The Headache

It is persistent, it doesn't go, it refuses to calm down, it keeps hitting hard till I give up. I give up and close my eyes, and there is just white light, a little more focus, then there are wires cluttered into each other. I look closely they are snakes wriggling together in an uneasy manner and each of them can see my in eye and I see them in the eye – each one at a time and as soon as I look they hiss and attack, I open my eyes.  The snakes are gone but the headache persists.

The headache is constant, it is hitting hard, it keeps hitting hard till I give up. I give up and close my eyes, and I see faces. Faces with no eyes, no mouth, faces which cannot see which cannot speak. They are just heads which are moving here and there aimless and helpless. I try hard to open my eyes too but I couldn’t, I try to speak, screech and scream but I couldn’t. In the swarm of the faceless head I am being pulled down and there comes a moment when I cannot breathe …I gasp but I am trampled over …I gasp and open my eyes. The heads are gone but the headache persists.

The headache is continual, it is hitting hard, it keeps hitting hard till I give up. I give up and close my eyes and I see the sea, the clear blue water with waves as high as cliffs, I feel better I step in, I can feel the waves pushing me I try to hold the ground but the waves are gigantic. They keep pushing me further in to sea, now I cannot feel the ground, I can’t swim, I try to swim but like a beast the waves keep taking me further making my hands impossible to move. I have no control, the sour water is in my eyes, I can’t see, my arms are tired… I am being pushed and pushed further and I now cannot breath, I am drowning, I open my eyes. The water drains out of my head but the headache persists.

The headache is invincible now and my eyes are strained. The redness bulging out of them, the look is heavy, I want to close them and I cannot. It hurts when I try to shut my eyelids like those red nerves are hitting each other. I keep my eyes open, it is impossible to close them – don’t you see there are monsters in my head and they never stop. 

How to Survive as a Woman in India

 I am woman in India

And I can’t do 'that' because I am woman

I know the fear of someone I don’t know

I know the strange touches

I know the feeling of disgust

I know a safe way back home

I know all the ogling eyes

I know all the ‘right’ clothes

I know the every right behavior

But today I unlearn everything I am told

I stand against all that I ‘know’ 

And only KNOW that when you are a woman in India, everyday that you exist in your body without apologizing is Activism! 

Manto was not great; Manto was Manto

My first introduction to Manto and his writings was through a book my brother gave me which he had finished reading. My first thought after reading few of the stories was very obvious, (obvious because everyone who ever read Manto must have thought this); I found the content to be very explicit. Since I was reading an English translation of the stories it somehow seemed more acceptable than it would have in Urdu (just like abusing in English seems cool but all despicable in Hindi), I was a bit embarrassed to be reading it in front of my brother knowing he must have read all that too. This was years ago and I was much younger that time but I still remember being startled by the honesty of few stories. I vividly remember being shaken by one story about a minor prostitute who was pimped by her own mother and how she thought that it was perfectly normal what she was doing and all other girls of her age did the same.

Manto definitely, like he claimed, wrote about how the world was, without any cover whether it was the premise of the story or the language he used. Both are capable of surprising you to the limit where you deny what you read and do not wish to accept that our society is stranger than fiction. Reading Manto now is definitely revolutionizing for my mind. At this age when I am aware of the atrocities of life, I have seen ups and downs and the entire emotional trauma, Manto makes more sense than ever. Now even I fall in the category of those who consider him a great writer, no matter if initially I loathed him.

I understand now that it is not just an open or liberal mind that is necessary to understand Manto but a certain level of courage where you are open to see the society stark naked, without the cover of fancy language or words which could make its savagery subtle.  

I read a letter which Ismat Chughtai wrote to a Pakistani publishing house, who wanted to commemorate Manto on his 20^th death anniversary; the letter was not less than tragic summary of the writer’s life; though she claimed she did not intend to do that. I was crying by the end of it. I have never read anything more powerful and fitting reply to all those who want to put up a spectacle of hypocrisy by doing something they do not believe in. We always tend to loath and ignore the ones who are not like us or think like us. If Manto was alive today I am sure the death threat which he received then would have been committed already. I was hurt when I read that he had to leave Mumbai because of the communal hatred which engulfed the country post-partition. For a humanist it is the tragedy of the worst kind. I am sure he did not look for any sort of social confirmation but also didn’t expect what he got – persecution.

Today he is great; great writer, great thinker, reformist and humanist. However if suddenly Manto comes alive and start writing again he would face the same persecution. I feel people find him great now because he wrote in the past and does not write now to show people the mirror of reality.  There are probably few like Manto today who people hate to read and listen because their reality does not match the illusion they live in.

