It’s not PMS, it’s your f*****g face

We women are bloody funny. Actually, bloody every month and just sporadically funny. Even when women are being funny it's more a situational comedy-like funny than laugh-out-loud funny. Am I making sense? Of course not, that's also because I am a woman. We say one thing, believe another and could be thinking something totally different.
The politically correct term for it is multi-tasking. Right. Multi-tasking my arse. It can be downright painful I tell you, this ability (or handicap) of thinking three things at a time. Look what it did to Virginia Woolf. While it could cut down output levels -- think of a woman making a PowerPoint presentation while wondering what's for dinner and how she has to send a birthday card and looking at her chipped nail-polish as she types -- it also causes serious damage elsewhere. It makes women COMPLICATED.

Is it any wonder then that two XX chromosomes make a girl and an X-Y chromosome make a boy? Male chromosome = Y = WHY! And female is two crosses. Why am I going on about multitasking, genes and bloody months? Because either or all of the three are currently playing havoc with MANY really nice women/girls/chicks I personally know... All three combined never let us be at peace.

Like period cramps. Unlike a football injury, or a thumb-ache due to too much X-Box-ing or a backache due to sitting on the couch/bed watching TV or a car/bike accident, women don't have to DO anything for that pain. It also makes you moody as hell, which in turn negates any justifiable moodiness or other feelings you might have. She is angry with the boss? PMS. Crying in a movie? PMS. Doesn’t like her boyfriend sharing moments with his Ex? PMS. Doesn’t want to pay tax? PMS. No matter what the reason for a woman EMOTING, it’s become fashionable to say, “Ah, must be PMS.” No you fuck, it’s not PMS; it’s your fucking face. . (For the smart arses: Am not PMS-ing)

Then there’s not knowing what we really want OR if we get what we really want; we doubt it or our luck. Like first we wonder about whether we will meet Him. Then we wonder if He will love us, marry us. Then we marry Him and wonder if He will cheat on us. And if in the stages between meeting and marrying, He goes and dumps us; you’re looking at a lifetime of complicatedness. No matter HOW big a jerk a woman dated, somewhere deep down she will always wonder: Maybe it was my fault?

Like that Jocelyn Wildenstein who went in for drastic facial plastic surgery because she thought her husband was losing interest in her. She lost the husband, her marriage, her fucking face and is now the object of global ridicule. With due respect to every woman who EVER wondered about her man losing interest in her – shall remind myself of this as well – if you have THAT many doubts, don’t lose your face or your money, lose the guy. Yes you might be bitter and lonely for the rest of your life; you won’t be butt ugly.

If the bastard did not stand by you, HE didn’t have a spine. If he slept around, it was because HE could not keep his cock in his pants and NOT because you could not hold on to him (and he will have herpes sooner or later, let’s pray). If he does not like your cooking, let him stay with his mother. If he likes longer legs, let’s hope he finds those legs and then she cleans him out. And if one (two, three, four) boyfriend dumped you, does not mean that every man will. Just incase you DO have a good man in your life, stop blaming him for the other jerks you’ve known. It’s not easy for a man to be nice – nasty's in their nature – so when he's being good, appreciate it!

And since this is threatening to be a rather long post, am stopping here. Oh yes, DON’T read articles/ researches that say men like long legs. Or big boobs. Or low waist-to-hip ratio. There are equal and corresponding numbers of articles that will tell you that women DON’T like man-boobs, skinny thighs, hairy belly buttons or big paunches. And no, James ‘Toni Soprano’ Gandolfini is NO example. It’s a freaking TV show.

This poem is dedicated to all the women I know who for reasons best known to them – and at times to me – are constantly and WRONGFULLY doubting themselves.

Do you really love me Darling?
Am I a passing fad, just another fling?
A drunken fuck, or a moment's thing?

Don't judge me by swollen eyes, the runny nose
I look real hot with makeup and expensive clothes.

Gravity and wrinkles might slightly mar the view
But at least you'd be certain I won't run out on you.

I could be rude, might have a sharp tongue
Twas the wine I say; am not always high strung.

Don't think my cleavage means a lack of inhibition
I gotta keep up honey, there's young competition.

I don't have long legs or taut cheeks like plum
But gimme some credit, there's a spring in my bum.

And no I am not always into superficial looks,
I know current affairs and I know my books.

I can bake a cake and do a rare steak
And be ready in a moment, for you to take.

It's a lil daunting, to think am always on a test.
But baby till you love me, I'll always best the rest.

I know this poem sounds somewhat insecure,
It's just that being a woman, I am not always so sure.

So I constantly compare and end up sounding frantic
Not completely my fault, self-doubt is fucking genetic.

Marriage & mayhem: Love is wrong, parents are right?

Life and Marriage are similar in many ways. For one, there are no guarantees in either. Second, there are no fixed rules for living a good life or a ‘making’ a good marriage that applies to all people. Then there’s the bit about both life and marriages throwing up surprises. Sometimes, nasty ones. It started two weeks back with an email from a reader in the US and as one mulled over the contents a colleague announced, “Someone left a strange comment on one of the tech stories” and ‘pinged’ me the comment. It was disturbing.

“Hi, I am from Bangalore and have been in love with a girl from Mysore for the last two years. She is a Punjabi and her parents are forcefully trying to marry her off to another man. I spoke to her father about letting us marry; he has refused and threatens murder. She is ready to leave her family and marry me but we are scared: What if her father kills us?” Even as one thought of possible suggestions for the distraught couple, a recently heartbroken friend called.

“My parents have found a boy for me. I have not met him yet but have said yes. The wedding might take place in the next two months. There is too much pressure. I am 26, how long can I delay the inevitable?” she asked. One told her that while there was nothing wrong with an arranged marriage – we have umpteen examples of highly successful, happy arranged marriages around – agreeing to marry someone she had not even met seemed a bit drastic. “After having taken most of my ‘life’ decisions myself – and things blowing up in my face – perhaps I should let my parents decide for me? Perhaps they will make a better decision than me… No?”

