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…




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


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.



To all the strangers who have been the angels that I needed them to be

She was alternating between picking at her chili sauce noodles and fiddling with her grandmother’s ruby ring. Feeling so listless. Life seemed so aimless. She was tired of the same routine. It was wake up, get ready, go to work, come back, sleep and repeat. ‘Art classes or Dance lessons.Hmm’ she wondered. She tried calling an old girlfriend, Scarlet. No response as usual.

Giving up on her futile attempt to ‘shake up’ her life with Chinese food, she asked for the cheque. As she was settling her bill, she noticed a broad heavy set man. He had a thick beard while his head shone like polished marble floors. He seemed to have been observing her for a while. ‘How rude.’ she thought to herself. At that precise moment the man gave her a smile. ‘Pervert!’ she thought, decidedly appalled by the gesture. She hurriedly left the restaurant.

It was a clear night with stars lighting up the sky which had a tuscan hue. There was a slight nip in the air, she pulled her crimson coat closer. ‘Definitely not a night for my pretty dress.’she mumbled sadly wishing she had a date.


She turned around and saw it was the same man from the restaurant and with the same creepy smile.
“Oh Dear! I shouldn’t have come to this lonely part of town so late. I am so stupid.” she reprimanded herself as she increased her pace to avoid the man. But the man’s longer limbs were closing in the gap between. He continued calling out still.

In her hurry, she turned into a lane and realised she had hit a dead end. She turned around and saw the man now walking towards. She had no escape.
‘Oh look at those big crazed eyes beneath those bushy eyebrows.’ she noticed, ‘And those crooked teeth!’
Feeling more and more desolate now she told herself, ‘Honey, you are done for. Look at those big paws, he is going to crush you.’ That’s when she noticed her red purse in his right paw(as she had called it).
“Miss that was some workout.” he said between pants. “Here you go.” he handed over her purse. Feeling embarrassed, she apologised for scooting off the way she did and thanked him for returning the purse.
He laughed heartily and said,”That’s alright. You remind me an awful lot like my kid sister. To be honest, she made me run quite a lot as well. Haha!”
She blushed.
“There must be some way for me to repay you for your kindness.” she implored.
“Yes! There is one way. Join my family and some friends for lunch this Sunday. Rossa, my wife makes amazing roast.”he answered.
She smiled.
They bid adieu. She reached home and when she happened to have a glance at the mirror, she made a mental note, ‘I like this red.’

Note: The author does not advice roaming around in lonely streets and befriending seemingly strange people.