and reading through huge psychology books at coffee shops. Attendance shortage, fines and being locked inside college against my will till 3 pm regardless of whether there was class or not eventually led me to quit and start doing random intern-ships and jobs.

I trained and worked in a lot of publications back then. I clearly remember at this point, I got into a huge argument with the same uncle. He claimed that working in a newspaper took very little effort and talent and that the humanities by itself are a complete waste of manpower. I stopped him and very simply asked him if he subscribed to a newspaper.

We often study about the cruelties of the caste system. In some parts of the country, the caste system in it's original ugly self still exists. But I think a more prevalent problem in this society is the lack of dignity of labour. The instances I mentioned above are fairly trivial to the larger picture. Another situation could cite a better example. Recently, I was at a friend's place attending a small party of sorts. Just before I took leave, the conversation was about maid servants and their inherent quality of stupidity.

A lady in her late 40s went on to say “Maids are born to be maids. They are not equipped to do better.”

I sat in disgust as I dined with this woman. I listened as the conversation went on into bickering about their maids incapability to take simple instructions. I have heard many people bitch about their maids. I too have, especially when I started finding money missing from my pockets. But to judge an entire group of people based on their occupation reminded me a little too much of the caste system. I really wanted to ask this woman why she was hiring somebody else to do a job that was apparently so insignificant?

Another day she named an MNC and asked me how they could hire her maid's daughter since she couldn't even speak decent English. I had kept quiet the other day and decided I could not do that again and told her that not all jobs in this country depend on English speaking skills. After all, English isn't even our native language.

This is the thought that fails me. How does speaking English make one superior? Isn't the objective of language communication? I myself am quite ashamed that I think in English and can't fluently speak a single Indian language. We are all for supporting movements that promote education for all, but where is that support when it comes to practising dignity of labour?

The above example is one of many. The way we deal with the people in our system highly reflects our thoughts. The maid servant, the watchman, the auto driver and many more are all people we take for granted in society. We assume that the reason they have those jobs is because they are uneducated, poor or simply don't know better. The sad part of it all is that we benefit greatly from the services of these people every day. I never fail to thank my maid servant as she leaves home every morning.

The traffic policeman is another person that I feel bears the brunt of this disgusting Indian habit. We hate all of them because we bumped into a few that offered to take bribes from us. Our policemen are highly underpaid. They are made to work long hours without breaks to eat or answer nature's calls. At the end of it, they have to somehow put up with us. All of us, in a hurry to get places that we forget lane discipline. We ride onto the zebra crossing before the pedestrians even get a chance to cross the street. We don't always wear our helmets. We are proud to drink, drive and get away with it and in the end we blame the police because they are under staffed. Who would want to be a policeman? Long hours, less pay and the worst of it, the public treats you like scum.

A trend is coming together. Over time, we are putting engineers, doctors and entrepreneurs on a pedestal. No doubt, these are noble jobs. The point is all of them are. We are all a part of this system and we all put in the same amount of effort. Dignity of Labour is defined as respecting all jobs equally. But when I see the way we treat each other, I can only see that we define dignity based on our incomes forgetting that if we didn't have one another, our lives would simply fall apart.

Being Indian: Sexuality

It's a three letter word. It has so much do with life and yet we choose not to talk about it. It's use is abundant in adjective form. In the movies, in the tabloids, on the streets. India is a country with a raging population of over a billion people. The way things are going I wonder how these people got here. Since nobody's ever talking about sex.

My experiences with this word have been many. Right from my teens, there was that aunt who didn't let me watch a Toni Braxton video on MTV. Or that time she told me Friends was a bad tv show. Of course, there is the awkward experience of reading an illustrated book that explained the act of sex when I was 11. I had just hit puberty. And of all the ways to educate me on the subject, I was given a book. A dirty book.

I remember clearly stumbling upon my mother's lingerie when I was a child and she would hurriedly put it away saying I wasn't the right age. I never remember asking my parents where I came from. I guess even as a child I knew that here and now wasn't the time to ask questions. That I think is the biggest problem with the current society.

