Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Time Machine

He squirmed, frowning at extinct
racoons; Spiff no longer allured
his grey, as the sun set in dimmer
red, earth no more to be saved.

Suburbs subsumed by corridors
of urban anthromes, snowmen
melted into ebbing rivers, sleds
of fantasy mid way in emptiness.

No mars colonies, floating cities,
disintegrated future in zero gravity
boots; last snowflakes seek shelter
from tired hordes of trampling feet.

‘Drat! The Time Machine is broken.’
Muttered Calvin as Hobbes slowly
ruminated, ‘Science goes big Boink
when Bang scatters humanity.’

Divine


My mother has tiny fingers,
restless, carefree; delightfully
alive, kindle everything good
and warm with a fairy charm.

Subtle vagaries in subliminal
illumination, as her soldiers
march; screams of ticklish
surprises sprinkled with love.

Melting into the hug sublime,
flashes of the Sistine fresco;
her finger of human divinity
sparks the life in my being.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Suicide Note



See or may be unseen, conjure
of thread split from the seams,
no threat to the greater fabric,
spun finite a length not longer;
I take comfort in death, knowing
tomorrow the dawn breaks yet
again, sorrow glibly smoothing the
wrinkles of joy; love lingers, a
ripple of coherence in throes of
chaos: touches, words and looks,
mirrored in multitude;
you live on, embrace the wilting
breath, vibrating from me to the
throngs of new cosmic dendrites.

I take comfort in death; the world
still harmonious in its harmonics.

Friday, December 02, 2011

On... Neo-pop-culture and the Indian woman.


I want to discuss the omnipresent ‘F -word’ that pervades our pop culture nowadays. No, am not talking about Fuck. But Feminism/Feminist. That’s right. That is the new F-word. It has been co-opted by the conservative and consumerist media, along with it, churning out a new series of pop and cultural icons that exude confidence in their Gucci pumps and Prada clutches (They used to be called shoes and purses not long back.). The new generation identifies with the ‘rebellion’ of these icons to an extent that the core feministic values are covertly sabotaged by the market determined subtext. In the Indian context, this is made worse because of the juxtaposition of dynamic thought and stagnant culture. 

Let us take one of the universal Indian pop icons first- Aishwarya Rai. She is paraded around as the perfect everything. The epitome of the new Indian ideal. Whether you hate her because she is just a beautiful face whose familial roles reinforce the old patriarchal stereotypes or you love her, we cannot neglect the effect she has on the media. She is no different than the submissive, indoctrinated characters on Indian TV. Yet she has a market value and a ‘good girl’ certificate more valuable than most other actresses because of her ability to stoop to win, like the perfect woman. There was this moment when a friend told me once that Aishwarya Rai proves that a small town girl could do anything. The next sentence should have been ‘because she is fair, because is conventionally beautiful, because she conforms.’ This is the same sentence that I once heard the Malayalee soft porn actress Shakeela say. That a girl can do anything if she wants it. There is no crowd to cheer her on except late at night or in a darkened theatre.

This brings to another actress on the other end of the spectrum, Sunny Leone. A lot has been said about her. The orthodox section going wrinkled nose while the neo-liberal progressives happy about someone who sells sex and flaunts her sexuality finding space in mainstream Indian media. We cannot forget the fact that current world porn industry is essentially anti-woman. We cannot also forget the fact that Sunny Leone is not in any way doing anything original. She is just using her body to make money.  However she might define it, it is patriarchy at work. She is catering to her customers, who are mostly heterosexual males in a patriarchal society and whose ideals are formed and manipulated by the market forces. Like most of the porn stars, she has glistening legs, no hair anywhere. How is this in any way progressive? She wears what makes her look good, more desirable to her customers and fans. She is a commodity with fundamentally no talent. There is a huge difference between using sexuality to make a point and making a point to justify what is essentially everything feminism and woman empowerment stands against- objectification. Such subversive tactics of the market should not be considered as a triumph. Sunny Leone, Rakhi Sawant (Why is it that Rakhi Sawant is derided while Sunny Leone is venerated? Because she looks and acts ‘Western’ and refined while Rakhi is blatantly offensive and distastefully Indian.)  et al are doing nothing but make a retrogression in whatever empowerment has happened till now.

Let us discuss another widely removed, essentially Malayalee pop icon, Ranjini Haridas. I have courted fire because I have said in progressive circles that I don’t like her. She is individualistic. I agree and I do like her courage to be blatantly frank about herself. But to promote a woman who dropped her weight to skeletal thin along the show, creating a negative body image to the younger viewers and who once more, endorses everything unreal and nothing original, gives an extremely distorted view about the feminine. Femininity does not lie in coquetry. Empowerment does not lie in being oneself just because one had the means to. Wonder how many Ranjinis can afford to emerge from the quintessential middle class setting without being laughed at. Such ‘ individualistic empowerment’ is the monopoly of the privileged class.   

Feminism has always been utilized by the patriarchal setting as a scapegoat for furthering its goals. But till now, it has been a covert process. Now, with girls doing Slutwalk and telling everyone to call them sluts and not feminists because ‘Feminist is an ugly word’ or pretending that fun- feminism and iFeminism; feminism perpetuated and mass sponsored by the markets as through consumerism (Yes, I made that up.) ;are more individualistic and hence right than the collective spirit that actually constitutes feminism, there is no need now for the society to be covert. Consider this. Buying anything pink is girlish. So what? I like pink. It accentuates and reaffirms my femininity, which I have the right to express in the neo-social setting. I am a feminist. Look, the market has lovely pink accessories for my pink dress. I might as well buy them because it is my choice and I am defying the stereotype feminists who don’t wear pink. Really? The market tells you what feminists wear and don’t wear. How is that in any way empowering? 

I don’t mind the ignorance because it is hard to discern this sort of definitive subjugation in today’s setting with so many corrosive factors at work simultaneously. But trying to project all these women as the essential ideals of modern Indian pop/cultural icons is somewhat disheartening. The question is not whether our girls should have the choice to buy a doctor Barbie or a Katrina Barbie or a lawyer Barbie. It is whether or not they should buy or be a Barbie at all. 

As long as we don’t recognize that question, feminism will remain the F-word, a stylish expletive.  
   

Testicular

Three pairs, vast differences vasa deferentia,
buzz Hindolam, pheromones between legs.

Pan fry one, shallots, garlic, garam masala et al
swirling in aromatic pungency of muskiness as
pepper screams; lewd, spiced the heat climbs.

Marinate in yogurt, the next, zesty tang brews
redundant the stoic, virile garb; fire grilling the
chars of ghosts, flakes of tough skin repugnant.

Sauce for last, blended sweetness, sparkles of
manly flagellates, boiling chemotaxis; ambrosial
savoriness adrift in bland, attenuated insipidity.

Servings, delicious finger lickings past, perplexity
remains; no penile answer to a vaginal question,
what does a real man taste like?