The ant

I jabbed my pencil,
Right into the middle.
The ant squirmed,
Pinned down, helpless.

I twisted the pencil,
The ant too.
Then, in the insanity,
A sane thought,
And I let go.

I watched it crawl,
Back broken.
Trying to escape,
My future wrath.

Nothing its offence,
Nothing its sin.

I regret!
For a moment,
I did what I did,
Just so I can.
Power, power,
With no justification.

To be born an ant,
The ant didn’t choose!

little drops frozen

Something happened a few weeks back. Nothing historically important that could freeze time. Yet it was very important. Two of my friends, let us call them A and B, were walking back from our University Department to the ladies hostel at around ten at night. Kindly consider that the walk is around five minutes. Talking to each other animatedly, they failed to notice a motorbike that came up behind them and the guy who was sitting behind the rider, pulled the dupatta of A. What was meant to be a ‘prank’ turned serious when she was lurched forward and ran a few moments with the bike. By then, her dupatta had come off completely and she lost her balance, causing her to fall headlong on the side of the road filled with jagged stones and rocks. All this time B was shouting for the security guard, who was talking with some other security guards so spiritedly, he didn’t hear her. The guy who pulled the dupatta fell from the bike and was dazed. But by the time something could happen, he had gotten on the bike which the rider had stopped nearby and escaped.

There are so many questions we can pose here, about the behaviour of the boys, the laxity of the guards, the situation where women cannot feel safe along even the roads they travel most, but all that is overshadowed by something else.

I could get only the second person account of the incident as I was away. My roommate told me that A was quite a sight with little stones lodged deep into the flesh of her arms and her palms, her knees badly grazed, she had trouble even getting dressed to go the hospital the next morning. I understood the severity of the wounds when I saw her a couple of weeks later. The concern to be addressed here is that her family told her not to file a complaint as it might get her stamped as ‘the girl who was attacked’. She was supposed to meet a prospective groom later that week and the family didn’t want the reputation tarnished. The girl too saw it the same way.

The second view point is B’s. She kept wishing that she had been A. She believes that it is up to the individual to take the decision. If the prospective groom finds such a tiny point that the girl dared raise her voice for justice disturbing, it is better that wedding doesn’t take place.

The last point of view is my roommate’s. She was quite angry over the fact that A wouldn’t lodge a complaint. But more than that, she was enraged with the society. She ended up saying that the lesson was that women shouldn’t go out after dark.

Let us consider A. She was shocked. Agreed. She had the option of emergency medical care. She declined. She could have registered a complaint. She did not! What drove her- a woman of 23, completing her Masters, from a good educational and financial back ground to just be the passive victim? What prompted her family to dismiss such an attack as they did?

The idea of ‘reputation’ has been so long imbedded in our moral code that anyone who tries to amend it becomes the black sheep. A did what was necessary to protect that reputation. Her family made it sure that their image is not tarnished. More than anything, they wanted a groom for A. She had to be ‘handed over’ to a man. She couldn’t be ‘damaged’ till then. Like the perfect toy for the naughty boy, she is preserved, gift wrapped, and kept on the shelf. Her self esteem is the size of the box, banging against its wall and quietly resigning to the inevitability. She has to conform to the societal norms. No other choice.

Coming to B, she will never come to terms with the fact that patriarchy subdues women to such an extent that you have to be afraid of something you did not do, something not even remotely your fault. She will rebel whenever something like this comes up. But she fails to understand what needs to be done. That is part of her conditioning. Somewhere she wants to think, she knows the society is not right, but she cannot probe deeper than the periphery. Her potential to think is cut off by the society who will mockingly call her a feminist, her religion will prevent her from admitting she could be one; her family would require her to adhere to society and religion. The burning embers will go out slowly in black fumes as her quinta essencia is smothered by rules and more rules.

But my roommate found the solution perfecta in this perfect society. Don’t go alone in the dark. Though she said it ironically, it clings to my heart. A brilliant mind, an undying spirit, but tied by the impossible impositions, negotiating her route through this murky world, thinking practical. The society has taught her to be cautious to an extent where ideology is muffled and remains unspoken, but personally practised wherever possible.

The tragedy of mores is that, the more internalization happens, the more constrained we become. We forget that we construct the society. This conscious and continuous advocating of norms and barricades leave only a few unruffled and focused. The parents of A in this case did more injustice to A than in a situation where possibly she is raped. By denying that she is an individual who has all the rights to the sanctity of her body and mind, by the doctrine that she should not report the assault to the authorities, they have vetoed her self worth for life. But, the impact goes deeper than that. By not revealing the incident, she has ensured that those roads will continue to be minimally lit, the guards will continue to enjoy their midnight conversations, and the perpetrators will have renewed confidence, but above all, the next batch of hostellers might follow the wisdom of their precedents. A will pass on this understanding of the matter she so carefully handled, to her friends in need, her children, further condemning them to a path of pseudo reputation, morality and confusion. Renegades will be hunt and damned. Heretics will be burnt and the ashes spread across the reservoir of fake and established moral policing. And still As will willingly bow their heads to be stepped on, while the others will roam around dazed, tormented and confused.

