Stephen cOURT WAS BURNING AND SO WAS MY GUT

The least of an attachment with the city of Kolkata was enough to feel a certain loss, when you saw the Stephen Court engulfed in flames.Music World right below on the ground floor and the first, was a favorite haunt, every year that I visited Cal.
But what annoyed me more than the incident,an utterly unfortunate one, was the way it has been covered by the broadcast media and,I wouldnt wonder if, by tomorrow, tales of human losses would have been offered on a platter and devoured by the voyeuristic reader, who hasnt had enough of it from the television screen.
I dont deny the TRP value of these stories, but it irks me somewhere to be a part of such insenitivity certain times. You commercialise tragedies and who doesnt love to cry. Well, if I am citing a problem, I must have the balls to give a solution too.I do advocate censorship. I do support Freedom of Press, but not at the cost of tear-trade as I would like to call it. Its essential to think on these lines, because at the end of the day, tis a victim on the other side, and while information needs to be shared by the masses, I dont know how immediate is the need to tear open the wounds of injury and exhibit it. Today, when I saw the images of the families of People who died in the inferno, I was shocked at the utter apathy with which some of the English news channels handled these cases. I had to make an effort to switch to other channels, after all the voyeur in me wanted its share of pleasure too. But somehow they were my own people.
Its the inherent unresponsiveness in the Channel Policies that has done all the harm. Me, by no means, have the power or inclination to clean this perpetual dirt embossed on thier ethical arses.

While it lasted

This is probably beautiful..This waiting for a call from you..or in the least a message..where you don’t say sweet things..but you talk, where you don’t say you love me much, but you wouldn’t let me go..where you say, you appreciate my company and I say so let that be...I feel it all right in my gut..Its a storm there...everytime you come around and futile are my efforts to calm it down. The more I wish against it, the louder it roars.. I can hear something beating so fast in my chest, like it would almost wilt under the weight of uncertainty.. and what about the loss of words..I almost grope for them..and when at times I have them in plenty to run me for every breath I take...I run out of them, when I am with you...For some reason, you lose them too...
They say, its beautiful to be loving someone and they also set you limits..The problem with having liked someone so much is that, while it lasts, it expands.. It comes out of the boxes of your mind, when it need not, when it should not.
Sometimes, I feel no love for you. Sometimes, you are shut in those memory shelves and I feel no roar in my chest and feel no discomfort. I am peaceful in those moments..an undesirable peace, so to say. I know not, what I value more-is it you or is it your presence? Your presence is so ordinary and inclusive..I do not feel the need to own it. But you as You and as no one else, in your honesty,rage, saddism, thoughtfulness, discreetness are someone I would love to fall for again and again and again...
(I wrote this looong back...now time deems it fit to be published here)

My Vaginal Monologue...

I just finished watching "My vagina is angry", a part of the series of a theatrical production called, "Vaginal Monologues", where in, women across the age group of 18 to 75 talk about their sexual selves with blatant honesty...
The monologues reminded me of the conversations I have with myself...may be in the middle of the night,or while on a journey, or in a place, where I am a social misfit and out of mere inability to hit the perfect conversation and make people go nuts about me. It is in these circumstances.. I think about myself not just as a being, but as a woman. In those quiet corners of myself, I have had the most sincere confrontations and cerebral love making with my own self. I always thought,or imagined myself to be my own partner.It was a child and a mother, or a mentor and a follower, or a guide and a dissillusioned being.
I would always ask myself-What caused me to live in this inner box of my body all the time?What could have caused me to be so scared of touching another body, when I felt so much affection? WHy would my forehead sweat and my vagina shiver at the sight of someone?
Do I pin the blame on someone else..may be a culture or the environment that I was brought up into or may be the experiences that shape my present? That will take away a lot of uneasiness out of the situation..
Of many instances, I remember this one particularly well, because it remains as humiliating a memory even today.
A man in his mid-40s, from Jordon, tried to abuse my body under the disguise of sexualprogressiveness. He touched my breasts and laughed.He said 'They were obnoxious'. All I could do was place a slap across his face in utter hatred and disgust. Probably for the first time, I hated Man. I couldnot respect men after that, for a very long time. I didnot think they deserved my body or even my touch.It was much later I realised, we live in times when the Man has the strings to our heart, to our body, to our sexuality, to our desires to be mothers..the Man had been given much more than he could be granted.
The man has to be desired as much as he desires us..he has to be loved as much as he loves us...he has to be hugged as much as we need to be...and its beautiful, when its mutual...Man will not be a part of my monologue-
My Vagina is scared to open up to all the pleasure it rightly deserves. It is scared to celebrate itself.It tells me, it needs to be liberated and felt.My Vagina is beautiful. It defines me. Whatever it is, it belongs to me..the smell and the softness..its all mine...
All these years, I did not think I had the freedom to write, much less express this side of my physical identity. What is there to be not proud of it?What is there to not talk about it?I pushed my head first out of my Mother's vagina. I am opening up to who I am...
I respect it..I respect myself..this no man can ever take way from me..never...

throwing open the gates to myself

I want to go back to that space,when I dint love him,when he meant nothing to my absurd universe. I am sure the process of forgetting is not dubiously difficult. This time its a lonely battle. Infact,it everytime is.After all, we do run out of eternal patience at some point.
All I wanted was a man's love(Though I make a distinction between wanting something and invariably depending on it). But I never knew, if I was ever prepared to have it. Its funny, to sometimes imagine, how stiffling it would otherwise had been, to have had it. But,does it have to stiffle you everytime? Cant it just be a comfort of someone's presence or at best, the company of someone who appreciates you, if nothing and for no reason,just loves you?Someone, you can run to and say-I have a problem with him,with her,with everyone,with this whole world. I have a problem with myself.I am jealous, I am insecure,sometimes. I carry my emotions on my sleeves.I c are for people, more than a lot of other things.I am difficult to be with.I am disillusioned and lost.
But I know my beauty somewhere. I know, I wouldnt linger around for too long. I ll want to break free soon.Would you still like to come close and hold me in your embrace?Would you still want to rest your head on my shoulders?I would want to.
Its not a crutch that I look for. Its just another hand to hold. Who knows its warmth?I want to feel the palm of another guy..want to stare at those lines.
But...the walls must go down. The million strings that bind me, must be broken down.I probably shall, someday...I ll find someone to walk along with. Come to think of it, its just a little lonely,but I have my music and my curiousity for company. How cool is that? :)