Sound of silence

I have a disease. My disease makes me very sad and causes me to feel sorry for myself. I’m not sure if there’s a name for this disease but I don’t think I’d like to discuss it with anyone because I’m embarrassed of it. How can I, being fully aware of the actual pain inflicted on so many people everywhere be so self absorbed in my vapid need for self worth?

I’m not a sex slave. I’m not physically handicapped. I’m not an orphan. I’m not abandoned. I’m not unemployed. I haven’t seen anyone die. I’m not financially poor. I know I should be extremely grateful. I know I should be counting my blessings. I know I should be thanking someone.  But what I do instead is go to this dark twisted place in my head where it’s devoid of any happy connection whatsoever.  In this desolate creepy alley of mine, I find myself being tortured by anxiety, fear, loathing, anger, loneliness, bitterness and mostly sadness. And so I cry. That’s my symptom. This is my illness. You see why it’s embarrassing to talk about it now? Because I can’t explain it. I don’t know why I consciously choose to walk up that alley since I know what I’ll find there.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t indulge in self-harm of any kind. And I’m not suicidal either.  I’m just selfish, vain, spoilt and lost. I have to figure out a cure for this disease before it gets to a point where I can no longer find my way back from that alley. I have to find another escape to whatever I’m running away from.  A happier escape. One that doesn’t leave me crying. I also need to find out what I'm running away from. 

I wonder if there’s anyone else out there with similar symptoms.  I wonder if the reason why everyone’s constantly running is so they don’t end up at that alley. I wonder if I should treat my disease the same way. I think I’ll give it a try. Guitar classes. Philosophy workshops. Half marathon. Book club. Volunteering. Hiking. Yoga. I think that should be a good dosage for my disease. I’ll prescribe it for 6 months and do a self evaluation in Jan 2015.

I do need a fallback plan though. This prescription has a very high risk of failure based on previous experiences. But hope trumps sadness, right? It has to. So here’s to hope. One more time. This disease has got to go. I want to gloat in happiness. I want to bathe in the warmth of gratitude. I want to climb the mountain of courage. I want to be swept away by a wave of fulfilment. I want to be blinded by the faith in humanity. I want to get lost in the sound of silence and not wind up on the dingy alley of depression again.

Where is the love?

While reading a random article about a certain actress pictured while on her morning run, i came across a certain comment from a certain 'gentleman' X who wrote, "I could give her a better workout". That comment had about a 100 odd likes. It got me thinking what it is she did to deserve this unanimous "applause".

Growing up, i remember my mom watching these serials and movies where women in traditional attire, married and devoted to their husbands and kids were seen as 'goddesses' and working women who wore pants and drank and smoke were...well...sluts. I wonder if that has anything to do with why men stare at you when you're standing outside smoking. Or why women having a drink get beaten up in bars. So in effect, we tell people if you want to be respected, you follow a norm. And if you don't, you face the consequences. Abuse. Harassment. Molestation. Rape. Those are the consequences. Pretty harsh. And yet a lot of women out there choose not to follow the norm and risk those consequences. So let me ask you this Mr X: when these women choose to take the risk, do you think they're inferring that they want those things to happen to them? Do you think a certain porn star wouldn't mind being abused, harassed, molested or raped?

While we're at it, let me ask you another question Mr X. Lets assume you have a teenage daughter. And just for the sake of my sanity, lets assume you really love and care about her. Did you say you don't want her to wear skimpy clothes? Why? You seem to be paying a lot of attention to women in skimpy clothes. Isn't that what your teenage daughter wants too? Attention from the opposite sex? Did you say you do it discreetly? Oh but every time you stared at a woman while you were out with your daughter, every time you left a huge tip for an attractive waitress, every time you flirted with her very attractive mother or God forbid friend, were you trying to educate her on the importance of world affairs?

Lets say she grows up and and one unfortunate day when she gets back from work, she looks rather upset. She tells you a male co-worker had misbehaved at work by making some nasty comments about her body. Did you then tell her to dress more conservatively and not go out drinking with her male colleagues again? Of course you did.

Lets say a few weeks later, the same guy attacks her on her way back home. She comes back home shocked, shaken and traumatized. Lets say you go out and beat the living daylights out of him. When he does speak, he manages to say "I'm sorry man! She's just so hot and the clothes she wears, the things she does to other men, i thought she wanted to do those things with me too". And what do you say Mr. X? Isn't your daughter's torment justified? If everything he said was true, did she not automatically subscribe to the "I want to be abused, harassed, molested & raped" list? Will you go back home and tell her "I told you so!". For your daughter's sake and mine Mr. X, i seriously hope you don't.

