Desicritics Category: Culture: Sex

Butch, Not Gay

IdeaSmith — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 03:46:40 EST

When I was a kid, the apartment two floors above us was occupied by two ladies. They were both teachers. One of them was tall and stern-looking. The other one was short, roly-poly and generally jovial as you would expect someone of such a build to be. Both of them had short, cropped hair and they were always seen together.

I'd usually see them returning in the evening, with handbags and ubiquitous black bags, synonymous with Goan Catholics, presumably loaded either with students' papers or with vegetables and meat for that night's meal. I was a little scared of them, as I was of all teachers, even those who didn't teach me or even at my school.

Many years later an older neighbor-friend whispered to me in wise big-sister hushed tones,

They're lesbians.

I haven't seen them in years but I thought of them recently, when I started writing for Gaysi. I was about to say that I'd never known any lesbians closely but it occurred to me that perhaps I had. Or had I?

They didn't look like lesbians, which leads me to question,

What do lesbians look like?

A friend opined that they're generally tomboyish-looking and don't care too much about dressing in a ladylike manner. I retorted,

That described me in my teens too and I've never been a lesbian!

You know what I mean, she said and rolled her eyes.

Not really, I wanted to say. Did she mean they were all butch?

I ended up having a long debate with a lesbian friend over the meaning of the word BUTCH - an argument that unfortunately was never resolved.

The dictionary tells me that

Butch:

a.	(of a girl or woman) having traits of personality, dress, behavior, or appearance usually associated with males.

b.	(of a male) decidedly or exaggeratedly masculine in manner or appearance.

c.	A haircut in which the hair is cropped close to the head.

The teacher couple did have short hair but they dressed in uniformly bland, printed blouses and skirts in sombre hues. Very teacher-like. I don't know about butch, much less lesbian.

Of the two other bonafide lesbians I know, one certainly fits the description, being completely characterised by her 'Don't take panga with me' style of dressing. Not even on the same planet at girly. The other one is...well, tricky. She's one of those 'smart-dressing' types. Which is to say that she never looks like she spends too much time on her appearance but looks good and tastefullly dressed anyway. I'm not sure that's any more butch than my teacher-neighbors.

I've heard a few ridiculous things like 'if you wear a single anklet on your left ankle, you're lesbian' which sounds suspiciously like someone tried to think up a female alternative to the 'earring in one ear - surefire gay' which is even more ridiculous.

Incidently I've worn a single anklet on whichever ankle I've felt like, for years. And sported every possible length of hair, with my current style alternating between casual mop and cropped chic. My wardrobe contains oversized sweaters, men's dungarees and superbig shirts. Also skirts, leggings, frilly blouses, tank tops and other female paraphrenalia. And as an icing to the butch-cake, remember those ads for Ray-Bans years ago?

They said only men could be pilots. They said Aviators were for men.

Hah! I love the big, circle-turned-triangular dark shades and who cares if anyone thinks they're masculine or not?

Hence I conclude that being butch has nothing to do with sexual preferences. A short haircut is just that - a statement of style, a yen for convenience perhaps but not necessarily an indication of homosexuality.

And I come back to the fundamental question of whether it is possible to figure out a woman's sexual orientation just by looking at her. I've written about Gaydar but I find that only applicable to men. What do you think?

Fiction: Twists Of Love

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 9 Feb 2009 04:07:59 EST

He shifted on the bar stool and looked towards the main door. His eyes met hers. She wasn't the one he was waiting for. Part of him registered that she was attractive. She was curvy, with pretty eyes, wavy hair. She wore a black top with a plunging neckline along with black trousers.

The steward spoke to her and took her to a table. His eyes went back to the door. Where was she? He had been waiting for over fifteen minutes. He looked at his watch once more and then at the door. He fidgeted, turned back to take a sip of his whiskey sour and again trained his eyes on the door. He knew he was acting like a twenty year old and less like the thirty five year old man that he was.

She had finally agreed to go out with him as a date and not as a friend. He had watched her go through disappointments and heartbreaks for over five years and kept his love under wraps. She never saw him as anything more than a buddy. For her there was no chemistry between them but last night she asked if he wanted to be her date? She wondered out loud that maybe they were like old married couples and maybe she had been a fool not to see what they had.

He smiled and agreed, maybe they did have something. He gave a restrained smile. He wasn't going to lay it all out in the open. Not yet. He had his dignity and he was, after all, not a twenty year old.

But his heart was very much that of a twenty year old's. He hated himself for the eagerness he felt in his heart as he waited for her. His drink finished and he ordered another. Time was ticking by where was she?

