Feminazi

The first time I heard the word Feminazi

It was just another American stereotype

In this new world of understanding gender equality

Which would soon become my survival guide.

But the first time I felt like a Feminazi

Was when I asked to include sexist statements like "Make me a sandwich"

In a college discussion about gender inequality

My eyes filled with excitement to contribute a point

Only to be met by genuinely fearful eyes

And an expression which said "I know people like you, you are looking to cut my dick off"

As though someone my size with a soft voice

Had suddenly turned into an unstable extremist

Just like saying the word "feminist"

Is sometimes like pulling the pin of a grenade

The overwhelming silence that follows is the one I live in fear of

Even though I know the explosion will never arrive.

Feminists themselves don't know what feminism means.

Said the loud girl, unafraid to speak, like I wish I had been

Because suddenly identifying as one

Became an examination. I had to learn

To memorize the dictionary definition of feminism. Reaffirm

Every single time that I believed in the equality of sexes

Not the superiority of one.

Unlike random so called feminazis whose words you dig out of the depths of Tumblr to invalidate mine.

Whose hashtags #men are pigs #men are dogs

Travel miles across and translate into a hashtag for me #Feminazi

And I feel its weight on my tongue every time I begin to speak

About feminism oh no wait simply gender equality.

Because let's face it, those 140 characters or less are seen only in context of their hashtag

And I am afraid of the one you put on me.

As every facebook comment and comments said to my face

Are like adding limbs to my Hangman

Till my I run out of letters to form my opinion

And the courage to say them.

I know that there are serious issues like foeticide and wage gaps that I cannot change

And pointing out sexist comments maybe seem like an insignificant unnecessary exchange

But when I said I was a feminist I did mean I was an activist

I am not going to pretend I'm changing the world

I'm just trying to change the way I see the world

When she said "Thank God you're not a Feminazi"

Deciding whether it was a compliment or not was not easy

Because it felt less like a welcome and more like a warning

To not cross a certain invisible boundary

Except I had no idea where this line was drawn

And my fear to cross it accidentally keeps me within bounds

Rather than test my understanding and go beyond

By talking to people about it without the fear of someone attacking

The word Feminazi

Surrounds me in an invisible fog of doubt and insecurity

About my own identity.

You see I thought feminism was a learning process

And I was the imperfect student

But you have turned my school into a battlefield

Leaving me to hold up my defenses against you

Rather than accept your words as insight too.

I am guilty of being an extremist in my vulnerable moments

But make up for it daily, moderating my words and actions

I am the girl who will mentally apologise for objectifying a guy before silently admiring his fine ass

Who will never be found staring blatantly at a pretty girl for fear of labeling herself as a pervert,

Who feels conflicted about which compartment or seat to sit in not knowing if it is deserved

Who is afraid her period cramps will be seen as an unfair excuse

And not just another reason to use

To feel a little lazy throughout the day

Who will force herself to face trauma and not stereotype every man on the road as a potential rapist

I have an entire list

Of defences and apologies and excuses

That stick to my opinions as disclaimers and prologues

So that you don't see me as a hypersensitive extremist

Because feminism,like someone wise said, is a dialogue

We see the world through different filters

But if we exchanged perspectives for a moment

Imagine how many more dimensions we could add to our understanding

Just like the many facets of a diamond

All working to hold and reflect the same white light

To shine our way through this dimly lit maze

Of social constructs and systems we still live in these days

That maybe we can together change.

Lolita

“In the middle of the night she came sobbing into mine,

and we made it up very gently. You see, she had

absolutely nowhere else to go.”

-Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

See her at the edge. Yellow glowing in her eyes

Lighting fires in evil mind.

See her walk away. The world not under her care.

Not under her skirt. Skin bare

Her legs carried her far away from home.

She was the mad woman. Proud in her insanity

She left. Calm. She read.

Trying to drown in the insanity of somewhere else.

Wait. She came home.

Sneaked in. Unwanted or not.

Blending into her shell.

She had stopped pretending she didn’t care.

She was the mad woman. She didn’t.

Trapped between the worlds she made.

She wanted to run away from home

Wait. She came home.

You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.

Femi(nist)nine

When gender confused me, I turned to evolutionary psychology

Because the concepts of femininity and masculinity always confused me

I wanted to understand if there was some truth in the stereotypes,

Or if they were just illusions society had created for me.

You see I played with Barbies rather than Hot Wheels all my life

But I still didn't know it was mine or society's choice.

