…and then one stormy Christmas eve...

One of the nicest afternoons spent recently was at a friend’s son’s Christmas party. The other brilliantly spent afternoon, which I don’t remember much to write about involved adults, free flowing alcohol and three birthday cakes.

Christmas as I remember it growing up in the Middle East was lovely. When the temperatures drops to 20 degrees in a place that boasts of 45 plus in summers, the whole city turns into a small fairytale.  Thanks to the percentage of Lebanese Expats, Dubai, was never less than an extension of the French Riviera in the desert! Along with air kissing, the festive season brought in, live sized sleigh’s, reindeers, fake snow on trees, fake Santa, outdoor cafes, Puss in boots, coats & mascara!

Ever since I moved to Bombay, I miss feeling all Christmas-y. So this time after receiving a warm heartfelt invite from my best friend “Just come to help me decorate and not eat!” I graciously accepted and looked forward to an evening of carols, light banter, a slight nip in the air and chilled glass for comfort.  I was of course in denial about trivial parts like - kid’s party,  handicapped friend, since her dog bit her hand, to add to the lack of excitement just incase!

So, there were decorations to be put up, games to be organized, food to be supervised. Chop! Chop!  

I started with putting up stockings around the tree. Asking the kids to decorate the tree seemed like a brain wave only till I had to break up a “he is taking away all the nice ones aunty!” I don’t know what they were fighting about, I only heard “AUNTY!!!” I noted their faces… Dodge Ball was one of the games we were playing later that evening.

Half way through my friend shrieked “Carols! Oh no we didn’t download any!”  The horse tranquilizer had not kicked in yet; I suggested she take one cause for three days she mistook her anti –biotic for some random pills instead.

As one of the mothers gasped that her son had been walking around with a glass of Strawberry Sangria thinking it to be fruit punch, we kicked the evening off with Mariah Carey’s “ All I want for Christmas is you” but progressively moved correctly towards Christmas Carols.

Twelve kids, three mothers, two glasses of Sangria down, the evening was getting better.  We played pin the hat, apple in the basket, dodge ball, Dumb charades, fought with a few kids for disqualifying them, fought with a few mothers for not giving their kids a third chance, drank some more, played some more….

As I sat on her porch, arranging the Sangria soaked Strawberries on a red velvet cupcake, tactfully balancing the reindeer horns on my head, I realized that no matter how old I grow, no matter how many inappropriate stories my friends tell me about Santa and his Elves, no matter how many soap cans I spray out pretending that it’s snowing, Christmas will always be the warmth that the snow brings in.

….Santa came to say…Rudolph with your nose so bright, would you ride my sleigh tonight. Then all of the other reindeers laughed and shout and called in glee, Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, you'll go down in history.

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells jingle all the way, oh what fun, it is to ride, in a one horse open sleigh. Hey!

Life Sometimes...

That’s just the way life is sometimes– upside down, uncertain, directionless, tapped, with only some of your remains hanging on for glory….

And other times, I’m glad I’ve got my chilled glass of wine for company J

The Turkish Angor(a)

Other than the reason, that I came across the rabbit’s pic on my FB friend list, this post is only FFS!

The Angora rabbit is a variety of domestic rabbit bred for its long, soft wool. The Rabbits were popular pets with French loyalty in the mid 18^th century.

Though known for a shimmery white coat, Turkish angora cats can have one of more than twenty colours including black, "blue," and reddish fur. They come in tabby and tabby-white, along with smoke varieties, and are in every color other than those that indicate hybridization (cross breeding), such as pointed, chocolate, lavender, and cinnamon.

Eyes may be blue, green, amber, yellow, or odd-eyed (e.g., one blue and one amber or green). Ears are pointed, large and wide-set. The eyes are almond shaped and the profile forms two straight planes. The plumed tail is often carried upright, perpendicular to the back.

The fleece taken from an Angora goat is called Mohair. A single goat produces between four and five kilograms of hair per year. Angoras are shorn twice a year, unlike sheep, which are shorn only once.