And you Mr Y, the creator of these serials, movies and advertisements that is setting the norm for men and women, should you not take your job more seriously? If you think you have the authority to decide how the society as a whole perceives right from wrong, should you also not be accountable for the damage it causes? And how should we hold you accountable? Should we say that your daughters, wives, friends and mothers would not have any trials in court should they ever be abused, harassed, molested or raped? Would you say that was fair?

Least but not last, why are you women so intent on tearing other women apart? Does calling other women fat, ugly, immoral & unworthy make you feel superior? Perhaps yes. But does it make you feel beautiful, moral and worthy of more respect? Why would you look for imperfections in them with a magnifying glass? Is it that important for you to judge others to make your insecurities go away? Its as if you're looking for reasons to hate someone and then the hatred is so overpowering that you'll believe anything it manifests into. Where is the love that the world seems to think you have in abundance? If you think your man is having an affair with another woman, will hating her make your man more faithful? Will it guarantee that he won't be unfaithful with another? How many will you hate? Does hate not do you more harm than the other? It's much easier to hate someone than stop loving someone, isn't it? But hate doesn't give you hope. Love does. And don't we all survive on hope? If you didn't have any hope, how different are you from the rapist awaiting his death sentence? 

There goes my baby

I think i'm beyond feeling butterflies in my stomach now.
There was a time when i stayed up all night thinking about how i'd look wearing what i thought i would wear the next day because the guy working two floors above me might accidentally have lunch at the same cafeteria as me. Oh the butterflies!

Now, I just wonder if I should shave my legs for my Sunday night date. I'm wearing tights so i most likely won't. Why have the butterflies forsaken me? More Elizabeth Arden and less deodorant maybe.

When i was about 10, my idea of love was Kevin Arnold from the Wonder Years. And then i moved on to Maverick and Robin Hood and Hansie Cronje and Pat Rafter and Edward Scissorhands and Neo and Maximus and Batman and Iron man and Del Piero and the bald mummy man and you get the picture. My idea of love is so gravely distorted, i'm afraid i won't even know when it hits me for real.

Sure i cried into a pillow for nights when my first boyfriend left to work in the US. That we'd been seeing each other only for 2 months didn't deter me from dramatizing the heart break. I did hold on to him for four odd years and i don't quite know what i was waiting for. It was all there, right in front of me. YOU'RE NOT MEANT TO BE. Yes it was in capital and a much bigger font size. I think it came into focus only when he moved out of focus. He was a wonderful man. But when you're young and naive, you think every little act of wonderful from a man you're attracted to means they'll want to have babies with you. One baby actually, the other one would be adopted. With a cat and a dog. In a beach house. With white picket fences. And a gazebo. A rocking chair on the porch. And a fireplace inside. Oh yeah! It was that clear in my head. And i couldn't picture that with anyone else but him. Of course i moved on.

8 years and a few men later, i don't think i know what i want anymore. The fantasy evades me. The romance doesn't register. The butterflies don't flutter. They just mock me. There's nothing pretty here no more. She's gone. And so have the butterflies.

Now, there's a need to mend all things broken. A need to look for imperfection. A need to stay in the darkness. A need to be elusive. A need to look for an exit. 

Sweet child of mine

Every time i read about a rape, i feel these raging emotions that i cannot contain. They spill over and garnish me with pain, anger, disgust, helplessness, anxiety and fear.

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-12-12/preschool-rape-case-belies-justice-for-india-women-born-to-lose.html

That is what i read today.

They say your skin makes me want to do bad things to you, so you better cover up.
They say your independent attitude makes me want to show you how powerless you truly are, so you better stay at home.
They say your laughter tells me you want me as much as i want you, so you better stay quiet.
They say your closeness to men tells me you're a slut, so you better watch who you talk to.
They say your drinking alcohol tells me you want me to rip your clothes off you, so you better drink tea.

And now you say you raped a 3 year old girl because the demon possessed you?

How am i to protect my child from you then? Should i have her walk around with a Bible and a cross around her neck chanting hail Mary's? Or should i call on an exorcist to castrate the demon out of you?

