Holier than cow hypocrisy

Indiavision.com

This was breaking news with a difference. Caught live on camera were Karnataka’s honourable ministers indulging in a not so honourable deed. While the rest of the Vidhana Soudha was busy debating mundane issues such as drought, three ministers were busy tackling erection issues. So engrossed were these gentlemen in watching naked women on their tiny mobile screen that they were blissfully unaware of the television cameras zooming on them from behind.

Not porn silly! It was a performance review and they were simply trying to rise to the occasion!

Reminds me of the backbencher attitude typically seen in school kids. While the teacher is breaking into a sweat trying to explain how x must equal y, the boys at the back are busy drawing the class hottie’s bra strap in their note book.

But these are adults and not hormonal adolescents. And not just any male adults, but elected representatives, who were given a portfolio so that they could serve the very electorate that voted for them. Whether watching porn is right or wrong is another matter all together. If google search statistics are anything to go by, it’s a national pastime. This is what happens when people grow up watching filmy flowers kiss and parents who insist that no bodily function contributed to their birth. Curiosity didn’t kill the cat; it gave birth to an industry called porn.

The issue here is not some ministers indulging in juvenile behaviour. It is about political hypocrisy of the perennially pious. I understand that private lives of politicians is entirely their business but not if it contradicts their moral hectoring in public. It is the same CC Patil who just a month back was acting as the high priest of the moral brigade, loftily giving advice to women to cover up to escape sexual assault on streets. What a convenient way of absolving men of any responsibility for their libidinous nature! Mind you, this is a minister who handles the women and child welfare portfolio. Somebody tell him please, that there is no connection, never has been and never will be, between rape and what a woman wears. Sir, don’t try to fault our “skimpy” clothes when the trouble lies with the filth you carry in your mind. And how well you illustrated it - drooling over nude images and violating the sanctity of the assembly. S howing utter contempt for decorum and people who brought you to power.

What made it worse was the lack of remorse and the clumsy lies these men cooked up to defend themselves. As if watching rape footage makes them less sleazy! Thick skinned liars and they have the gall to issue diktats on moral behaviour. If Ram Sene can display uncharacteristic zeal in thrashing youngsters indulging in PDA, why can’t they beat up these cads for disrespecting the legislative assembly?

Hum karein to salaa character dheela hai?

What’s ironic is that these gents belong to a party that loves flaunting it’s holier than cow attitude. BJP – that has spent a lifetime as a party-in-waiting, boasts of a geriatric high command that specializes in high octane protests and walk outs and doesn’t waste an opportunity to demand resignations on moral high grounds.

So immersed is the party in its single minded pursuit for power that it is blissfully ignorant of the asses it’s breeding in its own party. And when they get exposed, look how they jump to their defence. Karnataka CM Gowda tried to dismiss it as yet another conspiracy by the Opposition and felt his three idiots had no reason to feel sorry!” According BJP leader Parrikar “They (the three Karnataka ministers) were only watching and not doing it in action". God forbid! If we are subjected to the torture of watching a live telecast, the entire nation will be walking around with a haunted look in their eyes.

BJP is not exactly known for being amenable to reason. They are illiberal and intolerant, prone to violence; and they would not mind manufacturing communal disharmony, which includes riots, when it suits them. All this in the name of protecting Indian culture and heritage. But it comes to dealing with its rogue ministers like Yeddyurappa or Maderna, it lacks courage and conviction. Politics wins, principles can go for a toss.

Ironically such hypocrisy is across the political spectrum and not just the prerogative of the Congress or BJP. Time and again we vent frustration at the intolerance our leaders breed to freedom of expression. Sadly these antiquated views stem from the desire to endear themselves to certain sections of the society rather than a personal conviction. Go ahead and play to the gallery but not at our expense! As citizens of a free country, shouldn’t we be free to decide what we want to read and watch! Why can’t we express what we feel, without the fear of censorship? Why this constant moral policing by double faced politicians who condemn a rave party in public and derive perverse pleasure in watching its clips in private?

Isn’t it time we asked you to just shut up and prove your usefulness to the country?

No Country for Young Girls

mrpshow.deviantart.com 

I am a resident of the rape capital of a country that has been recently certified by a UN report as the deadliest place in the world for the girl child. Am I surprised? No, but I’m definitely ashamed to be part of a nation that kills, abandons, rapes and sells its girls. A Devi worshipping society that murders its female foetuses before they are born. The birth of a daughter is not celebrated but bemoaned. Small towns boast of clinics that offer “ultrasound” services. Badhai ho says the lab technician while he pats the father’s back and informs it’s a boy.

