Feminism and mythology.

The trouble is, modern day feminists don't get it. The single (independent) woman can be the mother, the manager, the diplomat. She can even be the warrior. But, she cannot be the ruler.

Shakti ( the single, unchained, dominant, powerful Mother Goddess) is called upon only when the world cannot do without Her.
Durga is born as a sum of the energies of all GOds ( and surpasses them all). The resplendent, radiant and ruthless warrior rides into the battle field and destroys all that stands in Her path.

When She cannot face the ever-changing enemy ( the one that sprouts from his own bloodshed), She gives birth to Kali. The gaunt, blood lusting, tongue lolling dark dark Mother. The one that dances to the sounds of battle drums and gets drunk on the blood of those She truly loves.

When the Dark Mother cannot be pacified, Siva must Himself descend and offer Himself at Her feet. The mother then transforms into Dhoomavati. The widow, the void and the truly vanquished.

The single woman shall rise, shall battle and shall win. But, if unchecked, She will lead to Her own demise.

To place Shakti in the hands of Shakti is like making a plug switch of matchsticks to control the forest fire. Or, a dam of ice to control the flood.

Shakti is dynamic. Mutable. It requires Siva beside Her. It is not a question of superior or inferior. It is the very basic nature of things.

The Marriage Marathon

Chichi. Look at you. Lounging around in pyjamas and flipflops. Still Nagin dancing in pubs, selfieing and facebook stalking crushes.

When all this while, there is a marriage marathon happening out there. Men and women your age have been coming home tired from work, exhausted and bleary eyed. And yet, holding hands with their coaches ( read, parents) and going through mind wrecking grueling 'choosing' sessions everyday.

Women have been discarding  minis and embracing churidars. Giving up the comforts of low necks for full sleeved track suits. Not to mention, the never ending barrage of Face packs, vitamins and statins.
Hitting the gym, removing objectional content from facebook, keeping somvaar fasts (coz, we need to insert some Bharatness everywhere) matching the colours, comparing notes, zealously scrutinising others and holding hands with a dozen other professionals (designers, interiors, gym coaches, neighbourhood veteran aunties)  to make the marathon happen! 

Men have changed their browsing histories from
Blonde
Black
Cougar
Teen

To
rajput
Brahmin
Tamil
No caste bar

Well, we are men. What bigger sacrifice and preparation do you expect from us?

The marathon begins at the job line. Once you have settled in your position at this line, you must start running. Sometimes, the relatives wave the flag ( or blow the get-set-go whistle). But mostly, its a kick on your ass that makes you topple ( laptop,salary cheque, fixed deposits, degree n all in hand) into the arena.

The crowd in the audience wil be thin. Mostly, it will be contestants you age. Clad in Lehangas, suits, veshtis and designer sarees. Switch on the Bharatnatrimony app on your phone, plug in 'mangal bhagwan vishnu' on your ipod and start running.


As more and more of your friends run ahead of you, the scoreboard will flash fake I-am-so-happy-i-am-dying inside wedding photos. The winners who reach the deadline will have their babies' photos flashed on the screen too. As the number of awwwwws and likes increase, you will feel the pressure building.

Run closer to the stands. They will be sitting in the audience. Always ready to lend a hand. Their own handcuffs clicking and they offer you a shortcut to the finish line by offering to handcuff you to an overly eager borderline personality chick.

Move your lazy, carefree, alcohol laden, work obsessed bum and get ready.

Haven't you heard? There's a marriage marathon happening.

Befriend a book

Befriend a book. It will stand by you, through thick and thin. Patiently waiting. It's pages unruffled. It's spine unbroken. It's words slow, clear and precise. Never scathing, never reproachful, unchanging and soothing.

It will talk to you about whatever you want to talk about. Give you an entire new perspective. Wait for you to finish your line of thought. Sometimes, you'll want to hug it and sob your heart out. Sometimes,you'll throw it away in disgust. It will never mind. It will always there for you. Patient, forgiving.

There is a subtle sexiness to it. The kind that makes you want to put your arm around it and waltz into any dark corridor.

It belongs to every century man has ever known. It's still being born. Find your book. Let it woo you. Happy friendship day. 

BAARISH

धुंधले चश्मे को कोहनी से रगड़ 
बनियान का कोना निचोड़े हुए 
सिकुड़ी उंगलियो से नाक पोंछ 
सपाट बालों पर बरसाती ओढ़े हुए 

एक अरसा हुआ, बारिश में भीगे हुए 

TALK

Talk to me. Talk about something random. Something superficial, stupid, common. Even deplorable.
I am done with deep talks. Done with the incessant grinding of meaningful conversations.

Engage me. Seduce my vilest emotions. Disgust, jealousy, anger. Even pretty little lust. Talk about the weather, about your last smoke, about cheesy songs and cheesier neighbors.

Talk. Talk to me. About something random. As long as it silences the gongs within. Talk.