Two faces of the same coin: On one hand, a case where the girl is ready to marry according to her parents wishes, hoping that in their infinite, adult wisdom, they would make the ‘right’ choice. On the other hand, a couple is scared for their lives because eerily enough, it’s parents who want to kill them.

Before you go further, you might want to read these two pieces (my blogs on ibnlive.com):
On the question of parents knowing best..and then CHOOSING to keep quiet:
Children of an Abused Nation

On the question of HONOUR-KILLINGS or killing because parents dont approve of boy/girl:
Did Papa murder Rizwanur Rehman?

Before you read further, tell me what you think:
1. When it comes to finding marriage partners: Do parents make the best choice for us?
2. What would you do if your child chose someone you didn’t approve of?
3. If your parents oppose your choice of husband/wife, what would you do?
4. Do you think ‘honour killing’ is justified?
Read further >>> They gave me life… But it’s MY life?

Neighbours don’t like screaming…

OR, The natal connection
OR, How men and women are really different
Currently the TV speakers are blaring with horses neighing, Boers dying, many 303s going off together and commands being fired on all sides. Strangely, for a war movie there are hardly any screams. This movie was made in the late 70s and the glorification of war (or ‘gorification’?) that we see in Saving Private Ryan – young soldiers crying while holding their unraveling guts in their hands – had still not happened. The movie is Breaker Morant and I've refused to watch it. (pic courtesy)

I am not averse to war movies, just that I need to school myself to be prepared to be depressed for the rest of the evening. And if the movie really gets me, depressed for the next day as well. Young boys. Dead. Fathers with little babies. Dead. Husbands with fresh, eager wives. Dead. Old parents and their only son. Dead. Or even if there are two sons or seven. Dead. Shit. I also know that if there was a ever way and voluntary or forced conscription, both Partner and my brother will join in. And die. For who? Narendra Modi? LK Advani?

What will happen if we have a World War 3 tomorrow? What if Narendra Modi becomes the Prime minister of India? Will we finally nuke Pakistan? Or will he go for China first to prove he has bigger balls? Or would it be better for India if Mayawati becomes the PM instead? And HOW can I give up my citizenship if either becomes the “leader” of India? Partner asked me last evening, that if it ever came to Modi vs Mayawati, who would I rather have as the PM? I chose Modi. Not going to get into the reasons here… But honestly, for once in my lifetime I want to vote. Just that I STILL don’t know who to vote for. Partner on the other hand, has pretty clear ideas about who he supports and who he’d vote for

And that’s how men and women are different. I wanted to pick up Happy Feet to watch today: it’s an animated movie on penguins. Dancing penguins. We forgot because I was protesting (and arguing) NOT going to the dentist. My teeth have been just fine for 29 years and I don’t see ANY reason – unless I wake up with one side of my face paralysed with pain – which has happened only once in 2002, and never after that. My BIGGEST fear of going to a dentist? That the fuck will pull out my teeth, use a drill on me and ask me to STOP smoking. Sigh. But of course I will have to go. You cannot beat a man’s logic. Men ALWAYS use logic and sometimes it is very irritating. I have postponed the appointment for at least a week quoting house-shifting. I have more reasons ready for subsequent weeks.

Men are also very good at handling pressure, particularly parental pressure. They usually hang up the phone, start watching movies or sport or read the news. Women, on the other hand, they stew. No matter how many times the same things happens. Like when parents unwittingly – and I am sure not intentionally – press on the wrong buttons. When their ‘protectiveness’ only serves in denting holes – big, cannon-ball sized ones – in the defensive armour we might have around us.

‘Generation gap’ was a phrase that was thrown around a lot in the Indian scenario when I was about 13 – that was in 1993 – when parents and children didn’t see eye-to-eye on various things. From inter-caste marriages (now of course rich parents get the offending party bumped off), to watching cable TV, to not wanting to become a doctor/engineer, to wanting to follow the Arts, to brain-drain… The ‘gap’ between what the children wanted and what the parents thought was right.

While to the credit of the parents, there is an entire generation of them who are constantly battling with daughters working late, their children living in ‘sin’, divorces, drug addict sons and without-wedding pregnant daughters… Some basic things have not changed. And perhaps will not. Like the NEED to control. Or at least to impose their will and thoughts on the children. And when neither the control nor the will can be imposed… There is psychological warfare.

Like holding back words of encouragement. Or playing up on fears. Or saying JUST the thing that will shake your confidence. Like asking, “Are you sure the man is in love with you? What’s so special about you that he will stick around?” Well Ma, perhaps because I am tough. Or perhaps the most beautiful woman in the world. Or ‘snarky’ as one lady called me on her blog (What is ‘snarky? Anyone?) Maybe because I bake good cakes and can cook for 20 people in two hours. Maybe because I cannot sing. Maybe because I will never back out from a fight. Maybe because I can STAY loyal to my people, my man. Maybe… Who the fuck knows? What I DO know is that I don’t NEED to be thinking like this. That I don’t need to justify my being loved or my existence. That I don’t want to be scared about the Outcome or The Future any longer. Even if it might mean being foolhardy. And then WHO says am being foolhardy? And then, “I am saying this so that you think straight. Parents want the best for you.”

And perhaps they do. Just that their ways can be funny sometimes. Not because they hate their own children, but perhaps because somewhere they are scared. From deciding everything for your children, the kids become adults and make their own decisions. It makes parents redundant in certain ways. And if the parent has been used to control, it makes things even tougher. So perhaps they still want you to think ‘right’ or what they think is right. Shrug.

Everyone makes their own mistakes. Sometimes, when warned, perhaps we don’t make that mistake or delay making it. However, parents made their mistakes too. So do we listen when they warn us or blaze ahead? And how can anyone be sure that what is being suggested or the opinion/advice being offered is not a wrong one? Do you believe your heart or do you believe your parents?

PS: About the neighbours: I thought the landlord had asked us to leave because Golu Dawg barked a lot. Apparently, it’s not just that. The two old crones who live a floor below didn’t seem to like my rosy glow. I am also loud so perhaps their sleep was disturbed with my screaming. And early mornings too. Bwahaha. GOOD show I say. I will go, but I will fucking go screaming. Yeeeeehaaaa.