All the ‘wills’ in the preceding paragraph could be changed to ‘will nots’, if a simple action is taken by many of the As. After all, I think Darwin can be quoted rightly here, when he said- It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent, but the one most responsive to change. We need to change.

when right is wrong

this poem is open to interpretation. I have tried to include many themes in one poem! you can choose that you seek!

“Wrong wrong, it is all wrong!
Everything, from start to fin,
My life, the world, all so wrong!”

“Wrong? How? Pray tell me!
Perfect, absolute Avalon,
This charm of life,
This world of delight!”

“Yes, the light you do see,
The darkness ignored!
This wrath of existence,
The penury of soul!”

“You bastard of society,
Beggar by birth,
You dare assert filth?
Dare deny the light?”

“No, dare I do not,
The words tearfully spoken,
An outburst of emotion,
Painfully told,
Forgive me, forgive me!”

“Good! The orphans of paradox,
This pantomime, you strive and drive.
Perfection, perfection,
Debased shall you be,
For, in this world of rights,
When right becomes wrong,
Wrong becomes victory!”

Rain

They frighten me,

The dark clouds.

I close my eyes,

Lose myself to the thunder,

It grumbles-

Rain is imminent!

I hate the grumble,

It frightens me,

Why did Monet choose clouds?

I wonder!

About this damned rain,

Why do they sing?

I do not seek it,

I do not want it.

It will melt my heart,

I fear!

It will caress my hunger,

My soul, it will torture!

The rain, it will!

Sssshhhhh!!!

They hear me,

The clouds!

In quiet mutiny,

They stare at me!

‘No’, whispers the sudden breeze,

‘Rain will only cleanse you!’

And suddenly,

The snare drums ceased,

Commenced the guitar intro!

On my eyelid,

The first drop fell!

The rain, I knew then,

It will cleanse me!

Clouds

I raise my hand,

Spread my fingers,

Eager to snatch the clouds.

In all the world,

My favourite specter.

The white and the grey,

The silver lined,

And the thundering blacks,

I love them all.

The contours, shapes,

Sculpted smoothness,

Built on air,

Nothing more.

And I wish,

How I wish!

That we could see,

We are all like them!

The black, the white,

The differences,

All the conflicts,

Everything to water, silences!

ABANDON

Written in a state of outrage, couple of years ago, when the ‘alma mater’ was ‘my college’.

At entrance to the Biology section,
Back at my alma mater,
Covering the landing,
All dusty and dirty,
There lies a huge article,
Object to abject abandon.

I wondered at it.
Seemed a tree trunk,
Hauled for some purpose,
Discarded futile.
Our people, so warm and attentive,
Felt the need for it in future…
I had smirked.

Sometime back,
A glance I chanced.
Too white for a tree trunk.
Looking closer, a label revealed.
Bewildered I read,
Below the scientific name-‘WHALE’S JAW’!!!

In confusion my heart pounds.
Was it negligence,
Intention or decision?
On the graying tiles,
To leave such an adornment,
Let it gather dust and pity?

For a decent case or cover,
(Forget maintenance!)
Funds if we have not,
To the museum of natural history,
Donate the poor soul and…
Regretfully remind the self,
Not withstanding our ego,
That we, homosapiens,
So miniscule to nature,
As the object of discussion to us!

MEA CULPA

Well, this poem is a bit different from my usual style. But, it was required to convey the point exactly as i wanted it. It is about a woman breaking free from the patriarchal norms that were constructed to keep her bound She is talking to her oppressor, who considers the shared power solely as his!

If I am guilty,
(As you say)
Let me be hung,
Burnt at the stakes;
As a heretic!

If I am guilty,
(Do not whisper that I am!)
Tell the world my crime,
My sin be disclosed,
Reveal the charge sheet!

But, nay, that you won't!
(Oh, only whisper you can,
Voice yours weak,
When my ordained silence,
I break!
For, that is my sin!)
You can't!
The scepter so long embraced,
Power so long clutched,
Your spine rots with fear!

Aeons, you made believe,
(I see your gaze falter,
My eyes, you fail to meet!)
I hold no rights,
I have no needs, nil wants!
Desires are sin,
But YOU,
In their ravishing fulfillment,
You swim!

Eternity, I passed,
Numbed at the blood,
That flows between my legs!
My freedom, it forbids,
You told me!
And in shame, I hung my head,
Believing;
Mea Culpa,
Mea Maxima Culpa!

