Desicritics Category: Culture: Sex

HIV+ By Marriage - High Court Denies Rights

Sakshi Juneja — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 04:10:06 EDT

The question of pre-marital HIV testing has been debated in media and on blogs. We are still searching for a balance between:

A) A nation’s effort in curbing a dreaded disease

B) Freeing the society of its prejudices/taboos

C) An individual’s right to protect what is ultimately a private and confidential matter regarding his/her health

While we are fighting this battle, there are causalities like this 29-year-old woman from Satara.

The woman said she was infected with the HIV virus from her husband, who had been suffering from the disease before their marriage which took place in 1997. Their child who was born in 2000, she said, was also diagnosed as HIV positive.

Her only hope was of course the judiciary, but just yesterday, that door too has been shut. The Bombay High Court rejected her plea stating that her applications under sections 498 (a) (dowry harassment) and 420 (willful cheating) of IPC does not hold, because these laws are only meant for property-related matters.

These offences (dowry harassment under section 498A) relate to property of a person. The body of a woman can, by no stretch of imagination, be treated as property, and therefore sections of cheating and willfully cheating (Section 420) would not attract in this case," ruled Justice Nishita Mhatre. […]

Though the court agreed that the woman's husband and her in-laws were fully aware that he was HIV positive at the time of their marriage, it disagreed to try the accused for willfully cheating.

As a bystander this is what I understand or more suitably can’t get a grip of…

Doesn’t withholding such vital information constitute the vilest form of cheating – that of snatching her entitlement to a healthy life – something we all regard as an unquestioned given?

In reaction to the court’s verdict, the victim’s lawyer Uday Warunjikar said

This is a case of cheating and should be treated as one of the 'rarest of rare' cases, where a HIV positive woman has come to the court saying she was cheated by her husband. The authorities should treat such cases sensitively, but here they failed miserably. The local police did not even bother to record her statement, hence she was forced to approach the court.

As someone who is very particular about her individual freedom, I cannot even begin to imagine what this woman would have gone through – to be duped twice; her marital family and the Indian judiciary.

"Scoring" in the United States

Chaitanya S — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 01:07:55 EDT

The Indian economy is on an upward growth path and showing a tremendous growth at 9%. My girth is doing exactly the same, though I feel my growth rate is much more. Talk of being a true representative of your country on foreign soil!

What can represent Indian more than a game of cricket? I finally played a match last month. I was looking forward to having a dream debut and leaving an impact on the game. I had this personal ambition of seeing a 50 next to my name on the score card. I got the game off to a rollicking start and reached 40 in the 3 overs in which I was in action. Suddenly the captain gestured me to stop and let someone else take over. He made it pretty clear to me that the 50 looks better next to my name while batting, not bowling! Whatever! I clearly remember hearing commentators saying “A half century is a half century in any form of cricket”. Shooting down aspirations of budding sportsmen is such an Indian trait. The captain thus displayed his "Indianness"!

I was chatting with a friend and he asked me “So have you scored in the US as yet?” I was a bit ashamed of my batting performance, but being an honest soul, I said, “Yeah it was pretty tough, but I managed 5”. Knowing every honest bone in my body, he gave me a phone call within 30 seconds of me sending the message in. “So how were they? Americans or Indians? How did you manage so quickly? Damn, 5 chicks in 3 months is rocking! Wish I’d studied there!” Maybe this is the communication gap between virtual teams that the professor warned us about in class. No wonder most people say that MBA education is mostly based on real life situations.

Back to the point, I did not have the heart to act like my captain and curtail someone’s excitement. But after a few seconds of listening to a running commentary of his own exploits, I let the bubble burst and told him I meant cricket. Suddenly I was flooded with comments of how busy he was, how late in the night it was for him and how he really had to hang up.

Statistics show that 80,000 Indian students come to the US annually. I am dead sure that when these 80,000 cross the psychological barrier of making the first long distance call to their friends, the first question they are faced with is the one which faced me. Friends back in India don’t give two hoots about whether you are pursuing an MS, an MBA or a janitor’s diploma.

Hard as it may seem since I’m a “pakka Mumbaikar”, I’d rather be a Dravid than a Tendulkar on foreign shores (figuratively speaking, of course). That will equip me with the perfect technique to “score” consistently in alien conditions rather than just “plundering” on home soil. Now I’ve realized what they mean by accomplishments in India not being appreciated as compared to foreign ones.