Eve Emancipation: On Facebook

Hello!
Those interested, can join the group on Facebook. Please use that forum to paste thoughts, links to interesting stories, thoughts or posts you might have etc.
Eve Emancipation group on Facebook

Verse-tality. snort.

There's much to write and have been writing disjointedly, a para in one, two in another. While I thrash out the thoughts, here's some stuff from back and beyond. Starting with a complete one -- my favourite -- and others will a little peek, click on what you like. All the words presented here were written for no one in particular. The words came to me, I wrote, I posted; irrespective of who was or was not in my life. The first one's called, You Are My Ulcer and was written for the soulmate I had not met... not back then that is. Dedicated to the one who miraculously answers it all now... (sends a silent prayer)

You Are My Ulcer a.k.a. Your Skin Is My Sin
I want your skin on me
Vein to vein, feel your scent seep into my pores.
I want to splay my hands across every plane you have,
Cradle, every curve.
I want to bite your calf, kiss the inside of your elbow,
And singe my breast against your ragged jaw.
I want to bite your lower lip,
And feed on it for hours.
I want to kiss; Your brow, your breast, your beard, your naked flesh.
I want to breathe you in; And die afresh.
And I want to see you.
To see if you see that I need you.
I want your skin on me.

I am not ugly anymore
I woke up one morning and realized I loved you.
I woke up another morning and realized you had made a complete idiot out of me. (More...)

I am a product of you
I am a product of you.
The Greatest Slut Born
Who’s not a slut but actually a bitch,
And you don’t get laid when you bitch the bitch (more...)

Maybe baby
If you had 10 years left,
10 years more or less,
Would you call it a curse
Or would you think you're bloody blessed? (more...)

The Shagging Love Song
Fretting here in my studied gloom
Is jes another day spent in purple fumes
I got less time, with many to do
Yet I shag my hand, I'm cravin for you (more...)

Fucking Compatibility
So I met someone rather interesting the other day;
We both were crazy about the movies.
Three days talking cinema, and some generous attention to my boobies;
He still spoke Bogart and Bacall. (more...)

It's just the way you look at me
Root me to where I stand
Make my skin tingle,
And send a shiver up my spine. (more...)

Why did Cinderella stay?
Why did Cinderella stay?
When she could've held the world at her sway? (more...)

Do working wives mean more divorces?

Year 1990. I still remember the first day my mother stepped out of the house to work; we were all on the same school bus. With growing kids and growing inflation, her ‘job’ was more of a budgetary necessity than a shot at a ‘career’. Ma had given up any plans of a career when she married and had a baby in the first year of the marriage. Having tutored two kids at home – ages 8 and 13 – teaching came naturally to her and she joined the school we were studying in. However, there was another reason she took up teaching: It ensured she was back home early enough to complete her household chores. She was the consummate working mother of the late 90s. Since Dad was an Army officer, Ma changed jobs as frequently as we changed schools: Each time Dad was posted to another city. It never occurred to either of my parents that she would stay back in a city without my father. Today they have been happily married for 30 years.

Circa 2008. The scenario for the working wife/ mother has not changed much. Perhaps not everyone becomes a teacher today, but most women still keep ‘Family First’ as their mantra and do whatever is needed to keep the work-family balance. And going by latest research, increasingly, it is NOT an easy balance to maintain…

In a survey conducted on 425 ‘Two Career Couples’ across five cities – Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Pune and Hyderabad – TeamLease Services, India’s largest staffing company, found that two careers has bittersweet implications on marriages. Of the couples surveyed, 34 per cent felt that chances of a difference of opinion and divorce are higher with both partners working. The reasons for disagreement? Odd or different work timings and either partner not wanting to give up his/her career for sake of the marriage…

Before you read the next page, tell me what you think:
1. Do you think it is possible to maintain a happy married life and a good career together?
2. If you had to leave your job to move cities with your partner, would you do it?
READ FURTHER >>> They don’t want to give up their jobs…

Life's favourite whore

That’s it people, I can’t cry no more,
Tis nothing profound, my eyes are just sore.

Life's such a bloody predictable bore,
Don't cry now, t’morrow nothing will be anymore.
Tis nothing profound, my eyes are just sore.

While elders lapse in tales of yore,
Our dear kids play games of blood ‘n’ gore.
Tis nothing profound, my eyes are just sore.

Why keep grudges, or a goddamned score,
There’ll be a new Reason to weep and 'nother four.
That’s it people, I really can’t cry no more,
Tis nothing profound, my eyes are just sore.

I laugh at Love, all her tales, her lore,
They were for the virgin once, now I’m just Life’s favourite whore.

PS: Had written this in March, when discussing vocal chords with this very beautiful 19-year-old singer, formerly of a Jazz-Blue's band. Her voice had a maturity and her eyes had a strange grown-up-ness in them. Anyway. Now she says she wants to use these in a song... Shrug.

Eve Emancipation... Now, in Hindi

Well, the idea had been there for a while, to write in Hindi. Had it not been for my school principal in class 11th -- who discouraged me from taking Hindi along with the physics-chemistry-biology -- perhaps would have taken it for higher studies. I have been proud of being pretty good in Hindi...rather HAD been proud of it. Trying to write the first post in Hindi, fucked my happiness. And that too, I dont how to say "fucked my happiness", in Hindi. But I will try.

The final push came today, when I received an email from a self-prophesed "stranger". She wrote to me and asked me why I did not write in my "mother tongue". She meant it to be Bengali. For the record, I am born a Bengali, I do not consider it my mother-tongue. Hindi, is my mother tongue. I dont mean to offend Bengalis (too long a word, shall stick to 'Bongs', no you cannot smoke this one!); however, I speak horrendous Bangla. I cannot write it and can only read a smattering of it and on bad days I forget even the little that I know. Anyway, I am digressing...

