Role Reversal

Em woke up and stretched languidly and then looked around. Her eyes fell on Y asleep next to her. A well placed nudge in the rear woke up the prone figure. Y quickly hopped out of the bed. A slight frown reminded him of his duties. He quickly scurried towards the kitchen to start the morning repast. The full bladder would have to wait. Relief would come later once Em’s needs were satisfied.

Em looked after the departing figure distastefully. Really Y would have to get his act together. He was failing to excite Em. He was too tame, the thrill was missing. Em was overcome with a strange sense of restlessness. She wanted the thrill, the excitement of the hunt and the taming.

The repast was on the table when Em came out, fully dressed. Y was busy setting the steaming cup of caffeine next to Em’s plate. Em picked up the newspaper to avoid looking at Y’s drab figure. So boring …

Em hastily finished the morning repast and rushed out. In the open she kept its eyes on the road. Soon she spotted him, dressed in shorts and a singlet. What a man! He walked around with his chest thrown out and his butt moving in a very sensual way. His body language said that he was hot and available. He must not be owned by any one.

Well, he was free to be hunted.

She felt a flush of heat in her genitals. My God! She was wet just looking at this man! This was the thrill stupid Y could not give her. That poor creature went overboard to please. It was useful, but not sexually exciting. She wanted the challenge.

Em took a photo of the man on her cellphone. She would look him up, find out all about him. She smiled a huntress’s smile. The thrill was back in her life.

She rang up home. Y picked up the phone.

“Honey I will be late today. Don’t keep dinner for me. Something has come up”

The hunt was on ….

Art and Anarchy

Anarchy comes from the Greek word an = without and arkhos = ruler.

The times we live in with a PM in absentia, and his spokesman Mr. Kapil Sibal’s moronic statement “The PM is a notional concept”. Sheesh, Mr. Sibal, I hope you realize that the votes you get from me is also notional. But then I digress.

What is art? As a creative person, I can safely state that to me my writing, my art is something that helps me express, without any limitation, my mind. Art knows no boundaries. Art is definitely anarchic in nature. To grab eyeballs, to capture the imagination, it has to push beyond safe boundaries, beyond comfort zone.

And creative people soar so high into their own imaginative worlds that it shocks them, surprises them when they see the strong reactions that the fruit of their creativity brings. I am sure Taslima Nasrin found that out to her own horror, so did Salman Rushdie. Stéphane Mallarmé, was once quoted “Je ne sais pas d’autre bombe, qu’un livre.” (I know of no bomb other than a book.) I would say the same about a painting.

I got an email forward today which was Hussain bashing. Honestly the paintings depicted did not shock me. They did not even titillate. I mean, they were just forms of the female body, no detailing. Very artistically done and not vulgar at all. They were not portraits, like the portraits of his wife and daughter. Of course his wife and daughter sat down to get portraits done, and hence were clothed. Mother India or the numerous goddesses did not. Hence the forms were there.

Honestly people, what about the copulating statues of yakshas and yakshinis? What about Khajuraho?

This is the statue of the mother goddess in Chottanikkara Bhagavathy Temple which is one of the most celebrated Hindu shrines of Kerala. The temple is located in Chottanikkara town, 17kms away from Ernakulam. Rajarajeswari (Adiparasakthi) alias Durga Bhagavathy – the mother Goddess, is the presiding deity of the temple.

To know more click the link. This picture is worshiped in most homes of Hindu devotees.

Given the current intolerant and sensitive milieu we live in, the fact that Hussain is of Islamic faith played a huge role in his being singled out for special treatment, I guess.

I bet the poor man came out of his creative trance and said “Whoa, I did not sign up for this!”

We have had Shekhar Kapoor at loggerheads with censor boards, we have had other creative people at odds with moral police. The most creative way to express disgust at such repression was in May 1967 when the protesting students tarted up the walls of Paris with slogans like L’ennui est contre-révolutionnaire (Boredom is counter-revolutionary).

So let us just put this in perspective.