Thanks to sex determination, fewer girls are born, if they are born they do not survive, if they survive, a far from rosy future awaits them. The sex ratio is heading south and things have come to such a stage that in certain parts of the country, prospective grooms are forced to buy a bride. And do you know what happens when a bride is bought? She is treated no better than a slave.

In Punjab and Haryana, there are only 830 girls per thousand boys. Other states are faring no better. No wonder sex crimes are on the rise. Logic will dictate that since girls are fewer, they will be valued. On the contrary, it encourages abuse. Girls often get abducted, drugged, beaten and forced into sex trade.

I know what you are thinking. Why is she painting such a grim picture? Such things don’t happen to our girls! We pamper our daughters, we treat our mothers with respect. It’s a malady restricted to the lower echelons of the society. Yet, educated women get harassed for dowry and are driven to suicide. They might have to face a sexist boss at work or fend off an amorous colleague. A young college girl was shot dead by her stalker. A woman was chopped into pieces by her suspicious husband. A daughter was brutally killed by her family for the sake of honour. Her mother didn’t shed a single tear.

Incidents of rape have increased by a staggering 792% (yes you read it right) over the last 40 years. Ironically the conviction rate in rape and molestation is a dismal 27%. Men know they will get away with it. They can always point fingers at her and say – she asked for it.

I have countless memories of getting brushed inappropriately, of a seemingly harmless pat that lingered too long, of men stalking me. Young girls are the easiest target – they are unable to comprehend and mostly too scared to react. As a young girl it baffled me, now it fills me with fury. Was I asking for it?
 

I agree on certain fronts, women have never had it better – they are leading successful companies, heading governments, defying conventions, going where no woman has gone before. ICICI’s Chanda Kochhar became the first woman to get the ET Biz leader award. Mamata Banerjee overthrew the CPI(M) after 34 years of misrule. The country’s PM reports to a woman.

I have a theory here, most men have a problem handling assertive women. They do not know whether they should treat her with awe or contempt. If she says what she thinks, she’s a bitch. If she has guy friends, she’s a slut. If she wears makeup she’s fake, if she doesn’t she is a behenjee. It’s like one cannot do anything without being labelled.

The more she tries to move forward, the more she’s pulled back. You had no business being out so late at night. You were drunk, what were you thinking! How dare you spurn my advance! You need to be taught a lesson.

I know many of you will dismiss it as yet another feminist rant. But remember, next time it could be someone you love. No one is safe. Families, who don’t think twice before snuffing life out of their baby girls, remember there will come a time when there will be no women left for your darling boy. Will you also buy a bride?

I have been seething with rage ever since I read about the battered baby Falak fighting for her life at AIIMS trauma centre. The two year old baby girl was admitted with severe bruises on her body, broken arms, head injuries and bite marks on her body. The perpetrator of this crime, a 14 year old girl forced into sex trade. The child is fighting for her life but you know what! I don’t want her to live. Falak will grow up in a country where even an 80 year old destitute woman gets digitally raped by a 19 year old boy. A boy young enough to be her grandson.
Minds are getting dirtier, crimes nastier. Perversion knows no limit. We need to stop letting our daughters believe they are the weaker sex. They should be able to defend themselves physically and not hesitate in reporting such instances. You are weak only if you think you are. You are a victim only if you suffer silently. We need sensitivity, intervention and engagement. If a crowd of ten witnesses a man trying to molest a woman, should they not intervene? What stops them from thrashing cads who think a woman is no more than an object. If you choose to be a mere spectator, you are guilty as well! Laws punishing sexual assault exist but we need stricter implementation. It’s not just a physical assault, its mental trauma and loss of faith. Such cases should be dealt with sensitivity and not sympathy.
 

I know it sounds harsh but shouldn’t men who abuse babies and toddlers be sent behind bars for life! Or better still, they should be castrated! Isn't it time we started demanding zero tolerance!

Till then this is no country for women.