Eve Emancipation is now ALSO available here, in Hindi and is called 'Gup Chup: Ek Ladki Ki Kahani', which means clandestine. Why that name? Because I didnt know the Hindi word for 'emancipation'. Shrug. Those who do understand Hindi, check it out and give feedback. But dont expect me to NOT try, I really dont care even if you hate it (defence mechanism, Eve*?)
Eve Emancipation Hindi = Gup Chup: Ek Ladki Ki Kahani

Of beans, bra and & blogging...

Or, How to be happy for 10-minutes
Almost everyday, my wake-up routine is the same: I squint at daylight streaming in through the curtain, sleepily hope I have some more time to sleep while I am pulled into a familiar embrace, wonder where my slippers are so I don't have to step on the cold floor... and then I turn my head left or look up past a stubbled-chin and find a smiling, dimpled, groggy face that wishes me good morning. That smile pretty much lights me up and makes me feel very warm, comfortable, safe and loved. It's a new feeling. At times, that smile also makes me want to cry with sheer relief in being allowed to FEEL without any fear or self-consciousness. That’s new too. Those moments of waking up on most mornings are my happiest in any given day.

The other morning though, the smile was right there, groggy-eyed and dimple-cheeked and even as it registered that I was being woken up for another day ahead, a toe tickled the underside of my foot. My sleep left me instantly and from groggy, I went to grouchy in 2 seconds flat. “DON’T tickle me, you know I HATE it, why do you have to do it first thing in the morning?” I snapped, snarled. The smile vanished as instantly and the temperature in the room dropped by 10 degrees. I was cold and ashamed and much as I wished I had bitten my tongue and not lashed out, words cannot be taken back. Thankfully, the dimpled-smile comes with an even temperament and a magnanimous heart and thankfully after much pouting – my eyes become larger, lower lip hangs to chin and basically I look ugly – I was forgiven.

Why am I talking about wake-up routines? Am getting to that, a little patience please…

Yesterday, on the way to work, Partner suddenly asked me, “What are the things that will make a person truly happy today? Don’t answer immediately, think about it.” Now 32 hours later and having read some stuff here and there, I am STILL thinking. What are the things that will make us truly happy? Some people have a whole lot of money, but they aren’t happy because they want to keep that money and make more. Some bloggers get a whole lot of readers but then they might have to consider shutting down their blog. Some marry the love of their life, and then are not happy because their in-laws don’t accept them or they worry about losing that love. Some get the job of their dreams but then are not happy because their colleagues are forever scheming. What makes us happy?

When addressing the question of ‘what makes a woman happy’, one of Britain’s top feminists, Fay Weldon says, “Nothing, for more than 10 minutes that is.” After the 10-minutes, most women start having doubts about things (heh). I completely agree with her… and irrespective of gender, I think the 10-minute rule applies to most of us. Unless we are the higher beings (I don’t know any) who DON’T want anything or anything else from life, I don’t think it is possibly to be CONTINUALLY happy. We all can have happy moments or happy periods of time, but staying perpetually and all-the-time happy, I don’t think is possible.

The trick then to ensure more happiness is perhaps recognising that it might not always be the big-ticket items that can bring happiness and that it might NOT last forever. Once we do that, we need to maximize our 10-minutes and have more of those. While I don’t think there can be a generic what-makes-people-happy list, here are the 10 random things that make ME happy. Even if it’s just for 10-minutes… and before the doubts begin, me being a woman and all:
1. A cup of cappuccino, just the way I like it: strong and sweet. (Till I start complaining that Barista cannot maintain a consistent taste in its cappuccino)

2. A shopping trip to Sarojini Nagar market and coming home and finding that everything has been a good buy. (Till I start ruing that I should have bought the items I picked up but didn’t buy)

3. A new bra that gives me the perfect 'fit' and lift. (Till I kick myself for not buying two of the same… or faint at the state of the budget; good bras are expensive)

4. A plain, simple pair of jeans -- in my waist size -- that does not have any embellishments, funny buttons or weird embroidery on the arse. (It’s been a year since the last pair and haven’t found any yet. WHY do they over-dress jeans?!)

5. Feeling the skin ease as I slather moisturizer/ baby oil on it everyday after my bath; and the Partner sitting and watching every move. Everyday. What a rush! (Till I complain about how much moisturizing my skin needs and wonder if I have fat thighs and if my tummy is jiggling too much)

6. Watching a good movie, whether it’s a sad one or a happy one. (Till I begin day-dreaming about making a movie and chalk out all the reasons why I perhaps wont’ or can’t!)

7. Reading a good book or blog and smiling through it. (Till I get jealous about writers who are better than me; and there are a whole lot of them)

8. Writing an article/ feature and it becoming the ‘Most Read’ one on the official site and the boss pointing that out. (Till he asks me to do one everyday and I have palpitations wondering if I can… I also have a deadline today. Shit.)

9. A stranger coming up to me and telling me s/he reads me. (Till I wonder if s/he was thinking sex when s/he told me that or if s/he was being sarcastic. It’s called self-doubt)

10. A good night’s sleep followed by waking up smiling and topped with early-morning sex. (Till I get scared that just because I am happy, Life will take him away from me…)

PS: Everyone, DO share the things that make you happy, even if it's for 10-minutes. If you write it as a post on your blogs, leave a link here, else feel free to type away in the comments section. Perhaps I can get some happiness-ideas from you all...

'She wants to keep our relationship a secret'

You know Valentine’s Day has just gone by when you see love still lingering in the air, what with residual heart-shaped balloons floating around in offices, belated-e-greeting cards, telephone companies spamming inboxes with love tunes and looking-in-love couples everywhere.
Most (young) couples in love – barring the private few – have the peculiar habit of wanting to scream out their love from rooftops. Come V-Day and even the silent ones declare their love by infiltrating coffee shops, markets, parks, park benches and bushes. Much as the moral brigade complains, one can’t really blame the declaring-their-love-couples. Perhaps it’s something to do with ‘when you’re happy clap your hands’, or show your love.

However, what happens when one partner is comfortable declaring s/he is in love and the other does not want to acknowledge it? What when one partner wants an affair to remain a “secret”? What when your girlfriend/boyfriend shies away from introducing you to his/her friends? Or denies having a relationship when in company? What when your Facebook profile says you are “In a relationship” but your partner’s profile reads “Single” or worse still, “Single and looking”?