As I stumbled upon gender and it's theories

I began to push against the boundaries of my side of the binary

Not realising in my excitement to rebel

That not all of me fit in the other side.

The thing is... I sucked at being a tomboy

I liked ballet and hated sports but

I wanted to be one of those soccer girls

Who seamlessly fit into that ideal of empowerment

I wanted to be one of those Iron women who never cried

Who overcame emotion and romantic notion

To become symbols of strength.  To be glorified.

Somewhere I had internalized.

This feeling that being feminine was a weakness that I had to overcome to survive.

The thing is I knew that the world was going to pack every human quality

Neatly into two differently labelled boxes of the gender binary

And pretend they were at two ends of the scale

But little did I know that they won't be weighed and valued the same.

Because in the strangest and subtlest of ways,

We do not value masculinity and femininity the same.

I mean why is it considered a compliment to be called a father's not daughter but son

Why is 'girly' an insult?

Justin Bieber was wrong for many more reasons than just sounding like a girl.

Why is being emotional and empathetic for the soft and weak?

It's like saying mental trauma as compared to battle wounds is less important to treat.

Everytime the boy got beaten up for being a pansy

My skin turned black and blue

Because according to their standards

I was one too

Why do I see people of my own gender

Claim to be the 'other'

Claim to be better

Than the typical girly cliques.

What is girly and why is it unintelligent or weak?

Combat boots are no more difficult to walk in than high heels

Make-up could be war paint

And the decision to wear it-a choice

Vanity isn't always a vice.

Why are we so judgemental of supersonic fangirls?

Why assume that they're the unintelligent ones and not obsessive Megan Fox fanboys.

Why is it easier for a girl to play with boy's toys

And not the other way round?

To act out aggression is as messed up as being dramatic and have too much to feel

Are chick flicks really that unintelligent and unreal?

Because honestly their plotlines where the best friend's sister's boss falls in love with the smaller sister who is actually banging the husband's stepmother

Is as complicated as the plot of the latest avenger's movie.

And both are equally distant from and yet reflect reality

The thing is I have spent too much time sanitizing the femininity out of me

To be able to be more than what society expects out of me.

And that should never have been necessary

If I wanted to be one of those strong independent women,  I shouldn't have to be like men

I should just have to be myself.

I shouldn't have waited for gay men dancing in flamboyant dresses

To make me realise that femininity can be embraced and is not regressive

I shouldn't have waited...

When I proudly declared I watched the Royal Wedding with the kind of interest we reserve for India Pakistan matches

To be met with an awkward silence

As though rooting for a love story

Made me take a few steps down in dignity

I refuse to step down now

From my pink princess pedestal

I refuse to be shamed for all those parts of me that you consider girly

Because I jump when I see ants

I am the emotionally vulnerable poet

Who could be in a princess dress and not pants

And still deserve to be called badass.

Maybe it's time we go beyond just breaking stereotypes

And start revaluing the truth behind them.

That maybe this inequality starts way deeper under us.

Because maybe we don't need to wait for death to be the leveller

When we the living can be equalizers

I won't see the world to be an ideal

Till a girl in a pink dress and a boy in a pink dress are seen as equal in strength

Maybe femininity has no gender.

Maybe there is no gender.

And when you dismantle the two boxes, their contents will be worth the same.

Neither deserving of any shame.

The Radioactive Emotional

To those who say rejection is a kick in the gut

To me it’s a growing unease, but

It grows like a highly infectious disease

Burning through a delirious me.

The stirring in my gut doesn’t stop

Every time I see them, something inside drops

Lurching forward I maintain a straight face

To mask my twisted mind and insides.

I wait for those moments of release

When the rest of life distracts me.

A flash of searing emotion.It is uncontrollable these days

I’m uneasy but see no other way.

I can’t change them. But I can’t change me more

It intensifies more every time than before

I’m afraid the unease will grow and grow

Till one day it swallows me whole.

I seek emptiness more than space

Where pain exists, to be worn with a poker face

Where silences and omissions

Become my way.

Of coping with being emotional.

I am trying hard to maintain some dignity

But the unease makes me lurch over

And bow down to your fate unwillingly.

I want to bury myself in my own grave

Put myself to rest one of these days

But I am beginning to think

This spiraling will bring

No peace to the radioactive emotional.

The Beginning

I wrote this more than a year ago when I was at a crossroads and after a year of being able to survive design school, I am glad that I made it to the 'Somewhere'.

