Trade and Currency

In an unintentionally funny scene from Raaz 3, Bipasha Basu takes off her shirt to reveal her enviable décolletage… looks meaningfully at Emraan Hashmi and says, “Meri aankhon mein dekho”… I want to meet the guy who wrote that scene, but I’m not sure I’d want to shake his hand…

What I want to do instead, is understand the female perspective… What do women think about their girl parts and more importantly what would a girl do to make herself feel special (apart from bringing about a legislation banning biting and chewing nipples… I mean… those are real body parts, not gummy bears!)

Breasts, boobies, puppies… whatever you call them… girls like them as much as boys like their little brother Richard. If women fret over their sagging breasts, it is not because they won’t be able to please the mister any more… it is because it makes them feel less sexy and therefore less in control of their lives. Beauty is all about power. Sex is a powerful tool of subjugation and control. The bedroom is all about politics, even more than the boardroom, a newsroom or even the famous Situation Room! For men it is always about who 'does' whom… Women are comfortable letting men be the ‘doers’… At the end of the day, it is he who is making all the ‘effort’, while the woman can lay back and enjoy (literally)! It is this power that a woman craves. When she lets a man ‘take’ her… she is actually controlling him.

Beauty fades… quickly. Also men are constantly looking for newer, more exciting options. Anti-aging creams and push up bras will only take you so far… So what does a woman do to remain interesting? She takes the next step… crosses over from sexual to sensual… See it is the brain that tells the body to send more blood to the groin. A woman retains control by playing to a man’s fantasies. She caters to his deepest desires which are often hidden in his sub-conscious… She becomes the woman of his dreams… whether it is the Sex Goddess in black lacy lingerie, the legendary (and largely imaginary) Insatiable Whore or the hand cuff wielding, bottom spanking, cuss-word spewing Dominatrix in a body hugging cat-suit and killer talons!

Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate men, nor do I think that they are stupid. I only know that there are two kinds of currency, monetary and sexual. Men and women routinely trade in these currencies to retain control of their traditional fiefdoms. Ever since the time of cavemen… the men have been providers and the women have been lovers (for the lack of a better word). Am I stereotyping traditional gender roles? Truth is sadly a lot of ‘modern’, ‘liberal’, ‘educated’ people (both men and women) still relate to these stereotypes. Why is it that women still want to ‘settle down’ at the ‘right time’ with the ‘right guy’? And why do job ads for 'female candidates only' have requirements like ‘good looking’, ‘pleasing personality’, ‘adaptable’, ‘open minded’, ‘modern’ and ‘right attitude’?

It’s simple… Women think of men are glorified ATMs and men think of women as whores. Harsh, ugly, gross… but true.

Now what happens if there is a mismatch between demand and supply in this age old market with well established norms? What if a man is not interested in sex or a woman is not interested in money? What happens when people are un-purchasable? I’ve met two such people. The man in question lost his wife and child in an accident. He is still in love with his dead wife and hasn’t been with another woman since. The woman in question is criminally good looking and independently wealthy (not daddy’s money, but her own money earned through hard work and competence). They are both social outcasts, but don’t seem to miss anything. They are also the only two people in the world who have never asked me, why am I still single.

A man who doesn’t want to buy and a woman who can’t be bought are the game changers. They topple the established structure… they threaten the very economy… They can’t be allowed to survive, let alone thrive! Vicious campaigns are launched to discredit such people. While the man gets saddled with the predictable ‘gay’ tag, the woman is accused of having the wrong attitude. Every effort is made to destroy their reputations and take away their independence. Sadly, what the ‘destroyers’ don’t realize… is that ‘un-purchasable’ people trade in a third kind of currency. It is a rare, but high value currency that is leveraged by something stronger than gold. They deal in competence and it is leveraged by integrity.

Me… I’m in the market for all kinds of products (including catsuits, black lacy lingerie, hand cuffs and whips!) I like the idea of being able to buy things for a fair price... See... I'm a Capitalist… the only thing I offer for free... is sex!

Head, Heart and Hormones

Sometimes I wonder if men and women can ever just have sex… no strings attached… We all love doing it, but one of the two… somehow always ends up investing emotionally. Wonder why?

Why is it impossible to view sex as… say a recreational activity… your favourite team sport! It helps you burn calories, keeps your heart healthy, makes you feel calm and satisfied (OK OK… So sometimes you have to fake an orgasm, but it only teaches you to be smarter and choosier the next time!)