Source :-

http://articles.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/2012-02-01/edit-page/31012635_1_adoption-procedures-guardian-and-wards-act-ngos

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/India-deadliest-place-in-world-for-girl-child/articleshow/11707102.cms

http://www.economist.com/node/18530371

When my heart went vroom vroom

Cartoonstock.com

Like any another young girl, I used to find bikes and bikers incredibly hot. Not the paunchy, uncle type but the dude in unwashed jeans who zig zagged past your dad’s car. With a messenger bag slung carelessly across his chest, his muscled forearm expertly revving up his mean machine – didn’t you all follow him with puppy dog eyes, steadfastly ignoring the kid brother smirking on the seat next to yours! The hot one invariably had a cool femme clutching to him for dear life, her tresses flying silkily behind her. How many times have we tried to catch his eye as he waited impatiently at the red light crossing! I did it all the time.

Girls love fantasizing about bad boys. It’s another matter that they prefer settling down with the enfant terrible’s nerdy brother. Risk is hardly conducive to a happily ever after.

We did have a neighbour who fancied himself as a biker dude. Actually he wasn’t exactly a neighbour but G Aunty’s lover. G Aunty a loud, over dressed woman who fancied herself as Rekha’s local avatar, loved throwing parties. Not the regular parties but the type that had lots of gana, bajanaa and uncles ogling at girls shaking their booty to – jab chhaaye mera jaado koi bachh naa paye...Haaai.

Every time I walked back from the bus stop, he would be squatting and giving his machine a vigorous polish. But he was stocky, balding, kind of ugly, very-very old and sartorially challenged. When you are fourteen anyone above twenty seems ancient. Munna Bhaisahab(his universally accepted nick) walked with a swagger and even had a wife. She hardly looked like the suffering, embittered spouse. I guess she was glad to get him off her back.

But I refused to let such unsavoury memories mar my dogged devotion to the biker clan.

When I finally got a chance to ride a motorbike I was terrified. Since the chap driving it was not a boyfriend, I couldn’t even cling to him for dear life. I must have looked quite a sight, sitting ramrod straight, looking petrified. My dying to be boyfriend in college would often try to lure me for a date with the promise of a bike ride. But my brother used to call me Mother Teresa and I tried my best to live up to the title bequeathed upon me.

I did date a biker chap briefly. In fact he was my long time crush. When he finally deigned to look at me, I collapsed like a pack of stacked cards. I often hear boys complain about girls or rather the lack of them. In my opinion most of them don’t even know how to treat a girl right. Imagine sitting in a restaurant with your “Greek god”, all you can notice is the coy looks directed at him from left, centre and right - yet he has eyes for no one but you?

My Greek God now looks like a worn out gent and I can’t stop thanking my lucking stars for not having ended up with him. Getting together is easy when you have moved apart.

God always rewards good girls and look what he had in store for me - a man who was an answer to all my prayers. And what’s more he HAD A BIKE and muscled forearms! Since we were to get married in six months and I was desperate to make the most of our courtship. Unfortunately my parents’ idea of a rendezvous with my fiancé was rather unusual. The entire family would frolic together at the Baha’i temple/Mughal Gardens/some other random park. So it became my responsibility to engineer our dates. It was during this phase I discovered my innate talent for fiction. Sudden emergencies would crop up, I had to save my distressed friends, submit a form urgently and who else would come to my rescue but my Superman on his bike! And did we have fun whizzing all around the town. Me clinging to his warm back, almost throttling him with all my unspent passion... Laughing at his jokes including the unfunny ones and him keeping a straight face when I would turn up with my eyelids smudged with a violent shade of blue... At 22, my make-up sensibilities were rather awkward. What I lacked in skills, I would make up with myriad colours.
 

I was now married to a biker dude and I was on a high – is that what you think right? It’s only when I started co-habiting with one, did I realize I had a rival vying for my beloved’s attention. Every weekend he would spend inordinate hours grooming his bike. Admiring it from different angles, giving anguished cries when he discovered little scratches and when I would say it’s just a stupid bike – he would make me the unwilling recipient of his aggrieved looks. Boy! Did it make me mad! To make it worse, I couldn’t even scream at this inanimate object! So I silently put up with it and whined once in a while.

I whined louder every time I had to plonk myself on its backseat to commute. My short hair instead of swaying silkily would billow in perpendicular direction, a million acne would merrily erupt on my face and my nose would be assaulted by the traffic smells. By the time I got off from my high horse, I would be looking like a war ravaged victim from far off Bosnia. Soon I adopted an all new look to save my face – a scarf covering everything visible above my neck, an oversized shade resting on my nose bridge, a wind cheater to protect the rest of me. Why! I even had a cute pair of gloves to wear in the evenings. I was now looking like a commando out to bomb Bosnia.