Since I’m on the topic of sports, I have to mention my experience in a bowling alley. Now my bowling in the alley isn’t as accomplished as that on a cricket pitch. So by the time we were half way through the game, the screen displaying scores appeared like a chart of noughts and crosses. I had most of the noughts because of innumerable gutter balls and my friends had the crosses because of perfect strikes. One of them asked me “Bet you’ll never manage 3 straight crosses?” Well I could have shown him a few sheets with my name and lots of crosses under that. Too bad Mumbai University does not return our engineering answer sheets. But the score sheet surely evoked nostalgia of my engineering tests, with the crosses, and the zeros right next to them.

But things aren’t all that bleak in my life. I think I’ve finally learned to cook now and my roomies have heaved a sigh of relief. Well I don’t blame them. If the cook doesn’t eat his own food, it surely does provide food for thought to the others. Well I’m proud to state my cooking has reached a stage where I can satiate my own taste buds without going green in the face.

I was chatting with one of my friends yesterday and she asked me,”You’ve been there for almost 3 months, what was the most difficult thing you found fitting into?” I read it and I bit my lower lip with regret. That question hit me where it really hurt. An honest answer was typed back. “My denims”.

Can A Straight Woman And A Lesbian Woman Be Friends?

IdeaSmith — Tue, 8 Jul 2008 02:53:51 EDT

That's like asking if a guy and girl can have a platonic friendship, isn't it? The question is given the possibility of a sexual/romantic connection, can a relationship exist even without it?

Okay, let me get out of the pseudo-intellectualizing and go real-life. I do know some lesbians. One of them is a friend. She hasn't actually 'come out' as they call it or even 'confessed' to me, if such a revelation can be labeled a confession (as if it were a crime and one should look shamefaced about it!). Yet, I know. Don't ask me how. I'd be a terrible friend if I didn't realize it. As it is, I'm probably not as great a friend as I ought to be if she hasn't felt comfortable sharing the truth with me. Or perhaps it is just too personal, too precious to her to speak about it. Either way, I'm fine with it. After all, I don't consider friendship as a permission to sit in judgment and I also don't think that one's orientation bears judgment by others.

So that's as far as it goes regarding our conversations (or the lack of them) about her sexuality. However there are other things...undercurrents, emotions and grey areas. For example, how far do I go with my displays of affection? I'm a natural born hugger, I love hugging my family, friends and people I feel close to. Thus far the only complication has been with men, particularly the ones in my age bracket with whom there is/could be a a certain attraction. Like most other women, I've tried and tested the waters and reached a certain comfortable balance of physical proximity with the various men in my life. Now we arrive at the new complication of having to consider the same thing with another woman as well.

Personally I believe that sexuality isn't binary with a person being either homosexual or heterosexual (and how does that account for bisexuality?) ; it is more like a range of shades and all of us fall somewhere along the scale. Or perhaps we even move up and down the scale at various points in our lifetime.

Note now I'm talking about orientation not actual action so for the more conservative-minded, I'm not accusing you of doing anything that could shock you. And if you follow my belief it means that each of us is capable of feeling attraction for any other human being, male or female at any point of time in our life. I've written about my own bi-curiosity (as Desiblogging termed it) before. I'm quite unabashed in my admiration of other women. But I find it stops right there and I have no desire (physical, hormonal or otherwise) to go any furthur than that. That in my mind is what determines my orientation and keeps me in the dating pool of male partners.

How do you distinguish the affinity and closeness that like-minded women share from sexual attraction? How far do you go with someone you think there could be a spark of attraction with? How close do you get to someone you suspect might be attracted to you?

And therein I find I'm back on the same territory as I was a few years back when I discovered the opposite sex, attraction and love. Friendship is so wonderfully simple but the hormones just come and complicate them all, don't they?

To come back to the case in point, my lovely lady friend appears to be in a relationship as well. How do I know? No, she hasn't mentioned that either but it is clearly visible to anyone who knows her well. I wish I could speak up and tell her how happy I am that she has found someone special. When her eyes light up at the mention of her girlfriend, I wish I could tease her and hug her in sheer glee. But I don't.