This is one of the emails that came in response to the ‘Why does she still talk to her ex-lover’ article. “I have been in love with a girl (V) for the last seven years. She knows very well that am in love with her and we used to talk a lot over the phone. However, she always insisted that we keep our ‘relationship’ a secret. But now suddenly, she says she wants to be ‘just friends’ and says she will not go against her parents wishes. I believe she loves me but is not willing to accept it. She insists that I will soon find a ‘better girl than her’. At times she does not reply to my messages and ignores me. However, she wants us to remain good friends forever. Should I accept her friendship and suppress my love? Or should I just walkout? Please suggest.” -- M

Before you read the feature FURTHER, let me know what you think of the situation:
1. What would you do if your partner wanted to hide your relationship from people?
2. Should M continue his association with V or move on?
3. Do you think the girl V really loves M?
4. Is one-sided love a good idea?

Read the feature further: Are you barking up the wrong tree buddy?

A bitch on heat is a Life Lesson

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Valentine's Day sex post because...

... this is popularly known as a "sex blog" and has a fucking reputation to maintain. Grin. So, a 20 pointer post on most things sexual!

A recent survey done by Chennai's Indian Institute of Sexual Medicine (IISM) states that about 16 per cent of Indians suffer from various forms of sexual dysfunctions. The reason? More stress thanks to a change in lifestyle whether it is working on computers, outsourcing of jobs and perhaps even blogging. Well, the survey does not mention blogging but we are assuming that if you spend most of your time surfing the net (for porn, eh?), 'facebooking' strangers or blogging, WHEN do you have sex?

Anyway, it got me thinking, all this dysfunctionality talk. When working for this other website in 2004-05, I used to handle the sex-queries column as well. And boy (or girl!), the kind of questions that came in either had me in splits or in pain. One person wrote in saying his "pin pin" was shrivelling while another couple asked if doing it "in the navel" would get her pregnant. Another newly-wed had not consummated their marriage for a year because she didn't like the look of "it". (Shakes head) Anyway...over the years, these are the few sexual topics that came up: Gleaned from real-life queries, discussions with friends and experience.

1. Too much sex makes you 'weak': No it does not. Instead, having sex everyday - or as frequently as you can -- will give you a healthy appetite, solve pimple/ acne troubles and even give your skin a glow that no moisturiser can match. what more, your muscles get a thorough workout, you have a constant happy mood (what with all that endorphin release) AND since sex releases pheromones, it helps you GET more sex. For men who think that frequent ejaculation will decrease their sperm count - or shrivel their penis -- seriously, have you ever heard of a muscle deteriorating due to too much exercise? And ladies, if you want that cellulite under control and that jelly-belly to go, start moving around in bed as well. If none of the above convinces you to have more sex, please remember that more sex -- with your partner people! -- will ensure she stops nagging and he comes back home on time (don't forget that condom or the contraceptive pills though).

2. Experimenting in bed means you are a 'dirty person': Only if you don't have tissues, towels or toilet paper handy! Seriously, doggy-style does not make you a dog like 'missionary position' does not mean you are being kind to your woman. For those who think making love is all about woman-below-man-on-top and then think their sex life is boring, here's a thought: A little imagination (and stamina), goes a long way. Try different positions, or even doing it in a different room or maybe even keep the light on for a change. When you change your lunch and dinner menu everyday, why should you do the same thing in bed all year round?

3. Oral sex can give you cavities: As much as kissing can make a woman pregnant. While not everyone is comfortable with the idea -- and it's perfectly understandable if you're new to it or with a new partner -- using the mouth is the fastest way to really 'know' your partner. It's not against the Indian culture either, the Kamasutra has some detailed chapters on the issue and everyone knows the KS is our biggest export to the world. Having said that, if one partner wants it and the other doesn't, talking about the issue will help more than sulking about it. However, two simple rules to follow: Don't force your partner and if it stinks, don't do it.

4. Wanting sex makes you a sex-addict/ nymphomaniac: ONLY if wanting food when you are hungry makes you a glutton, sleep when you are tired makes you a sloth and a pay-rise when you have worked hard makes you greedy. Sex or making love is a biological need and wanting it is as natural as closing your eyes when sneezing: You CANNOT keep your eyes shut when aachoo-ing and neither can you not want sex. As long as you are not forcing yourself on someone, not thinking sex ALL the time (like during cricket if you're a man) or with the wrong person, feel healthy, be healthy, have sex. And ask your partner politely!

5. If she is NOT screaming does not mean she does not like it or is faking it, it could mean she has a cough. Or bladder pressure or something else! Some women scream their lungs out -- better to ask your roomie to stay out that night -- and some prefer the silent treatment. And yes, some men DO moan as well.

6. If someone puts their tongue in your mouth while kissing, s/he is NOT trying to choke you (unless they really are). It's part of kissing! AND, two roses meeting each other is NOT kissing, no matter how many Bollywood films show it. This one was written because I distinctly remember this 21-year-old junior at work asking me, "JB, what does one do when a man kisses you?" She thought keeping the eyes and mouth shut tight was kissing back.

7. No matter how many porn movies you have seen, calling your woman "Mummy" (especially if she is Indian) will ALWAYS backfire. She instantly thinks mother-in-law and that could be really turning off. Most of us have seen Ekta Kapoor's serials... and those brainwash more than any porn can.

8. Role-playing does NOT mean you call your girlfriend by your ex-girlfriend's name. Or vice versa.

9. If you make your woman orgasm each time, it does not make you a lesser man... it ensures she is a happy DEDICATED to you woman.

10. No amount of money can substitute for a loving (sexually satisfying) man. If she says she only loves the money and you can either fuck whoever and not fuck her... She's got your money and someone else's balls.