As newly married we would often get invited to dinner engagements and parties. God forbid if the host decided to see us off. He had put up with agony of seeing us layering up painfully. Just as he was about to say Achha Betaa bye, out came another jacket, cap or scarf! Just like another rabbit from the magician’s hat.

My ride was no longer thrilling, it was a pain. It was either too hot, too cold, too wet for a motor bike. On long trips I would bury my face behind his back and wait for my ordeal to come to an end. My romance with the bike had come to an abrupt end. Just eight months into our marriage and I made him buy a car.

Our biking travails are now part of folklore – little nuggets we sometimes share over a cup of tea.

The other day as I was waiting at the traffic junction, I spotted a dude on his bike – scruffy, almost handsome, his bag slug carelessly; he was tapping his foot impatiently. And I giggled like a school girl, a little self consciously. But when he took off like a maniac, zipping through lanes I crinkled my nose in disdain. Show off, I muttered under my breath.

The woman took over the young girl in me and I sighed wistfully!

Life etc.

Courtesy : Wisie.com

Compassion and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember.  I was all of four when I tried to save half a dozen fish from drowning.  As I was engaged in the earnest endeavour, dragging them out of the school water tank with a stick, I fell in the pool of freezing water.  I was trying my best to drown when an insensitive lout of a school peon pulled me out.  Instead of being nominated for bravery awards and made to sit atop an elephant on Republic Day, I was taken to the Principal’s office.

Let me announce at the onset that this is a pointless post.  In fact I don’t even know what I am going to write about.  Aren’t there times when you venture out for a walk and have no idea where you are heading?  You just know you want to be outside, so you inhale the scent of the Hasnuhana trees, admire the striking couple that passes you by, pat the Labrador as it looks at you with those lugubrious eyes.  You don’t have to keep a tab on the kilometres you walk, no calories to burn, no destination to reach.  Aimlessness can be liberating - it frees you from expectations and you have no disappointments to fear.  I wish life could be like that.

Today I will let my thoughts meander.  I have no news to share, no point to make, I may not make you laugh, but I still invite you to join me on this journey.  It’s no fun being on your own. 

Nostalgia is a seductive mistress.  How often have we huddled together with friends and family and dipped into the vat of collective memories for some succour.  We laugh ourselves silly, sometimes blame each other for unspoken torment and invariably end up confessing our so called misdemeanours.  Like the time when my Dadu banned me from reading the Godfather and I still went ahead and read it. At thirteen when I tried shaping my eyebrows, I ended up snipping away half of it. For weeks I faced the world looking like Spock from Star Trek.  Every time Ma said No to me, I went ahead and did it.  They were my small victories and I cherished each one of them. 

I was always restless, I still am.  My daughter tells me she gets tired just looking at me.  I can’t sit still, I can rarely relax and always need something to keep me occupied.  I work myself to exhaustion and crib about it.  Is it because I am scared to face the eternal ‘what next’?  Is it because I have no clue what it’s going to be?  Of course I know what I will be eating for lunch and dinner for the next seven days – that’s how organized I am.  But I do wish that I could let go.  Surrender myself and let time take me wherever it wants to. Not be consumed with a sense of guilt about wasting it.

Singapore on your plate

It’s not every day that you get a call from a blogger friend asking if you’d like to accompany him to a Singapore themed culinary fest at ITC Maurya,New Delhi.  And when he does, you drop all your plans (even that lunch date with your school buddies), like a hot potato and say yes-yes-yes. 

The Travelling Pop-out Kitchen

Singapore-Takeout, a one of a kind concept is a travelling pop out kitchen with more visa stamps on its passport that you and I can manage in a lifetime.  This multi-city, international culinary show organized by Singapore Tourism brings the country’s famed diverse cuisine to your doorstep.   Even though it’s been over three years since my last visit to the island country, my taste buds still tingle with the memory of Chilli crabs at Jumbo, the pungent Nyonya curries, spicy Laksa, Hainanese chicken rice and baskets of dimsums we sampled at the many restaurants and Hawker centres.  The lion city is a cornucopia of flavours with Malay, Chinese, Indian and Perankan influences and leaves you spoilt for choice. 

Hun Kwee Jagong- coconut corn jelly. 