I also wonder sometimes what her girlfriend thinks of me. Just as I wonder what the wives and girlfriends of my guy friends think of me and I walk around on eggshells until I'm totally, completely 120% sure that they have no qualms about my closeness; I wonder in this case too whether her girlfriend ever resents me or even, well, frowns a bit at our closeness. Oh well, I think not. She seems a good sort in herself and I'm guessing if I had known her before I'd have been friends with her as well.

So to answer my own question of whether it is possible for a straight and a lesbian woman to be friends. Yes, yes, I think so. After all, sexuality is physical and perhaps mental but friendship, love and loyalty come straight from the heart.

Swingtown, Dexter & The Sopranos - Questioning Absolute Truths

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 12:46:46 EDT

There are no absolute truths in life; when shades of Gray are delved into, some are accepted and some are denied fervently. The relativity of absolutes are tested time and again. Whether it be by books such as Dostoevsky's Crime And Punishment or Anne Rice's Vampire Series or television shows such as Dexter or The Sopranos.

Protests were made by those who cannot fathom why we are supposed to identify with psychopaths like Dexter, or Tony and his gang and Anne Rice's books considered to be against Christianity for identifying with demonic forces.

Dexter kills but only those who he sees as evil, Tony likes children and animals yet our value system demands that we condemn them as heinous human beings and Lestat loves those whose blood sustains him.

Dexter can be seen as a superhero who kills the villains instead of handing them over to the cops and Tony Soprano just a New Jersey mobster to be taken down but not someone totally evil and likewise Lestat and his ilk feed on the dregs of society.

That's how they would want us to perceive them since that is how they justify their own evilness to themselves. And like wise due to our love for them we try to find innate goodness in souls twisted with perversion and evil desires.

The envelope is pushed even further when we don't want them to be caught by the good guys. We don't want Lestat to be staked or Dexter or Tony to face the chair. Why?

Evil deserves to be eradicated and righteousness demands the right to surmount. That's the mantra we all grew up with. The meek shall inherit the earth but as sinners is it possible that we tend to understand the motives of other sinners and at least in the fictional world want them to have the last laugh?

Another show that has the morale brigade up in arms is a new CBS show called Swingtown. Its more like an adult version of That 70's show where the old and new world collide. Though the storyline of Swingtown centers more or less around the burgeoning sexuality of a teenager and her mother, it also tests our own levels of social acceptance.

Most of us consider swingers to be weirdos but when a perfectly happy couple decide to sleep with another couple not only do we, as viewers, find ourselves grappling with our perception of right and wrong but reflect upon the insecurities of the characters themselves who otherwise had led conservative lives in the past.

The couple who continue to lead a normal life seem boring and stodgy whereas the ones willing to move with the trends of the time hip and daring.

While there is more to Swingtown than I'm discussing here, what got me thinking was the deliberate manipulation on the part of the script writers to make the regular couple seem mundane. Similarly in Dexter and The Soprano the scriptwriters made the cops ineffectual and the bad guys devious, charismatic and intriguing.

That, in my mind, is the crux of the matter just like in SpiderMan 3 where Peter under the influence of evil becomes cool, confident and oozing with sex appeal.

We are made to think that heaven is boring and hell is entertaining, that regular Superheroes like Superman are simplistic whereas dark heroes like Batman, Hellboy, Hulk or even Iron Man are far more interesting. Where simple living and being content is not interest worthy but a spicier, adventuress living for the moment, economically prosperous life is more pleasing.

Does media then have some sort of an unconscious effect on our psyche? Where we may find ourselves accepting more than just some liberal change in social norms such as swingers and take it to a higher level where we empathize with certain kinds of psychopaths if they are packaged and marketed just right?

Tales of suave criminals such as Charles Sobraj abound and titillate the public . People fall in love with murderers and marry them and there are times when crimes of passion intrigue the masses and fiction then replicates reality as it happened with the Nanavati Case back in the fifties. We tend to think we are saner than these people who find glamor in lives of criminals but then in the fictional world find ourselves seduced by evil or it that we find our own innate darkness reflected in their deeds?

No Pride But Gay - India's Gay Parades

Sakshi Juneja — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 11:55:23 EDT

While the three other metropolitan cities of India had the Gay Pride, Mumbai’s non participation was definitely a subject of much debate and bewilderment.

I mean, if Delhi could have it, then how come the most recognized city on the Indian map, the city of dreams, the fabled city of chill and chic, didn’t?