11. While there are women who don't like to experiment and "lie like a sack of potatoes" in bed -- meaning women who will not do doggy, will not open her eyes, will not move, will want the light off at all times and generally just hitch her petticoats up -- You are heading for trouble girl. IF your man does not mind you being sack-of-potatoes and seems happy... Please check his travel schedule. Either he comes late from work or travels a lot... and guaranteed there's someone at office or travelling with him. He could be gay too. STOP being a prude, it's about getting COMFORTTABLE with your partner.

12. Having said that, if he FORCES you to have anal sex -- NOT to be confused with doggy style -- report to the police. (Apparently, 54 % indian women are okay with domestic violence. I have my doubts about that "violence" and WHY women dont report it). And no, ghee is NOT a lubricant. (You could threaten him with a strap-on)

13. No, you CANNOT do it in the ear. Or nostril. No, not even with lubrication.

14. Ah. Read in one of the issues of Maxim (India) - maybe two months back - a four-pager on 'How to go down on a woman'. Sorry to say the magazine was waaaaaaay off the mark on MOST things. FIRSTLY, a woman's vagina does NOT smell like dead fish. If you think it does, you have either not smelt a dead fish or are smelling the wrong woman. Probably yeast infection I would say. Secondly, if you have to use spit don't feel shy. If you don't like hair, ask her to shave AND be prepared to return the favour. Even women DON'T like eating hair. A wash once-in-a-while won't hurt you either.

15. If you fuck many different people, you will enjoy it more. Not necessarily. A whole lot of times if you are getting laid by everything or laying everything in sight (or with a bag on her head), it just becomes a routine exercise. Find, disrobe, fuck, forget, repeat. No matter how many women say they are okay with casual sex or numerous partners, somewhere the woman WILL feel used. Unless she gets paid for it or is a the local slut who hits on EVERYTHING.

16. No matter how many romance books say so and Bollywood movies show it, women do NOT cry -- or have gentle tears rolling down their faces -- when they cum. If yours does it repeatedly, you're bloody putting it somewhere wrong and HURTING her.

17. Masturbation will NOT kill you. And I mean women too. Seriously, if the sight of your ownself naked grosses you out, you either have issues or need to get to a doctor.

18. Not all men get horny after alcohol, a whole lot of them pass out. As for women, if she was 'easy' with you when drunk, she'd probably be easy with others when drunk too. AND, as a rule, people are different in bed when they are drunk and when they are not.

19. Rule when selecting porn -- that BOTH of you will watch -- get one with a good looking guy as well. DO notice how most porn movies have supposedly gorgeous women and horrendous men (think Ron Jeremy). When shrinks say that porn brings the zing back in a relationship, what they mean is that HE thinks of someone else while screwing you. Bastards.

20. Men love woman-on-top. However, if yours will have sex ONLY when it's WOT, he's a lazy bugger.

PS: Ah yes. If anyone has any queries about relationships or their sex life, email the questions/ situation/ problem to foxytanya@gmail.com DON'T ask questions about my sex life, those won't be answered. Any emails sent to ANY other address other than to 'foxy tanya' will not be answered. Simple, na? Answers will be given after consultation with those who might know better, unless I know best.

New poll up: Ugly men and pretty women!

URGENT: Chat box infiltration. Some arsehole is posing as me and posting replies in the chat box... two responses declaring "i am ghost" and that "pillsbury atta" one are NOT by me. Am off the chat box, feel free to leave comments there. And once the IP is tracked, will deal with things then. Rgds.

Hello! There's a new poll up -- check top right corner -- please do participate and let's see what we all have to say.
Taking Espera's suggestion, here go the results of the previous poll -- a 108 of you replied -- the corresponding article will soon follow:
Women dress up provocatively because:
1. She likes men letching at her 10 (9%)
2. She doesn’t want her man to look at other women 11 (10%)
3. She does not like other women looking better than her 17 (15%)
4. She likes looking hot and wants to feel good about herself 88 (81%)
5. She wants to keep her man on his toes by reminding him that she can get any other man she wants 29 (26%)

The ghost who walks... and talks!

Nisha and Gaurav have been friends for six years now and have been dating each other for the last two years. Gaurav had been in love with Nisha from the first time the two had spoken in college. However, with Nisha it had been a bit different.

When she had met Gaurav, Nisha had been in a tumultuous three-year relationship that had left her an emotional wreck. Her ex had been incapable of commitment and had been a serial womanizer. Even while Nisha's trust in relationships and her self-confidence had reached rock bottom, Gaurav stood by her. Once dumped, it took Nisha a year to get over the scars. Gradually, Gaurav's love and patience won and Nisha veered towards him.

The last two years had been bliss for the two: Gaurav got the girl he loved and having seen the uglier side of what a man can be, Nisha knew how good Gaurav was for her. All was well till one day Nisha received an email: Her ex was back in town, full of apologies and requested she meet him once.

Nisha asked Gaurav if he was okay with the idea; he didn't see anything amiss in her meeting the ex once. Nisha met her ex for coffee… That was three months back. Since then, the ex has been in touch with Nisha regularly – through emails, scrapbook messages, phone calls. Each time it happens, Nisha makes it a point to tell Gaurav.

Initially Gaurav let it pass and didn't think much of it. "I knew it was perhaps an ego trip for the ex, he probably was feeling sorry and stupid for letting her go," is what he says. But progressively it started disturbing him… "I trust her, she tells me each time he calls, I know she hasn't met him again, but… They had a very intense relationship. I could understand her meeting him once and closing the chapter, but this keeping-in-touch makes me nervous. They didn't part as friends, it was bitter, so why is she bothering now… Does she still have feelings for him?" he asks, puzzled.

Before you read FURTHER, let me know what YOU think of the situation:
1. Would you be comfortable with your partner being in regular with their ex-lover?
2. If you are in touch with your Ex – and your partner does not like it – what would you do?
3. Is Nisha being foolish, keeping in touch with a man who hurt her badly once?
4. Is Nisha really in love with Gaurav?

Read further: When the past is part of your present

Pimps of Pain...

...OR Misery means a million bucks…Or a million hit counts, or maybe even four. ‘Bad news is good news’, and it hasn’t been truer than it is today.