So why is it so hard for both parties involved to treat sex as something as normal as eating, sleeping and pooping? Why do we have to complicate things? No one appreciates indigestion, insomnia or constipation… then why the hell do we complicate sex? And what’s with the nasty labelling… ‘Havas ki devi’, ‘Vaasna ka pujari’, slut, cheapo, ‘paap ki dukaan’?

Why is it so hard to separate the heart from the hormones… or more specifically neurotransmitters?  It is all in the head. Sab chemical locha hai! Detach yourself emotionally from your relationships… and analyse them with just your head… Love is a very beautiful emotion, but as you will discover, most of the time what you suffer from is another four letter word… It is in fact the most dangerous four letter word in the world… DOSE

D- Dopamine. It is a neurotransmitter that controls the brain's reward and pleasure centers. It brings about a feeling of excitement

O-Oxytocin. Yet another neurotransmitter that is responsible for making the mating couple feel like a bonded pair. (This is the scariest one)

S-Serotonin. This neurotransmitter is associated with feelings of well being and happiness.

E-Epinephrine. Street name Adrenalin… responsible for our ‘fight or flight’ response, associated with high risk behaviour… You get the drift.

Ask yourself… Are you in LOVE? Or is this a case of DOSE?

And finally we come to Marriage/Shaadi/Vivaah/Nikaah/Lagna/Biye… (I speak a lot of languages and I’m not afraid to show off!) I’m not judging… to each his own. You wanna spend your life with the same man/woman, I’m happy for you… All the best! But are you sure, you are ready for a committed relationship? Two signatures on a piece of paper do not make a marriage, neither does exchanging rings/vows/garlands… A marriage is also not a social structure built to hold together a mommy, a daddy and babies. You think children are products of love? Look around you… a vast majority of those around you are the by-products of a marriage, or the result of failed contraception or worse still marital rapes.

Why do parents burden their children with expectations? It is because most children are not the products of love. Most children are born to fulfil a purpose, to play a role, to live as per a plan laid down by ‘those who know best’. Every kind of abuse is a cycle. Emotional abuse seeps down generations. It is very difficult to break such a cycle and often this cycle of abuse becomes a way of life, it becomes the norm.

Ask yourself some really difficult questions:

Do you really love your child? Why? Is it because you gave birth to the child? Does that mean parents of adopted children will never be able to love their children as much as you do? Ask yourself… Isn’t parenthood the most selfish relationship? You create/bring somebody into your life because YOU want to love somebody… and YOU want somebody to love you back!

Do you really love your parents? Why? Is it because you feel socially obligated to do so?

Do you really love your husband/wife? Why? Is it because he/she is the one you promised to love… and the promise was made amidst great ceremony in full view of the society?

Ask yourself… What is love? Have you ever truly loved anyone? Are you capable of love? Do you feel love? Do you understand it? Or are you one of those countless idiots who dismiss such questions with a hazy, “It is a deep emotion, too difficult to define or explain…”

If you really love someone, you will always know precisely why you love that person. You will also concede that love is never selfless. “I love you”, begins with an 'I'. “You are the center of MY universe.” “I can’t live without you.” Love is all about what makes YOU happy and what makes YOUR world go round. Why else do you suffer a heart-break and feel sorrow when the love of YOUR life finds love with someone else?

I know what love is… I know why I love the man I love. It is because he is a reflection of me, my doppelganger. He cherishes and embodies the same morals, ideals and values that I hold in the highest regard. He is independent, strong, self-made… he is a warrior and bears scars of past fights… scars that prove that he is a man who will stand his ground, fight for and defend what he believes in… honesty, hard-work and a sense of honour. I know I want to live for him, with him and as his and his alone. I know I’m prepared to fight for him. I also know however, that I’m NOT prepared to die for him. 

My love IS selfish and I have the guts to accept that. I also know that my man will never be mine for he has pledged himself to someone else and is happy with her. I’m selfish and I feel terrible about my inability to be happy for him. But I’m proud of my strength and my ability to accept the truth.

You see… The truth ALWAYS sets you free!

Feeling Naked

A few weeks ago, when I stepped out to satiate my hunger for all things held in high regard by fellow intellectual snobs, I did something out of character. I wore a saree to a Shakespeare play. I was in a festive mood as going to the theater is nothing short of an evening at the opera for me. I had to turn heads and what better way to do it than follow in the footsteps of Aishwarya Rai and drape myself in six yards of the most feminine garment ever created. 