But, no more!
(Do you hear?)
My worth, I realize!
Yes, I do!
(LOOK at me, when I speak!)
The world awaiting me,
More fulfilling, I find productivity,
Than mere reproduction!

I know,
(Though, realize, you do not!)
Imperialism is an attitude,
On its own, it never fades,
In soul’s deepest innards,
It struggles,
Coyly cuddling thy ego,
Till cut out and burnt down!
And that I will hunt, cut and burn!
(This I promise, this I swear!)
Your seal of power,
That scepter you hold,
(Any tighter clutch,
And you will break it!)
Will soon have another hand on it!

Remembrance

Before I even begin, I have to to dedicate this poem to a friend of mine, who scribbled these lines on the paper on which I had written this poem and tossed aside somewhere. I happened to see it only weeks after she wrote it.

“Sorry that I scribbled on this. Its beautiful. I can see through the words but cannot fathom the intensity of the passion coz u R beyond comprehension. But as far as I know u, I love you & this knowledge is enough to love u & remember u. You bring spring to people around you. Its u who brings the lovely smiles on their faces. Freezing winter steals the colour (cheer) from the face. Let the winter pass by, coz it breeds loneliness which is not elegant. It brings along shivers (fears) & numbness.”

Of a day lost,

I wait and hope for,

With wishes uncovered,

And scattered under my feet.

I look out the window,

And see winter go by,

Vanishing elegant loneliness,

The skies turning bright blue.

And what? I ponder;

Spring does bring?

Have I forgotten the spring of mine?

Or hidden it in winter?

A sigh, I take.

Away from the window, I walk.

Not wishing to ponder beyond,

The incomprehensible loveliness,

Of the smiles that now I see,

For, in them,

My spring I find!

Miracle

When I was seventeen, a miracle happened in my life. Something unexpectedly expected. My aunt gave birth to her second son. One might wonder what might be so miraculous about it, considering the fact that I am the eldest in my family and have lots of younger cousins. Since I was having my vacations and since we were in a joint family system then, I spent most of my time looking after him, the one I call my ‘aniyankuttan’ or ‘aniyan’ in short, meaning little brother. I knew the moment I saw him, there was something special between us, something subtle, but present. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t disgusted by baby poop or barfs or anything. I would clean up after him without a grimace. This came as a shock to all, especially since I get extremely queasy when it comes to such things. I would put him to sleep and often he would be sleeping with me in my arms at night till my aunt came and got him. It was very weird at first when he developed affection to my breast, always turning towards them when in my arms. And it still does. He spends most of his holidays with me when I am home and still sleeps in my arms. One of his hands will always be resting on my breast.

Everything between us is magical. The first song that I sang to him was no actual lullaby. I remember how some of the lines from Darius’s Colorblind came to me. I just began humming from the middle, ‘Feeling fine, sublime, when that smile of yours creeps into my mind……. You make me colorblind’. It was exactly how I felt. Often it wasn’t necessary that he even cried for something, I would just know.

Then, my aunt moved away to another part of the city. Naturally, it was heartbreaking to see my little one break away from the herd at six months. I would wait almost clawing the walls with impatience for the weekend to come, so that I can rush to him. Sometimes, my heart would beat so fast and heavy that I know he wants to see me. When the time comes for me to leave him, he usually hides something of mine, my purse, umbrella or just hang on to my dress and wail. I can never forget those wails. It was as if they made my heart stop.

I just know when his heart beats for me, even in my sleep. There was an incident that made everyone realize that our connection was very strong. I had taken a very strong analgesic for my head ache once. Afraid that it wouldn’t be enough, I took another. This made me sleep through better part of the day and through the night. My parents were worried I would have to be taken to hospital. The next morning, according to my aunt, he just sat up on the bed, jumped out and began to change his dress. When asked why, he said that I wasn’t well and he wanted to come and see me. He didn’t know about the pain killers. There is no answer to why we love each other like this. We just do.

The funniest part is, I get blamed for all the naughtiness in him, through these five years. His famous excuse is, ‘Sruthi chechi does it, why can’t I?’. Somehow, I am fine with it. I know it is just not the naughty things I taught him. Even when he could barely understand English, I would look right into his eyes and say, ‘I love you’. One day, while being cuddled by his mother, he looked at her and said those words. (Yes, yes, I do admit that it is not the only thing he learnt from me. The other day he called me a stupid. I asked him where he learnt it from. You can guess his answer. Also, sometimes he copies my ‘attitude responses’!).

