Nayi zindagi, naye andaz

3-4 weeks ago I was finishing my days completely exhausted, whether or not I'd done the awful cross-Delhi commute. Impulsively (and it's slightly embarassing to admit to these impulses) I picked up a book called New Feminine Brain with a lot of hogwash about "gender brain" but a very useful detailing of mineral and herbal supplements whose addition to/absence in your diet affects you physically and emotionally.

Now for me supplements and multivitamins have been something my parents religiously pop into their mouths. I had also been warned by an aunt that if I take supplements "at this young age", I'd need that much more of them when I grow older.

I had been postponing visiting a doctor, trying to convince myself the fatigue was not serious enough, it would go away. Then I happened to discuss it with four vivacious women colleagues and, most marvellously, each of them was an expert - to some extent or the other - on nutritional supplements.

So I self-medicated. If you're reading this and plotting the next step, please do what I say, not what I do - go see a physician!

I'm right now on Chyavanprash, Vitamin B Complex, Calcium and Iron (whew!). I'm drinking milk and eating fruits regularly, and trying to overcome my habituated disaffection with exercise. And I'm feeling so much better. So much more able to do the day! Also - and I agree with Dr. Mona Lisa Schulz here - that matters on the "personal front" are pleasanter than they were then, during my days of severe back ache and limb-dragging exhaustion - is also gratifying.

Sadly, it looks like these supplements are with me for life. The toll urban living, unmindful living takes on you.

Labels matter

The 10th International Women and Health Meeting (IWHM) is going on in Delhi. On Thursday evening, I went for a stunning performance by a Malaysian troupe of transsexual persons called "Prima Donna". Several of my friends had seen them perform at the 2004 WSF at Mumbai and had come back raving, so I had to catch them this time.

I invited the friend I was supposed to have met that evening to come with me. She said she didn't want to see transvestites perform. I indignantly pointed out they were transsexuals, not transvestites, but it was all the same to her.

It is difficult to see the big deal about the varieties of social and biological genders if you don't have access to this information. Diane Wilson's site and sexuality.org explain the various terms quite nicely. In short, a transsexual "wants to change his or her physiological gender, and to live permanently in the new gender role", while transvestites are crossdressers.

As it turns out, the Prima Donna troupe included transsexuals as well as cross-dressers. And so awesome they were.

practice

The Milk in its cream-red carton and the two Curds in their cups live in the door shelves of the refrigerator. They’re often visited by an assortment of Juices on weekends, and a bottle of Tahini is an honorary resident at the moment. The bottles of Water camp here every once in a while, ostensibly to keep a watch on the oft-dissenting occupants, but they far outnumber the residents and end up intensifying the strife.

Space, you see, is the main problem in the door shelves. And the army of Bottles does not seem to realize that.

(prompted by Writers Digest)

morality, morality

"...sexuality that is "good", "normal" and "natural" should ideally be heterosexual, marital, monogamous, reproductive, and non-commercial. It should be coupled, relational, within the same generation, and occur at home. It should not involve pornography, fetish objects, sex toys of any sort, or roles other than male and female."

"Any sex that violates these rules is "bad", "abnormal", or "unnatural". Bad sex may be homosexual, unmarried, promiscuous, non-procreative, or commercial. It may be masturbatory or take place at orgies, may be casual, may cross generational lines, and may take place in "public", or at least in the bushes or in the baths. It may involve the use of pornography, fetish objects, sex toys, or unusual roles."

- Gayle Rubin, in Thinking Sex: Notes for a Radical Theory of the Politics of Sexuality

Once I'd known this by heart. The other day, at a Voices Against 377 meeting, I was struck afresh by how each of these norms of acceptable sexuality are bundled together.

Getting married? Very good, very good.
Sex for money? Very bad, very bad.

It's hard work

The thing about political choices is they present themselves every step of your life. There's no permission to let up or retire; you have to keep negotiating them through life.

Because you're not, after all, the only star in your universe. You can't make your choices in abstract or in a void - say "I'm A, B and C" and believe it to suffice forever. Each choice is to be made within a context, with a set of external factors to contend with - social norms/prejudices, families, work.

Sometimes the battle seems almost not worth it because you yourself don't know what's at stake; what would happen if you surrender. Only a vague reluctance to fit into the system.

Afternoon

Cats drunk with sleep stumbling in the house.

Is Harry Potter Still a Nice Jewish Boy?

Found some really funny Potter links on the Guardian. Read what happened at Accio!, the Potter convention,The Half Blood Prince digested, and, the best of all, alternative accounts of Dumbledore's death. My favorites are in the style of Helen Fielding, Sappho, Alexander McCall Smith and Roald Dahl's BFG (by Lousie Emma Rouse, 9!) - but I have to admit, I've yet gone through less than half the page.