At the table the lady in the black top and trousers played with the cutlery set next to her plate. Where was he? Was he going to make it? She looked at the door and then at her watch. She was a fool to believe him. Her eyes wondered around and she saw people laughing, drinking and eating. Feelings of loneliness washed over her and despondency came over. The tiny voice that insisted her he wasn't coming grew louder. He had stood her up, again.

He ordered another drink. It was his third whiskey sour. His stomach grumbled with hunger and he ate a few peanuts. His eyes wandered around the room and he saw the lady in the black top also sitting alone. It was close to an hour since she had walked in. Maybe they both had been stood up.

Their eyes met and they looked away. Indians didn't acknowledge strangers. Where was she? Had she changed her mind? A sense of forbidding came over him; maybe she had gone back to her last boyfriend. The devil in him twisted the knife deeper. Maybe she was in his apartment, lying in his bed, loving him, whispering sweet nothings in his ears, maybe she had forgotten all about the friend she had stood up. He gulped down his drink and ordered his fourth whiskey sour.

She drummed her fingers on the table and then looked at the alcohol menu and ordered whiskey on the rocks. He was late but he had always been late. She wasn't going to lose her temper. The guy at the bar also seemed alone. At least she wasn't the only one waiting for someone in the pub. He was a nice enough fellow. Easy on the eyes, actually. Her mind reverted back to her husband of ten years who couldn't keep his pants up when it came to pretty women. She wondered why she was a glutton for punishment. She was a fool.

Her drink came and in anger she gulped it down. Gritted her teeth when it hit her gut hard and asked the waiter for another. She crossed her arms and sat back against the chair and began to brood. The waiter returned with her drink . He whispered that the gentleman on the other table sent her a drink. She looked to her right and saw two twenty-somethings smile at her. They looked decent enough. One of them raised his glass at her. He was more than easy on the eyes. He was hot! He was a Shahrukh Khan look alike. She raised her glass and took a sip. He came over to the table.

Sitting on the hard stool he wondered whether on his fourth or fifth drink? He wasn't sure but one thing he was sure about- he had been officially stood up by the woman he had waited for what seemed to be most of his wasted life! But he looked at the door hopefully. It opened and a couple walked in. Disappointment punched his gut. He cursed himself and ordered his fifth; yes, it was his fifth.

The bartender raised her eyebrows. He glared at her. She smiled at him. They started talking. He was tipsy and his mind became hazy. He couldn't remember her face anymore. He concentrated his swaying senses on the bartender. She made him laugh. He ordered another, she told him to go easy on the drinks and he replied only if she would go easy on him. She showed him her pearly whites and he felt a balm on his soul.

The lady in black smiled when the good looking twenty something asked if she wanted to go to the nearby nightclub with him. She didn't let herself think about the risks and agreed. She wasn't a wet blanket; she too could have fun. She finished her third drink, got to her feet and swayed a bit. He grabbed her elbow to steady her and before he helped her out of the restaurant he nodded at his friend who raised his glass to him- Jackpot! He had a date.

The bartender gave him his sixth whiskey sour and lightly said if he would stop drinking she would take him up to her apartment for coffee; her shift was over. He smiled, pushed his drink to the side, inclined his head at her and gave her a devilish smile. She blinked. She wanted him. She gestured towards the door and they went out of the restaurant towards the stairs. Her apartment was on the first floor.

Something was wrong. She felt her world whirl around her, the nightclub would have to wait. Drinking on an empty stomach was never good. She bent over and threw up right on the porch of the restaurant and her black trousers got splattered. Humiliation, embarrassment and stomach ache made her groan out load.

As he was walking out with the bartender, he saw the lady in black throw up a few yards away from him. The lady in black was drunk. The bartender went up to the lady and asked if she wanted a taxi. She declined and asked her young companion to take her home. Her companion looked uncomfortable but felt he couldn't leave a drunk woman to fend for herself and agreed to drop her home. Taxis weren't safe.

The bartender returned and put her arm through his and took him to her rooms.

She, on the other hand, was carefully bundled into a Scorpio and she mumbled her address. Later, she didn't resist the helping hand towards her door and then her room.

Morning came in it's sunny glory. They both blinked and groaned. He was in the unfamiliar apartment and she was in her own bedroom. Memories of the sex escapades spilled forth.But hangover warded off the shock.

She stumbled into her bathroom and looked for the Ipill kept behind the mirror. She wondered if that kid had used a condom.

He sat up and grabbed his head. This was his first one night stand in his thirty five years of life . Did he use a condom? he wondered. He didn't carry one; he wasn't expecting to get lucky. The woman on the bed snored loudly and he stifled the next groan.

Her cell phone rang.

His cell phone rang.