Hussain painted nude goddesses and mother India. The paintings upset some people who were non creative and considered them offensive. So they protested and Hussain, rather than waste energy fighting them, left. He went ahead and painted more, in another country. No, his form of expression could not be repressed, for all the moralistic jingoism. Now he is dead.

So why the hullabaloo? Art is by its very nature anarchic. It brings forth a lot of change, it pushes the viewer out of his comfort zone, and of course, it communicates to the soul. It is said that the devil played the fiddle. Rock and Roll was considered anarchic and devil’s music. Hussain’s paintings also touched some atavistic chord that led to so much unrest.

All I can say is that the rabble rousers will die – but his paintings will endure.

Mera Bharat My India II

The Uber-Rich and The Babalog

I once wrote a blog post about the 3 Indias that co-exist in our country. The urban Baba-Log that are beautifully depicted by Karan Johar’s movies. These guys are rich, and definitely think that they have the divine right to rule. They look down on the wannabes and have a complete disconnect from the rural India. The Swiss Black Money Club (the uber rich) that reacted so violently, to protect their ill gotten fortunes are a part of this elite I feel. There was all this money to protect, children’s phoren education, a plush lifestyle etc etc. No wonder the corridors of power pulled a few strings, got the police to lathi charge folk sleeping at Jantar Mantar. And yes, Mr. Kapil Sibal, this is a democracy. Folk can peacefully protest, and aam janta gave you and your colleagues their job. Aam junta can ask for hisab too. Too bad it happened in your tenure, but there it is.

The Wannabes

Remember Khosla Ka Ghosla? Do Dooni Char? And the recent movie Band Baja Baraat? The movies represent the urban classes, that do not have the money. But they want it so bad! And they are the folk that conjure up fears of Indian culture being spoilt by foreign brands. Oh yes, they are the self proclaimed guardians of Indian culture and morality. They are the ones who will opt for cheaper preventive health care measures that Baba Ramdev offers in his Yoga. This India is the source of Baba Ramdev’s power. They want a finger in the pie too. They want the power held for so long by Baba Log. They are jingoistic, very patriarchal, but they appreciate the irony of the ruling party laughing at Ramdev fleeing wearing a salwar kameez.

The rural India

And in this they are being assisted by the third main India, the rural India. Omkara showed this class in its true colours. These Indians have not yet come into their own. When they do … well India is going to be a very different ball game altogether. They hate urban India, think we are fools. To them superstition, black magic make more sense than the black money that has the country in uproar. But they understand Anna Hazare and Baba Ramdev. Hence they are supporting the Wannabes

I think that right now, the wannabes have served notice to the Baba log and what we are seeing is a struggle for power. The vernacular India has woken up and smelt the coffee. They have had enough and the rich people, so used to ruling in a feudal way are fighting to keep them from snatching the power out of their hands.

Wonder how this will end.

As of now, its the news channels that are laughing all the way to the bank.

Again, my thanks to the cartoonists who have given us such catchy images of the current events. I have published cartoons I recieved in email forwards, I claim no credit for them

Nero fiddled when Rome burnt

The thing about history is that a lot of it is a bunch of poppycock, and a pretty stinky bunch of poppycock, at that! The historical truth is that Rome was not burnt completely, about a tenth of Rome burnt. Nero could not have fiddled as Rome burnt, fiddles were invented about a thousand years later. Some Christians insist that he played the lyre while Rome burnt. But there are reports that Nero was in Antium, not Rome, when the fire broke out.

According to Tacitus, the historian, he rushed back to Rome on getting the news. He organized relief efforts, funded by his own money, even opened the palaces to shelter the homeless. But still the perception that Nero fiddled while Christians were persecuted and Rome burnt remains.

I think there is a lesson here that our leading party could learn. It is hard to fight perceptions.

But then I feel that they were never in touch with ground realities and now have lost it completely.