Dream on

I sit here trying to think what it was like 10 years ago.

I was 23, single (supposedly) and just out of college. I had to convince my dad i'd have a better chance at finding a job in Bangalore. So there i was, sharing a 10x10 room with my sister in a hostel full of young, lovely, lively girls who were full of dreams and reminded me of butterflies. They smelt sweet, looked sweet and talked sweet. Most of them were studying and some looking for jobs or working already. They always seemed ready to spread their wings and fly away.

How i would love to talk to them now. To see if they've found their freedom. To see if it is all they ever dreamt of. Do they still look as lovely? Or have their eyes lost the hope there once was? Do they still laugh out loud? Or do they need a glass of wine or two? Where did they fly off to? Do they still have their wings? Can they still fly?

I know what i dreamt of. I dreamt of scoring an entry to a medical college so my dad would finally stop being so miserable. I couldn't and he's still miserable.
I dreamt of working for big companies so my dad would stop being so miserable. I did and he's still miserable.
I dreamt of marrying my first boyfriend and living on a beach house with a cat and a dog and white picket fences. Boyfriend cheated. I cheated (if exchanging dirty messages is considered cheating). We both were miserable and so was my dad.

Education. Check. Job. Check. Man/Men. Check.

I suppose that's where it all ended for me. I don't know where to fly to next. This can't be it. There has to be more. I wan't more check boxes to check. I know you're thinking marriage and babies. And that certainly would make my dad less miserable. But, surely there are more check boxes for a single woman?

I need an adventure. I want a dream. I need a dream. It's getting dangerously boring.

Don't bother!

To all my male colleagues, peers, bosses and friends out there. If you have a girl child or are planning to have one, don't bother sending her to school. If you are, don't bother expecting her to get good grades. If she is, don't bother sending her to a college. If she is, don't bother expecting her to find a job. If she has, don't bother expecting her to be good at it. If she is, don't bother expecting her to keep it. Because in all likelihood, in the end it wouldn't matter that she stayed up till 4 in the morning to finish her term papers or that she got through college with a distinction or that she went through numerous rounds of interviews to land a job or that she worked continuously for ninety days at a stretch for a demanding client. In the end, she will have to spend every single day of her life proving to her male counterparts that she's just as worthy as them, forget better.

Yes, where's the fun in life if there were no challenges? It's the challenge of proving someone wrong that excites and titillates you in the beginning. Throw a brick at me and watch me smash it to a million pieces. Step on my foot and watch me strip you naked. Burn me down and watch me rise like a Phoenix. Its what drives you for a while. And then you run out of fuel. That little stretch till the next gas station is what makes you wonder if its all worth it. Before it makes you, it breaks you. And by the time you're done putting back all the pieces together, you have to ask yourself if you've lost a part of you in the process. If you're whole again. I'm afraid i haven't found the answer to that. When someone recently asked me to use adjectives to describe myself, i was speechless. Not because i couldn't think of any but i didn't want them to know the ones that were forming in my head. Or maybe I have found the answer.

When you're ten and the last one to be picked for a dance recital every single year, you realize that you're not meant to win beauty contests and should spend more time in the library. By the time you're eighteen, you thank you're lucky stars you weren't born beautiful because all the time spent in the library meant you now have a talent that you've earned and could be proud of. By the time you're in your mid twenties, your pride in your accomplishments makes the world look at you differently. You're now deemed attractive and you've finally arrived. By the time you're in you're thirties, you're fighting to prove that you didn't have it easy because you're attractive.

When your father tells you every year that your life will be much easier if you were married, you scoff at him and tell him that he's disillusioned because  you're self sufficient and happy being single. Over the years, having lived and worked with men, you realize he was only giving you an honest like-it-or-not advice because he cannot change the world for you. He cannot justify or reason how someone's marital status or their appearance guarantees respect, but he hopes that having a ring on your finger will make people look at you differently. As endearing as it is, your father's hopelessness is now your burden to bear as well.

So, don't build up their hopes by encouraging them to top their classes. Don't share dreams of turning them into doctors, scientists, artists or researchers. Don't waste your funds on sending them to college. Because most of them will never make it to that next gas station. Most of them will look in that rear view mirror and see a person that they don't recognize anymore. Most of them will be brainwashed into believing that they're weaker because they lack a Y, not stronger because they have an extra X. So, why bother? Don't! Don't bother.