This is the North East

Returned from a four-day trip to Guwahati. The TRI Continental Film Festival was traveling to the North East.

***
(Over whisky and rum)
Me: I have this confusion. Should I, shouldn't I talk of the "North east"?
B: It is a rather meaningless term. There is so much strife and ignorance in this region.
B proceeds to give me a thrifty overview of these problems. She is part of the North East Network.

***
Another evening. I've run into N, a friend of a friend, at the film festival, and she invites me to hang out with her and a few friends. We're at L's house, and L's bar is also stocked with rum and whisky. I'm not keen to repeat the rum-with-water experience and we go down to get some beer.

N tells me she couldn't stand watered rum or whisky either, but then she returned to Assam after a decade and her cousins said: What kind of a tribal are you? You need to sweeten your drink before drinking it? Finally, a few weeks back, when as usual there was nothing on offer except whisky, her resistance wore off and she now guzzles it as well as a veteran.

***
I was supposed to have gone to Shillong for screenings on the 5th. The program got postponed. The Khasi Students' Union had agitated about something or the other and the govt. declared a six o'clock curfew. I was told people would be scared to come for a festival even during the afternoon.

***
There has been an economic blockade in Manipur since June 19. Over 50 days now. Imagine the shortages people had to face: food, medicines, all essential goods and commodities.

The IAF finally airlifted supplies on the 6th of August. I had no knowledge about it till the 4th when B told me about it. I might have missed it in our Dilli newspapers - I checked with the lover, a more consistent reader of news; he hadn't seen it either.

The Guwahati newspapers were carrying each development on the front page. The national media seems to have picked the story up now, after the Centre's involvement.

To be continued...

chacun a son gout

So I've finally read the sixth Harry Potter. In less than 24 hours, exactly like everyone else. Potterphilia made it so easy to give up daily life for a day.

And it was a good read. Rowling seemed to lapse in a few places, but the fan in me wasn't disappointed. Perhaps, says the lover, we're more undiscriminating than most!

Neat Categories

I met two army officers on a train traveling from Ranchi to Delhi. Our journey started at five-ish, and by dinnertime we were arguing about non-government organizations, the ambiguity of human rights violations, democracy vs. military rule, freedom to choose vs. fundamental national values. It was strange to be a part of such a textbook debate, to know that this is precisely the dialectic you've been told to expect when you meet an army guy.

Night before yesterday, met another textbook case: a casual migrant with a bit of land in Shahadara, which he leaves every once in a while to pull the rickshaw, knowing that all this can ensure him is bare survival. With talk that veers involuntarily to his children and eyes that grow wistful at this remembrance.

We inhabit stereotypes. But it is painful when there's nothing of an individual that leaves a tiny escape route from categories. Lets them sprawl a bit, be something they're not expected to be, say something they're not expected to say. Military discipline or the harshness of want. Or social norms. Or familial obligations. Or peer pressure.

Do we have it in us to resist, resist?

Reflections after transcribing

Was transcribing a half hour interview yesterday - another first, this transcription work. Completely backbreaking, and took me around 3 hours, with a break in between.

I realized your attention just dies out on you after you've listened to and typed out a certain number of words (1-1/2 pages in my case). And then you have to force your ears to listen, you mind to interpret what you hear, and your fingers to type.

I realized that though I type fast, I mostly end up using my forefingers - making me feel like a toy train running on tracks meant for an electric engine.

I realized that after a point each sentence begins to resonate of exquisite craft, each meaning acquires depth, and each sound-pattern becomes as intimate in your ears as your mother's voice.

I realized I don't want to transcribe again.

In Delhi, babe. Or, To be whole again

I tried to be a Delhi chick today. Hanging out with friends at the Priya Complex for the first time ever.

What a wondrous experience it was. I was so surprised to be asked, and not just once: "Where is your boy?" I've become so used to my "world" where it is almost... declassé to ask about the whereabouts of the boyfriend when you don't know anything about him or the nuts and bolts of the relationship, and thereby suggest women need boyfriends to hang out with.

Most of the other girls there (oh, I don't mean to go on like this - I really liked these girls - so self-assured and vivacious and young - each at least two years younger to me - but this was so bothering) were either with boyfriends or the boyfriends were coming later.

I suppose I'd be singing a different tune if I was not going steady. I don't know. But what is this emptiness we're culturally baggaged with? Why are we taught to hanker after the boys not there? (And this makes me pause, reflect, realize I do the same: hanker after the boy not there. Uh-oh.)

The Cats

There has to be at least one post with their photos, to introduce them.

