Deep Red

Periods. I realised that they were not just dots at the end of sentences or a 45 minutes long class in school. I learnt that the most important period of all was deep red, painful and lasted about 7 days. It had the power to change your life.

Around the age of 10 my breasts started developing and by age 11 I had my first period. At first I could not understand where the blood was coming from. I thought I had hurt myself badly without my knowledge. Then I thought maybe I was dying. I had seen dogs die after passing blood in their stools. It was all very confusing and scary. When my periods started my mother told me only two things 1) here is a pad, this will happen every month so learn to use this and; 2) if you do anything with boys you will get pregnant. (I assume she got similar advice when she had her first period) But she never clearly told me what those things were. I dint know the links. This lack of accurate information along with suppressed guilt and shame about various molestations in childhood led to some really out of the world conclusions about sex and body.

Later on in life I asked my mother why she dint tell me about periods before it happened? She said she was too embarrassed to speak to me about it. I laughed and called her old fashioned, but at eleven I was scared shitless about periods. It had somehow felt like another shameful thing I could not control or prevent. The first of the pubic hairs were also a source of fear and shame. In my mangled understanding; I concluded that they were also evidence of me being the bad girl— For getting groped at and teased and touched by men. I consoled myself by thinking that at least no one else would ever see them.

It took me a few years after my first period to actually get used to the idea of a period. The idea of having to be careful of stains and smells and bulging pads - it was a full time job in a sense. It would be around my 15^th year that I finally got comfortable with the whole process to the point where I could casually joke about the whole period thing with close friends. Deep red was not scary every month anymore. It was just another color. Period.  

Magpie

Some people can touch you and make you feel clean. skin to skin. skin through clothes, a hand on the back, a finger on the pulse. it draws out the poison. you want to cry out and thank them for it. tell them how much it means to have that touch. to let go of the poison. instead you hold your breath. hold absolutely still. lest they take away that touch. lest they notice the poison flowing out and get disgusted. so you keep still and collect that touch. keep it in the deep recess of your memory. hold it there. you take it out carefully long after the touch is gone, when you get hungry, when you crave that clean white touch again and there is none around. you lick the memory slowly. deliciously. sparingly. you do not want to finish it all up in one go. that's why my darling, my sweet darling. you are a magpie. you are my magpie. 

Walking: A Story of Gendered Spaces

One evening while coming back from work, i was having a tough time getting an autorikshaw to get to the metro station. Finally one stopped. it had three women already in it and seemed like they were from low income strata (based on their clothes, i could be wrong off course). So anyways i was confused as to why or how the autowala was going to give me a ride. He turned around and told one of the women to go sit next to him while i could take her seat. i saw her react with total discomfort and not less than a touch of anxiety. I was irritated by the autowala's assumption that her consensus was not required. So i told him no thanks and started walking. It was around 6.45 in the winter evening and it was already dark. The road was sort of empty as the office crowd was already gone. During my half hour walk to the metro station, i was whistled at, propositioned to and commented at. None of it was cute or harmless in the least. And yes, i felt uneasy throughout the walk. In that after work walk i experienced in stark, how class and gender roles play out. 

So will you call me a lucky girl? a liberated woman? Is this what gender equality feels like? Is this the freedom i want? The answer is a clear NO. This is not freedom. This is not equality. At best i can say that we have so far reached one step closer to freedom and equality; maybe a bit better off than our grandmothers--but there is still a long way to go. Our definition of freedom maybe as individual as our fingerprints but let me venture a guess and say that sense of freedom cannot co-exist peacefully with the fear of persecution based on gender (or any other characteristic). And without freedom there can be no equality.  As long i have to be fearful of the dark roads and as long as that woman has no voice to express her consent or dissent.  I am not free. I am not an equal human being.

Discovering Woman's Body

Below is a piece posted by an anonymous reader. i thought it is important to know how women are viewed  by men in their own words. i have reposted, with the original title  "Discovering Woman's Body"


I dont remember exactly, but I have a gut feeling that it all started in my early days. The days when I was still clinging to my mother and feeding upon her breasts. I dont know if feeding on my mother's breast has any relation with Freudian interpretation of Oedipus Complex. Am I satisfying my hunger or my sexual urge -- its still a puzzle. Childhood was good, because you keep traveling from one woman's arms to another woman without any hassles. All that you need to do is keep smiling, the moment you cry you will go back to your mother. In this process what really was I experiencing about a woman -- body odour, breasts, warmth, sense of touch and such other similar aspects.

now as i grew up and the stick between my legs started hardening, i started visualising women differently. it was like every other woman was a potential victim to my sexual fantasies. the main component in the imagination is imagining and reimagining the woman's body again and again until i reached my climax. at times it is also reconstructing a woman's body -- part by part to satisfy myself. at times to imagine a body part and fantasise or comment with other male friends. one of the discoveries of a woman's body made from far is close to the nature. probably because woman are often associated with nature and probably because women are also agents of reproduction. it was always like this ups and downs and curves, like a road, like traffic signals, like hills, mountains, water falls, valleys, ponds, lakes, fruits, including man made head lights, balls. the geometry of shapes and its concomitant imagination was at its best in understanding and exploring a woman's body. 

I swear!