In 1998, the Colored Angora Goat Breeders Association was set up to promote breeding of colored Angoras. Now, Angora goats produce white, black (deep black to greys and silver), red (the color fades significantly as the goat gets older), and brownish fibers.

Angora goats are more susceptible to external parasites than similar animals, as their coats are denser. They are not prolific breeders, nor are they considered very hardy, being particularly delicate during the first few days of life. Further, Angoras have high nutritional requirements due to their rapid hair growth. A poor-quality diet will curtail mohair development.

Screams Not Loud Enough, Protests Not Strong Enough!

So one of us is the ‘victim’ again. What the hell is your fascination with gang rapes, as if a lifetime of mental torture engraved by one evil soul is not bad enough, you guys are out there by the couples!

What is it, a bloody bonding activity, things that you discuss while scratching your crotch on an un showered day, lying in a 6x6 camp? Who the fuck are you to just swagger out one day and dim my sunlight forever?!!

So it doesn’t happen everyday and we must all stay calm and cautious- FOREVER. Which basically means never step on the other side of a double latch door, open the main door only half way, just in case you’re carrying acid.

I’m paranoid. So I’ve been told. I have trusting issues. So I’ve been told.

But could you please carry your ‘NOT A RAPIST’ I-card so that when I look at you I know I can trust you, or not.

Yes manu, I leave your house by 12 whenever I visit cause I hate talking autos alone at night. I also hate the fact that to drop me, somebody else has to also leave or I stay back, till I’m ready to be escorted.

Sharan, if a photo journalist and her friend can get raped at a mill at 5 pm then we got lucky. You, now sitting in the U.S and me writing this blog, in spite of being the only two girls at the Tala Fort. It was a fucking fort, and only the two of us. Groups of men came and went. Thank god.

We were lucky, when we slept at a remote adventure trail, with unlocked doors and a missing wall. Lucky, in spite of being the only two women amidst a group of 5 men, where civilization was a river apart.

Manisha, by being paranoid, I’m not calling upon the negative but I’m just bloody scared, scared every time a second shadow falls too close to mine, scared every time my door bell rings out of turn, scared when I want to pursue photography at maybe not so remote places, even in broad day light.

There are women who do it all the time. You cant live life being scared. But I also don’t want to shrug my shoulders and say ‘cant change destiny, what happened, happened!’ But I’m ashamed to say that is the bloody truth, when we heard about the incident last evening, a group of us were out celebrating a success. One of us left to cover the story and the rest of us continued reveling in a celebrity’s shadow. We did discuss it for 10 mins, exchanged expletives, shrugged our shoulders, nodded our heads in disgust, pondered …for 10 mins.

I may be paranoid but don’t you underestimate their power. They are out there, and I hope we never meet them. But there’s no harm in being careful my love.

They will continue to be out there, as easily as they terrorize, they forget that day ever existed. Sometimes at the cost of not being caught, repentance takes the place of fantasizing about reliving their manhood.

We will continue to be out here, doing candle marches, writing blogs, commenting on face book, going about our daily lives trying to forget that day ever existed.  Sometimes at the cost of bringing justice, reliving the day for months and years to come.

At the risk of sounding like a flag bearer, I request every woman out there who has ever known of her husband, boyfriend, son, father or uncle of ever having challenged a woman’s modesty, to do something about it, not sit quiet, cause tomorrow it could be your sister, mother, aunt, you.

ENOUGH!

Raising A Stink!

I don’t know why but my household, along with many other proud Indian lineages insist on dirty talk, initiated with the first physical contact of the taste buds, and carried out till the last satisfying burp!

There is no room for coyness or reservation of space.  For toilet humor only the timing must be right – always while eating!

History proves many have been fascinated by this art, and allow me to shed light on why I call this whistle blowing a form of art.

