Of Rape, Sex, Prostitution ..

Today is December 23rd. The nation is roiling. And the cause of turbulence: the delhi gang rape. The sheer brutality of the incident has conjured up public sentiment like never before. Delhi’s youth have hit the streets in massive numbers, demanding death penalty for the violators. Not a new sight, but this time, the mob is surprisingly recalcitrant. In their best efforts to disperse the demonstrators, delhi police has exhausted its arsenal. Tear gas, water cannons, smoke grenades, fists and batons..all too little to contain the fuming indignation. Meanwhile within the Thihaar jail, the arrested rapists are probably praying that the crowd is granted its wish. A death penalty would indeed be better than the humiliation and torture they are going through. Not at the hands of the police, but hardened and remorseless co-inhabitants. One was made to eat his own excreta. Nothing more than what he deserved, no doubt.

But nevertheless, this is india. By the time, our dilatory legal procedures culminate in a verdict, everyone who is so concerned today would have moved on, either to the next media sensation, or to their own mundane daily lives. Death sentence or not, rapes would still occur. The land of Vedas, the home of spirituality, that often talks disdainfully of the depravity of western civilization in contrast with our rich cultural heritage. Total bullshit. Researchers estimate that less than 20% of all cases of sexual assault are reported. The delhi incident is by no means a rarity. In the less exposed, indigent regions of the country, alarming lawlessness exists. Countless sex crimes are committed every day. Many of them, even more odious than the one at hand. So what is to be done?

Over the past couple of days, feministic writers have filled newspaper columns, some out of genuine concern, others happy at the opportunity to sell their hackneyed “girls, stand up and fight” and “girls, don’t run scared anymore” bombasts. Some preach martial arts training for girls. Others like Shobaa De want a society where men simply will not think of rape. Well let’s get real and face it. That rape-less Utopia is NEVER coming. Girls have every reason to be scared.  Among the 1 billion Indians spread across unfathomable sociocultural diversities, there are bound to be perverts. And given the difficulty of law and order enforcement in every remote nook of the vast nation, rapes too are bound to be. I am certainly not justifying it. Neither am I a male chauvinist.  I am just being realistic. Yet there ought to be something that can be done.

Why don’t we legalize prostitution? And in the process arrange a means of catharsis for the suppressed basic instincts. Sigmund Freud said that sexual drive is ‘the single most important motivating force in adult life’. Keep a man starved, he will steal for food. Similarly with sex. So liberalise the norms of sex.  You may call that an irrelevant/dumb suggestion or perhaps even a dangerous one that can erode the moral basement of our society. But the supposed centers of decadence in the west do not record half the number of sex crimes India does. Sex is a taboo subject, the way we are brought up. And that could very well be what we are doing wrong and they are not. Recognizing sex workers could be the first step towards liberalizing our thought process and surmounting our inhibitions.

Apart from that there are other advantages. Such an act could be a boon for the 3 million (out of which 2 million go undetected in government records) sex workers in india. They are often subjected to cold hearted brutality about which they presently cannot do anything. They cannot approach the police for obvious reasons. They cannot expect help from the society which despises them. Once prostitution is recognized as a profession this situation can change. In fact after agriculture, prostitution is the oldest profession in the world. Legalizing it can also go a long way towards checking the spread of sexually transmitted diseases. For instance, if the sex workers are registered with the government, it would be much easier to ensure that requisite safety measures are implemented. They can also be subjected to regular HIV tests. One solution to rid the prostitute, the rape-fearing woman, the sex-hungry man, the health ministry, and a pretentious society of some major headaches.

Majority of the sloganeering Delhi-ites are just happy to feel like they are part of something again. To feel that they are doing something for a cause. What if today, right now, the government announces death penalty for the delhi criminals and a set of stringent laws for protecting women? There will be momentary celebrations. Then they would sink back into the glum monotony of their day to day existence and be hoping for some new controversy to sprout. For a chance to go out and revolt. Rapes would still occur, no matter what. Just like the one reported in today’s newspaper, right in the middle of a nationwide anti-rape movement. So…  prostitution. 

Whatever happened to 'democracy' !

After the Ambikesh Mahapatra incident in Bengal, we blamed didi’s whimsical short temper. Now with Aseem Trivedi’s arrest things look a little more serious. Is this not an outright violation of the right to expression? The sedition act is much older than the constitution itself and also obviously (to all but those at the receiving end of so called sedition) decrepit. It might fit well in a fascist or dictatorial rule but not in a democracy. Democrats don't command obedience. Censure should be dealt with more subtly by political parties. Anyway if the idea was to conceal the widespread discontent, all they have managed to do is give Trivedi the publicity which he might not have earned through his cartoons alone. And if it was to repress one protesting voice, it has brought on a whole new spate of reprehension. With the allegations flowing in, why not acknowledge the need for introspection? Better late than never. 
And since when did I start writing on issues of national interest? Yeah its just one of those nights when you just don't feel sleepy. But knowing that does not dilute the gravity of what was written does it :D ? If Coleridge's opium poetry was taken serious, so should this be!