They both groaned as their partners continued to slumber peacefully.

She wrapped herself in a robe and gingerly walked into the living room, side stepping the clothes left strewn around. Her black bra lying on the floor made her cringe and she closed a tight fist against the little butterfly encrusted Ipill.

He grabbed his trousers lying next to the cheap bedpost and pulled the cellphone out.

They answered their phones in a whisper

"Hello?"

His deep baritone in her ear made her close her eyes in pain. She tried to remind herself that he had hurt her all over again. She promised herself that she'd be strong for once and not given in.

"Sweetheart! There was a big jam on Brigade Road and the Airtel lines were jammed. I couldn't get through. I was so worried. Have I blown my chances with you? Sweet heart I am so sorry. I love you. I don't want to lose you. Can I come over? Please honey. Give me a chance? Give our marriage a chance? "

He went on pleading .

She stared at the Ipill in her palm and replied "No, I'll come over at lunch time. We'll talk then" She closed her cellphone and went into the kitchen to have her pill with water.

He remained quiet as his friend of five years gave him an explanation.

"Babes! I made up with him. We are fine now. I tried to call you but the lines were jammed. I know you will be happy for me......"

She went on speaking but he stopped paying attention to the flighty chatter. His eyes were on the bare chested woman who lay on her back and smiled up at him. He smiled back at her. His twenty year old heart did a little skip. Being with her seemed right.

She held her arms open and as he lay down with her he whispered "Happy Valentine 's Day."

Ten Things That Never Happen in Desi Erotic Stories

Aaman Lamba — Sun, 8 Feb 2009 12:32:01 EST

The Indian sexual instincts have not always been repressed, limited to the traditional perception of Indian morality, or avoided literary/artistic interpretation. Even today, in the midst of overt repression and social inhibition, it should probably come as no surprise that the baser instincts combine with literary and exhibitionistic outpourings to make certain Indian websites rank higher in terms of traffic than many others. These sites form a certain subculture of post-modern, post-Colonial Indian society (Yes Dorothy, we have left Oz), and deserve perhaps greater sociological analysis.

Having subjected myself to a wide array of desi literary frottage and worse, all in the name of science, I can now reveal, only partly tongue-in-cheek, ten things that never happen in desi erotic stories. My sources are impeccable and diverse, and can only be revealed in private messages so as to avoid undue publicity and their further going underground, more power to them.

Warning: The following is definitely NSFW, and politically incorrect

1. Not all Indian women are Savita Bhabhi

2. She does bankers or lawyers, never techies or salesmen.

3. He has a small wiener. He is not always god's gift to women

4. She does it even though her husband gives it to her every night, and has no guilt afterward.

5. She does the dentist, not the doctor or the nurse.

6. Your colleague's wife comes on to your wife, not to you.

7. Both of you crash out on your Suhaag Raat because you're too tired from all the functions.

8. The young hot star gives your wife his autograph, and nothing more.

9. The tailor has a long ruler, but he uses it to measure a form-fitting blouse, which you try on at home.

10. The neighborhood aunty has a great kitchen, and she cooks in it.

The desi equivalent of Arthus Miller is still to arrive on the scene, although there are many claimants, so one is hopeful.

Nature And Women

Deepti Lamba — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 04:32:23 EST

The theories aired here are all mine. They are subjective and the report used here is merely to substantiate my bias.

Read the two sentences? Now we can begin.

Nature intended man to be the tiller and woman to be the earth. Women bodies are more fat than muscle as opposed to men, we tend to hoard more and get this we tend to be less able to resist our hunger pangs than men. According to a study conducted by Gene-Jack- Wang MD:

Hungry women can't control their desire for food as well as hungry men can, a brain imaging study suggests.

The finding may explain why women are more prone to emotional eating and why women are less likely than men to lose weight while dieting.

"Women have a much stronger reaction to food, such that whether they try to inhibit their desire or not, they have stronger signal [in the part of the brain that controls hunger perception and desire to eat]," study leader Gene-Jack Wang, MD, tells WebMD.

The above article made me choke on my third chocolate cookie. I haven't fallen off the bandwagon completely but at the same time I cannot resist the goodies either especially when I have hunger pangs.

I got inspired and carried out a personal survey which consisted of five women (remember its a biased report) and three men. (Some survey, right? bear with me)
The women I knew where trying to lose weight by eating right and not dieting.

Over phone calls I spoke about food with them; food that they had been staying away from to lose weight. Most had lost substantial amount by eating right and exercising but the cravings never left them.

What did they miss the most? The mouth melting tenderness of a pizza, pasta, pastries, paranthas, deep fried food, butter, ghee, chocolates and the list went on.