‘Hypocrisy’ is the one-word answer I got when I posed this question to a Gay friend. Apparently, there is much infighting and lack of unity among the various Gay groups and NGOs in the city. The divides runs deep between the classes and the masses, and never the twain shall meet - or so he said.

The white-collared lot happily goes about its business without caring about ‘burning’ issues like rights or laws, said another Gay friend. In Mumbai, it seems, not many can be bothered enough to dress up and walk the streets the way they did in Delhi, Bangalore and Kolkata. But the same does not hold true for parties, I recently discovered.

Boy do they dress up there, and boy, do they party.

In snooty South Mumbai, I experienced my first of such parties. As a straight person, one doesn’t often get to see this side of Mumbai, and my Gay friend was only happy to take me along to one of the dos. Us three straight chics and five strapping Gay lads.

They say that first impressions are the lasting ones. Well I had more than my share of first impressions:

I often wondered where all the cute men have gone. Now I know.
Indian men can dance. Rephrase that – Gay Indian men can dance – the pelvic thrust being an extremely popular move.
Swapping partners, a common thing.
Several men. Five women. Not one got a second look. (I’m talking about the women.)
The ladies toilet isn’t just for the ladies. If you know what I mean.
Makeshift bedrooms, the restrooms.
Celebrity spotting. No Karan Johar though. Or his better half.
And… the best bit… all of the above happening on top of a family restaurant.

The pride may not have happened in Mumbai. And it’s probably more than just lack of unity between Gay groups. After all how can we forget our political mai-baap also play moral police at the drop of a hat.

But, who says the pride in their identity isn’t there?

(* Pic : Times of India)

Check out the YouTube Video Footage. Some powerful stuff.

The Vagina Dialogues

IdeaSmith — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 11:20:44 EDT

Eight years after hearing about it for the first time, I finally watched The Vagina Monologues. Wish me a happy birthday since I'm being reborn. On second thoughts, don't say a word. Just listen as we speak - my vagina and I.

I hated being a woman. The restrictions, the rules, the fears of my mother, it made me angry.

I hated being a woman. Being smaller built than the boys, slower than them at games, lagging behind them on my bicycle, my scrawny legs pedalling furiously to keep up. I never could.

I hated being a woman. It took me a long time to get used to my curves. I walked like my flat-chested 12-year-old self till I was 17. Till a classmate told that it wasn't the done thing for a girl to walk with such a straight back. Till, a boy said, "You walk with your boobs thrust right out at the world." And when I did get used to them, I took them on with a vengeance and used them as lethal weapons. Bait? Hah! Call them Venus fly-traps! I loved their power and I hated them for the compromise they were.

I hated being a woman. Bleeding every month, feeling pukey and giddy-headed and sticky and smelly.

I hated being a woman. 10 years old and being told, "Boys can do whatever they like. But a girl's reputation is like glass." Twelve and my tuition teacher's voice, "What a horrible laugh, so loud and monstrous! Look at Sonya, how prettily she covers her mouth when she laughs. And she doesn't make a sound." Thirteen and being admonished, "Sit with your legs together. Only a slut sits with her legs apart." Yes, I really and truly hated being a woman.

But I didn't always. I didn't know I was a woman for some time. And then suddenly I did. Or more accurately, I suddenly knew he was a man. As he introduced me to his manhood and asked me to pat it, hold it, feel it.

Oh stop! I wanted to scream. But I didn't. I held myself back. And I held myself in. Realizing suddenly that if I didn't, everything inside me would fall out of the hole. And in that moment, I separated my vagina from me.

Sometime later, I summoned up the courage to tell my parents. I said he had tried to kiss me once. 'Tried to', not did. 'Once', not many times. 'Kiss me', not....

My classes were stopped and we didn't speak about it again. I gave up trust that day as well as faith in men. I even stopped hugging my father. I assumed a genderless identity. And later, sexuality was paraded as an accessory, not experienced from within.

As the years passed, I built armour upon armour. The strongest of them was the decision that when I was uncomfortable or hurt or unsure or unwell, no one would know, least of all the person who caused me pain. I banished the fears. I suppressed the blushing and giggles. I stifled innocence and wonder. I held back pain. I shut down tears. I sent them all to the dungeon to keep my shameful prisoner company.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
I didn't speak of it for ten years. One day a neighbor asked my mother about the guitar lessons I'd taken, since she wanted to send 8-year-old daughter for them too. When my mother told me, I asked her to tell our neighbor what had happened. She admitted that she was too embarrassed to. I said, "If someone had told us the truth a decade ago..." and I left the room. There was nothing more to say.