Secret Cow Facts

All that you wanted to know but didn't know who to ask.

istockphoto.com

India can save the world or so the scientists at Bee Jay Pee Research laboratories would have us believe.  They have stumbled upon a breakthrough that will fetch them a tsunami of accolades.  China will feel like a cretin, CERN will turn a beetroot red and Pakistan will sulk and go green.  Finally India will be every neighbour’s envy.  Speculations are rife that the research team is now a strong contender for the Nobel Prize.  Not just one, but all categories.  Like a true blockbuster it is strongly backed by fiction, has sizzling chemistry and can usher in world peace.   This hitherto unknown headquarter of the geniuses which is on a headline grabbing spree, is located in Tikamgarh, an unsung hamlet of a Middling State.  The scientist community is abuzz with excitement.  It’s not every day that a third class research centre manages to produce such first class results.  

Imagine coming up with a mother of magic potions that is an answer to all your miseries! And what’s commendable is that they did not even have to seek out Harry Potter’s help!   Liberal quantities of it can insulate you from nuclear radiations.  All you have to do is coat the walls of your house with this brown goo and voila you can say bye-bye to all your fears of apocalypse.  Its application can prevent C- section and ensure normal deliveries for women.  It is still not clear how and where it should be applied.  This magic potion found in abundance in India, can be picked straight off the roads and fresh samples can be procured from bovine behinds.  Yep...I am talking about the humble cow dung. 

Hold your Bullshit please, there’s more to come!

For all of you who find cow dung too icky, you can always turn to the cow next door for bovine comfort.

My Crystal Ball Predicts...

Courtesy blippitt.com

The road to Baga beach is almost empty. The taxi union after taking the pledge to go green has sold off their taxis and are now giving free piggy back rides. The shops selling genuine fakes have now turned into physiotherapy centres.  The shopkeepers spent a fortune buying their degrees from the neighbouring state.  As I walk towards Tito’s, I notice a huge crowd on the beach.  They have all assembled to hear Anu Jalota sing bhajans.  Jalota looked quite fetching in a bandhni lungi and Doc Martins, his six packs gleaming under the moonlight.  Nearby at Zanzibar, the world- famous- in- Goa shack, they are serving lauki juice.  Since it’s happy hour, one can get two glasses for the price of one.  Hey isn’t that Vijay Mallya glugging a tall one! 

Somewhere in Delhi, inside a well designed by Lutyens & Baker half a century back, Sushma Swaraj is giving an impassioned speech.  With his face resting on his palms, Kapil Sibal is listening to her with rapt attention and admiring her Patola sari.  Just as Ms Swaraj finishes her debate, Manu Singhvi starts applauding wildly shouting bravo-bravo.  Sushma blushes a beetroot red and does a silent adaab.

In Lucknow, Maya is giggling softly as she unwraps her Valentine’s gift from Rahul G.  It’s a cute jumbo with a heart sown on it.  She shyly puts a garland of currency notes around its neck. 

Mamata Di has finally learnt a new word – Yes.  It took 72 back-to-back episodes of Yes Minister to get it into her head.  

MMS – the silent sardar’s weekend soiree was a hit.  The ghazal renditions in his velvety baritone left the audience asking for more.  People afflicted with an acute case of hypermetropia could almost mistake him for Jagjit Singh(may his soul rest in peace).  The TV cameras were quick to capture a man swaying wildly at MMS’s feet.  Only when the gamchha came off, did the audience realize that it was none other than Kiran Bedi.  Kejriwal was thumping his tabla energetically, his shampooed hair bouncing with a life of its own.

Salman Rushdie was spotted cozying up to Tasleema Nasreen on the streets of Nice.  When the paparazzi started following them, Rushdie screamed #Shame at them before disappearing into the dark alleys. 

With Kiran and Kejriwal discovering their love for music and Manmohan, Anna now has to fend for himself with only the Bhushans for company.   The self-proclaimed Gandhian has now adopted a unique form of protest to bring the government to its knees.  He now eats non-stop till Pranab Da comes running to him, begging him to stop.  Shri Hazare will soon be enrolled for Jane Fonda’s aerobics for the elderly.

The National survey has thrown a few surprises with Mumbai emerging as the cleanest city, Delhi the safest and Bangalore with the least traffic.  And now that Chennai is the new fashion capital, all Fashion weeks will be held in Amma’s own country. 

Hollywood hotties, Ryan Gosling and Eve Mendes were spotted wearing monkey caps and Hermes lungis are a worldwide rage.