Sanskrit a language which has demarcated many a boundaries for poetry and wisdom, has an ode to the art

Darrr-am Burrrr-am Bhayam Naasthi

(Loud, sonic-boom farts do not stink)

Koiyyam Kotakasya Madhyaman

(There’s a reasonable amount of stink when the fart is squeaky and forced)

Thissssss-adhghoram Mahadhghoram

(Unbearable attack of stink forces when the fart hisses)

Nishabdham Praana Sankatam

                                                           (The unheard fart is a killer)

In my quest in understanding the deep connection between my culture and farts, I was humbled to discover…it’s just not my culture!

The unusual images from an Edo period between 1603 and 1868, printed on Japanese scrolls, are known as ’He-gassen’, which can only be translated as “fart battle” or “competition”.

In the 90s, a collection of these scrolls were sold for $1,200 at a Christie’s auction. There is very little academic information on Japanese farting battles but researcher Steffen Remvik notes that similar drawings were used to ridicule westerners towards the end of the Edo period in response to increasing intrusion of Europeans.

 

And if you thought only the Europeans, Japanese and Indians were proud of their hot air talent, well…

 11/5/2012 - Great American Farting Contest doubles its prize money to 10K

 "If you are a US citizen there is a possibility of getting your hands on 10K USD in these recession hit times by demonstrating your anal prowess in public... here are the details.

THE GREAT AMERICAN FARTING CONTEST
July 4th, Reno, Nevada

$10,000 Grand Prize to be awarded to America’s Best Farter!

-Contestants able to fart on command must be 21 and American Citizens-

*Must be willing to submit to a body search for hidden devices*

At the contest, you will be judged in 5 categories:


1) Control


2) Duration


3) Multiplicity of Tone


4) Artistic Presentation


5) Stench (measured negatively)"

The most politically incorrect, audience participation show in history!!!

Life after Death

They say you cannot put a price to life. But death – death is allotted INR 2800 in the state of Mirzapur. Sometimes even a smaller but exorbitant amount like INR 50.

The state government of Mirzapur, has a scheme of providing INR 2700 for the cremation of any homeless person in the state. No matter how karma dictated your life, in death one deserves dignity. This obviously is a sentiment not understood by two cops, who are wise enough to know that a penny saved is a penny earned and that, a dead body is nothing but garbage!

Two policemen from a place within the jurisdiction of Kotwali Katra police station in Mirzapur district, were caught throwing a body into Ganga river. The body was brought to the Ganga ghat on a cycle rickshaw. The rickshaw puller was then asked to dump the body into the river, by tying a heavy stone to the legs.

Suraj, who helps the police in throwing the body into the river, says he has so far drowned 10 unclaimed bodies in the same way. "The police station gets Rs. 2,700 every month for cremation of unclaimed bodies, but the amount is not spent on it. They (cops) ask me to throw the bodies, saying they will tackle if anyone raise objection," he revealed.

Instead of last rites being performed, the bodies are being abandoned in the river.

Sanjay, a rickshaw-puller, makes his living by ferrying dead bodies from the mortuary of the local state-run hospital to the ghats along the river banks. He usually gets paid Rs. 500 per. For homeless or unclaimed bodies, he says, he is offered Rs. 50. "I'll give another Rs. 200 to the boatman," he says. "We are doing this on the instructions of the inspector, who asks us to get rid of the bodies."

Their infamous act came to light when the dead began showing up in places they shouldn’t be. When bodies started washing up on the river banks, local reporters stepped in.

I think about them, their soul may have been liberated but their body’s journey still not concluded, as it bobs around lifelessly (that may have not changed in death) I can’t help but think, how bad is bad, for karma to subject you to this? You live each day, wishing it to be your last, abandoned, at the mercy of a few morsels that life throws your way. Then after, even in death, forget dignity there isn’t peace.  Is 'absolution of the dead' literally just a phrase?

As for the cops, the rickshaw puller, the boatman, a discussion on moral ground - whether the money should be spend performing the last right of a departed soul or whether it should be spend fuelling needs of the living - would make for any discussion at all!

Disturbed…