Or the time he asked me why I always take his photos and why his picture is the wallpaper in my mobile phone. I said the truth that the only reason I wanted a camera on my phone was to take his photos. He asked me if I loved him that much, I said yes. He looked at me like he was going to choke and silently climbed onto me and held me tight. I would never forget that look on his face then. He expects me to be there for him, even when he is in a very bad mood, crying and wailing and kicking me, yelling at me to go away (those are the times when I remind myself his nails ought to be trimmed, my whole face would be scratched); I would calmly tell him alright and prepare to leave. But somehow, I never get around to the door. He would just pull me near him and cry in my arms. I know whatever he is, whatever he becomes; I will contribute a major part of it.

He has taught me a lot and still does. He has taught me what it takes to raise a child, to control your temper, and especially that yelling never works with children (I often punish him with silence. Deafening silence.). He has taught me that love is not only about cuddling and laughing together, but also about standing in front of the class teacher while she says how naughty he has been and how he is not paying any attention in class and then try to make him read the bed time story word by word till he screams. It is also about finding out that he draws better than he reads or that instead of squashing a flower like most naughty children do (he is naughty), he would admire its beauty. It is also about holding him tight, getting soaked by the waves on the beach (since he wants to enjoy the most even though he is scared of the waves) and realizing that the only reason he is enjoying is because he trusts me and that the only reason I am calculating the effect of each oncoming wave is because I am responsible for him. It is also about holding him up so he can see the snakes in the cages better and standing in front of each cage till he gets answers to all his questions, and my arm hurts but the pain just vanishes when he laughs with delight. It is also about not being able to take a bath without him banging on the door asking me to finish soon and waiting outside till I do. It is also about the adamant stand that at five years old he won’t eat by himself if I am there, I have to feed him. It is also about realizing that he never forgot the first lullaby I sang to him (I still sing Colorblind at times to him.). Most of all, it is about love. Unconditional and pure love. The love that I see on his face when he sees me. The love that he understood when I said that I love him, long before he properly understood either English or Malayalam. Love that I know will not die.

And that love, for me is a miracle.

The Best

They watch me cry,

And I cry on,

Why? They ask me!

All the answers,

Choke on a sob!

I tell them, I have failed.

Utterly, miserably,

Failed!

Failed at my resolution,

To be the best.

The glorious best,

The best as a parent!

And so, I say,

I cry!

Bewildered, bemused,

Confused and baffled,

They stand!

Tell me I haven’t failed!

The triumphs, the successes,

The victories and the conquests,

Of my children,

Aloud they count!

Careers, wealth and all that matter,

They cite!

Yes…all that matter!

All that matters is life.

And I taught them no life.

Ruefully I smile,

Efforts best of mine put,

For them, in them!

Food, shelter, cloth,

Toys, entertainment,

Education…the best, always the best!

For the best, I bid.

The highest grades,

Topmost ranks,

Trophies unparalleled!

But, I forgot…

To teach them, show them,

Love, humanity!

In my mind’s great rat race,

I forgot nurture,

Forgot friendship,

Sharing and caring!

To love other children,

Children of other parents!

To appreciate their triumphs,

Over my little nuggets,

I was unwilling!

Instead I simmered,

Simmered with jealousy,

Hitting the race a notch higher.

Into my children too,

The simmer, I poured!

Forgot my duties,

To society, to mankind!

To the institutions that moulded me!

Denied justice,

To all else other than me!

And so, my children,

I cry!

I see you,

Groom your children,

To what I was made up,

To what I tutored you;

Apostles of propriety,

Models of political correctness,

Keepers of social stature,

Guardians of hypocrisy!

But, nothing more…

Nothing more!

And with that, my children,

In other hearts,

You cease to exist!

They smile!

Pat my shoulder, walk away,

Whispering to themselves,

‘Senile! That is all!

Our parent, our duty!’

And with that,

In your hearts,

I cease to exist,

Labeled a ‘duty’!

Nothing more, nothing more!

And so, I cry!

Remember me not! ( A stupid, small poem, but i liked it)

Remember me not,

By the reckless words,

Seemingly unleashed!

Remember me not,

By the tantrums I threw,

For the pettiest of motives,

So trivial!!

Remember me not,

Remember me not,

By what I told you I was,

For I am not that!!!

Remember by the sparkle in my eyes,

The careless caresses, unseen, yet understood!

Remember me for the moments you saw me,

not wished to see!!!

And u will see me, as I am!!!

Weddings (thse might be simple words when read, but it a lot more to my friends and me)

Weddings used to make me sick. For me as a girl, the major part of the wedding would be spent trying to get away from ‘aunties’ who ask why am I not wearing enough gold or try and wheedle out family information out of me.( Later of course, I grew up not even caring to answer them, just smile. Or maybe I should try what a friend did. When asked why she doesn’t wear any gold, she retorted that it is because her parents didn’t have enough money.) So, I would be quietly sitting somewhere, not intruding in anything, watching all the rituals, counting the minutes and rolling my eyes when somebody sniffed or cried.