Four years later, I was playing a silly game with my boyfriend, slapping and giggling. Then in a dramatic flourish, he pinned me down and held my wrists. That's the last thing I remembered. The next thing I knew, he was shaking me very gently and asking, "What happened? I was only playing." I didn't say a word. Apparently I'd gone all stiff and began whimpering.

My vagina was locked away into a dungeon when I was nine and went into silence after that.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~
As I watched the monologues and the vaginas of women around me sing and squeal and laugh and moan, I asked myself,

If my vagina could speak, what would she say?

And I heard her stammering, painfully shy reply so clear it made me cry.

She said,

I AM SORRY.

I'm sorry I disappointed you.
I'm sorry I hurt you.
I'm sorry you are in pain.
I'm sorry that I remind you of my existance.
I'm sorry I exist.
I'm so very sorry that I didn't make you happy.
I'm really sorry that I don't make you proud.
I'm sorry that you're ashamed of me.
I'm so, so very sorry.

And as she spoke, her fellow prisoners stepped free from two decades of confinement. I had scratched off the worst I'd seen in my life and sent them down to my vagina, keeping the best bits for the part of me on show to the world.

My poor vagina, surrounded by my shame,
my guilt,
my pain,
my bad memories,
my nightmares,
my anguish,
my betrayal,
my agony,
my frustration,
my sorrow
...and my tears.

She cried, my vagina cried. And for the first time in years, I did too, with her.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~Small wonder then that my relationships failed. Such a hellish place it had turned into that I'd only send those I wanted to banish down there. No wonder the very worst of men appealed to me and the very worst in them turned me on. And even they were petrified by what they found there.

I hated doing it in the dark.
I hated doing it on my back.
I hated doing it in bed. Or a couch. Or a car. Or in the open.
In fact I hated doing it so much that I never did.

Those who came to visit were offered a gracious cup of tea and then lulled into a battery of tests - a moat, a dragon, an army of defenses. And those that got past, walked up to the gates to find them locked. No entry into this love-lane, we're shut, you're unwelcome, go home. They did.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~My new friend calls me a child and tells me that there's a little girl he sees when he looks at me. Now I understand. At long last, I'm in the throes of an emotion nearly long-forgotten - TRUST. I banished it to my basement along with the other more tender emotions. If other people trust with their hearts, mine has gone made its home in the hovel downstairs. I trust from deep down there, like a slender creeper growing out of the ground. And what do you know? He's right after all. My vagina thinks she's only nine years old. That's the last time she breathed free. Sweet child of mine indeed.

I used to be a sweet child. Warm, affectionate, trusting and open and always getting into scrapes. All of that went away with the confinement, right down into my vagina which is everything I am not. Sweet, pure, soft and warm. And it stayed that way for twenty years despite the confinement.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~The book was wonderful. But the play brought it to life. It made me laugh (not smirk) and cry (not scowl). It gave my vagina her freedom and her voice too.

This is for Mahabanoo, Dolly Thakore, Avantika, Jayati (the moaner!) and Sonal Sachdev, the wonderful, spirited ladies who made last night come alive at Prithvi theatre. You made me whole again. You brought me back to life.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

If my vagina were to dress up, what would it wear?

Well, it's worn iron shackles for two decades. Now, if she could, she'd like something light and airy - preferably nothing at all. :grin:

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~I read Lolita when I was eighteen. It was a revelation. One more step in what turns out to be a long journey. A journey of healing. A lot of people I've discussed the book with say that it is a sick book, making excuses for paedophilic behaviour. But I think, they just don't know. Of all the people, I can hardly be an advocate for child abuse.