 What do you do when you realize that for the first time in your life you have good chance of being nothing more than average? You log off the NID website and do facebook.

       You see, I have spent most of my life coming first in class, being the experienced one in art classes and winning competitions of all sorts.I have always been the model student, the talented child, the brainy one. I have had people showering praises on me, most of which I never felt I deserved or required but accepted nevertheless ( I sound terrible describing myself in such a way. I know. I am going and hiding under a rock right now but I need to be honest.) 

      So 4 days after my academic career finally ends with the end of my  board exams, I realize that I am finally free.But I am exposed. I am walking into the unknown where for the first time in my life I will not be judged by my marks. I will also not have them serve as a buffer to delude people into thinking that I may be somewhat smart. I have spent my entire life trying to convince myself I am worth something and now, without my buffer, I will be forced to deal with these insecurities head on. I will have no choice but to be myself. which if you told a 13 year old nerdy me would have been a pretty sweet deal but when you are forced to confront the fact that the "real you" could be just average, it becomes a difficult reality to face.

    So while the rest of my friends are celebrating the almost-end of their board exams, I am left to wonder why I am not. I knew that I would not get in. People had tried to make me believe I could but I never dreamed of actually being there. I always belonged somewhere else. A Somewhere I am trying to make myself work to get to right now. but I just wanted a sign that I could be more than just average ,you know?

      But I know, for real now, that I am going to have to work my ass off to be more than average. I will not be surprising myself by doing better than I expect anymore. Maybe it is time I start measuring my work by what it is worth rather than by how much more than others it is worth. I left the beaten path to chase dreams which not only give me the worst nightmares but also the wildest joy. I need to start enjoying the journey. Even if it leads nowhere. The people at Somewhere seem to understand that. Even when few others do. For them it is a place for hippies. For me it means freedom. Even if it comes at the cost of security. A security that makes you believe you are more than average.

     Yesterday I wrote that if it begins with an end, can I ever be enough? Maybe I will not. But it still is a beginning. Beginnings are never to be feared. 

Coloured

If Holi is a festival of colours

I have been coloured by shame

Blame. There is no name

For the fear that crippled me

When hordes of drunk men screamed Happy Holi Madam Log at my friend and me.

When the elderly uncle on a scooter looked at our coloured faces and in disgust said "Yeh kya hain?"

When I misinterpreted other screams of Happy Holi from college students just like me

As harassment. Honestly

I don't know what it was.

Just like I don't when another person commented while passing by me

I was wearing my shortest sleeves. Was that what they had seen?

I don't know what it was. What it is.

When I heard they began approaching her but stopped midway in their violent revelry.

When they tried to kick us from their moving motorcycle.

She yelled "Piece of shit!". I hope they heard

Just like we did a few minutes later when two others on a motorbike screamed

Happy Holi Madam as they passed by us.

Fear is just like a dream.

Uncontrollable. You just want it to end.

For safety, we took an autorickshaw to pass through darker streets

Slow and mumbling, he was high. Maybe drunk.

I don't know what he was.

I don't know what this is.

Our destination was the bus stop outside the rapist lane

Patches of darkness everywhere.

What use is a streetlight when traffic's there? The streets seemed to say

I wouldn't have minded a bit of light

To just dispel the darkness of the fear as we walked. And walked. And walked

I have to walk again tonight.

For just a few minutes from my home to the mess.

But every dark corner has turned into a potential location 

For my waking nightmares to come true.

I have been screaming in my head

But I will have to walk tonight. 

Even if every step feels like a criminal's walk towards the noose

I feel criminal for fearing a daily reality so much

Maybe tomorrow I will feel less scared.

It is just a process I guess.

Because tomorrow I will walk alone.

I will never stop walking alone.

The Weird Kid Chronicles #2

This is what happens when you take a course called "Images of Violence".

The Weird Kid Chronicles #1

This is what happens when I stalk my seniors on Behance

Random Rain

Why write for absent eyes only?

I write for myself, revealing little only to those who understand

Seeking strangers is a mystery

I feel the rain changing my history

My battles are ending

I hope

Tomorrow I will plant my feet on the wet ground

And I will be home.

Because I have created one.

The Dark Room of Love

A dark room I stumble too

Vibrating hums set the mood

The screen plays the film.

It is an intellectual space. A cultural space.

The film crackles and stops.