I do! I swear! In fact I swear like the proverbial sailor. Not only that, I have a favorite swear word too – fuck! Now I use this word to articulate a range of emotions like a happy surprise, unhappy surprise, anger, irritation and more. Now I say fuck with total disregard to gender while I use it in a conversation. However, the only consideration I do have is whether  swearing in general makes other people uncomfortable or not. Here is where the rub is. In my experience, on an average, both men and women are uncomfortable in front of a woman who swears. For different reasons, as it seems to me. With men it seems like they are unpleasantly surprised that a woman can swear. Now from my interactions with male friends and acquaintances I know that men swear among themselves as easily as the sky is blue. But a man swearing in front of women or women swearing in each other’s company is fairly uncommon. I have been told, by a few male friends in a manner of paternalistic concern that women should not use such words. For some time I had accepted this as a seemingly logical advise, since women around me don’t swear all that much, and almost never in front of males. Now, given this, I started to exercise my freedom to swear (in an innocuous manner) only in front of women. Here too I found that in many cases, it made them uncomfortable. But it appeared to me that the reason for this discomfort was different from that of men. Now I could be wrong. But since I know many of these women for a longish time and interacted with them with some regular frequency, I will venture my guess as to what was the source of this discomfort.  

I think listening to or speaking out swear words, especially ones with overt or subtle references to sexual activity or sexual organs make women feel like they are taking a bite out of the forbidden fruit. Somehow participating in the use of swear words is related to the “character” of the woman. This is not the case with men; all these women in one way or the other recognized with ease that all men swear. This acceptance is without any questioning. So based on my understanding then I can safely say that the unwritten rule of swearing is this – “Good girls don’t swear.” Hence, whether at an unconscious level or at a deliberate level,  on an average (and i could be very wrong here :))women believe that to be accepted by their peers or superiors (both male/female) respectfully, they have to espouse the image of the good girl. This includes the total ignorance of such words and their meanings, coyness when explained the meaning of such words, a certain pride in not having known them at all and conveying their act of distancing from the swear words and the person who is swearing e through non-verbal gestures.

Now this is interesting. Somehow, there are parts of the very language that we use that has now become divided between those who are born males and the Other. Or, if I put it a bit more strongly, some words seem to be regarded as a natural “property” of males. What happens when I disrespect such proprital attitude towards language and use it as I please? Well, in my experience, most men are always surprised. The point that I am most inarticulately trying to make is this—the power imbalance between men and women does not start at monumental levels. It may start with as little as four alphabets –F-U-C-K.

p.s. generalizations may be akin to a sinister double-edged sword. Therefore, apologies if these generalizations seem pompous. To others this may also be completely inaccurate. I draw from my experiences and bounded understanding alone.

It all began with a question

While wading through various functions of life i have always felt like a "woman". For the same set of natural (physical/ biological) laws and political laws, on an average, the men i know negotiate the world differently from me. right from the language i use, the clothes i wear, the roads i walk, the friends i make, the vehicle i ride, the things i watch, the food i eat,  the things i drink, the air that i breathe. This pervasive difference is something i deal with every day.  Is this difference harmful to me? Is it benign? Or is it helpful to me? I think i am only about beginning to touch the speck on the tip of a giant ice-berg. But let me start my quest to figure out what it means to me to be a woman in the context that surrounds me with a simple question - What is a Woman? Off course after that can of worms has been opened,  other questions follow - Who is a woman? How it is that somebody is called as a woman? More specifically, is the woman in me really the same one as the forces around me see or are they different?

I take these tentative steps, not knowing where exactly i am going, only guided by a deep personal need to understand myself better through questioning, learning and debating.

Starting at the basics then, i looked up the definition of woman. The Cambridge Dictionary defines a woman as "an adult female human being"--clinical and precise with no room for argument. However, many people for the length and breadth of time have ventured for more holistic definitions of Woman. But it was Simone de Beauvoir and her proclamation "one is not born a woman, one becomes one" that really shook things up for me.  I remember reading this sentence and thinking ‘Oh my god! This makes total sense!’ One piece of the jigsaw fell into place. So i tried to think back when did this transformation start? When i was in mid 20's? Maybe in my mid teens? Or early teens when i was entering into puberty? No- it started much before i had the consciousness about my gender. It started when the doctor declared in the labor room "it’s a girl!" (See in ‘Sexual Science: Victorian Construction of Womanhood’ by Cynthia Eagle Russett, 1989). So i was a born a girl. I no longer have my mother to ask what she felt like (apart from the happiness at the birth of a healthy baby) when she had me but going by people around me who had baby girls, i can see a common thread. One which i have felt all my life -- Girls have to be protected. This sounds very noble, but to me it’s a bit like the gilded cage. My parents love me and want to protect me. No doubt. But the "bad things" that could happen to my brother and me have always been different from the moment we stepped out of the house. Off course, realistically speaking, whether my parents agreed or totally disagreed with such social rules, I was, by virtue of being a woman, susceptible to certain specific gendered violence.  

So maybe this is inkling towards the identity that is exogenously selected for me. That is I am a girl, who is susceptible to dangers of rape and molestation, hence I need to be protected. What did this protection mean? For me and all the girlfriends my age, it meant not going to certain places alone, it meant not being able to be out of the house after 7p.m, not talking to male strangers,  to dress modestly so as not to attract rapists and molesters and many more. I learnt to be afraid of dark lonely roads. While growing up, I learnt that being a woman made me vulnerable and I was not equipped to fight such threats. Given this, I don’t blame my parents one bit. They did and still do the best they can, given the world as it appears to them.  Over the years, lonely roads or strange men do not scare me much, but honestly, I have not overcome that fear completely. Along with fear there is another strong emotion, the sense of injustice! Why should I have to live with such a fear in the first place?  But let me not digress, so from the point of view of my parents and other well-wishing adults, the identity I was first and foremost given was that of a  girl needing protection (an antonym of a Protector if you so imagine). I imagine that the original Damsel in Distress is not in living in an ivory tower, she is created every time a girl is born. And somehow, the world in every way possible has been constantly telling me, that in becoming Damsel I become an “acceptable” woman. So what happens if I step outside of that ivory tower. What follows next?