When marriage becomes license to rape

"For the average Indian man, masculinity is about acting tough, freely exercising his privilege to lay down the rules in personal relationships, and, above all, controlling women"... It was part of a discussion about a middle aged lady I knew, a high school teacher by profession, who fell  victim to marital rape, and after I made this statement, a highly literate(not educated) male acquaintance(i hate to call him a friend anymore) disregarded and tagged me as "Feminist saale"! While most cases of marital rape in India fail to get registered, or even recognized as a crime being difficult to prove it as forced sex against the consent of a woman, or as a natural occurrence in the institution of marriage, it can't get worse when even the educated strata of our society become victim to such a shameless act, and even worse that lot of men are not even acquainted with the fact that sex without the consent of their wife, who is also made of flesh, blood and a mind like men, is morally unethical, and that she has all the right to tell NO to it. Let me get it straight.  Marriage for such depraved men is not a license to rape because of the 'implied consent' which comes with wedlock. Is it patriarchy that is to be blamed? Indians like us, who consider marriage a pious institution, and make every effort to make it work at the cost of giving in to the 'needs' of the man of the house even if we don't 'want' it, however educated we are, are doing it wrong. What compels Indian women to stay with such sex-maniacs in the name of husbands?... husbands who are entitled to protect their wives, but end up committing such atrocities and even getting away with it ! 

Educating the rural lot might help lessening the gender imbalance. But what about the mind sets of already educated people, who don't leave out on a single chance to oppress the wife. Is wife all about body parts? Ms.Banerjee(ex Mrs.Mukherjee) who spent a year's salary to celebrate her wedding with a civil engineer guy, almost burnt herself locking herself up in the kitchen, when few neighbors came to her rescue, to give her a new life free from all oppression and life with a demon. But, in how many cases it becomes easy to walk out of marriage in our country? Are’nt women supposed to adjust and keep shut about the distress because no one will acknowledge marital rape as a crime? The idea that it is betrayal of marriage to the core, and trying to save the same marriage for the sake of social pressure, religious reasons or what so ever, is nothing but giving consent to be brutally ill treated repeatedly, needs to be inculcated in women. If a man  subjects his wife to physical pain, the wife should subject him to the rigors of the criminal justice system. And if a section of the society has to call it as a feminist tool to criminalize marriage, so be it. Something more than sensitizing the judiciary towards marital rape, is needed. The society needs to acknowledge criminalizing marital rape, and challenge the myth that rape by one’s spouse is inconsequential.

Emotions Exiled

What I feel cannot be expressed in phrasal combinations. It either needs to be screamed out loud or remain painfully silent, for words, I bet can't express better. Call this insanity, eccentricity or self-hypnotism. I call this being released from a beautiful nightmare. The divine sin, that banishes you is humanly gorgeous. Full of imperfections, yet so flawless. One in a million is ostracized for loving. Don't get me wrong. This is about learning to estrange those emotions you once held on to, like those were the last things to live by. Every dawn you see proves you are alive. Every dawn once brought back those sweet miseries that filled your head the previous night. The whole day, it fills the mind and body like you were stung blue by a red eyed scorpion. Self love is inspiring. Raw, unfabricated love kills. And the same heals. Broken dreams about unrequited love does'nt make the one in a million demolished creature a saddist. I call it invitation to a better living. It is about one single dawn when you wake up to feel You.  Yes, its me! The dawn, when you know estranging feelings for one person is not a lesson anymore, but something that has grown naturally in you. Call it whatever you want to, but I call it falling out of love...

Flashback

Every silence is made up of a network of minuscule sounds that envelops it. And every solitude, is made up of fragmented togetherness that surrounds you. It is night. Late in the night. The white and blue radio cabs are yet to take over the city. Hues of yellow-blue taxis predominate the eastern Bypass roads. The one I am sitting in, is playing Md.Rafi singing a cheerful Shammi Kapoor number on the radio. The lonesome honks of the few aged taxis and rusted buses, behind, disturbed my thoughts. The traffic sergeant at the Science city crossing once helped me find the direction to some exam center during my college days, few years back. A fleeting glimpse of the sergeant did not help me decipher if it was the same man. The taxi headlights caressed those dimmed streets of my city, I once crossed daily. Is it nostalgia that overruns me everytime I come back to this place? Or is it what you call ecstasy... the eternal pleasure that I get sinking into the depth of this city's enormous couch? Or is ecstasy a long forgotten song sung by mother when young? Is it meeting a long lost high school friend, amazed at the sight of her vermillion between the parting of her hair, suddenly realizing we have grown up? Or is it memories of occupying the first row in the classroom, and sneezing repeatedly every time the Hindi teacher banged on the table with her duster? From Tagore's rejection of Knighthood, to Ganguly's bare-chested jersey-waving victory, to irreplacable and untimely loss of film maker Rituparno Ghosh... all that we live with is memories. 