I put us all through the torture and then waited till the evening and called them back. And they all had fallen off the bandwagon just a little bit- like me!

I then spoke to three guys I got to know at the gym. I called them up and asked how the dieting was going. Whether they missed the alcohol, the late nights, the in between gorging, the sweets?

They laughed and replied - it was all about diverting one's thought process. One would go off to play cricket, the other would run and the third would call up his skinny girl friend and have a fight...I mean talk to her.

They were precise in their dedication. They wanted the SRK lean body and the abs of John Abraham etc

The women however never thought they could get Bipasha's abs ever; the hanging gut would reduce but not leave entirely. One was informed that liposuction was the only solution.

Being 'fat- asses' the sisterhood had decided that we could live with reduction and not perfection given our ages as well.

Since time was short I asked the guys how many times they had fallen off the bandwagon and over what?

They all had one common answer- over booze with their chaadi pals and that too on weekends. Otherwise it had been a breeze.
At last there was one commonality between them and us- booze but they were quick to respond that they hit the gym the next day with or without the hangover.

Was there guilt involved? They replied - No! Why would there be guilt?

I did not open up the Pandora's box. The hatred towards the mother earth hips, the thunder thighs, the saggy boobs or the thickened ankles.

These guys were overweight but oozed confidence. Successful in their fields and had tons of self esteem. They had targets. They were sure they would get back into shape. It was the hunter goal oriented mentality spilling with blind optimism.

The women on the other hand were cautious and talked more about losing weight for health reasons. They negated that it had nothing to do with self esteem but then sheepishly agreed that while they loved the food the weight had them worried deep within their hearts.

Even the most ferocious of them who'd eat people at boardrooms held this secret deep within her heart. To protect their 'self love' they inevitably got defensive about their weight whether society pressurized them or not.

Weight, food and emotions! The three are our mantra but not of men generally speaking. They are made of a different mould.

Nature wants us, women, to weigh more (healthy weight), store more , make babies more and to love more. That's nature's way of telling us women to be a happy.

Nature knows nothing about jobs that make us women slobs and less likely to exercise, nature doesn't know anything about heartbreaks that make us finish bars and bars of chocolates or go on eating binges. All nature knows is to make us multiple and with our limited ovaries nature is always on the overdrive with us and not with the men.

Men can father babies even when they are in their seventies, maybe even when they have one foot in the grave they can squirt out some tiny life giving sperms. They can till the fields till their dying breaths but we run fallow (thankfully) and nature doesn't like it and she maximizes and we women lose the battle.

But we needn't work against nature. We can work with her through our metabolism rate.That is her gift to us and the ability to build stamina. After all when the dinosaurs came (subscribing to the christian creationist theories) we had the strength to grab our tots and run.

However, for the modern women steeped in world full of heavenly food its an uphill battle that we truly never win. Sometime or the other we slide off and find ourselves face deep in a mud choco pie. Why? Because we grew up as food junkies. Even the sexist film stars are on diets. Its the way we live.

But this junkie lifestyle may not be the fate of our daughters if we bring them up with the notion that exercising is like flossing and sugar is just as bad as tobacco.We have to be fearless like the Amazonian goddesses and lay it out to our future female warriors that nature has a clear agenda for us and apart from screwing up our bodies to be baby making machines she tricks us with men.
Yes, men . There are those who want skinny babes all through their lives but most men come to love the woman and not her body. They love the person within just like they love themselves warts and all.

They adore the mother of their children, the apple of their eyes and no matter how fruity our bodies get they love us even more till we ripen so much that our arteries get blocked with love.

We are after all geared to make babies, be mother earths to be tilled and bear fruits of labouring love. But like I said we can work with nature; we can be imperfect Xena the warrior princesses- all curvy, sexy, mommies who work like demons on the treadmill, give in to our cravings once in a while, not begrudge ourselves for the pounds put on and love the men and children in our lives.

Nature has her goals and so do we. We should work with her and make her work with us. In the end the earth is reaped and there is pleasure both in the sowing and the reaping.

Related: Rich Men Give Women Better Orgasms

Book Review : The Jewel of Medina

Kim — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 05:21:05 EST

I had heard of the controversy surrounding "The Jewel of Medina" a couple of months ago, but it hadn't really inspired me to go out and buy the book immediately. Of course there was the other matter of it not being available in a Middle Eastern country. But when a friend of mine told me she had the book in case I was interested, I decided to see what the fuss was all about.

The book was initially quite ho-hum (compared to some of the other books I have read on the subject) while it covered the childhood politics around a little girl growing up in a polygamous family where her own mother was the second wife. The girl just happens to be Aisha Bint Abi Bakr, herself an extremely controversial character in Islam. After the Prophets death, she led an army against his son-in-law Ali, which was the cause for the Sunni-Shia split.

