Feminist Rantings

I have been feeling a tad bad about dissing Bongs perhaps a bit too much recently. I have been feeling, I am perhaps not being fair (which not many Bengalis are, although that is their favourite shade of skin) since I told my Bengali neighbour to go back to Bangladesh when we had a fight over him not closing the lift door and making me climb 4 floors of stairs. On hind sight it is perhaps even ingratitude on my part as that was the only time I got to use my legs for anything other than pulling up pants in months. However, this piece is to redeem myself of the unfairness and give the Bongs what they are due, for once. My latest visit to Kolkata also gave me time and company to appreciate some of the Bongs I know and material to fill at least one page with good things about them. I will start right away: The best things I like about them is what that guy Arnab writes in his blog http://greatbong.net/ - “Bengalis, even more than macher jhol and Ganguly, love the ideal of the dispossesse...

“ Manipur, literally meaning "jewelled land", nestle deep within a lush green corner of North East India. Surrounded by blue hills with an oval valley at the centre, rich in art and tradition and surcharged with nature's pristine glory…” I look, annoyed, at the chirpy way my colleague has started the paper on Manipur. Almost like the ‘generous’ pieces the travel publications, I write for sometimes, demand out of run-down places that have been turned into tourist destinations by building concrete govt. tourism guest houses and more concrete hotels around them. It also exudes a sense of peace and calm that sometimes I have to write about the same places while being surrounded by loud Bengali tourists. To notice the blue hills, the lush greens, the rich tradition and culture of Manipur in October 2009 requires the same amount of ignorance (and the supposed bliss it brings), an extremely optimistic disposition (may be caused by pressure of pay cheque) and a...

This weekend a lot of us (I and some friends) did something for the first time. Apparently it is great if you can do something for the first time every time in your life. (Remember that corny ad – 'when was the last time you did something for the first time'?). Obviously as you grow old, doing something new every time becomes increasingly difficult. And when you are as old as me and as lazy as my friends, doing something new is a strenuously disorganised bureaucratic hustle. Often such ambitious attempts result in permanent damage in relationships built over gallons of alcohol and years at the best and all crew sitting and sulking at home at the least. So we were thrilled to bits as we did something for the first time together and quite amiably too. Everybody agreed and no one fought. We all went to Godzi's house for a party!!! Now people, who know us and know Godzi, will think - “what's the big deal about going to Godzi's for a party?” this I will explain later. Pe...

First time in years, I wanted to be married sometimes last month. The last I felt the same way I must have been 5ish. A cousin was getting married and all the attention, the beautiful mekhela-sador (Assamese silk dresses) and the glittering jewellery she acquired, made me want marriage too. Years have passed and I have not had to think about marriage since. (Except those moments when the boyfriends or the girlfriends wanted it and my bags were not already packed). But this time I wanted it. For a solid hour or so. Not for any romantic reason though. Dad was unwell for couple of weeks and coping with extractive hospitals, unethical doctors and the general abysmal health care system in Guwahati made me want marriage. For the first time in my life I felt inadequate alone. The image of a gambhir (serious) yet, caring man, who is able to command respect and service from the lot of uneducated, diseased-in-the-head health care professionals(?) and at the same time provide sanity to my ...

Past two weeks I have been working/hanging with a bunch of youngsters. Read that as, my entire time and existence engulfed in hyper energy, chaos, hormones, irreverence and lust confused as love. The number of love songs and corny love quotes I hear in an hour these days is more than the rate of India’s population growth per minute. Fortunately (?!), my youngsters are comical. In fact too comical even to my only-absurd loving self. I have not been able to have a ‘serious’ conversation for longer than two sentences in past few days without somebody saying something funny followed by hollers of laughter. And I am not complaining… So I am in Mizoram, based in a place called Lawngtlai, travelling to places called Thaltlang, Sentetfiang, Sangau, Siachangkawn, Vartek. If you try to check these places up on the map (assuming you know where Mizoram is) you won’t find them. They are so far away from the world’s understanding of the world that (I think) they have managed to escape Google and CIA...

Currently no one is paying me for anything. I am not doing anything for money. And I am finding it increasingly difficult to avoid that unavoidable question that strangers ask you every time you meet some – ‘so, what do you do?’ Or the slightly different original version from the ones who are no strangers to you – ‘what are you doing these days?’ My definitive answers like – ‘um..uh…actually I am writing’ (a lie that has been told for so long that now its almost a truth. At least no one can challenge it) or – ‘err.. eh.. I do not know’ or even the one that I deliver with dead-sure confidence – ‘aaa.. I think I am thinking of planning to do something’ - get some of the world’s best really-unbelieving, very-insulting and supremely-mocking expressions. Some of our Bollywood actors could learn from my questioners. Anyway, before I digress, the story I am trying to tell is that, to avoid these questions and more to avoid giving my questioners more opportunity to practice their disbelieving,...