But, then my perception began to change, I began to and still see weddings as a new beginning rather than the ‘going away’ process. I was happy for the couple, sad for the parents who were throwing away such money on a one time affair.

But, a couple of months back, Achu got married. She is a very close friend of mine. She got married with all the pompousness of a typical upper middle class Hindu malayalee wedding! She blushed and looked and was happy like a bride should be. And, standing there, looking at the whole process, I felt nothing but happiness, but, I had to leave early to catch my train back to my university since I had an exam the next day. So, I said goodbye, and the groom, now the husband, came to say goodbye to us two best friends of hers who were leaving. And after the jokes and all (we knew him before, so it was ok!), I just said, ‘Take good care of her, ok?’. And he just laughed and joked about it.

But, the moment I said it, I knew I was choking, I couldn’t breathe. It was a new beginning, a time to celebrate, according to my theory, then why was I sad? Why am I choked up now, remembering the episode? Let that question marinate for sometime.

And then, after a peaceful period, the next one, Suja got married. I was prepared for it, telling Nisha it will be fine, she will be happy, though she will go away to the USA after a few months, it is for the best, etc. And I was happy the day before. We spent the night with Suja, talking about the big day. But, again, I was not ready for the tears that came to my eyes when the thaali (or in hindi, the mangalsutra) was tied. I laughed to her about it and she told me she had expected atleast a complete break down from me. Well yeah, she would expect it. Whenever I get angry at her for something, she just smiles at me till I stop shouting and break out laughing. She knows the power she has over me. Again, I had to leave early for an exam (I do have to tell Nisha not to get married on a Sunday and especially not before an exam!) and this time, I was a bit relieved I wasn’t there when she left with the groom. Perhaps I may not have been so stoic there as I wish I could be.

And now, another close friend (not Nisha) is getting married. And I tell her that she shouldn’t expect any mushy stuff from me. We also talk about the adjustment issues, we speculate over the future, another great friend cries over the idea that she wouldn’t see the ‘old you’ anymore after the wedding, you know… the whole girly girly stuff! And even as I tell her that I won’t cry or anything, I can sense something creeping up in me, something unknown, something that makes me do these things I don’t want to. And I realize what it is. It is just love. I love them so much, I am happy for the whole new beginning, and it is this happiness, the anxiety of how they would fair in their new lives, the sadness that I cannot perceive my friend as she was before – a single human being, and feeling like some body is ripping a part right out of my heart and taking it away on a platter that makes me so weirdly sad.

And I decide that I should let that sadness be there, after all, it is a part of my happiness.

Evanescence

We laugh,
Cry over the ruins,
Debris of broken past,
Scattered memories!

Look beyond the skies,
The unseeing eyes,
Ponder the distance beyond,
Swim the tireless dream!

We live the present,
The transient,
The apparent!
Perceive the senses.
We sense the sanity,
Insanity of being.

Profess the accomplishments,
Self-worth satisfied,
Gratified by the smallest triumphs,
We live the present!

The too proud a species,
We become,
Self-righteous,
Mortified of the self image,
Perfection strived!

Into the fierce fires of nature,
We perish.
Decayed, burnt,
Purified!

But,
The sun shines,
The glory of day never undone,
Nature not bowing,
Time not stopping!
We merge,
Evanescent, only a memory!

SHE

The darkest night,
Stars, in all their brilliance,
To bring light, were vainglorious.
Trees loomed higher and highest,
To black transformed,
Looked over the moonlit shadows,
Creeping over the sands, melancholy!

Away in darkness,
A figure fled,
Seeking her soul’s abode,
Through the crimson mires,
The howling winds,
Her tattered attire flowing behind.
Her eyes; panic stricken,
Searched the diabolic night.
With dread and death,
She shivered.
The dark beauty, to her, not enchanting,
No life, only survival.

From there… from where?
The arrows came,
Sharp and fast.
The blood stroked her tears,
Streaked her heart,
Her throbbing heart; pierced, silenced!
The last whimper, ‘why me, why me?’

Yes, why her, why her?
Why us?
For what crime, what sin?
For giving life?
For the love? The nurture?
Or for the devotion we offer?
She was tormented, tortured,
Murdered!
The reason-a woman she was.
Here be, how many shes?
How many with no words, no speech?
Within the walls, bound by duties,
Restricted, constrained, forbidden.
Laughter died out, tears dried away,
Hands tied, legs bound, lips sealed,
Because, only because, she is a ‘she’!

Surprises

I stare with disbelief,
At the endless surprises,
Sprinkled with naughty grin,
A touch of joy!

Over the abundant life,
I muse,
The clattering of gifts,
The astonishments so far!