We read bad news, we comment on it, we charge by the minute on it, our political ideologies center around it, we ask for votes based on it, we sell it to nations; and if there is no bad news, we create it. Lawyers, doctors and most definitely the media would go out of business if it were not for bad news and someone else’s misery. Heck, we revel in misery.

As long as someone suffers, world economies will move, leaders will be impeached and elected, gossip magazines will sell, TRPs will soar and even Chicken Soup for the Soul series will sell only because there is bad news and we need feel-good, heart-warming stories to feel ‘better’. No bad news, no bloody chicken soup. Even technological advances come fraught with injurious-to-happiness warnings: Everything from coffee to cellphones and laptops can cause some form of cancer. It’s a wonder the human race has survived this long. With bad news being dished out from all quarters, it becomes tough at times… Keeping the jaunt in your walk, that zing in your smile and that hope in your heart that even if global warming, nuclear warfare, organ trade, drugs and mafia, rash drivers and stress-induced heart-attacks don’t kill you, HEY! It’s a fucking beautiful world out there.

Over the last three weeks, have seen a number of movies, a couple in the theatre, others on DVD. I saw Taare Zameen Par (stars on earth) on dyslexia and worried that I wouldn’t understand my child and will be a bad mother (will I be one at all?). Saw The Castle and was relieved when a simple man took on the government and won back his house that was being forcefully taken away. I wondered if terra nullius would apply to the Commonwealth Games village scam and if it could indeed be stopped. Then it frustrated me because of course the movie was fiction and nothing will happen to the case. Then it was Shawshank Redemption and it was heartbreaking when the “sisters” in jail bugger Andy - reminded me of Chandni Bar. Felt worse when Brooks hangs himself and when Andy is not guilty; so much for rehabilitation. I saw Syriana and nearly lost my head… What if tomorrow my son becomes a suicide bomber? Food shortage, resource shortage, haves and have nots… Which end of the spectrum will I be? Can I really keep my family safe? I felt used and like a mere speck in whatever is the global game. Because a game there is. Partner gently asked me if it was PMS. The first week it was. But then I was sniffling during Napolean Dynamite and Crackerjack, both of which are funny movies and got seriously worried about my mental health.

Today (Jan 7) I was at Tees Hazari - the biggest court in Asia - sitting flanked by a Mamta (custody battle) and an unnamed blind woman (alimony case). And for some weird, weird reason, it reminded me of hospitals and how the media, lawyers and doctors all survive thanks to survival difficulties that others have. Since I didn't want the nervousness I felt to show on my face, I scribbled in my notepad. This was written in court, typed out now…

______________

I cannot decide if I hate/ dislike hospitals more than I dislike courts. (Amit Kumar versus Mamta, the reader calls, next up after them are Pankaj versus Neelima)

My first visit to a doctor was a pediatric clinic in small town Jabalpur, it was Dr Kumar’s, adjacent the old Coffee House. A visit to Dr Kumar’s always meant sambhar-vada for dad and masala dosa for the rest of us, with as many extra helpings of sambhar and the most amazing coconut chutney… Somehow, visiting Dr Kumar was never about being ill, it was a family outing. I remember Dr Kumar vaguely: moustache, specs, a kind voice for me and a stern one for Papa (since he would call the Doc at odd hours even if I like sneezed more than once). Growing up in and out of Jabalpur – as and when Papa was posted there – I had always thought that I’d take my kids to Dr Kumar’s. The good doctor is now dead, the old Coffee House has been shut and replaced by an Archies show room and right outside the clinic now, young boys stand beside their Hero Hondas and smoke.

As I grew older – and once Bhai came along – we started going to the various Miliatry Hospitals (MH) when ill. All doctors were Army Officers and therefore called ‘Uncle’, most had round bellies and big laughs. The nurses were always south Indian and wore starched white uniforms with bright, white stockings and polished-like-mirrors black shoes. All docs unanimously prescribed the same medicines. Erythromycin for ENT, Crocin/ Paracetamol for any fever, Enteroquinol for ‘loose potty’ and Baralgan for tummy aches. Oh yes, there was this unnamed, pungent, dirty maroon syrup for cough. The MH pharmacist always asked one to bring empty bottles for the syrup and Mamma had an assortment of bottles in various sizes, depending on how bad our cough ‘sounded’. The MH was all about familiarity, comfort, Mamma overreacting about a “mere cough”… never illness.

(The hearing is in Room 136, there are many families around. Almost everyone has come with someone. I am sitting alone.)

My next visit to a hospital was as an adult, unaccompanied by any other adult. Since it was neither Dr Kumar nor the familiarity of the MH, I decide to go to the best hospital, not knowing what doctor to trust. It was Max Medicentre. On hindsight, perhaps I chose it because of familiar colours: Only the MH’s olive green was now Max’s light-green-cream interiors. Most doctors seemed too young to be trusted and it didn’t help that I was ill and had come alone. Thankfully, the nurses were still south Indian, younger, but still as kind.

One such visit, I weighed 35 kgs, seriously underweight, was suffering from stress, fatigue and starvation and had to get myself to the hospital because anything I ate or drank – even two sips of water – was coming right out. I was severely dehydrated and weak. My phone outgoing was barred, there was hardly any money and I was absolutely alone. Had to contact someone on chat and request them to call the taxi guy. (Strangely, one blog friend from Canada had offered to call the cab...and then they wonder why some people blog? Perhaps I agree that "serious" bloggers don't write about their personal lives or their personal thoughts. But then, are you telling me that only world politics and the ups and downs of the market is "serious"? Fuck you). I had passed out upon entering Max and had come around to find myself on a bed, with a nurse preparing a drip and gently stroking my hair.

I was crying, she said it was exhaustion, I knew it was worse. “You’ve come alone, miss?” she asked. I nodded, ashamed to be weeping, ashamed to do it in public, before people I didn't know. She wiped my face clean, sat on the bed and continued to stroke my hair. “Don’t cry miss, you will be ok. Crying will make things worse miss.” The "affection" was professional and came with a bill attached to it; but absolutely starved for any recognition as a human being, it felt good.