Rs 10 TO STAY VIRGIN..!

Aswin stood up stretching his arms..reached above in his bag on the upper berth and pulled out his charger.. "back in 20 mins" he said as he moved towards the plugpoint.. but he was back in 5 seconds.. I raised my eybrows at him.. "avide oru chechi..eniku naanam..ni po..i'll charge your fone in turn.."..though I wanted to sleep ,eventually I gave in to his persuasion and stood up taking his charger and multipin. I walked up to the girl..she was few years elder than us..and kind of cute..but that was not the reason for him feeling shy..no way..he was just afraid of having to speak hindi. I waved the charger at her(I would use hindi only when sign language didn't work)..she nodded and smiled. I removed her charger, plugged in the multipin, and then both our chargers on to it. She checked her mobile and smiled again to indicate it was charging.
So I stood there by the door watching the vegetation flying past..it was the second day in train and we were somewhere in Andhra Pradesh..i was longing to get home and taste something cooked in coconut oil(dreaded in jarkhand)..and some beef if possible(haven't had any since I joined college). People of North would shudder and give you dirty looks if you told them that you have eaten beef. My delicious thoughts were interrupted by rapturous clapping from the other end of the compartment. I craned my neck to see. It most certainly was what I did not want to see..a group of eunuchs had made their entry. "Chakkas"..the girl whispered.. I knew it was the local word in hindi for hijras. I was surprised that even they had some workplace etiquettes..for they totally ignored sleeping people, eating people and girls. But unfortunately at that moment of time I did not fall into any of those categories. The girl was safe..she was a girl. Aswin was safe..he was sleeping.. "thendi" I thought to myself.
"paisa de baiyya" said the first one(#1) who got to me. The owner of the singsong voice was a little taller than me, heavy, scary, and wore a blue saree. I did not have my purse to buy me peace, so frowned at him/her shaking my head. He/she moved on to the group of guys huddling at the other door. "so easy..?" I thought..i had heard they were quite persistent. Then came a skinny one(#2)..ignoring me, went straight to the first one...they exchanged a few words..then both of them turned their gaze in my direction at the same time. #1 moved on while #2 came to me. This one was less intimidating than the first, so it gave me some confidence. I continued playing the rough guy.. "kuch nahi hai..aage badho".. "kaun aage badho" came the reply. "thum" I said. "main kyun aage badhu".. "achcha..tho khade ho jao yehi pe".. I said turning away to look out of the door again.
After some time I realized that #2 had obeyed my instructions and was standing right next to me. "kya".. I said. "Paisa de". "Mere paas nahi hai". "Kasam khao"..he/she asked me to swear. #2 had begun to get on my nerves here..i told him that I wouldn't give him even if I had any(I don't remember how I managed to say that in hindi). "tho apna lund de.."!!!.
I was taken aback..one month in jarkhand had taught me enough hindi to understand what that meant. I was wondering if I had heard right. My doubts were confirmed by his hand moving menacingly towards my crotch region..i caught it just in time to avoid him snatching my precious possessions.. "bas ek baar pakadne de"(for the sake of those who don't know hindi, it means let me catch your dick just once) she pleaded like a child would plead for icecream.. "NAHI!" I said , the shock noticeable in my voice which was cool so far.. "thik hai..tho " she said..this time trying to kiss me..i took one step back which took me to the door of the train..she followed still trying to kiss me..humiliation was second concern now..i had to save my life as well. I was like the bollywood heroine stuck between the edge of a cliff and the wicked villain.
This was a very tight situation. With my right hand I had to clutch the door handle to keep myself in the running train..with my left hand I was holding away the hungry predator(his hand) from its prey(u know wat)…and with my left elbow I had to keep pushing away his face from mine to avoid being kissed(or licked or bitten). Not knowing what to do I tried some of the classic hindi movie dialogues. But "Yeh kya zabardasthi hai" and "yeh kya batthameesi hai" did not help. It only invigorated #2. Then came a display of immense strength which totally took me by surprise. I did not expect the skinny creature to be able to twist my hand the way she did..just a little more and he would have snapped it like a twig. He had also started showering expletives in hindi which attracted the attention of #3 and #4 who had now finished their collections in our compartment. I was in pain, overpowered and outnumbered. It was amazing how all the other idiots in the compartment who called themselves men would just sit and watch. Maybe it's justifiable. How often do you get to see a boy being raped. Not even in the movies. I had to escape..fighting was futile.
Shaking myself free from her grip, I began to reach for the charger. But #3 had arrived just in time to block my way. She stood between the plugpoint and me. "paisa de babu"..she repeated her favorite dialogue. I did not react. "Isko dikhao" went the instruction from #2 to #3. #3 bent down to hold the bottom of her saree and pulled it up to her knees..she was still pulling it further up but I had got the split second which I needed to pull out the charger over her head. I would have liked to see what he had to show me..rare sights should not be missed..but right then I had neither the time nor the mood..so I ran..back to our seat…where I knew the burly uncle from chennai who we had made friends with the previous day and his burly friends would save me(they were all sleeping so far)..
It took me half an hour to breathe normal again..can such a thing happen to anyone..was I dreaming..then I saw blood on my finger where her nail had scooped out some flesh.. I felt the pain in my wrist which she had twisted..it was real alright.. I could have died falling from a running train.. I could have had a skinny hand crushing my balls.. I could have seen an asset which neither man nor woman can possess..next time I hear the singsong voice saying "paisa de baiyya" I know that the choice he is asking me to make is between Rs 10 and my dick.