My friends,
They gift me letter pads,
Every year, each birthday!
Simple gesture,
Huge significance.
For my words spoken,
Epistles of friendship!

But surprises?
My friends,
They choke on that!
Too accurate, I predict!
Yawn at surprises,
So anticipated!

Yet, I am surprised,
At every wake of life,
I am surprised!

Surprised at life?
No! Life for me,
An open book!
I read, I learn!

But, people,
They surprise me!
I laugh over shocks,
Smile at surprises!

Laugh at the coldness,
From the warmest, emanating!
Smile at the warmth,
Cocooning the coldest!
Smile at the touch,
Courageous,
From the shy,
Hardly uttering a word!

Laugh at the hypocrisy,
From the preachers!
Smile at the care,
That the frosty offer!
Strength of the quiet,
Cowardice of the mighty!
I smile at endurance,
The living of terrors,
Of those termed fragile!
Yes, people surprise me!

And I hold them tight,
Shelled firm-
In the protection they offer,
Each surprise,
Each shock,
Another chapter!

The Pleasure

Every second $3,075.64 is being spent on pornography, 28,258 Internet users are viewing pornography, 372 Internet users are typing adult search terms into search engines, Every 39 minutes a new pornographic video is being created in the United States.
Pornography, a word that is synonymous with sin in our society. To understand its present relevance, we need to delve into certain aspects of the form, beginning with its meaning. It stems from a Greek word meaning ‘writing about prostitutes’. It originated in Europe in the early 17th century, science taking the tumultuous precedence on religion, with ideas of contraception and conception capturing minds and subversive literature surfacing. In pagan cultures, the beauty of sex was depicted via carvings and paintings. Erotic literature had a place in the mainstream. But, erotica is quite different from pornography. Erotica has an aesthetic purity, while pornography is purely mechanical and commercial.
But today, globalization, the fast track existence, etc have shook the very foundations of the wall separating erotica and pornography, reducing it to a mere thin line susceptible to parallax. According to the 2006 Worldwide Pornography Revenues, around $97.04 billion is its transaction, with China dominating. Though India does not figure at the top, it is one of the major illegal importers of DVDs, VCDs, etc. The porn industry has penetrated all levels of society that we hardly find a movie without a pornographic namesake.
India on a cultural map, is a region where sex and sexuality are open taboos. Porn is laid across as sex. In such a situation, it is no wonder that people lean towards the pleasurable, yet emotionally unattached trend. Thus it deems necessary that we analyse the impact of pornography in our nation.
Evaluating on a social platform, there being major outsourcing of work to India (better cost efficiency), there exists a class who are exploited and violated due to their ignorance or helplessness. A grave question of counting on the future citizens to build a great tomorrow arises. If our nation has something, it is the dignity and integrity it keeps through the tempests of politics, capitalization and commercialization of human life. If lives are broken through such a face of an industry, isn’t it a basic violation of human rights?
Encountering the cultural aspect, we draw a complete blank. Our incapacity to accept sex as a human need, makes us etch the scarlet letters on those who enjoy pornography or indulge in premarital sex, which are primarily no more sins than the unabashed gazes of the passerby who undresses you in his/her mind.
But, pornographic addiction can be quite a problem. Affecting the individual and his/her loved ones; it can lead the person to a crossroad where a world of fading reality and mounting fantasies becomes actuality. The surreality pushes the person into a deep precipice of confusion, a trench of denial and can possibly lead to a dungeon of perverse acts.
The media has a huge role in catering the right perspective about sex to the people. The Supreme court on December 12, 2006, rejected a plea on a blanket ban on ‘obscenity’ in print media. The rejection came at a time the moral values of the society was on a balance, at least in some minds. But, as the ruling said, ‘will lead to a situation where the newspaper will be publishing material which caters only to children and adolescents and the adults will be deprived of reading their share of their entertainment which can be permissible under the normal norms of decency in any society’. Certification vs censor is a constant debate in the film industry. Again, the rights to expression and entertainment come on the screen.
Of course, the dream child of electronic media, the internet has put across endless possibilities of swimming in the oceans of untiring pornographic pleasure, some extremely deviant from the normal pornography. The anxiety of parents is very much in sync with the reality. Even before the children get proper idea about sex, they are subjected to the dark side of it.
The reality of pornography is thus a cube. On one face, there is the original meaning of it, on another the history, then the economic aspect followed by the moral question, preceding the issue of exploitation and perversion, yet on the last side, there is the query of human will. Like William Osler said, ‘The natural man has only two primal passions, to get and beget!’