Manto was not great, Manto was Manto, and he was no philosopher, not a thinker or a reformist. He was simply an honest courageous man who did not fear writing what he felt. If only the world then and now could respect people who have that courage and not have to suffer segregation or seclusion and die tragically only to become great and famous later.

Ismat Chughtai couldn’t have put it better when she wrote, “Look carefully to see if there is any Manto among you. Is there anyone among you who talks nonsense, who is extremely sensitive, who makes lots of silly mistakes and blunders, and who says things that no one understands? Is there anyone among you who thinks that no one understands him, who goes on showing his obstinacy, who sticks like a thistle on the hem of every passerby until he becomes unbearable? Is there anyone among you who thinks he's a great writer, but nobody is willing to admit it, a pauper or beggar who asks for money, properly and improperly, someone people try to avoid because he is alone? Beware of such a fraud, for if he dies tomorrow, you might have to bow your heads before him. You might be compelled to write articles; you might be compelled to hold gatherings in his honor.”

Certainly you cannot make Manto great if you cannot accept people telling you things the way they are or telling you the naked truth of the society and if you still think he is great then you are just a hypocrite.

Beyond the border lives a part of my soul

I am not really a patriot or a nationalist either; I wouldn’t really go and enjoy the beating retreat at Wagah and enjoy shouting praises for India as if it is a standoff with Pakistan and come back feeling victorious by displaying the best of my patriotism. Although today I feel different, I want to go to Wagah sit on those stands and get a glimpse of some people on the other side. It has been long since I have seen them. 

For Mariam and Amna: I remember it was one heavy winter evening in Bonn, Germany, which was adding to my depression, when I met the two of them.  We bonded over a discussion on Humsafar (Pakistani drama on TV) and our friendship never looked back. The worse of my days in deep depression and gloom I was with them, in a small room of a dormitory we would do whatever possible to feel better.  Cooking, watching films or roaming around in Sarees on the streets on Cologne. Often relations are built on circumstances, needs and whatever is missing from your life but our relationship built on the fact that we could think beyond the obvious. We believed in being above religion and politics or any other things which separates people from these two nations. I am glad we did for I never felt as close to anyone as for the two of them. Apart from anything what sustained us was the desire to share, when they say music and literature bond people, they are not wrong. We shared all good things that we knew, be it books, poetry, music, films and yes food! None of us is in Germany today, we are again divided by borders but yeah the social media keeps us united and going. We still share our happiness and gloom like we never said good bye.

For Sophia - Peshwar ka Ladhki: She says we can be the perfect couple. I agree. It will be the best relationship ever, breaking all social and religious boundaries – a hetero-homo-open -live in relationship. Wow! How revolutionary it sounds. And so is she. I give credit to myself that we got to know each other, I was a recruiter and she was an applicant. For strange reason I reached out to her to get a job (I guess I was on a promotional spree that Asians must get European jobs) and we ended up becoming friends and flat-mates later on. I still remember the first day I met her; it was like we knew each other for ages. Interestingly again it was hard times that brought us so close and not even ones I felt that she was different, and I believe we were intelligent enough to handle our differences. I remember reading out to her a good bye note I wrote for someone I love and crying while she was consoling me like my sister would have. We did part ways when I left Berlin but not single day went by thereafter when we didn’t speak. It doesn’t seem that we are away – and how beautifully Gulzar has put it I guess just for us - Saath rehnaa aur rozmarraa kii zindagii me milnaa zaruurii nahii, kuchh rishte ek dusre ki izzat aur ehteraam se bhii bante hain (It is not necessary to be together in everyday life, some relationships are built on respect and trust)". 

When I heard about the blast at the Wagah Border, I thought about my friends there and how I haven’t seen them for ages. There is absolutely nothing that can happen which could possibly turn me away from the three of them.  The blasts,  terrorism and all other things which stand between the two countries are oblivious for us and this is the reason we are together. We randomly planned to meet at Wagah and wave at each other, since there will be a swarm of Indian and Pakistani flags on the respective sides, we have decided to take a German flag  and wave so that the very odd ones can be spotted easily. 

This is why I want to go to Wagah, I might not be able to see them closely but a glimpse will be enough for it has been long and I don’t know when I will be with them again. I also want to tell the haters that some bomb blasts won’t scare me or make me hate for I was born only to love.