 

My mind fleets to the lazy afternoon in the now-shuttered College Street, where once I bargained on tons of second hand grad-school books, that I leafed through only a couple of weeks before the exam. Rest of the year was kept for the infamous "adda" over "cha and toast". Another, brake jerked me to consciousness. The taxi drove past the lane I was visiting about 7 years back, twice a week, while in school for English tuition. She was in her late 60s. One post on a social networking forum, about 3 months ago, read that she was no more. Cancer devoured her. Death is so strange; stranger than life. One moment you are alive. The next moment you' re gone.
Every shut sweet shop, and every dark lane I crossed reminded me of those rare visits to "mamabari" in South Kolkata. Getting ready to go out with mother was associated with her soft silk sarees, the smell of old naphthalene when she pulled them out from the steel wardrobe, piles of old photo albums, some of the oldest ones being ingested by arthropods..... layered frocks for children that was in style, and ofcourse, the joyous tram ride. My mind was flooded with childhood memories, associated with this city, the ancient aroma locked in those almirahs and the tiny world that every child lives in, called, Mother.

While my eyes were about to shut after the day's hectic schedule, light from a heading car blinded me, followed by screeching brakes. The awfully narrow alley leading to my home it was, and neither vehicle had way to pass. While the drivers screamed at each other, a man, who resembled a friend of mine came out of the cab to make way. Yes, I knew him. Alokesh Mitra, the geekiest of my batch in school, it was. He was heard to be a medico, practicing in Pune, now. As I yelled out waving at him, he smiled and came close. And after exchanging few anecdotes from our common past, he took off his black cap, that surprised me with his shaved head. "My father passed away.. I am returning from the crematorium, performing his last rites...". It was time to depart. He took out a pack of Gold Flakes from his pocket, lit one and aired it, as the smouldering smokes of agony slowly disappeared into the air.

 

Matrimony Satire

Going through Matrimonial advertisements is an experience by itself, each of them reflecting a gamut of human emotions - humor, greed, conceit, avarice, sympathy - cleverly hidden under beautifully worded statements. The utter eccentricity unintentionally portrayed in such ads, has surely given this bunch of most

eligible spinsters(me and my roomies) a good laugh at the end of 12 hours of daily corporate shit, if not a good match. The long list of criterion placed for a woman in this marriage market, abuzz with requirements of the likes of height of Deepika , fair like Katrina, figure like Ileana d Cruz.... and so on. One such ad on an

internet matrimony profile made me laugh my gut out.

To begin with, if it was not in some bla bla matrimony.com, one could easily mistake it for an ad on Olx, where this 5ft 11inches techie from calcutta has been looking for a smart phone with customized features.

Even a gadget critic would go lenient while reviewing a new launch. In addition to the 'slim-fair-tail-smart girl' idiom, that has conquered the first line of such ads since decades, his suitable better half is expected to be "Soft","Romantic","Sweet". All of them put together would necessarily make a good music composition if not a good prospective bride.

Now let’s get to the irony of the idiom 'slim-fair-tail-smart girl':
“Fair” - It means, if you are wheatish/dark, you need not respond to this ad. Irrespective of how the groom looks, a social marriage in India begins and ends with the criticism of how the bride looks; the skin tone to be specific. The stereotypical Indian belief that “fair is beautiful” has led to a presumed hierarchy of individuals with “fair” complexion. And when it comes to such marriages, despite all the highly qualified aunts and uncles in his family, a wheatish bride is bound to be criticized upon; which is socially not acceptable by such morons.

“Slim-n-tall”: Despite that huge jelly-belly, the groom has wobbling out all the way, a slim wife is what he likes to carry around, making proud social introduction with his family and friends.