But reading Lolita gave me some perspective on what happened to me. I suddenly saw my abuser as a human being - a very bad and flawed human being, a sick human being but a human being nevertheless. Not a monster, but human. And human beings can be overcome, overpowered and even forgotten. Almost.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~About 5 years ago I was at a doctor's clinic when I suddenly realized that the man sitting across me was my former guitar teacher. I was shocked that it had taken me that long to recognize him. Even more shocked at what I felt - nothing at all. In my memories he was a big-built man. But in person, after all these years he just looked so tired, so small, so weak, so obscure and so old. I can't change what happened and it would a lie to say that I've forgiven. This is a wound that cut me so deep, it bled me right out of the right to be angry and seek revenge. Seeing him again was like someone smoothing over the scars of the wound.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~I didn't have the courage to put this up online immediately. I had to ask a few friends about it. Two of them told me that it was deeply moving and should be shared. One cautioned me that I should remember to ignore any weird-ass reactions. Finally two others, told me about their own personal accounts of horror. And in the end, that's really what gave me the courage to share this.

Happy birthday to my vagina. And welcome to the world of the living again.

Sex Bloopers

Sakshi Juneja — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 10:26:06 EDT

Before your eyeballs pop out, let me rephrase this. Sex Bloopers that I’ve heard of from friends. And since it is always funner to have a laugh at someone else’s expense, here’s to all of them who’ve been there, done it, and wished they hadn’t. And if you’re one of those sorry asses (pun unintended) mentioned here, don’t fret. No names mentioned. I have a heart after all.

6. The damn zip. And belt. Now this one, I’ve been told by a lot of people. He wants to do it. She wants to do it. And they want to do it fast. But, they’re both wearing jazzy designer denims. And belts tied really really tight. Which take waaaaaay too much time to undo, unbuckle and unzip.

Result? Flagging… spirits of course… what did you think? Perverts! That’s why I say designer wear never gets you anywhere.

5. They were on an abnormally high single bed pushed up against the wall and were mostly rolling about in a sad imitation of a Hollywood flick, when the most un-filmi thing happened. One misjudged turn and Jack fell down (didn’t break his crown – thank God!), but Jill did come rolling after.

Talk about rollicking times!

4. Now this is a case of The First Time and the couple, being a set of enthu cutlets, was trying too many positions in one session. A lot of entangling of legs happened, and after all the pushing and pulling, the two found after much experimentation that sometimes, it’s best to keep it simple.

Too much josh and too little skill isn’t always healthy you see.

3. They were moving fast from first base to second and things were only getting hotter. Then, the girl farted. A dry, non-smelly one, but a fart nonetheless. The friend however wasn’t repelled or turned off, instead, he was really impressed with the way she handled the situation.

What did she do? She Laughed Out Loud.

2. Sloppy kissing. Now this one even I can vouch for. There are the kissers. Then there are the French kissers. So far so good. Then, come the sharks, whose sole purpose in life seems to want to..

a) drown you in their saliva
b) chomp on everything that comes in their way: lips, chin, nose… teeth.
c) be a pain in the neck, literally.
d) muck up your hair, as if they’re searching for shrimps.

Moral of the story: Don’t even think about going second base with these buggers, coz hickeys are certainly not their cup of tea.

And finally, (enter at your own risk)…

1. Man wants to be macho. So he lifts woman up, and with her legs wrapped around him, takes her to the kitchen. Pleased with the do so far, he decides to take his machismo up a few notches and thinks to himself, “I’ll ‘have’ her on the kitchen counter.” Silly silly macho man, who doesn’t account for the pots and pans. Up he pushes her, and bam! She hits her head on a wok… and passes out.

Reality check: Mills and Boons (acts) are best left to the books.

You got something to share (of course I’m referring to your "friends" stories)? Let’s spread the love (and all the effort it takes) around!

It's Time To Stand Up And Stand Tall

Sanjukta Basu — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 22:02:50 EDT

Sometime back I was invited by Bangalore-based FM Radio Indigo, to talk about one of the blogging initiatives I was engaged in. Before the show started, I was chit-chatting with the RJ and casually mentioned the phrase, alternate sexuality. She immediately shook her head in serious negation conveying me that I shouldn't talk about it on the show. And I didn't because the context never came.

Nonetheless, I could never stop frowning about the shallowness of the matter. 'Normal' people under 'normal' circumstances cannot talk about Sex, more particularly if it is not heterosexuality. It's a sad state of affairs but there is little we can do. That is unless the society gets to see an upsurge of people calling themselves gay / lesbian / transgendered / transsexual or simply put NOT heterosexual.

Only if the number of people calling themselves queer is large enough and the faces known enough will the society realize it is not something so unnatural after all. And this responsibility lies with LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgendered) people themselves to come out of their closet and be confident of their sexuality. It's time to stand up and stand tall.