Today, 26 years old, I understand everything there is to know about sex. And I believe that the road to now could have been a lot smoother. I wish that my mother had sat me down and told me everything about sex. Approaching the subject objectively, warning me that if sex must be practised, it should be practised safely. I wish she had told me that I was going to start growing breasts so when they came I wouldn't be ashamed of them but embrace them. I wish she had told me that one day I was going to start bleeding, so I didn't think I was dying.

Nobody's ever talking about sex here. I visited a gynaecologist early 2011 and in my appointment, I asked her what kind of birth control I should use.

She very confidently said “Once you get married, sex will be safe.”

How does a legal written document or a ceremonial procedure make sex safe? A perfect case of moral policing, this doctor thought it was better to advice me on what is right and wrong morally rather than look out for my physical well-being. Pre-marital sex is often frowned upon in this country. The ironic thing is that it is so rampant that the frequency of abortions is very high. I know many women who have had abortions, some in their early weeks and some very painfully past their trimester.

In fact, I have had an abortion. When I think of pain, I think the most that I have gone through is minutes after inserting that tablet up my vagina. I went through it with my mom on my side who thought it was a mere heat stroke. I never told her because I was ashamed. I thought that despite being so aware of the dangers of having unprotected sex, I had made such a stupid mistake. Months after the dreadful life changing procedure, I started talking. I discovered that many women around me went through the same thing. They were all ashamed for the same reason. I realized I wasn't alone.

At that point I realized this country has got to start talking about sex. Yes, the i-pill advertisements are quite the progress. But any open-minded gynaecologist will tell you that taking an i-pill Is asking for disaster. I myself have had migraines and 14 day long periods just because I took an I pill. Where are the PSAs about birth control? About condoms? Where are the instances of abortions and safe pre-marital sex in our Indian soaps? Why is it that I'm a large part of a majority and still portrayed as a minority?

I am no longer ashamed. I was 24 when I had to get an abortion. I was not financially or emotionally stable enough to raise a child. I made the right choice. And many people would agree with that. Why bring a child into this world if you don't have the responsibility to raise him/her? Think about it.

I recently had the most interesting online conversation with a writer from Mumbai about sexuality. I asked him what he thought of homosexuality and his response was quick. He said that when people are unable to find partners of the opposite sex, they just turn to their own sex. As a bi-curious person, I gasped and wondered how somebody who was a writer, a person with an inspirational role could say something so ignorant. When I told him that I myself might be bisexual, he started questioning me. If I had kissed a woman, if I had licked a cunt. Soon into the conversation I realized that on the other end of this network was a man with his dick in his hand. I stopped discussing my sexual life with him. He said he needed research for his book because he wanted to add a few sexual chapters and hadn't had sex.

I went on to give him links to erotic stories that I had written when I was experimenting with the genre. I had found that writing erotica was challenging. A little too challenging. I didn't know if it was my lack of knowledge in the kinky areas of life or that my metaphors had run out, I had only 2 stories to my credit. I shared it with him and told him that if I found any kind of plagiarism I would sue his sorry ass. He insisted that I tell him in conversation how my love making sessions went. I refused. Minutes later he turned around and said “This is not Indian culture” He compared me to Silk Smitha and said I would deserve a similar death. I went on to ask “What the fuck is Indian Culture?” to which he responded by saying I had abused his country and that I was a bitch.

Now, here's what I find absolutely disgusting about this experience. The minute I told him I could be bisexual he started to hit on me. I have had similar experiences before. Sharing my erotic writings with fellow writers have turned into misinterpreted invitations for sex. When men say they like big boobs, do you see me putting on a padded bra and asking them out? No. What is so wrong with a woman being open about her sexuality? And the worst is that this writer from Mumbai thought that writing erotica was wrong. We all know that a majority of people indulge in visual pornography if not written. Why the sudden hypocrisy?

At the end of this rant, I very plainly ask. What is so wrong about talking about sex? Isn't that how you and me got here? Isn't it a natural urge in life? There are a number of crimes in this country that arise from lack of sex education. When are we going to wake up? We have a serious problem with the lack of family planning and birth control. Our resources are limited. All I can say if there's no better time, it's now that we've got to start talking about sex, baby!