I mean, where was the need for strong arm tactics at the Ramleela ground? Ramdev Baba may be double jointed and adept at selling his brand of yoga, but he is another person who is not in touch with ground realities. He even stated that Yoga could “cure” homosexuality, for God’s sake! If they allowed the circus to continue, he would have been buried under his own lack of political savvy-ness. But Lo and Behold! The two day circus at Ramleela Ground ended in a Diwali of sorts – thanks to the ham handedness of our rulers. I heard cries of “Ram Dev Baba Amar Rahe”

Yeah sure, thanks to Congress, Ram Dev Baba has become amar! Ham handed for sure. I am appalled at the stupid timing. Sunday is when everyone is home. This is summer, and no one goes out. People watch TV. And the images they see lead to just one conclusion :-

This Govt does not want to do anything about corruption. So what if it jailed Kalmadi and Kani. They were arm twisted into doing it. This Govt wants to bring back emergency like Indira Gandhi.

Nero fiddled when Rome burnt

And you know what, not a peep from the Queen – who is incommunicado

Not a word from the Prince who was ashamed to be Indian a few days ago.

And the decoy ruler? Well, have we ever heard him saying anything forcefully?

Where are they? Are we leader-less? Is this why we elected them?

You know what the perception is …

Nero fiddles away

while our Rome burns

All the cartoons put up in the post are from email forwards, I claim no copyright for them. I thank the cartoonists for their brilliant depiction of current events

My letter to Femina

Respected Sir/Madam,
This letter is in reference to the very short story that you have published in your issue of May 5, 2011.

The short story in question was written by me and first put on my blog, which is under Creative Commons License. Later, it was given to Mr. Prashant Karhade who published it in an anthology of short stories by contemporary women writers “Ripples” The MOU was drawn by Mr. Prashant Karhade for all the contributing writers, and it was stated clearly in the MOU that the copyrights of the stories rests with the author concerned.

I am writing this letter to you out of sheer disappointment. I was under the impression that a reputed magazine like Femina would at least contact an author and take her permission before publishing her story. The original story was mangled, edited poorly and without my permission and then published.

I am a blogger and you have clearly given my blog link under the story. You could have given me the kind courtesy of at least taking my permission before publishing my story, and not tampered with the original.

When I brought this to your notice, you were kind enough to mail me a personal apology, blaming it on the “oversight” of your feature writer of the page.

I sincerely do not think that this is adequate recompense. You have said repeatedly on Twitter that you are looking into the matter. I wonder how much time you need to reply to my mail as well as take steps to “make up for the error” as you kindly assured me in your email of May 26th 2011.

I look forward to a speedy reply from you.

With regards
Ritu Lalit

Sunday morning fun

I switch on the TV and get a black screen. There is no snow, no blue and no picture screen. Just a black screen.

Me : Scream! My TV does not have power

Kid#2 : It has power but something is wrong with it. It does not work.

Me : How?

Kid#2 : I dont know, voltage fluctuations must have burnt some part

Me : When did this happen?

Kid#1 : Don’t you know? I think that was Tuesday.

And it is Sunday today …….

Me : Hot damn. I wanted to watch some TV

Kid#2 : No you dont. Anyone who does not need a TV for four days does not need one.

Me : But I wanted to watch news

Kid#2 : Utube hai na

Kid#1 : Vaise bhi, we call your room the honeymoon suite. Solid bed, great airconditioning, no TV, door always locked

Me : ???????? Go pick on someone else, I am going back into my “honeymoon suite”

Damn they should have informed me that the damn TV broke. I could have gotten it repaired over the week!

The Femina fiasco

We are bloggers, we write because it is our passion. And we pride ourselves in our originality. We are unique and creative and that is our sole reason for blogging. No, scratch that. We also get a rush from the comments, the interaction with the visitors to our blog. I can remember walking on air when I found out that people read the feeds to my blog. How cool is that? I had this huge grin on my face people and my family informs me that I was a huge pain for a while.

I have kept the blog ad free, but I am possessive about my content. I gave a couple of stories off my blog to Prashant Karhade of APK Publishers. One was a very short story titled “My Daughter’s Stricken Eyes Haunt Me”.