Agony, embrace and love - Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang laga lo

I have always maintained that songs in Indian movies are a part of story telling and its roots are age old, nothing new that Bollywood started. I was listening to an interview of Prasoon Joshi (poet) on Vividh-Bharti, where he said that Bollywood uses their songs as a medium to convey things which they cannot formulate in dialogues and give it a more subtle form, like the song “aaj sajan mohey ang laga lo”. For a moment I was mesmerized when I heard this, the video of the song was floating in front of my eyes and I thought, "wow!, really any dialogue wouldn't have done justice to entire scene and the emotions behind it if this song wouldn't have been playing in the background."

The song which literally means, “embrace me in your arms, my beloved,”  from the movie Pyaasa (1957) is one my favorite song. It not only pours out the misery of a woman who is apart from her beloved (or seeking to be loved) but also the passion and essence of submissive love.
The song comes in the movie at a time when Gulabo (played by Waheeda Rehman) realizes her love for Vijay (played by Guru Dutt), who despite the fact that she is a prostitute respects her and saves her from a harassing police constable by telling she is his wife, which leaves gulabo surprised by this gesture of the poet she secretly admired.The devotional song being performed by the baul singers in the background while Gulabo is manifesting her emotions for Vijay. Their romantic relationship is given a spiritual dimension by the director, where he simultaneously shows a baul singer singing the song with full devotion (probably for Lord Krishna) and while Gulabo sees Vijay as the person whom she loves and he is the man who can pour all the unconditional love on her.

Taken the words literally,  they might not sound the same, I remember how my friend and I sang a remix version of the song and fell down laughing because it sounded so sleazy. Putting things in a different context can really hamper the meaning but to listen to the song a only makes you realize the profound love, passion and bliss the song has.Not only is it the brilliance of song and the music but also the direction, which makes the song come alive, as if the bauls are singing knowing the misery Gulabo is going through.

There are moments in life where one need nothing but a hug. Miseries, agony are not seeking anyone's advice but just a hug to assure that you are not alone in it.  But this song is like a Eureka moment when one realizes true and infinite love for someone and knows that the comfort to all miseries is in the love that  beloved can give.

*I wrote this in 2009 but publishing here after ages with some editing.

Diet Racism Diaries

College Humor came up with a hilariously pertinent video about subtle statements  people make that are totally racist, directly or indirectly. Racism is my favourite topic, and some people hate me for it because they think I find everything racist, well in my defence' at least, most of them really are! Just like in the video I aim at collecting things I often hear that are totally racist and people must totally stop saying them. To give it a serious look I call each incident a case story (yes…I work in the nonprofit sector).

Case Story 1 

Background – I land in Melbourne, Australia from Germany where I am living and studying and the conversation happened few moments after I get in a taxi. 

Taxi Driver (white Australian):  Where are you coming from?

Me:  Bonn in Germany

Taxi driver:  No, where are you from?

Me:  Germany (just for you mofo)

Taxi Driver:  (insisting further) Are you really from Germany?

Me:  (only for you jack***) Yes, I am!

Taxi Driver: ( refusing to give up) Where are your parents from?

Me:  (Ok I give up!) India

Taxi Driver: (in total relief) yeah I guessed so! 

Moral of the story - you from Germany, why you no White! 

I am not German but I refused to tell where I am REALLY from because he refused to accept that I can be brown and still be German!

Case Story 2 

Background - Working in Amman, Jordan and living with a white American (highly insensitive woman) who was jubilant to learn a new slur in Arabic which meant refugee.

Me: (Happy and relieved) Hey Kate! I just finished writing my thesis, would you like to go out and have an ice cream with me. Just a small celebration. 

Kate: Yeah why not! It is late for Jordan time but why not. 

We go to a fancy ice cream parlour, which is all empty (as it was late in the night) and all the people working there totally stare at us as we walked in. 

Me: Kate, why they all are looking at us like this? Weird! 

Kate: Oh, they are wondering why this white woman has brought her maid* for an ice cream with her at this hour. Hahahahah! Just kidding!

Me: (Yeah bitch go on stereotype my people) wow! how typical, white and generous! 

*South Asians, as I observed, in Jordan were largely stereotyped as domestic helpers

Moral of the Story - I am white and I can pass off with my insensitive comments because I refuse to understand race, class, issues migration and similar other dynamics.

Here are two of my experiences, though there are many many more which I will be sharing as this is an ongoing blog. If you have your experiences please share them with me in the comment section. I would like to document them as well. 