we're no ex loyolites!!

“why are you smiling.. ?” dad asked me. “ classile comedikal..” I replied realizing it had been quite some time since I started staring out of the window n smiling. We were on our way back from Ranchi by train after taking admission there. Memories from Loyola constantly running through my head were making me smile. But each piece of the past which made me smile struck a note of sorrow somewhere within. I knew I could not go bak to the past.. go bak to skool. The thought was scary.

Back in ranchi I had made an effort to contrast the place with our own Trivandrum. The results weren’t comforting either. The dull and dusty roads.. old faded buildings that have seen at least 4 generations.. rusted cycle rickshaws.. seemed like a bad dream.

And you wouldn’t find a single attractive personality anywhere. The well dressed ones looked malnutritioned and the healthy ones dressed up like they were in the BPL. To go by their faces most of them were blank like it was some zombie zone. At the crowded railway platform we felt pity for the benches and seats that seemed like sad appendages. For the people were all too particular about sitting on the floor. Men women children and even 80-year-olds could be seen squatting on the floor hugging their knees. There were just a couple of seats which were occupied.. by the stray dogs who had been denied their rightful space on the floor. dark(wouldn’t be wrong to say black) women invariably wore saris that came in fluorescent orange,green,yellow,pink or red colors. And you couldn’t afford to let anyone know that you did not know Hindi properly and were from another state. Coz if you did you would be cheated and well exploited.

While I looked upon the alien world around me with dread, dad found the silver lining. “class cut cheythu pokan patiya sthalam onnum illa.. you would be much happier inside your campus than outside.” Though I passed the comment with a chuckle I knew he was right. The campus was green clean and very pleasant probably the only good place in the city. Besides a quick inconspicuous dash wont get me out of the campus like it did in Loyola.

Tired of all the travel, I was eager to get bak home.. dying to feel the warmth of where I really belonged.. to curl up amidst a whole team of pillows hoping I would wake up in the morning to discover that I was still a skool kid.. a loyolite..

But being bak at trivandrum made no difference. Things did not fall bak into place. On getting home I learned that seby abin and ben just left for goa. The family seemed to be falling apart. Sami was in Bangalore. Aseem joju n Rambo were alredy off to Calicut. Ajeesh was at bhu already , the iitians(sajad basi Gandhi buji n achu) preparing to leave within 3 days, bala at trichur.. bullet and ms at pala.. klases had started for some at baselios.. moses showed no signs of existence.. job , I heard , took admission at banglore.. aswin in Karnataka.. and many who’s plans I don’t even know of…….. it was all normal, expected, and inevitable yet it all seemed like a big mess..

I had run out of things to do here.. I made a couple of phone calls.. ravi n sajad.. 15 minutes each with them was fun..catching up with all that happened while I was away.. it helped me momentarily forget the grief.. but the moment I hung up, the glum feeling of emptiness was bak again.. I couldn’t put it off no matter how I tried..

Yes I am bak home..but a home without my brothers..a home which I too would leave soon.. a home lacking its attributed brimming life and vibrancy.. it hurts me to look upon it.. but consolation comes from the fact that we will all be back..for we all share something that can’t be shed off with time.. a tag that we all wear with the same pride..the tag that says “LOYOLITE”.. a bond of brotherhood..yes we’re all brothers..loyola was and will be our home..because

WE ARE NOT EX LOYOLITES… WE’RE A BUNCH OF HOMESICK LOYOLITES.