I see no reason why an educated person in a free society, who is independent financially and otherwise aware of his/her rights, should shy away or feel guilty of their sexuality. Trust me I have come across young people who are scared to come out. I think enough has been said and written about LGBT rights already and it's high time they start asserting their rights themselves. You can't seek respect from others unless you respect yourself and respecting yourself means being comfortable with your sexuality.

In this context it is worth mentioning the name Prince Manvendra Singh Gohil from whom young queer people in India should gain courage and confidence. Prince Manvendra set an excellent example by coming out with his homosexuality. Being part of the Royal family in Gujarat one can guess how difficult it must have been for him to come out. Although he initially tried to hide it for many years, he even got married like many Indian gay men do, today he admits he made a terrible mistake.

Things have not been easy for him, he was disowned by his parents and the royal name in 2006 when he came out, but now he is reunited with them and is loved and respected by all. Taking lessons from his own life he is now engaged in a lot of social activity for sexual minorities.

Prince Manvendra is also going to make the nation proud by being one of the three opening speakers at the forthcoming EuroPride 2008 in Stockholm.

Jonah Nylund, president of Stockholm Pride said, "We have chosen Manvendra Singh Gohil because he can give EuroPride visitors an image of the situation for LGBT people in other parts of the world." (Source:Pink News)

Responsibility also lies with the mainstream media today to provide more respectable visibility to queer people. Such achievement by Prince Manvendra must be reported as a national achievement thus giving confidence to the queer citizen of the country.

Last time another such person made queer activists in India proud was Zoltan Parag by participating in the Mr. Gay International contest. This news should have got enough coverage in the mainstream media but it is politically too weak to call a spade a spade. That said, I find it surprising that Parag is concerned that the media has exposed him too much.

"Indian media has exposed me so much that now when I call my friends back home, their parents do not let them talk to me," Parag said. (Source: Hindustan Times)

My question is, why should he be bothered about how is he looked upon by the "hetero-normative" parents of his friends? No one says it is going to be easy, but you'd have to face it and fight it now instead of being scared.

It's a popular rumour in Bollywood that Mr. Karan Johar is gay. His films also happen to have, very nicely, placed gay people into the mainstream without ridiculing them. Now if he himself is indeed gay I think he should just come out with it. I personally have a lot of respect for him and I really hope he is honest about his sexuality.

The taboos, illusions and ridicule about homosexuality will only end when famous and popular faces declare themselves as queers. There still has been some progress with gay men, but there isn't a single lesbian celebrity in the country. Rumour has it that Rekha might be a lesbian. If she is she should assert it.

Tehelka here has put in a list of cases where doctors try to cure homosexuality by shock therapy. Such disgusting ideas have to come to an end and, again, it wil only happen when more queer people speak out.

Some people are also scared to come out because of a common fear in India about homosexuality being illegal. As unconstitutional and unjust as this law is, one still needs to understand homosexuality per se is NOT illegal according to this law. An act of 'carnal intercourse against the order of nature' is illegal. By this definition anal intercourse even between a heterosexual man and woman would be illegal. The police of the country have, since it's inception only harassed gay couples and male sex workers using this law. But fear shouldn't come in the way of asserting human rights.

To sum up, I'd quote what senior lawyer Anand Grover, of the Lawyers Collective HIV/AIDS unit, said while addressing the issue of unsuspecting gay men / tourists being mugged and blackmailed:

"Blackmailers succeed simply because these gay men are too closeted to fight back. It’s this desire for secrecy and fear of being ousted that leaves gays open to grave security risks. The answer is to be more open as you can’t be arrested on the basis of your sexual orientation. Beyond that, there’s little refuge in law unless (IPC) Section 377 is amended."

Love And All That Jazz

Deepa Krishnan — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 10:25:41 EDT

I was checking my email when I saw this advertisement for a matrimonial services website.

Is it just me, or does anyone else see the irony of an arranged marriage advertisement that promises love?

Perhaps there is a blinding moment of romantic love somewhere during the lengthy process of arranging a marriage? Does love come suddenly tiptoeing in, as families check whether the horoscopes match, whether the bride is fair enough, and the groom wealthy enough?

Or maybe love comes later. On the wedding night, perhaps? Maybe there is a very Indian sort of love then; a heady cocktail of flower-strewn beds and dutiful sex, of virginal fumbling and earnest baby-making?