Sighs and mild laughter. Apologies on the speakers drop.

Technology always gives trouble, I hear voices say.

It is a flawed space. A human space.

Brutally honest, the documentary plays

Brutally honest funny things, they suddenly say

You feel the love in bodies rocking with laughter

It is a collective space. A happy space.

It is just another news clip that plays

Words of non-acceptance that everyone has heard

They all laugh and sigh with uncanny timing and relate

It is an experienced space. A knowing space.

As tales of struggle they narrate and witnesses of hatred speak

As faces of hopelessness in the collective struggle we see

A knowing silence of solidarity pervades,

Because everyone has seen those days.

It is a safe space. An accepting space.

Under the light of the film screen

Strangers unite. As they feel

The emotions in a collective consciousness

Fancy words to describe  just humans

Coming together to change the invisible history of an impossible love

By simply watching. Hearing. Understanding.

I heard a community in their laughter. 

I heard a community in their laughter.

I Come Alive At Night

A Trippy Existence

I create puns. That are no less meaningful as they are fun

How YODO before YOLO is a derivation of existential philosophy, you would not want to know.

We wrap ourselves in the sceneries of our own minds

Analyze, theorize, rethink, rewind

Sharpening a skill called 'critical thinking' we end up using against ourselves

How these internal sceneries translate into something to tumble out into the real world

Is one question into which I dare to not delve

It is a constant contradiction

If it is not capable of being faffed about, it isn't deep.

If you don't see multiple perspectives, you are not capable of having one of your own.

There is no good or bad. But you still must make up your mind. Have an opinion or you are disowned

I want to explore but not get lost

I want to find meaning in finding meaning in everything else.

Someone please get to the sense in nonsense.

Time flies by as we talk and theorize and explore

It is a constantly conflicting decision about whether I should do up the room before opening the door

For people to see. But someone tell me please

That what lies beyond will not kill me

I need to know if I should prepare for living or an artsy funeral

Where we will discuss the philosophy of existence

In the absence of mine.

Brave

Be brave. Stand straight.

Some shoulders have borne worse weights.

Still do. In the sighs and shrugs

Of unbroken backs but deadened minds.

Yearly the lines grow and sag.

Don’t hurt them, you say.

Don’t be selfish. Be brave.

Bravery was for the guns and grenades that shattered minds and their peace.

Bravery was for those who wrote and spoke and marched.

Pushed against odds, that are to you just ink forms printed on earmarked pages.

They’re just stories passed through ages.

Bravery is not for simpletons like you.

They say. Or you think they do.

Be brave. You say.

On days when one drop squeezes out

As opposed to the floods that have, but of late, come to a stop.

Girls don’t cry. You say.

Be brave.

Some shoulders have borne worse weights.

Don’t worry. It won’t bite.

Don’t be so scared. It’s all in your head.

Don’t be a child. Your words fall dead

On numb ears. Because it’s just one of those days

When just a bark startles a panicked craze.

When the silent noises won’t stop.

Buzzing. Screaming. Drumming.

What an oddity of a human. They say.

Wear a wall on your face.

Be brave.

Don’t be afraid to be speak. But don’t speak stupid.

You won’t find meaning in it, will you?

Don’t be afraid to be yourself. But can’t you be just a little better?

You will always invalidate me in the end.

I will never be your soldier.

I am the sheltered commoner.

No storm

Ever reaches me that you see

Except those inside me. Unseen

I sing no songs of bravery for me.

In a world where singular battles are unseen unlike the greater war

I am your weak little child

That is all you see.

Be brave

Is your only advice to me.

Hello

I have a tendency to justify everything.
Like when I told someone I don't eat beef and immediately followed it with "It's not that I am religious. I just don't like cows. They look...um....gross."
Like when someone points out an eccentricity of mine and I begin psychoanalyzing my behavior in front of them till the awkward silence tells me to stop.
Like now.
By all means I shouldn't have to justify writing a blog but knowing myself, I still will.
I will make excuses saying that a blog is the best way for me to document my work and preferably motivate me to work in the first place. It is just a way for me to put out my amateur explorations of art in the world.
I may also then reveal that sometimes, I write. I think too much and then weave those thoughts into rhyme and in moments of utter irrationality like this, delude myself into thinking that they are worthwhile to be seen. You see, I am the closeted poet.
I am not going to pretend I think my words may mean something to people other than me, but hiding them still feels like a loss.
Thus. This.
Hello.