The goodhearted bignatured grey sage, Frodo, and the indomitable twinkling orange star, Toft.

In Continuation: A Love Affair with Words

I'm still not used to saying "I write" when asked about what I do (particularly when you're travelling, as I've been doing, this is a question you often get asked). I located my discomfort in how slowly my writing seems to be going (this is no excuse, but we adopted two delightful kittens three weeks ago - I let them claim an unnecessary share of my time) - once I become more industrious, I thought, I'd be able to say the words easily.

Then I heard a friend, a published writer of some repute, introduce himself as an "editor of the magazine XYZ". Was this modesty? - and if so why? Or diffidence about being in the writerly profession: more dubious and unprofessionlike than most others?

Another friend in another conversation felt a published body of work is what entitles you to call yourself a "writer". I was slightly disappointed - hey, I may not be published, I may not be writing every day, even (at least those cauldron-words of the soul), but this is the identity I'm most at home with: a writer!

Yes, A. - I know I really need to gather my creative energies with much more urgency.

The Cooler is Bought

Before...

the heat lying low
just below the chiks
ready to rise and pounce
on me

its tang
of terror reaching my cheek

The Morning After...

last night
the cooler so delicious
i couldn't thank it enough
thank my fortune
enough

Of Egos and Dial-ups

Reached Ranchi today (yes, my feet do seem to have pahiye attached) and am coping with a reliably infuriating dial-up connection.

Meanwhile, here's me measuring Paheli's Bollywood Pulse at EGO.

Beyond Imagine

Attended a chilled out recording of Money Mantra on June 7, where Mallika Dutt on behalf of Breakthrough and Anjali Gopalan from the NAZ Foundation were discussing funding for HIV/AIDS programs in India. The NDTV people had also invited a few august troublemakers from AIIMS to be in the audience, who initiated several insightful debates such as how India, as a truly great country, should not need HIV prevention programs: its sprightly, courageous, Swadesi youth can more than handle the tweensy infection on their own. How TB's track record as a killer is more proven and why don't organizations such as ours campaign against TB. How much of the world population is infected with AIIMS [sic].

Well, after the recording was over, Dr. Kapil Yadav from this venerable band gave me his visiting card, which had this, um, song, at the back:

"Imagine all the people living life in good health you may say Im a dreamer, but I am not the only one. I hope some day You'll join us and the world will live as one."

John Lennon
&
Kapil Yadav

Meantime

• Metamorphose into a part-time jobholder.
• Write your first ghazal.
• Attend your first writers' group meet.
• Take your first creative writing (sort of) class.
• Begin your first radio play.
• Have several fights with lover.
• Get engaged.
• Buy new cushions and cushion-covers and cheer up the living room.
• Survive Delhi heat by sprinkling liberal doses of water on the floor, mattress, clothes, skin.

That's not too bad post-a marvellous-holiday, is it?

Escape. Delhi. Heat.

Bliss. Cool. Hills.

Yes, I leave for a holiday today and am too worked up to post anything other than, foxily, a note I wrote on the Reader List when gmail first came on the scene:

Agent Gmail

Gmail invites are a bit like Agent Smith, na? Much as you try to eliminate them, hardier varieties spring up.

And what a clever dispersal strategy. Who can humanly resist the exclusivity of an “invitation”? You have to beg/borrow/steal for one, and pass it on, and accept if you get one.

Soon, then, one can foresee a tyrannous reign of gmail accounts – each one spawning a dozen more – and internet human-users helplessly, recklessly opening more and more gmail accounts, sending out more and more SOS invitations, just to keep their inboxes looking non-messy and invite-free…

Giving Ideas to Copy-leftist Inventors

Books inspire in me a predatory impulse. I crave to usurp them all, to add them to my library, to have them at my beck and call.

In reality, I can xerox only so many books. I can buy only so many shelves. I can’t imagine reading for pleasure on the screen. The thought of reading an e-book makes me quiver with panic.

So, to plant an idea in bravehearts out there who, like me, care for books, feel wolfish about them, and have more tech savoir faire than me:

The world needs a device to zap a book into a chip, and chips back into real books. With a straight spine, pages that can be stroked and patted and thumbed, the smell of words aging better than wine, a shape you can walking, hold comfortingly close to your bosom.

If someone could master this technology, just imagine: I could have thousands of book-chips packed away in a suitcase, all zappable into books whenever I wish to dip into them. Imagine the marketing possibilities!

A device like this could also be part of the government’s literacy drive: in a city like Bombay, where every inch of space goes a long way, the government could in good faith exhort residents to buy and read more books.

Interested, anyone? In funding the research, or becoming a part of the research team, or showing solidarity? Write me.