The MOU signed by me prior to publishing states clearly in Clause No. 4 that the copyright for this story lies with the writer.

Imagine my shock when I was congratulated by Hrishikesh Bawa on Facebook on my story appearing in Femina, right next to the recipes!

I was in office right then and could not lay my hands on the magazine.

And the story … badly mangled, with lines missing

This is the Femina May 4th issue … here is the cover

Should I feel flattered? Femina is a big name … after all. But no, sad to say but I dont. I keep my blog ad free, I do not profit from my writing. For that I work at a soul less desk job. And here is the fruit of my creativity, published in a magazine, for commerce. Some one else is profiting from it. In short, I’ve been had! Mera chu…ya kat gaya hai. And if Hrishikesh had not messaged me on FB I would not have come to know.

I have learnt from other bloggers that similar things have happened to them. Some of these reputed newspapers etc do not even list them as the source.

What do you say, bloggers? Are we so helpless, so unworthy that we don’t deserve the courtesy of a small email or a comment in our comment section? Are we so weak that we can be walked over?

Reactions of bloggers

Femina sinks to a new low

Where Femina Steals

Strongly support Ritu’s position

Femina and the stolen story

What is beauty?


Dove Real Beauty on Yahoo! India

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, says an old saying.  It is said that Laila was dark, skinny, with cracked lips and blackened teeth.  She had a tobacco and paan chewing habit.  But to the smitten Majnu, she was beautiful, and he gave his life up for her.

When I hear the term “Classic Beauty” I wonder.  Perception of beauty is a very subjective thing, and every country has its own ideal. And then there is the matter of personal taste. Some people may find a cine star lovely, others may find her too artificial.

So what is real beauty?  It took me almost a lifetime to get the answer.

As a child, I was one of those who can be called “cute” or “pretty”.  My father did not like that at all.  He was of the opinion that most good looking adults are shallow.  So high sounding phrases like “Beauty is as Beauty does” and “Cultivating the inner self” etc. became subject of discourse.  Not that it mattered to me.  I basked in admiration and developed into a vain girl.  Things come easy to pretty girls, which suited me, and I really liked the impression I created.

Thank God anorexia was not something we heard of then, otherwise, given the time I spent preening in front of the mirror, I was the right candidate for it.

As I grew up, I became interested in dramatics.  Of course, I accepted none other than the leading female role.  As I became proficient in emoting, I stared getting small jobs as a model and was offered a job as a leading actress in movies.  My mother thought the producer was sleazy and freaked.  She must have been right, he is not a big name and I never heard of any movie by a production house with that name. But I was young and over the moon!  That led to a lot of unpleasantness at home.  The parents disapproved, to put it mildly.  It had nothing to do with “inner self” and “moral fiber”.  Real beauty, as per my parents, had nothing to do with good features and fair skin.  That was just a genetic gift.

It had nothing to do with all the time I spent in front of the mirror and all the products I slathered on my self.  That was superficial, and not long lasting.  Oh, I resented their sermons and even laughed at this obsession with the inner self.

Now I am fifty plus, and life has taught me much, but has taken away that fresh cutesy look of yore.  Whatever claims I had towards attractiveness have been ravaged by time, and a lifetime’s worth of indulgence in food.  I look at myself in the mirror and see an old woman, with graying hair and an expanding girth.  So, does that make me ugly?

No, it does not.

When my sons hug me, snuggle into me and look me in the eyes, I see love.  It makes me feel beautiful.  When they say, “You are the best Mom” I feel lovely.  I want to look my best for them.

When my partner looks at me with loving eyes and says, “You look so wonderful” it makes me feel gorgeous, like a goddess, or like Helen of Troy.  I want to shine, to see the adoration in his eyes.

Perhaps my father spoke sense.  True beauty is something that emanates from some where inside a person.  And he really pushed me into developing the inner me.

But packaging is important too.  We do live in a world where impressions matter.  My beauty is real, it stems from the inner me, but I still spend time in front of the mirror and slathering products on my self.  It satisfies the inner me.