Or does it come still later, as the husband and wife settle into familiar traditions and festivals, and find their place in the larger family? Perhaps when he comes home from work bringing flowers for her hair, their relationship morphs into a real tenderness? Is it then that love develops?

If you ask me, I think the truth is that a very different sort of love develops in Indian marriages - and it is the arrival of a baby that brings it on. It seems to me that many couples put romantic love on the back-burner as they find a fiercer, deeper parental love that all but consumes them. The legendary Indian attachment to children burns brighter than anything else, and provides life-long sustenance to the marriage, replacing notions of romantic and sexual love.

Maybe this sort of marriage is really what humans need - a stable, no-nonsense system that creates companionable partnerships, so that we can get on with the real business of making and raising children, and populating the gene pool with little copies of ourselves.

Maybe the ancients got it right a long time ago. Why fret and fume over male-female relationships, when really, it’s all about babies? I am too much a product of Western thinking to be happy with a partnership geared towards childrearing. But Darwin would have approved, I think!

A Letter To My Boss

DeepakMaini — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 00:19:22 EDT

Bob:

I’m writing this to tell you that you won’t find me in the office, today. I’m working from home, just as Lene did yesterday and Kel did the day before, and, yes, you did the whole last week. I haven’t come up with the reason for not coming to the office yet, because unlike Lene’s reasons, my car hasn’t broken down again, in the middle of nowhere, not far from the office, and I haven’t married recently, or unlike yours, I’m not going to the dentist for the two millionth time.

I was thinking of using Kel’s reason of having every phone, every computer, and every Blackberry in my apartment out of juice, so that I could call you instead of writing this and inform you that the phones at my apartment aren’t working. But then I thought otherwise, having not found any relationship between driving one’s car to work and Tesla and Edison not doing their jobs.

I thought maybe I could argue high-gas prices as a reason, just as Kel sometimes uses to go back home early with her husband in the same car, but then I don’t live far from the office (I never told you that…aahaa…wink…wink…I can maybe use it at a later time), so I dropped it.

Yesterday, I drank a complete, 750 ml bottle of the most expensive ten-dollar scotch, without thinking about the Indian rice and chicken I had bought for twelve bucks. I‘ve a puke-inducing hangover now, as a result, and I thought about using it as a reason for not coming, but Greg came in with a similar condition to the office yesterday, and I don’t want to piss him off by not coming to the office drunk. He mustn’t feel left out. It has to be some other reason.

I don’t have three kids—oldest being 12—as Kel has, so I can’t even use that for a reason, because kids help in focusing, I know. And moreover having kids help you learn what they do, all day long, over and over again, and what they are good at and what they aren’t, and who’s the momma boy and who is not, and things that you can use for not coming to the office, simply because you don’t want to fall behind on knowing their patterns. You have to have some stories to tell at work, too, so there.

I don’t even have a wife to take care of, and there is no way I can find one just for today. She could have cooked meals for me as I would have worked from home. She could have even sat in my lap and typed reminder emails to people who don’t respond unless I’ve written to them as many times as you have visited the dentist.

How about my visiting the doctor? I haven’t visited the doctor in a long while, and I feel bad about it. I can make up a reason, just as I did for not coming to the office, and surprise him, even take some red, purple, yellow helium balloons with me. I’ve even forgotten the name of the receptionist, how bad of me. So what do you think I should tell him is broken in my body? Arms? Legs? Nuts? Not brain, because then you will fire me, I know. I remember it feels good to drive to the hospital, pay a fiver for parking in the melting sun, and fill out those disclaimer forms, just to say ‘hi’ to the doctor and his aides.

I feel that sometimes I should be allowed not to come to the office without any reason. Coming up with reasons is harder than doing the job, so if you do the cost benefit analysis, you will know what I’m talking about. Otherwise, we can schedule a conference call and discuss over a period of many long hours the pros and cons of this method of not showing up at work.

Just a passing note, not to keep you in dark, I feel that before writing this I was stuck in a house burning to ashes and nobody was coming to my rescue, even though I had been screaming for help by writing reminder and status emails to everyone, but just as I’m finishing to write this, I feel that I’ve walked out of the burning house, all by myself, on my feet, like a hero, you know. I want you to feel like a hero too, so don’t come to the office again tomorrow and write me a letter.

Your subordinate,
Dee