Shiny, happy people

So. Another ad that gets on my nerves. Kaya's skin clinics go hair free ads. The ad shows women pulling down their trouser legs or their blouse sleeves because they had hair (not visible on the TV) which made them ugly. The ad shows a girl wanting to reach out to a boy through a bookshelf in a library, but hesitates when she realizes that her arms aren't hair free. After Kaya's treatment, which promises permanent hair reduction, she is confident and boy strokes and feels her up because she has silky smooth skin.

How revolting. It's terrible enough to be made to feel insecure about your looks with numerous ads that promote non-achievable standards of beauty, but to be told that you will face rejection if you have body hair, an entirely normal occurrence, is ridiculous. Of course, it is a woman who has to meet these unreal standards of beauty to be accepted by the man.

I wont even go down the 'but body hair is natural' argument. Or the 'why doesn't a man have to do something to be accepted by a woman' route. I just find it reprehensible that anyone needs to confirm to unnatural standards of beauty to be accepted and happy, and amusing that taking one through this beautification process is a fantastically profitable business. It is ironic that a woman is made to feel insecure, inferior and unhappy about her appearance and therefore her acceptance by A MAN in order to make her loyal to a product or a service.

Insomnia

I try to sleep,
My eyes close,
I yawn and stretch,
Count sheep.
But sleep is elusive.

Tears flow,
Thoughts collide with each other
And I can hear them crashing about in the
deafening silence
(no fan)

I doze off,
A relief,
to dreams of a boy,
from a forest,
on a plane

The phone rings,
incessant, shrill,
Six times,
till I answer
Has he come?

sleep broken,
and again elusive
in that silence
I hear the rain,
my thoughts

I see black emptiness and
my head throbs
from not sleeping
but I can't sleep
till he's here

He comes,I pour out
My confused thoughts, I am
re-awakened
by his comforting,
love and warmth.

I do give a hoot

My new pet peeve ads is the Fiat Linea ad. So, in scene 1, two boys of different ages and sizes see hot woman passing boy. Bigger and older boy whistles in admiration, little boy struggles to whistle. Girl smiles indulgently. In scene 2, Fiat Linea passes by, and smaller, younger boy manages to whistle. Implications?
1. Woman=car=woman. Objectification.
2. It is okay to whistle at women. Women are cool with it. Dehumanizing.
Undertones:
1. If you want a whistle of admiration, buy a Fiat Linea OR become hot woman (we all know being hot has nothing to do with it, ask our loafer-creepies in Bangalore)

Most ads stop at objectifying women. Only some do not only that, but also dehumanize them. This ad is it.

My reaction, and I suspect that of most women in India when whistled at is one of irritation, humiliation and hurt. Whether it is two 'decent' looking boys like in the ad or a creepy- Brigade Road-dude types, I don't care. My immediate response to a whistle is not to analyse who whistled and what kind it was.

By portraying whistling as okay, the ad socializes all those who watch TV to believe that it is okay to whistle, that women will (and ought to) respond indulgently when one whistles. By portraying a certain non-natural response as appropriate (on the part of the woman obviously - society reserves the right to determine appropriate behaviour for women, didn't you know?), it not only portrays this negative behaviour as acceptable, it also socializes passive acceptance/indulgence of it as correct.

Yes, this disgust at whistling comes from my particular cultural context - perhaps in some parts of the world, admiring whistles are acceptable practice (like it is in India to ask about your health, wealth, family, career and caste within 3 minutes of meeting you). Whistling in India, in my experience, has typically been the precursor to obscene language and lewd conversation. Most often, whistling is a way of attracting attention. As in, "phhoooowww, aati kya?!". It is the beginning of an attempt to assert power over the woman, and always degenerates into ugliness if you respond in irritation or horrible, horrible, humiliating comments if you ignore.

Ah, I must say I have no fundamental problem with whistling per se. Please whistle away your happy tune, walk with a spring in your step, even whistle your admiration for that Fiat Linea car. Even at me, if you know me really well, and I like and respect you. Else, don't. Whistling at strangers is entirely unacceptable, so don't do it. Period. I am not a car. If you were kind enough to grant me that, I will also tell you my instinctive response to a whistle is to aim my shoe at your head, and not to indulgently smile.

To the people on my flight

This is to record a big $)(& you to the idiots who were on the flight next to me yesterday for all those nasty comments you were making about someone in the office. Why was I offended? Not just because it was filthy all that you said, but also because it was loud. And you stank of beer. I was sick after the flight thanks to your disgusting company.

Some advice before a curse - India is globalizing. So, being on a Hyd-Blr flight does not guarantee no one knows Tamil, especially if you are speaking in such a loud voice.

For the trauma caused, I curse you to a similar flight, when you have a stomach sickness.

dont slow yourself down

I was having this conversation with old and dear friends about Khaled Hosseini's 'A Thousand Splendid Suns', whose story in brief is here. The book moved me to tears. It opened up my mind to the horrors many women have to undergo and how they rise, strong and shining. It also highlights the idiocy of some viewpoints and proponents of them.

Did the book make me reflect my own struggles for my space as a woman? Yes, but it doesn't trivialise them. The common point of view was that we are fortunate women to have 'understanding' men in our lives. It irritated me no end to think that many women defined their space by the space other people, especially men, gave them, and were grateful the boundaries were drawn 'leniently' or 'liberally'. One lady said, "he encouraged me to work". These women were wrong on two counts - one, that they did not believe that the right to fulfilment and liberation came to them equally and at birth as citizens of a free country and second, that they allowed the limits of this liberation to be defined by the men in their lives. Now this is undeniably the case, and entitlement or not, generations of perpetuated idiocy have to be washed away.

What bugs me is not the reality of the (yet) long and arduous negotiation. Just that this attitude a hindrance to change. Why are we so conditioned to believe that the rights of women are a grant from society, a permission from a benevolent man or the progressive-ness of our laws? And not something inalienable and fundamental? Please let us stop slowing ourselves down.

I know that in many far corners, perhaps even next door, women are fighting more basic battles than me - the right to study, go out, marry a man of their choice and such 'simple' things for me. When you're fighting, don't seek a grant (though you may have to make it seem like that!). Remember, it is a right. You are born with it.

The internet administrator at office

This is to record a vehement %^$^ you to my office internet administrator. Just on the day I decided to come in early, you decided to turn off the internet. And to compound things, you usually sit in the next building and do not turn up before 9.30 am on any given day. Worse still, you actually did not turn the modem off, but had disabled TCP/IP or whatever it is that connects to the internet, but does not prevent me from connecting to the network, lulling me into spending 45 precious minutes trying to figure out the problem with my laptop which I could have spent cursing you and making paper frogs.

I curse you to never be able to find a loo when you need it because this is the agitation I felt in re the internet this morning. Hrmph.

I haven't blogged in a while...

...and may take a while to write something up, but this is to record a brief but strong FUCK YOU to the silver Santro driver who splashed water on me this morning. I hope you realise that you are a singular asshole of the first order. I curse you to a permanent boil on your bum, and repulsive body odour. I also hope you get splashed sometime in the rains when you are travelling by auto after having been woken up at 3 am by no electricity, no geyser, mosquitoes, the sound of rain water and an unfriendly lonely guest house.