Sunnis claim Aisha was the favorite wife of the Prophet, while Shiites believe that he disliked her for her disobedience. Sunni accounts put the Prophet in Aisha's embrace at the time of his death and Shiites believe that he died in Ali's arms.

Why is The Jewel so inflammatory?

Conservative Catholics across the globe were vociferously against "The DaVinci Code" as it was based on the anti-thesis of a non-negotiable fact - that Jesus was married and sired a bloodline. This questioned the foundations of the Catholic faith and the vows of celibacy taken by priests and nuns.

"The Jewel of Medina" portrays each edict passed by Mohamed as being one for personal gain. It also caricatures him as an old man in constant sexual overdrive, whose only interest was in finding the next beautiful young bride. Drawing conclusions and elaborating on the fact that, when his male followers were allowed only 4 wives, the limitations did not apply to him. And other such incendiary conclusions.

For someone who is not familiar with the basics behind the Islamic teachings, it is a disastrous book to read, because it will completely distort the idea of Islam and its foundations. Ms Jones in her interviews has claimed that she wrote this book to make Islam more accessible and understandable to the general public in USA.

If this is her target audience, it will only serve to further aggravate the differences between Muslims and non-Muslims in America where a majority of non-Muslims already look upon Muslims with suspicion and in extreme cases, even hatred. Among the non-Muslims in America, there is a wide spread belief that women are completely dominated by men in this religion, they are forced to cover up from head to toe by overbearing fathers and husbands. This book will only serve to deepen and worsen those beliefs. I do not see any "understanding" coming out of this book.

The problem with writing fiction with characters from real life is that very few readers actually have the ability or knowledge to distinguish the line between the blurred lines of fact and fiction in a novel. And how much of this book is fiction? As a non-Muslim with basic information about Islam from my Muslim friends, I was quite riled up about certain injustices being described in certain sections of this book. This is a normal process when reading a book, the skill of the author is in making you feel for the characters. But the way it is portrayed as fact, brings these feelings out back into the world beyond the reading of a book.

What Ms Jones has written is a piece of fiction and not even a well researched one at that. Friends of mine who are scholars in Islamic studies, say that the inaccuracies are innumerable.

Geraldine Brooks (who has extensively researched the history of this era), author of the 1995 nonfiction book, "Nine Parts of Desire" whom Jones has cited as one her initial inspiration, says this in her review of The Jewel of Medina, "if you wish to claim that your novel is "extensively researched", why lurch around in time and space, grabbing at concepts such as hatun, or leading wife, which Jones knows full well belongs to the Ottoman empire of centuries later, or purdah, which exists in Persian, Urdu and Hindi but not Arabic? Why refer to an Islamic veil by the modern Western term "wrapper"? Why have Muslims bowing to Aisha, when bowing is an alien custom to desert Arabia and to Islam's egalitarian ethos?"

Is "The Jewel of Medina" a good story? - Well, it manages to keep your interest going after the initial chapters, wondering what is going to come next? and How will Aisha manage this latest calamity?. But in most parts it reads like Mills & Boone/ Silhouette kind of Soft Porn.

I ask a larger question : "Is it ethical to write a book like this, which caricatures a person who is the cornerstone of a particular religion?

Disclaimer : I do not want to get into a debate about death threats, riots and fatwas that inevitably follow a book of this kind.

The Emotion Analyzer

IdeaSmith — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 07:42:47 EST

Here's a question I've had a chance to ask recently,

How does a relationship go for you?

Does that makes sense? I can't think of another way to word it, without sounding overly-analytical (a charge I've been accused of more than once). But it's an important question since obviously different people see relationships differently. This in defense to the oft-repeated instructions to 'not think so much!'. I mean, how can I not? It's like telling a person to 'not breathe so much' or something like that. Do I like, literally, count the breaths I take...or thoughts I have? Do I hang a NO ENTRY board across my forehead?

I have it quite figured out in my mind (never mind the fact that I don't have one success story to back it up). A basic framework model of assessing relationships. True to my nature, it's a checklist (a series of them actually). So here goes the one titled 'Indications that it's a great first date':

You two:

Don't run away at the sight of each other

Get beyond the first hello

Are able to talk about things other than how both of you know the person who introduced you, what the weather is like and the latest movie/book/play

Laugh (and not nervously)

Lose track of time at least once ("I didn't realize how long we've been talking!")

Want to meet again

These are the action points of the first meeting and if you should proceed further only if they ALL check off.