 “Convent-educated”, “homely girI”: It means, she is supposedly a non-lesbian, virtuous, virgin.
And a “homely girl” is expected to be happy with a vacuous domestic life, cook for the family all day, repeatedly beg the guy for anything she wants, and is ready to spend the rest of  her life  tutoring their kids. 

And here comes the cherry on top. "It would be great if she possesses a good singing voice and would listen to me...and Hope she also possess some interest in Cricket and Football like me ”. Introducing the new smart phone, that entertains you with its 15GHz dual speaker, its  pre installed apps like CrickBuzz and StarSportsMob to help you catch live cricket and football matches. The phone's excellent voice recognition capacity would make it listen to you and follow your orders.. #LMAO

Such rib-tickling ads  are worth ridiculing specially when you get a chance to assess the advertiser on similar

scales. Lot of these brides/grooms/their families still could not decide if they are looking for a life partner or a house keeper or a money making machine...!

And here is a list of a few ads you will "laugh":
Disclaimer : I am not responsible if you forget your basic grammar after reading this….. ;-)

"I want very simple girl. from brahmin educated family from orissa state she is also know about RAMAYAN, GEETA BHAGABATA, and other homework"
(Dude, did you just say homework??)


"I love my patner i marriage the patner ok i search my patner and i love thepatner ok thik hai the patner has a graduate ok"
(Girls, Ok??)

"HYE I AM A GOOD LOKING BOY ,WHO HAS THE CAPABILITY TO MAKE ANY BODY TO LOUGH.I BELIEVE IN GOD
AND CCORDING TO ME FRIENDS ARE THE REAL MESSENGER OF GOD. THE 3 THINGS I AM LOOKING FROM A GIRL ,THEY ARE

1.THEY MUST BELIEVE IN GOD.2. THEY HAVE TO LIKE MY PROFFESION AND THEY SHOULD NOT GET BORED WITH ME WHEN I WILL TRY TO MAKE THEM LOUGH."
(Hey Reader, how dare you not laugh at this???) :D


And finally,

"To be married on feb-2015 working woman perferable”
(Wow! this guy has fixed his marriage date too! But yet to find a bride.. Any takers???)

Oh Calcutta!

And here it comes after several riots with the over opinionated self. The inquisitive immigrant from Calcutta with broken Hindi accent and absolutely no intention of homogenizing cultures, is surprised at the debasing and immodest attitude of the city's service providers. In the land where 'burqa' stands for modesty, the preying devourers never fail to leave you unattended while over charging you for food, auto-fare, lodging and the list grows longer everyday. Kudos to the IT animals, who have chosen to be looted, plundered and stripped of all their assets.

The immense pride that I take is not just in being a Bengali, but the fact that I hail from the land inhabited by decent and humble people. And to replicate one you have to be an integral part of the city.Yes, we react vehemently to the tiniest provocation, we are chaotic and stand out the noisiest in the crowd, we don't own a clean and green city with broad metalled roads everywhere, we don't have a Bengali Tata-Birla icon or giant infrastructure like other metros. We rather value emotions and ethics, endorse the might of pen in poetry and passion for art. We might be tagged as one of the most commercially unstable states, but the state has produced the best economists. We appreciate indulgence in literature, politics, cinema and artistry. The politically sound 'bhadrolok'  (gentleman) with a sharply etched view on the world news is whom we support.

It feels magical, and nostalgia overruns me the moment I step into the Dum Dum Airport. My Calcutta! The city with a soul. It is the charm of the city that entangles you like no other city does. The city still breathes through the boulevards of Rabindra Sangeet , opus of Manna De and genesis of Satyajit Ray. This is the city where you would still find Rs. 4 as Auto fare for some 2 kms, three-rupee chai in tiny earthen pots called 'bhaar', and big samosas for Rs. 5.  The slight dash of arrogance that comes with the subtle bong intellectualism crossed with the feeling of superiority after proving someone wrong, is a rare breed in India, found only in Kolkata.

There is lot to learn from the city, like they say, 'what Calcutta thinks today, India thinks tomorrow'. Living in Calcutta means, a bit of it will go with you wherever you go. With true Bengalism running in my veins, it becomes little difficult to amalgamate between indigenous cosmopolitanism and ethnicity. The love and zest for life is what makes Calcutta unique, and alluring.