Religion and faith

Religion has the ultimate power over a normal human being. Every time the realization strikes me, it is as if I get a slap across my face, not because I forget to acknowledge the full force of the comprehension, but because it is one of those facts which quite powerfully snatch away the balance that you have created for yourself. My uncle once jokingly quipped at his inability to translate the phrases ‘scheduled caste’ and ‘scheduled tribe’ to Russian, since no such division exists in Russia. But, that is not the point here. It is a question that I pose. Am I to lament over the death of homosapien as it is and the birth of civilizations, cultures and races? Or is this question to be perpetually hung like the sword of Damocles, until the thread of sanity breaks, letting it fall on our lives? The truth is that I do not know. The object of this inquisition is not to break all the barriers of religion, thus creating a Utopia, but, it is merely to render my ineffective wonder which in itself seeks for the blunt edge of this sharp weapon worthy of sense.
What is religion? It is simply a faith or an idea which finds a common ground in a group of people. When homosapien began to evolve into the social animal that it is today, there were few disciplines which were needed for survival, faith intruding this list, regretfully, quite early in the stage. Faith, giving itself the fancy labels of different religions, packaged in its grand paraphernalia became the definitive commercialized ideology of all ages. In this era of globalization, we are quite familiar with the reality that something that sells fast is a source of power to the sellers. Faith thus sold, the clergy holding the highest positions of the power pyramid, became the establishment that none questions, extending its clutches from the Stone Age to the Quantum Age.
From the moment a child is born, in every kind of enquiry, be it an application form for the kindergarten or Ph D, the space for the religion stares blankly at the decisiveness of the future. The future entrusted to the people of the same religion or caste, who are willing to do things for the ‘community’. Only, the basis that defines ‘community’ is grossly skewed to favour the needs of those who stick to the rules imposed on them and who acknowledge the supremacy of the ‘protectors of the weak’ and the ‘champions of the cause’.
Religion in the present scenario ceases to be what is was designed to be- something that caters to the alienation of the fundamental ignorance that is inherent in the human being. And yet, being the true animals that we are, we hold on to our faith, not realising the extent which we are being manipulated, all these millennia or era. But, then again, I am not permitted to switch from present continuous to present perfect in the middle of an article, however articulate the idea might be. That is the influence of a rigid conclusive framework –it hardly provides the space for speculations or improvisations of any sort.
Again, we return to the point where nothing but hopes and expectations remain. But, can we expect religion to counter the ruthlessness of such accusations? The truth, I feel, is that it cannot. It has come to a point where, they hack their fellow beings to death, and their entrails become their garlands of glory, the shattered heart of humanity a passive onlooker with no capacity or willingness to stop the gory dance of destruction.
The religious terrorism prevalent in the world of secular today, raises the question of security of life and whether or not human race progressed farther than the labyrinth of superstitions and unquestionable ignorance. But, the more time advances, the more we demonstrate our incapacity to tolerate the firm disciplines of love, care and most importantly, humanity.

Straight from the Heart!(just a peep into me, not anything social)

Been sometime since I wrote anything from the heart. So, this could be a bit rusty!!

We four were a unit. The children of the eldest two sisters of the four siblings! I was the eldest; my bro and my aunt’s son were next and her girl the last. Sruthi, Sandeep, Sooryan, Deepika. Or… as our parents used to call us to dinner…Sruthi, Manu, Podiyan, Vava. The four names in one breath.

We were always together whenever we met. And that is a lot. It is funny how we change, how our lives change, but how our emotions stay embedded and cherished in our deepest memories.

As time progressed, the number of names in the roll call increased to 5 to 6 and ultimately to 8. Two for each sibling. But, the four remained intact. I was the boss, the queen bee, who ordered around her three soldiers.

When did I realize we were getting older? Older from the girl whose first memory of childhood is seeing blood running down a wound, to a girl who is the only one in her generation in the family to inherit the genetic fear of blood, to the advocate of justice and equality, a hot headed idiot, who simmered and simmered to no effect at all and at last…to a woman who knows how to boil without simmering, sharpened and mellowed by experiences, but the same spirit within. Hmmm…I don’t know! Answerless question, I suppose.

Yes, we all have such questions. I remember the day when we gathered around the grave we had dug for a beautiful butterfly and just cried because it had died. I remember the day when all the fishes Vava had kept died and she buried them one by one and of course, being the most curious one, she would dig up the bodies daily to see if they had decayed. The day when she was chased down the road all the way to her house by a dog. The night when Manu sneaked under the blanket when I told him I saw a robber staring bemused at my attempts to kill a cockroach at the middle off the night (I was staying at their house.). Oh yes, I remember all those days.

As we grew older, the role-play changed. My period (started when I was 10, so we were pretty young.) was the beginning of a new period. It was funny! The rest three wondering why I had to wear my sanitary pads, Podi- my bro, trying to piss on it because mom told him that was what it was for, that it was sort of a diaper for girls (he did get round to knowing the truth without much delay)! Manu waiting so eagerly for his first pubic hair (Grandma told him that was when boys get all the attention. Poor darling! He didn’t realise she was teasing him!). And of course Vava wondering why the hell girls wear bra.