Let's go one level higher and discuss the 'Key Areas of a Relationship':

Attraction

Comfort Level

Shared Grounds (hobbies, beliefs, social circles)

Complementing (as opposed to similar) Personalities

Respect

Committment

Each one needs to be constantly monitored for absolute level and vis-a-vis the others. All of them are important but the actual weightages can vary from relationship to relationship and over time as well. Conversations, meetings and incidents are opportunities to explore and validate each of the important areas.

Sometimes it gets confusing. (Hell, whoever said love was easy?) For example,

Differing points of view can extend your Respect for each other's intelligence and independence but what does that do to Comfort Level and Complementing Personalities?

How does sex play out - If there's too much Comfort Level, do Attraction and Fun suffer?

Is Committment possible without Attraction or can it actually cover for the lack of it?

Can Respect replace Shared Grounds? And vice versa?

How important is Complementing Personalities? Can a relationship sustain if it is strong on the others but not on this?

How do Fun and Committment offset each other? Or do they clash and inevitably get entangled with Respect?

I can just see a whole lot of men I know shaking their heads in disbelief. Oddly enough, women are the ones accused of being 'over-emotional' and not practical enough.

Personally I don't see any problem in being analytical about relationships. Being analytical is not mutually exclusive to being emotional. I can be and am, both. After all, your emotions are your most valuable resource - they dictate how you feel about what you do and hence who you do it with and how well you do it. Damned if I'm going to fritter them away without an eye on the balance-sheet of the relationship. Besides, don't forget that I am a woman; I was born with a masters degree in Relationships and a Ph.D. in Emotion. :-)

2009 - Freedom From Fear

Nitin Karani — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 20:22:26 EST

Last year began on a very sour note for some of us. Barely had we said goodbye to January than the Maharashtra Police orchestrated the drama of busting a gay party, before it could commence, just outside Bombay (in Thane) for the benefit of the TV media. The police officials got their 15 seconds of fame and managed to curry favour with the voyeuristic channels, who in turn got their ‘exclusives’ and grabbed some filthy and some even self-righteous viewers by their eyeballs.

Privacy has traditionally been at a discount in Indian society, with its joint families, and gossipy maids and neighbours. So it is okay for you to party and be featured in full colour, but those of us at society’s margins should get used to the police barging in, breaking up our parties, forcibly outing us and parading us on national television like criminals and freaks? The tamasha sent forth a wave of great fright among closeted gay people around India.

Fear is what we, the people of India, gave ourselves on Independence. Fear of the unknown, fear of the other. Fear that fed on ignorance of the other. Fear of the majority, a majority that is itself fearful of what it chooses to neither understand nor recognise. Fear of a shameful, relic of the British, Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, a law that makes an adult like me criminal for life if the police can prove I made love with another adult male. This fear nourishes the HIV epidemic among us.

Fear has caused us to forget that we also gave ourselves a constitution that enshrines some human rights and enjoins each one of us to uphold them. So the police can abdicate its duties to protect and fearlessly abuse its powers. And the government can, through its infamous ex Home Minister and his former minions, make perversions of these rights in writing to the Delhi High Court, which is charged with public interest litigation (PIL) to read down the shameful section that strikes fear in closeted hearts.

Freedom from fear should be the theme in 2009, continuing from Mumbai’s grand, cosmopolitan-as-a-rainbow march for Queer Azaadi on 16 August, and the June-end debut Pride parades of Delhi and Bangalore (Kolkata’s annual march against homophobia started nine years earlier when just 13 men mapped the city, with the rest of the queer community staying in the shadows).

Freedom to question the assumption of being heterosexual without fear, the man-woman definition of marriage, and the very importance of such a marriage for a queer person. Freedom to love and live with a person of the same sex without fear. Freedom to educate oneself about safer sex and use the services of a health professional as a queer person, without the fear of stigma, neglect and ‘treatment for homosexuality’ that occurs despite prescribed Good Medical Practice and ethics. Freedom to be out at work without fear of harassment or discrimination. Freedom from the fear of being entrapped and blackmailed by a police stooge simply for being gay and closeted. Freedom from hiding in the closet, wearing a mask, using an alias. Freedom from the insecurities that come from being closeted. Freedom to live without fear of losing one’s dignity. Freedom from the fear of being treated as less than equal by the law.

The march towards Freedom from fear will receive a boost if the Delhi High Court makes the bigots in the government apparatus swallow a bitter PIL and champions the human rights in the Indian Constitution. We will cover the rest of the way forward with a little help from each other and each of our families. Waiting for the dawn of a real Happy New Year. Meanwhile, here’s wishing you one!

