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Soldier Island of Misogyny

It was evening and the air was anxious with precipitation. I was expecting rain. Being stranded under the porch of nearby shop. What I didnt realise was that I am going to walk into a game of misogyny rush( like minion rush).

I was sitting with a bunch of new acquaintances. There were drinks and awkward anecdotes doing rounds trying to loosen us enough to so that whatever we were pretending to be, could be more genuine. We tumbled into talking about relationships as if that isnt awkward at all. Very confidently I said, to date me the guy has to be a feminist. I was wrong to think that its a norm amongst people with a decent educational background. But being wrong wasn’t so much of a shock as the fact that it was considered appropriate to try to school me on my choices. I was busy counting my stars that I have had the privilege of being a feminist compared to this young man who probably didnt have access to proper education in his obsolete little town where women probably dont  have the freedom to step out of the house(the little bourgeois in me awakening). But little did I know that its the Soldier Island of Misogyny and I am about to be more stranded than what I had originally thought.

Well all men are trash and a man being aware of feminism is barely short of impossible. But I thought my pool of acquaintances would atleast have women who are empowered. But I came across the ‘Cool Girl’. I never really thought Gillian Flynn’s monologue would be like a horocrux of this agony. But yes intelligent women think its cool to be sexist and its painful to witness. Their fathers have bred them well I guess (note the sarcasm). They think they are cool being the bros without realising that they are being considered unworthy as they are. The Cool Girl is reduced to nothing more than the Pavlovian dog.

But I felt that perhaps its all just internalised misogyny and any actual incident would not go unfettered. But then there was the Stockholm Syndrome and it aint pretty. I witnessed a sexual abuse victim cajoling with her abuser. I didn’t know whether to be disgusted, alarmed or concerned. Hence I was all. Who fucked you up honey? I have met victims sexual abuse which was more violent and physically damaging. But I pitied this one the most because her ability to think were probably put in some tijori along with the dowry for her wedding.

So I stood up for the poor hapless child. But I was supposed to not indulge in personal grudges said some. If a woman is abused anywhere on the planet, its personal and the reason why you dont think so is also why someone else is going to decide who you are going to marry as well. It should ideally be more personal to you than to me.

But the worst feeling was to see another feminist be a misogynist. ”

“Why do you treat women a certain way and men another”, I asked? The women are horrible and have personally done horrible things to me. Even if it were true, why does the man get a discount on being a douche and not the woman? If any, the discount should go to woman as she has been brainwashed into accepting misogyny as a norm.

That nearly broke my heart. Its so easy to go back to our misogynous past. That even the most educated, aware of and committed to feminism  have hardly any chance to remain so. I thought of this friend of mine who was all for feminism but her voice used to get several tones softer when talking to men. She had absolutely no control over it. Thats how deep patriarchy runs.

As I mulled over these thoughts, my mind mirroring the dark clouds forming above me,  I was pushed roughly by a woman running to get into a standing train to the burbs. Irritated, I snapped, “If you cant catch a train, why don’t you just sit at home and cook.”

(hullo internalised misogyny)

And then there were none…

 

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Shh

Shh let’s not say it,

it hurts but why express it.

its killing me and you,

but the roads were different for our blues.

let’s not think it too hard,

because its not approved until its an Archies’ card.

 

Shh lets wipe off those tears,

it doesn’t matter, those years.

that my shoulder was once your home,

but suddenly its an abandoned zone.

Was my love not enough?

or his or his or ruff?

 

Shh stop it already,

lest it be known to the wary,

that its as absurd to me as them,

that you left me in absolute mayhem,

without a message or a note,

you left me with a tragic anecdote.

 

– For Vijoy

Aside
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We Sell Experiences

We sell experiences,

We sell love in a jar,

travel to places afar,

teach you to appreciate nuances,

surprises by the instant.

We sell experiences,

to people far and near,

strangers who suddenly become dear,

not afraid of the distance,

seamless, endless without hindrance.

We sell experiences,

taste food from lands unknown,

reap of what others have sown,

get service without the petulance,

without lifting a finger hence.

We sell experiences,

but prepare to be broken,

prepare to do things best left unspoken,

prepare to do the dance,

cannot avoid the askance.

We sell experiences,

Afraid, it’s not much of a choice,

and you would leave none the wise,

the effort on this appearance,

will make you want the interference.