Abode of Love: Nizamuddin Auliya-Khusro, Peace and Perspective

Weary, stressed and troubled I entered the door of the Dargah (shrine), the crowd did not bother me; I was oblivious to the commotion, with some flowers in hand, all I wanted to get through the long queue and sit at the door of Khusro. Nizammudin Auliya Dargah is one place where there is always peace no matter if the entire world gets gathered around.  I call it the abode of love for the simple reason that no other place glorifies such an unconventional facet of love of a man for a man, there is no other place where love is simply love and nothing more. It is free – free from the need to possess, free from the bounds of relationships and free from any expectation that love generates.  I always go there to get myself some solace, when the self becomes too much on me, when all am I doing is drowning in distress and when every other person seems like your adversary.

 I sat down at Khusro’s grave, I cried, as dramatic as it may sound but I did. I couldn’t help it.  I looked around so were others, like beggars everyone there was seeking something and so was I. There were many people around, everyone making a wish, and everyone there had come to ask for something. They believe that the mystic will be able to solve all problems of their lives and grant whatever they desire. I was also there with all the issues of my life but I didn't think that the Nizam could have solved them for me; I am only there for a perspective, which I already know but keep forgetting.

Free me, I asked the Nizam, free me like you were. I can’t be you but give me peace I look for. Let me love like Khusro for who nothing mattered but the fact that he was in love. The weariness, the lust, envy, possession, anger, frustration, if it all I can be replaced by the awareness of one truth. To empty oneself and still be full of nothing but love – unreasonable and unconditional.

I still kept sitting there; it was hard to convince myself that I can actually free myself from me. I am not Khusro nor can I be, my mind is full of illusions and the superficiality of the world is where I am seeking happiness. Clichéd as it sounds, the reality is this.  The moments of peace at the shrine and the perspective you gain are all lost the moment you step out. Then everything is like it is – a marketplace.

I keep trying that I do not lose it. I am trying. When I walked out of there, all I wished to be in love and not be weary. I am trying, yes I am but I know I will be back soon at the Nizam's door. 

Unseen Mumbai, Manto and I (Scattered thoughts)

I have a love hate relationship with Mumbai or to put it simply I am not a Mumbai person. I would never want to live there and visiting Mumbai has always been a necessity. Big cities scare me and Mumbai always leaves me feeling insecure that I will be lost or trampled over. I have been to Mumbai many times before but only stick to the posh areas where everything is fancy and comfortable.

However, recently I had to visit Mumbai for work with some of my colleagues. We were driving from Pune and as we entered Mumbai, we happened to pass through the bustling streets of Dongri. The streets were crowded and our car was moving at snail speed, I felt I have seen these streets somewhere but obviously I have never been here. My colleague then said, “This is Dongri, Dawood Ibrahim used to live here and this has been like a mafia hub.”  That is when I recalled where I have seen similar streets, Bollywood movies of course,  it is represented as a primarily Muslim inhabitant area where all the crimes are taking place. No wonder we claim our perceptions are based on what movies show us, but being on those street I actually felt I was in one of those movies. The next thought which came was that the street could have looked normal like the old streets in my hometown Bhopal, given there wasn’t the mafia, crime and Dawood Ibrahim angle to it. Honestly, I felt strange and adding to it were the stories my colleague was telling that how all the crimes/terrorist activities take place here in this area. Not sure how much truth that holds but definitely there was moment when I raised the side window glasses and checked if the door was locked.

We moved a little further and there was the red light district, how did I find out? well it was just 12 in the afternoon and the women were standing outside their shabby houses all dressed up and waiting. I felt a stench and again thought that I have been here. Of course in movies I have seen such set up but it was for real that I was there and I have seen these faces in the pages of Saadat Hasan Manto’s stories. His pages have come alive and I was walking through them, in every woman that I saw was Manto’s description of a Mumbai prostitute. The street was just like as he described, the women, their clothes, their lipstick and the men who stood around them, all appeared like a movie based on his stories. A colleague exclaimed, “We can’t even imagine what they go through every day.” I again thought about Manto, who never sympathized or pitied them through his work, he was not even trying to create empathy, he just wrote about them, he wrote what was real and as naked as it could be. He wrote in the Bombay of 1930’s and things were just the same in Mumbai 2014. I realized passing through the street that it was all for real and Manto was not writing stories. He was not obscene while the world was just like that itself. That moment I did not feel sympathy either (like my colleague) I could only think if this phenomenon exists why it cannot look as glorified as it does in Amsterdam or Berlin. The answer is complicated and the easiest one might just be that this is India, where sex is a taboo and these women are of ill repute. We passed through that street and my mind cluttered with all these thoughts was again cleared, I was relieved. No matter what I say it was simply unpleasant to be there, and chucking my feminist and progressive thoughts even I started feeling sympathetic and that it must be hard for them to do what they are doing, I simply can’t think of it.