Pope Benedict XVI - Homo-Sensitive?

thedeskjockey — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 13:46:17 EST

In an age of mindless killing, misinterpreted religion and questionable politics comes an earth shattering revelation by the apostle of the Almighty Himself. According to the revered Pope Benedict XVI, one of the biggest threats to the Homo Sapiens kind on earth is well….being homo. It ain't the overstretched war or the mindless death of a sixty year old mother or the spread of a disease mostly due to apathy. No Siree Bob (who is also gay by the way)! The male lip-lock and old time girl-on-girl action makes the protectors of God’s creations cringe in as much horror as we would if we saw a character, God forbid, have an extra marital affair in a Sooraj Barjatya movie.

While I myself am unaffected by the sexual preference of people around me, I am very aware of coming from a country which has been distinctly homophobic for a long time. Even Bollywood which, according to Madhur Bhandarkar, is filled to the brim with consenting adults of the same-sex/bisexual variety, seems to be leaden footed in maturely portraying a gay relationship. While the incredibly moronic Girlfriend carried the message that all lesbians are pouty, crazy bitches, Tarun Mansukhani had us believing in Dostana that the difference between gay and straight men is that the former look or talk like extended cousins of Bobby Darling (ironic, considering Tarun is Karan Johar’s protégé).

So what is it that causes homosexuality to stand out like a beacon to an 81 year old among all the ills afflicting the world? To put this post in context, here is the excerpt from his speech to the Vatican staff that’s causing all the heartburn (the type that cannot be cured by Eno/Pudin Hara).

“It is not out-of-date metaphysics to speak of human nature as 'man' or woman'. It comes from the language of creation, despising which would mean self-destruction for humans. […] Gender theories lead to man's "auto-emancipation" from creation and Creator. […] Rain forests deserve, yes, our protection but the human being... does not deserve it less”

The Pope actually denouncing it is not a surprise. Almost all religious texts soundly condemn it and any sexual acts around it. However, as much as the moral police would like us to believe that there is a line in the sand, people suffer from that uncontrollable ill that plagues, at least, the civilized world; as Morgan Freeman playing God tells Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty, the one of “free will” or “choice”. Now choice comes with its own baggage. Is homosexuality something you are born with or is it something you turned to because your last 3 heterosexual relationships were with alcoholic biker dudes/supremely boring bimbettes with IQs of a teacup? And do we really have the right to begrudge you a committed loving relationship even if it was with someone within your gender? Are gays never people of God or vice-versa? If the Pope were to be believed, the moment you step over the line, the sin committed is on par with greedy destruction of Mother Nature’s delicate balance. And therein precisely lies the problem of the message – where you decry racism, apartheid, caste systems, religious killing and slavery on one hand, but willing to outcast people because of their sexual preference on the other.

Perhaps we have let our moral compasses become too blurred to see the big picture…perhaps we prefer to see the goodness in people outside of what they do behind closed doors….or perhaps, just perhaps when we send our prayers upwards, we hope that God showers His blessings without discrimination.

Not One Of The Family

IdeaSmith — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 00:24:38 EST

Friend and openly gay writer, Parmesh Shahani in his book Gay Bombay says that being gay isn't just a sexual preference, it's a lifestyle.

My sexuality was something that I had compartmentalized as something that was surreptitious and all about the sexual act, not about an identity.

Yes, perhaps. I guess I can't claim to understand fully since my choices go by what society sees as the norm and anything else is forced to be defined starkly, clearly as separate.

I was recently at a party and ended up sitting next two friends who both happened to be gay, one guy and one girl. I've known each of them independently for years now. Till a few months ago, I didn't even know that they knew each other and from what I can tell, they've only recently become friends. That they get along so well suits me just fine since they're both such lovely people and besides I understand for each of them, considering the staggering enormity of the cause they each champion, it is good to meet a kindred soul. Add to that the fact that they're both such rollicking fun that getting together with both of them is usually a blast.

I turned away from the conversation on my other side to get back to them and found I had moved into a private guy/girl-watching session. He was checking out the geeky looking dude on my left while she had her eyes on a fiery femme fatale at the other end of the room. Chuckling and commenting on each other's choices. I was about to join in with an elbow-nudge and a side-joke when he said,

How about an introduction? You know him?

I hesitated for a minute, because I really didn't but also because I wondered if bespectacled eye-candy in question was gay as well. I shook my head and told my friend that I didn't think so. Both of them exchanged meaningful glances and almost in unison said,

She wouldn't know. She's not one of the family.

