Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The feminist battle.

           I have to claim I have amazing friends. You may be hearing this quite often from me (oh wait! you don't! I don't write quite often), but yes! I am surrounded by all the amazing people. Apart from bearing with me when I am PMS'ing to a plethora of other stuff they do for me and ask nothing in return, today I mention them because they are such sweet cushions. Whatever I write, whenever I write I feed it to them and pat comes the reply "Its awesome"! So everything I rant comes out awesome to them. :) SO now you know, the reasons for my tantrums! I am unconditionally pampered.

Last week was a girls week. No work. No phone calls. No role-playing. And mid-week I made a short touch and go trip to the maximum city because we had nothing to do. Oh yes! there are days like that. And off course, it was a train ride. Six a.m, ladies coach, window seat (Oh God! why did I even think travelling without reservation was a good idea?), I was reading "Herland" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Why that, is a plain vanilla-tale, it was the only book lying on the coffee table before I dashed out at 4.am to catch the train. I am usually very lazy about my reading, I will pick up anything in print I can lay my hands on. This book was surprisingly light. Easy to tackle. Made some sense. 

 Throughout college the best people in the world I could work with as a team were bunch of nut-heads in the body of women. Not that I became a man-hater, but these three women could bring the best out me, creatively! I also was sent off to a highly religious All girls school for my mother was tired of the aunties complaining how I was turning from bad to worse. Eventually, I landed up working with a team of nine other female fashion journalists. The entire organization chart I had to deal with was filled with the fairer sex. It was an excellent place-- hardly any straight male colleagues, except one or two dashing JNU types who were the object of much giggling and over-enthusiastic young things. From the very first day, we were taught that the power to do anything lay with us, something which most of us embraced or you could roll out your eyes and say "Feminists!". Now why working in an organization full of woman can make a journalist a feminist is beyond the boundaries of my myriad mind. Outside the glass-walled office, we were victims of many a attacks, "Ahhh! you went to school there. Ohhhh you work there" and making a face. There were times I tried to explain and they'd say "You guys are all so elitist." Others would sneer, "Yeah! I know your types, Fab India and Goldflakes and haughty behavior." All these times, 'Feminism' was never mentioned, but always implied. In such a way that it is a dirty word. Something to be used with derision. Because Darlings, to be feminist was never ever to be feminine. 

I never really thought of myself as a feminist. I mean, I am guilty of using 'being chick' to get what I want sometimes, okay! often. I like it when men are chivalrous. I have come to realize that I am better at nurturing than men are, just like they are better at fixing stuff . But if you throw me in a world with no men, I wouldn't be able to survive. no! Nada! The one way I am a Feminist though, is when I write. Or more likely say, how the world sees a woman write. I hate the label "Women writers". I mean where in world are men called "Men writers", so why the hell attack us. The patriarchal society had 'writers' and 'woman writers'. that is utter load of crap. Like equaling to say, you were born with that dark mark. Woman stuff. Niche subject. If you are a woman, you have heard a guy say "ugggh! Have you got your Hu-ha set on fire or something" when you lose your temper. Is it not annoying? Screw annoying! Is it not the most resentful thing you've ever heard? Male actors are better paid, male writers get their advances earlier and those of us born with a uterus are put in a special category. For them, paper works get done easily, doors can be flung open and for us you are only talked to certain parts of your anatomy. 

I am going all militant on this for a bit, and it might surprise you. I do not write about it, nor do I talk about it. It is not that I do not care, it's just I don't care just enough. I have had my advantages. I grew up pretty liberated, not hampered by my gender. But then there are subtle things that could not go unnoticed. And I am not just blaming the man here. By woman too, "Oh! How do women stay friends with each other. all they can do is to bitch about." I know I was the one who wrote about Frenemy, see that's not being feminist there. But there are things that are brushed off easily just by laughing or explaining or just rolling my eyes out and saying "You are such a MCP!", but they're betraying things. Do I think of these statements to be so true? In my mind? Well, I am out of sorts during my periods. Accepted. Sometimes, I don't prefer making a move on someone because they'll think I'm a slut. Sometimes I judge promiscuous women. Even decent men. Sometimes, I use words like promiscuous. Sometimes I get angry on my women friends for analysing and interpreting insults and not thinking twice and sometimes thinking too much. But don't men do that too? I spent four years in a place, men were ready to call it a gang war on a slight disagreement. Okay, so they don't have excuses of their hormones acting up every month, but like I said, I know plenty of men who will periodically (heh! periodically) throw nasty and hissy fits. Who delight in bitching. And sleep around too. (only, the oldest irony in the book:men who sleep around are players, women who do are sluts. We're the cows with free milk and they are the buyers.) 

P.S This post wasn't written to prove anything, its sort of talking out loud to myself. I'd appreciate if any of you weigh in, especially the males out there. Why does the word feminist scare you guys so much? 


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Why I write this ?

so you finally want to know. Well very often I have a writer's block. I am over burdened by my own thoughts. Sometimes i do take the pain of puttin them up, mostly i do not. This is a peek-a-Boo of what i see, what i feel and what i want you to know. Bear with me! Happy reading!