Now, look. I've been blogging for about over a year now, and everyone's been really kind. I swear I haven't got a single hatemail from any of you. I'm cleverly bypassing the fact that you don't find my e-mail anywhere on the blog, of course. But not even an IM telling me to go dump myself in the nearest ditch, or a threat to cut off my fingers so I may never verminate the sacred space that is the blogosphere. Can you believe that? Of course, there was this one anonymous commenter who took offence to what s/he called sexual innuendoes, and said I was trying to make people think I'm really hot [you guys know i'm 5 feet 2 inches and 63 kilos, right? I have 17 strands of visible grey on my head, and have lost count of the acne], and that if I didn't stop with all the sex talk - this was on a post titled "we're all doing eunuchs", I mean, we were, you know, for our Queer Studies term paper, we were researching the lives of hijras, more than one of us, I made that amply clear - then I would lose all my loved ones, and nobody would love me ever again, and I would die a lonely and proud maid. Something of the sort. We became friends after, I think, because s/he apologised and wrote about her/his love life, blessing me with a lifestyle superior to the one s/he had previously painted for me. Which made the sun shine anew.
Incidentally, if you're still around, anon, hullo there! You disappeared as swiftly as you had come! And when I say "come", I swear I mean the synonym for ''arrive''.
And now this. I've been informed today that talking about my uterus and relating on print a conversation [that actually happened] where the word 'labia' was mentioned, makes me sexually frustrated. This, by another friend, apparently concerned for my image. I mean, wuh? In a country where the best-selling sanitary napkin brand is called 'Whisper', and shopkeepers insist on wrapping the packs with newspaper so as to save from embarassment, presumably theirs because certainly not mine, I feel it is important to be able to joke about such things.
Dude. It's real, we have our periods. There's blood loss involved, and no, I'm not embarassed about it. When you're clutching at a hot water bottle, and can see your knuckles and every part of your body go white and cramp up with the pain, there's little else to do but be able to laugh about it.
While we're at it, here's a confession, o cultured indian male, who squirms on seeing the word labia being casually tossed about on a bharotiyo nari's blog, but has no qualms about renting videos to watch bharotiyo or other naris give blowjobs and have intercourse - I've got a t-shirt that has "i'm a vagina warrior" written on it in bold. Oh look, I used *that word*, and guess what, I've got a vagina too! So has your mother. And assuming all went well, you even came out of it. Astounding, huh? When I talk about body parts, or menstruation, it is NOT because I want to be cool, 'cuz hullo? menstrual pain is not cool, it is because it's high time that everyone realised and accepted these things as part of life. And that can happen only when we talk about it as casually as we would, uhm, cornflakes. Now there's going to be some unduly cerebral reader somewhere fabricating a sexual innuendo out of this. I just know there is.
I have no feminist agenda. Heck, I have no agenda of any sort whatsoever on this blog. I write because people keep asking me to update, this blog has for long been far removed from the more significant aspects of my life. I've never wanted to be taken seriously, and my posts have consistently been posts that one is not supposed to take to heart. It's a little alarming therefore, to learn that there are people who think deeply over my writing, and who take out time to draw their conclusions about my sex life from it. Tell me, how does describing an entirely true incident about the purchase and wear of jeans - by another individual, at that - indicate my sexual frustration? Go read that post. Come and tell me if you can make a mundane event like helping a friend button her jeans seem funny, and remain honest, without writing it the way I have. I'm not denying that I have a dirty sense of humour, but I don't see how that is anything to be ashamed of. I still have strangers come and tell me the blog makes them laugh. That's all I'm after, really. But no, OHMYGAWD, a quicksearch indicates SIX places where I've used the word 'SEX'!!!! What a devious, calculating pervert am I, really? Children, stay away. Close your eyes and get away from the pernicious presence of the Peep!!! Because no sex please, we're Indian.
I'm not saying all men do this, but I really want to know, what's it all about? When a woman is expected to behave in a certain manner, to talk about certain things in a certain fashion, and stay away from discussing things like sex [there, I said it again] and God forbid if she jokes about it! Of course, that's because she can't stop thinking about sex now, can she? Let's watch some girl-on-girl action while we discuss her problem, eh?
I've gone on about this long enough. If you think there won't be another post about my protruding belly, or my big behind, or even my bloated uterus, then you don't know me at all. Being able to talk and laugh about our problems, to make light of things that have a socially conditioned tag of taboo attached to them- it doesn't make me sexually frustrated. It shows that I am independent enough and educated enough to be able to discard such illogical tags, to be able to surpass irrational expectations of difference in behaviour between men and women. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe in creating a genderless society, there are reasons why men and women have been made differently, we do think and feel differently in a lot of ways - but that doesn't give any one sex the right to demand [or command] more liberality in thought and action than the other. I treat my friends not as male or female, but as friends. And so, when I interrupt a chat session with a male friend to tell him if I don't pee NOW I will wet my pants, it is not because I'm in dire need of a good lay. It is because if I don't pee NOW I will wet my pants.
Excuse me while I powder my nose.