Then came the early teens. Wow, I still remember slapping Podi in public and him running crying! I was a total mess then. Shouting, yelling. My mom used to tell me that I was like a tornado! Phew!

Manu was quiet. Too quiet! But, I hated it when he shot straight past me from his 5’ height to his present 6’4” frame.

Podi’s adolescence was a revelation. He was always the fragile one, being two months premature! He couldn’t understand why his penis suddenly became so big and why he started having wet dreams.

Vava was the ever lovely! She accepted all the changes quite gracefully! Perhaps because she had 3 travelers before her to chart out the journey for her!

And of course, my role changed from the kid to the boss to the confidante! Clearing doubts, listening to their woes, trying to solve their problems for them, reining them and letting them go!

And now….

We were in Manu’s car, returning late from the movies, enroute to dropping off the four other cousins who had come after us, listening to music, Vava multitasking by text messaging her friends and laughing at Podi’s jokes, Manu trying to irritate her! And me…. singing a soft lullaby to my second youngest cousin, three years old, cradled in my arms, his head on my heart, smiling softly in his sleep. He grew up with me playing his second mother. Sometimes he wakes up in the morning crying for me and refuses to go to the kindergarten unless I pick him up from the nursery later. The one who jumped out of bed one morning and announced that ‘Sruthi Chechi’ was ill and demanded to be taken to me. Was I ill? I had accidentally taken an analgesic too strong, which had put me in a strong sedation that my parents were terrified that I would have to be taken to the hospital!

Yes, roles change! I’m glad they do!

The Passive(rape)

‘No’, she cried, her arms gripping the air,
Her eyes, the embers of agony,
She cried.
The gasping mouth, sudden silenced,
A hand over it-
Pressing down!

She screamed,
Till she felt, lungs burst inside.
She hit; she kicked,
Bit into the hand,
That withheld her freedom!

A slap at her face, then another,
Till the strength to fight,
From her, was drained.
Damaged, torn,
Beneath the weight,
She lay!
To chill the spine,
Only a shiver of heartache!

Then at court, at the stand,
No empathy, at her, holds!
Only the critical eyes,
The media torture-
Of a woman who dared exposure,
Exposure of truth!
Abuse, scorn, trauma,
To shame the heartache turns.
She is the crucible!
Her esteem; no claim,
Her life…. her life?
They give her no life,
Only something like it!

Withdraws she,
From the court, from hope,
Her words, unspoken, unheard,
Her pain, unrealized,
Reaches out, none!
Stigma of a stinking society!

Sinking and sunken, she floats,
Aimless,
No seas hold her,
None seeks, none sees,
None looks for her!

Tell me, why this?
Division of gender,
Not born of genes,
Two sexes out of the wild,
One for home, one for hunt,
Thus separated duties!
They changed,
Evolution, the species maker,
Made the hunter strong,
Strong, so strong,
Such basic brutality-
He hunts his mate,
To devour her,
To crucify her,
To pluck out her blessing and
Throw it amongst garbage!

THE CHOICE.

‘For sale, for sale, my heart for sale.’
Cried out, the poor man,
‘Quality heart, no defects, love, compassion, I offer,
Care, concern, feelings, the guarantee,
Till you die, it holds.
Fail, it shall never.
For mine and ours, together, forever!’

A gentle smile, subtle flicker in her eyes-
The passionate disclosure, the dazzling exhibit,
Withheld her awe.

Suddenly, over the breeze, a voice swept up,
Strong and clear; decidedly sharp.
‘For sale, my lady, not a heart, no!
But, life I offer, comforts, wealth.
Not the despicable love,
No paradise of love, just the Avalon of desire,
For me, our life, yours and mine!’

Struck by the glory, the lightning luster,
Of his words, his might; faltered her steps.

‘No’, cried the lover, ‘my love, buy my heart,
Bliss, peace and trust, it treasures.
Fill my soul, complete me,
Buy my heart, cherish the throbs,
For, in every one of them,
You; embedded, inscribed, engraved.’

‘Really?’ Smirked logic, ‘your every breath,
Every heartbeat, will they feed her?
Will they quench her thirst? Clothe her? Shelter her?
My lady, with all regard, hear not, this fool,
Take me, my hand, a hand not to trust, but to keep.’

In her balance, the two offers, she weighed.
Love- beautiful, enchanting,
Yet…not promising.
And I take you, my sense, my wisdom,
As my guide and my shepherd,
To conduct my life in harmony,
For all the pleasures ahead,
Not for my soul, but for my life to be alive.