 

You can vote for this article here

This post is written for the Indiblogger and Dove Real Beauty Contest. Check out this contest people. The first prize is for Rs 1 Lakh. I think its the highest ever amount for blogging

The face of my book

I have a bowl at home, a pretty glass bowl, which is filled with glass butterflies.  So when I am sitting at home watching television, I normally have it in my lap and run my hands through it.  I like the clanging noise it makes.  My undutiful offsprings beg to differ.  It annoys them.

So, mostly tongue and cheek, I named my novel “A Bowlful of Butterflies”

I dreamt of this as a cover.

Yeah, yeah.  It is not original and probably has a whole lot of copyright issues.  But I thought it looked classy and dignified.  That is me, I borrow class and dignity you see.  My impetuosity does not grant me much of it in my person.

My huge fear was that the cover would be pink or blue and scream out on the shelves of book shops “This is by women, about women and for women”

That would scare any male buyer of the book, and that is 50% of the population.  Horrors

So we went through a gamut of covers.  Writing the book was easier I must say.  A word of appreciation for my editor, she is so patient.  Shikha, Lady RESPECT!  You’re a saint.

And then we hit upon this one, which I loved

I loved the green, loved the mystery that this cover seemed to convey.

But sadly it was not to be …

As my DIL points out, it has too much detail, it may turn out cluttered.  Well, she is an interior designer and has impeccable eye for detail.

So this is the final face of my book

You like???

 

Desi Beats

I have heard of and admired truck art of Pakistan.  The denizens of our neighbour decorate their vehicles with lots of love and care.  We do not decorate our vehicles but we wear our philosophy and our experiences – not on our sleeves, but on our wheels.  Some lovely pics … not all of them taken by me, but taken off Google

PROFOUND PHILOSOPHY

PITHY WIT IN AN AUTOS

(Translation : Sitting with your boyfriend and calling him Bhaiyya is forbidden)

One can’t underestimate auto wallahs eh?  Reminded me of a family joke.  Once Kid#2 totalled his car, I refused to buy another.  So poor chappie has to go to college by auto.  Now his auto wallah has the unlikely name of “JAANU”.  Kid#2 shares this auto with a young girl who studies in the same university.  The enterprising autowallah had his cell no. emblazoned inside the auto, followed by his name JAANU. Kid#2 rings him up and the guy brings his auto to him … where ever Kid#2 is in the city.  I am not kidding you.  The boy has a full on city wide auto service to call his own.  Auto wallah suggested similar service to this girl too.

Girl : Aap koi aur naam batao (Give another name please)

JAANU : Magar yeh humara naam hai (This is my name)

Girl : Merey Papa mera khoon kar denge, koi aur naam please.  Yeh naam mai cell mein nahin daal sakti (My father will kill me, I can’t save this name on my cell)

Needless to say this conversation had us in splits.

INDIAN AUTOS AND CRICKET

I am sure he stayed home the day after India won the world cup!

SEEN ON A 2 WHEELER

NOW FOR SOME UNREALISTIC AMBITION

AND SOME MORE

I LOVE THE LOFTY TONE OF THIS ONE

(Translation : I dont live my life being unaware of my self (self worth?), I dont snatch someone else’s peg of whisky and drink, If you want to overtake me, go ahead, I don’t care,  I dont waste my time pursuing others)

CURSE TO WARD OFF THE EVIL EYE

(Translation : For the one with evil eye, may your children live, drink in the mornings/through the day, and gamble in the evenings), and the one in red paint on white is a message for the driver …. If you treat me like a queen, I will make you a king)  Hmmm, I feel this works as a message from all women to their men

 

NOW THIS ONE IS ORIGINAL

(Translation : Don’t get jealous on seeing me, I have been bought on bank loan)

EVERYONE HATES KNOW IT ALLS

Most of the truck messages I have seen or read are in Gurumukhi, and I am not too good at reading and translating them, though I wish I could share