New Techie in the City

"Good morning. Welcome to the first rays of corporate sun. You have felt the early morning warmth and twitter of birds in the ambiance, you will also feel the mid day scorch, the exasperation of late noon and drained thirst of late afternoon.. but there is the refreshing breeze of evening to compensate at the end.", read the first sms of the day. It was from my sister, and unofficially the first welcome message, a few moments before the gala corporate induction.

As I sit to pen down my thoughts on this eve of Dashami, I get goose bumps all over. However, I am going to make sure you dont get it. Completing 3 weeks of stay in the 'city of Nawabs'(i know it gives a royal feel and yes it was a grand welcome from my organization) and this is the first weekend with salary. Well, I am happy. Yet, not like those who are sharing it back at their homes. One thing that Hyderabadis strikingly expertise in is showing off their gut while crossing the road, driving past a red light and ignoring all sort of

traffic rules.  It took me 10 mins to cross a road during the first few days. No cars stop at signals, unless its a very big junction. And pedestrians assume these roads to be some marathon track with an exception of moving obstacles on the way. I will take at least two years to get myself accustomed to their "safety" rules.

The first taste of corporate culture was undoubtedly elating. Office hours is followed by the same chai-er dokan e adda like we have it in Kolkata with my Bengali mates here. The tea of this particular shop is astonishingly tasty and consequently addictive. Food has not been a big problem since I came here, as much as I thought it would be.
It happens to be one of the safest cities I came across so far, especially at night and now I know why the police remains dormant in the daytime. The cool breeze blowing wind through my hair, music in my ears, the dim lit moon above the lighted highways and see myself leave the city behind , all by myself in a bus after the 'saptami bhuri bhoj' at midnight made me own this city...

Coming to my favourite topic, food. Being proned to hyperacidity and owning a sensitive stomach I tend to avoid the sour dal and curries as much as possible. However, being a bong foodie and a sweet lover at the same time, I love the patent Hyderabadi sweet called "Double ka Meetha", something they make out of fried bread n dipping that in sugar syrup. It quite resembles the "shhwar bhaja" in Calcutta, but believe me it is way more delicious here. Next comes, the nawabi biriyani!! The fact that the original Hyderabadi biriyani is made with very little spice and is less smelly than what Shiraz gives us back in Calcutta, made me really like it. Kolkata House is a big hit here for most Bengalis. It reminds me of Benfish, with all those Bhetki fries, fish chops, fish kobirajis ... lining up their stall. And my first acquaintance with Kolkata House fish happened one saptami evening, after office when we(me and my Bengali colleagues) planned a pujo pandal visit to Miyapur. We fell in love,  and I call it "love at first bite" !!
Anyway...  signing off for now ! This was my first blog from Hyderabad... will keep writing...

A Last One from Home

...And a final one before I am off to start a techie's career. My Bsnl broadband bills for the last 2 months have exceeded 1000s of bucks. My dad kept quite thinking his beloved younger daughter had only few days of stay at home. I have been googling hyderabad maps day and night as nothing else could give me a better view of the city, my office, accommodations...bla bla. I know I was growing old every birthday but not wiser anymore. I have hated the chaos of Durga pujo evenings in Kolkata, since birth; and often went out with family and relatives for long trips, treks... mainly the north and north-western India. I can count the number of Pujos I spent eating the Ashtami bhog in my para. It was only after I got my offer giving the joining date 2 weeks before Pujo, that a sudden craving for staying in Kolkata during pujo sprang out from within. My mom threatened to marry me off if I was not going for higher study/ job after graduation. The next search on Google was Durga pujo in Hyderabad. Wow! Bengali communities and their Pujo venues in the 'city of Nawabs'!!




I had no experience of what it was like to leave behind our loved ones and set off. It was being the first time and the toughest ever. From electric kettles to new trolley bags, formal shoes to a stylish haircut from paser bari's Habib-trained boudi(next door aunt) lunch invitations to pre-gifted pujo dresses, cash and blessing... it has been getting grander than Pujo itself. All this meant I am not supposed to look back, which is something I cannot refrain from doing. I will keep writing from my new city now... Looking forward to come back permanently in no time. After all, home sweet home!! :)