Then she had proceeded to give me an IV. It had hurt because I was really skinny and the nurse said my veins were too close to the surface. But her attention and (professional) affection did me a world of good. Those were also days when I was delirious with a whole lot of shit going on in my head -- a lot of it spewed out on this blog -- even when pretending to be sane, so I took a picture while she plunged the syringe into me... and then with the syringe in my hand…and middle finger up. The nurse just shook her head. I hate going to hospitals, but am not going to give in that easy. She asked, "Just now you were crying miss, now you take photo, why do you do so?" I just smiled, didn't really want to spell out the "fuck you" bit.

(The partially blind lady has been coming here for three years. She was “left” by her husband for another woman, when she had said he couldn’t leave her, he beat her so bad, she lost her eyesight. He left her, no alimony, no nothing. Another woman is suing her husband and demanding Rs 10 lakh as alimony. The judge says, “Live and let live, if he doesn’t live, how will he pay you?” The husband earns only Rs 12,000 a month.)

My most recent visit to a doctor was two weeks back when Friend had a cracked rib (no, I didn’t do it). He’d been walking around with the fracture for two weeks before finally agreeing to see a doc. Check up etc done, we both skipped out, whistling and happy that it wasn’t anything serious. Out on the lawn, a family sat huddled next to a man on a wheelchair. All of them looked at the man, he just stared at the ground. We were in the Spinal Cords Injury Centre. Another wife was wheeling her husband around, taking him for his daily ‘walk’. We sobered up and walked quietly to the bike. He put his arm around me, gave a gentle squeeze, neither spoke.

(I am done… as I walk out, the scene in Tees Hazari is warming up. Tables everywhere, like a college canteen, with lawyers waiting for cases to walk up to them, some sitting with prospective clients, those poor enough to not be able to hire lawyers who sit in “chambers” that actually look like chicken coops. A farmer is sitting on the ground with his head in his hands… He has to pay more or lose the case; his land, to his own sons. I don’t wait to hear the case. I need to get out.)

PS: After an hour of stewing over Syriana, I demanded an answer to How Can We Feel Safe In This World. The answer I got: “I like to keep things simple. I am going to do what is right for those I love and do my best to keep them happy. That is what I know. It doesn't always have to be about the big things...” And that is what I am going to hold on to, else I will go mad. The small things... Like being able to cry unabashedly during a movie without another getting embarrassed or asking you to shutup or stop overreacting.

'But I didn't cheat on my husband...'

Ruchi* (names changed on request) and Prateet had nothing in common: She came from a middle-class background, he was a diplomat’s son, she was 27, him 19, she a housewife, him a student. They had met at a salsa class: Her husband – a high-profile life insurance agent didn’t have the luxury of time and definitely not for dancing – and Prateet’s NBA type friends would much rather be dead than caught dancing. The result was them joining alone and being “partnered” with each other.

It all started pretty simply… He joked and called her “aunty,” she scoffed and declared he had much growing up to do. Their conversations were mostly about that day’s practice, the next lessons and who was the best dancer in class. Till one day the class ended earlier and they ended up having coffee and talking other things. He discussed his drug rehab stint, she spoke about missing her parents, he spoke about peer pressure and what professional college to join, she spoke about wanting a job…

From being dancing partners by chance, the two became friends. He felt she was “very cool for her age”, she felt protective about a “youngster in the big, bad world.” Her husband was out of town most of the time and wasn’t around much when he was in town either. They started having more coffees together even on days there was no class, watching movies together, even going shopping. Soon they were calling each other on the phone and talking too. No one had touched the other and no one had tried either, it was just camaraderie. The more Ruchi shared with Prateet, the lesser she felt her husband’s absence.

Their friendship progressed harmlessly, except that the husband noticed she was on the phone a lot and steadily grew suspicious. Then she fell ill for a week and didn’t turn up at the dance class. One night – as she lay sedated – her phone beeped and the husband read the message. It said, “I miss you Ruchi, all our talks, dancing with you… Get well soon. Miss our time together.Prateet.” All hell broke loose.

Next morning the husband accused Ruchi of having an affair. Ruchi denied it, cried there was nothing physical and insisted she was “just friends”. The husband however insisted that an “emotional attachment” with another man was as good as cheating on him… Ruchi was shattered: She had don’t nothing wrong and yet her husband felt cheated and said she had betrayed him. "But I didn't cheat on my husband... How was it an affair?" was all she could say. She didn’t know what to do.

Before you read FURTHER, let me know what YOU think:
1. Is an emotional involvement with another cheating on your partner?
2. Can you “cheat” without having sex?
3. Was Ruchi’s friendship with Prateet, wrong?

Read the story further...

How to do it doggy style...

Doggie Lesson 1: If you want something, say it with your eyes and look sorry ---->
<-- Doggie Lesson 2: If you have a good posture, everyone will think you are well-bred.

Doggie Lesson 3: If caught on scene-of-crime, look as if you're
contemplating mysteries of life. ---->

<-- Doggie Lesson 4: Looking hopeful is half the battle won - Especially when staring at the food others eat. Look optimistic, you never know when some might be thrown your way.

Doggie Lesson 5: And if you get tired begging, just go to sleep -- NEAR the food -- and look cute. A bloody guilt trip ALWAYS works on the humans.
You'll get some when you wake. --->

Doggie Lesson 6: Waiting in the kitchen is another effective tactic. But since that is TRESPASSING, ensure you're looking all cute and cuddly when caught out.---- -->

<--Doggie Lesson 7: Sometimes, you just have to BEG for physical affirmations of affections. "Pet me Mom!"

Doggie Lesson 8: Silence and sulking are a good form of protest. Non-violence ki jai! --->

<--- Doggie Lesson 9: Nothing should disturb your sleep, NOTHING.

Doggie Lesson 10: And no matter what you do, Mamma always loves you. Even if you fucking chew her finger, you shite!-->

PS: The big shite's called Golu Dawg (1 year, four months, half german shepherd, half lord-only-knows), the little one's called Princess Loona (8 months, also responds to 'Piglet', eats anything that moves, or for that matter doesn't! Half Beagle, half LOK).