I realized I am too like every other woman, who is just too protective of her own body. I thought of something unrelated or maybe not. I remembered when ‘he’ held my hand; I could not look up in his eyes. It was dark and my eyes were still on the floor staring at my dress which lay there. He stroked my hair and I stood blank wrapped in my bed sheet, not sure if I should say something and then he said, “You are so shy.” I couldn't answer and there was nothing to answer. I went downstairs to see him off, my face was demurred and again I couldn’t look him in to the eye. He left. As I was going upstairs wondering what just happened and what was said and that very moment Manto just screamed in my head (what he once said for Ismat Chugtai), “Kambakhat, yeh to bilkul aurat nikli,” (Damn! She turned out to be such a woman).

Travel Alone - It is high time if you haven't!

Travel Alone to Enjoy!

You are past the age and you have done it all, road trip with friends’, crazy night out, school or college trip to historical places, traveling in groups, etc. So now it is the perfect time to do it alone for various good reasons which certainly not include Paulo Coelho type shit like you discover your soul and what you are and similar crap. No! Travel alone for few simple and practical reasons.

No Drama: You are old enough to not be bothered by other people’s temperament, what he or she wants to do. You cannot take this crap anymore of waiting, deciding on something, thinking what the other person or persons want to do. You got to be on your own and decide what you want to do and where you want to go.

Alone Time: You are always around people, your family, friends and colleagues you really don’t care about. Now get some time off and be alone, it is important to be alone and like the great philosopher of our times Mr. Coelho said that some soul searching is necessary, (ok I pandered there a bit). Never mind! It is and amazing feeling to be alone in a new city and see what all you can manage by yourself without getting lost or robbed maybe.

Meet or Hook up: Whenever you travel alone you have a great opportunity to meet new people and make new friends (even if they last for one evening and ahem ahem for one night, what is the harm). If you are not with your friends or family, you always make effort to reach out to other people and also realize how people are wonderful and more than ready to help. Recently while I was traveling in Jaipur alone, I made friends with an American woman and a French guy, we happened to share a table for lunch. What followed was an amazing conversation where we shared our traveling experiences and some wonderful stories. You see what I mean; no one really is a stranger.

Freedom: Eat whatever you feel like, no boring museums (I love museums) or touristy stuff you are forced to do, take as much time as you want to do whatever you are doing no one is waiting for you…yay!!!

No Plans: Randomness is the word friends! No plans, no schedule, just stroll wherever you like, live wherever you want and yes it saves a lot on your budget.

The only slight problem will be that who will take your picture but you can take a selfie or ask a cute guy/girl next to you to take a picture for you. And I am not giving you any caveats or safety tips, I said before you are old enough, probably smart enough and definitely can figure all that out! 

The unacceptable reasons I have been told to get married.

To be single in this part of the world is a struggle well probably everywhere else, people around you always need to know why and how you are not like them. This is my ongoing rant for several years that how I am totally against the this institutionalized concept of marriage in India, especially the entire process of hunting for a partner and the fanfare that follows.
I am always given these weird and unreasonable reasons to get married which are about everything apart from love, companionship and a real will to share your life (and space) with someone. I have selected my favourite ones below because I find them so stupid that they are hilarious.

• If not now then when, it is going to be hard after you are 30. No one will want to marry you then! 

          

       You mean you can see the future and what age has to do with it? Just get out of the 19th century

• It is good to have someone around you to take care of you and provide you security 

         

            Also tell me it is a barter,  it comes with a lifetime service clause of cooking, cleaning and kids

• After you are married you can do anything you want. No one will question you. 

       

              I can do what I want anyways! Bugger off! 

• You cannot keep partying and traveling all your life, you will get bored of it. 

       

          Of course I can. Aww don't feel bad that while I party and travel you have to clean your kid's               poo.

• Life is not just about having fun, you have to settle down and get serious in life. 

         

                Look how serious I am, now please don't make me cry! 

• Being independent and free is fine but tell me what will you do after 40 when you get lonely. 

         

         Let us put it this way, how jealous are you of my freedom? 

• Don't you want to dress up like a bride, have this one memorable day in your life. 

       

         No! 

• You are educated, have a job now what is left in life to do, get married! 

       

        Is that how you are REALLY trying to convince me. NO! I would rather win the Nobel Peace               Prize first. 

If you have ever been told all these things before don't bother! Don't care, do what you are doing and do it well. Drink, party and have fun. Marriage is a part of life not your entire damn life.