I'm not sure exactly what happened in that one remark but I suddenly felt cut out of the discussion. I've examined it over and over in my head. Is that really true? As a straight person, do I also not feel attraction, ponder on it, act on it? Do I not run through similar thoughts of whether the object of my affection reciprocates? And does it really matter that I'm crushing on the opposite sex while my friends are ODing on the same sex?

What's with the family bit anyway? That part really annoyed me. I've never judged either of them or been anything other than respectful of their choices, their opinions and feelings. Each of them is a real, live person to me, not a body bearing a tag that says 'Gay'. Then why do they hang the tag of 'Straight' on me and behave like it makes me less kin to them than to each other? I felt excluded. And I felt betrayed, that's what.

I must ask whether the gay community hopes to ever get the respect due to it, considering what a tremendous backlash they are and will continue to face in years to come? And whether in the process of defining themselves clearly, they aren't drawing boundaries between straight people and gay people in a 'them' versus 'us' scenario. If the gay community wants to enjoy the same rights as others, on the premise that they are no different from anyone else, I think they should start thinking of themselves as the same as everyone else. And family is people who love and accept you, not necessarily people who like the same things you do. But that's just me.

Swami and His Foes

Suresh Naig — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 13:32:52 EST

It was one winter evening at Coimbatore, in the year 1984. Even till date I couldn't recollect the reasons, which made me to visit Bharatiya Vidhya Bhavan, to listen to a lecture of a Swamiji.

It was a moderate crowd of less than 100 persons, most of them having attained superannuation, found the lecture an inexpensive entertainment. The Swamiji, whose name I forgot, was no different from any other Swamijis. Like many of the Swamijis he was also 60 plus, but beyond which his proper age was not discernible. He had also sported a long beard, like any other person of his clan, which had turned grey, had long unkempt hair and he worn a long piece of cotton jubbah, which had obviated the need for a dhoti, though he was wearing one.

At a much younger age, I had a problem of differentiating one cine actress from the other, since I felt all of them looked alike with heavily made-up face and all the cine heroines of yester years appeared to me as padded horses! of a different kind.

As I grew up, I developed the skills in identifying a female cine personalities, but my problem of identification shifted to Swamijis, who not only looked alike, but also behaved alike, with their monotonous uninspiring lectures. This swamiji was no different.

He opened his lecture praising the U.S. from where he had returned, after a long and fruitful visit. He said, 'I was discussing with few young Americans about Indian culture and our ancient practices aimed at healthy living. This discussion happened in the house of my host, an Indian settled in U.S.A. The American youth were casual in their approach, some with cigarettes dangling from their lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke, some with coke bottles in their hand, some casually lying on the sofa and yet showed seriousness in learning about our culture. I was astonished by their questions and eagerness to learn new things.'

When the swamiji continued his monotonous lecture, praising the new found land of his opportunities, a person who was sitting in the front row was infuriated. He burst out at the Swamiji, 'I have not come here to listen to your praises for America, I had expected that you would deliver a lecture on Geeta or Mahabharat.' Sitting four rows behind, I was curiously enjoying all these things.

When the Swamiji tried to reply to the infuriated man from the first row, with an innocuous smile, the agitated person in his early forties fumed and left the hall in a huff. It appeared to me that the person left the hall out of envy, on the Swamiji's foreign jaunt.

Unfazed, the Swamiji continued his lecture. His lecture was centred on the need to live in tandem with nature, with abundant examples from his day to day observations. He was narrating, 'the other day I saw some people eating cucumber bought from a road side vendor, peeled, cut and after applying salt and pepper powder on it. If God wanted us to eat cucumber with salt and pepper, he would have put the same in cucumber.' His lectures continued on the same line with many more examples, which all of us would have commonly encountered on a daily basis.

His concluding punch was, 'we have stopped eating to satiate our hunger since long, we have stopped drinking to quench our thirst since long. Since our acts no longer reflect the purpose, we are facing certain peculiar problems. If all our acts are purposeful, intended for the specific and natural purpose, we no longer would need to worry about our physical and mental health.' The Swamiji concluded his lecture and the forum was open for questions from the assembled audience.

My question was specific. 'Swamiji I agree with you on many of the points, which are parallel to the views expressed by Van Dyer in his book Sky is not the limit. However there is one act in India which is very purposeful, and we are witnessing the population explosion. Is it not right to indulge in it, relegating the purpose, for the benefit of the society?'

Before the Swamiji could respond, many in the audience, tried to show their disapproval for my question. Swamiji, after some thoughtful silence for maximum effect, opened his mouth fondling his grey beard. 'it is easier said than done, but regular practice of Yoga is the answer for your question.' And he left it at that.

After so many years I felt otherwise. In 1984, when I was young I felt, "It was easier done than said" and now at my 50+ age I realise it is easier said than done".