See, this is exactly where I lost the plot! I failed to realise that if you wear a saree, it changes everything about you... from your walk (I'm told I normally walk like Salman Khan from Bodyguard), to your posture (apni hi saree ki silwaton mein simti-lipti-sehmi si main) to your entire persona (I actually looked like a woman!) 


My arm candy for the evening, my Bedardi Baalam Harrish Iyer, couldn't stop teasing me. He has composed a "Debbie is a girl!" song and also choreographed a silly little dance to go with it. 


My other friend Mantra (who was playing one of the parts in the said play) was thankfully restrained and reserved any scathing comments about what could only be truthfully described as a sex change. His generosity perhaps stems from his being an actor and therefore knowing how demoralising any kind of negativity is, especially when one is doing something out of character. 


When the first appearance worked, I got bolder and did it again! I wore a saree the following day as well! This time my nearly three dozen teeth arranging themselves into a convincing smile that successfully belied the existence of half a million fluttering butterflies in my enviably flat stomach! I found the courage to upload my aurat-type pics on BBM and FB and the complements are still pouring in. 

A few years ago, I was out covering this story in a very crowded part of the city. I ended up getting pawed and molested by a mob. Being a borderline sociopath has its perks. I remained calm and focussed and made my way out of the sticky situation without losing my cool or even shedding a tear. As I was exiting the venue, I called up and told the woman on the assignment desk about my plight, hoping she would understand. She responded with, "Deborah ji aap tai kar lijiye ki aap aurat hain ya journalist! Morning bulletin mein story chalni hai, 4am tak edit kar ke bhej dijiye!" 


I disconnected the call, took one last look at the torn buttons of my shirt and the scratch marks on my chest, took a deep breath and placed another call, this time to a male colleague from a sister channel who already had necessary footage and sound-bites requesting him to share them with me. He was co-operative. I came back to the office to find my bureau chief editing a special investigative story. I told him what happened and requested no other female reporter be sent to cover the said story the next day. I also told him what the Assignment lady told me, to which he responded saying, "Theek hi toh kaha usne. Journalists should be tough. Yeh delicate darling ban-ne se kaam nahi chalega!" 


I made my decision that day. I stopped being a woman. I became a machine, devoid of all emotion. In my seven years as a journalist I have been lathi-charged, tear-gassed, nearly crushed in stampedes, been in car accidents, received death threats (people have actually tried to kill me on two occasions). 


I have three spinal injuries and have sustained multiple fractures to my wrists and ankles. I have a broken rib and a busted knee-cap. The list is long! I'm not complaining. I've earned a lot of respect. But I had to detach myself from the woman in me to achieve all this. 


Not any more... One evening at the theatre changed it all! Six yards of chiffon and two adorable friends have made me embrace my womanhood once again.

OMG! OMG! OMG!

With all this brouhaha surrounding the ‘God Particle’, I’m tempted to put down my two bits. Turns out, the scientist who discovered the damn thing wanted to call it ‘That Goddamned Particle’, but his editor thought otherwise and re-christened it ‘The God Particle’. Others with a religious bent suggest that the new nomenclature is more apt as the particle gives matter its mass.

By that logic, cheese is my God Particle. It gives me mass. The proof lies in the undulating folds of sagging cellulite on my thighs! (No one will ask me out for a swim date after reading this… Sigh!)

But seriously, I have been hearing about this God guy a lot. For the thirty odd years I have walked the planet, everyone loves to either give him credit for all the awesome stuff in the world or blame the poor guy for everything that goes wrong! I mean seriously John, Linda is mad at you, because YOU forgot to pick Percy up from school. How is that God’s fault???

Sometimes I wonder if God is a lowly underpaid, overworked bureaucrat slaving away at piles of yellowing paperwork in a musty, stuffy office somewhere. What if he is a janitor who cleans up after our mess and leaves things nice and tidy before we wake up the next morning? Is he a traffic cop manning the busiest junction or is he your favourite bartender who somehow always knows exactly what concoction would work for you.

God is your dad when he teaches you how to ride a bike, your brother when he teaches you how to whistle or your first lover teaching you how to kiss…

The science guys say he is a really small particle proving ancient sages right when they said, “Bhagwaan kan kan mein basa hai,” (God lies in every tiny little grain of sand).

I never quite saw eye to eye with those who follow organised religion. It is as unpalatable to me as organised crime, organised relationships and organised journalism! But I do like a couple of these interesting characters that keep popping up in various religious texts.

I love Jesus… The guy had the guts to die for what he believed in! Infact, Jesus reminds me of Socrates. I also love Hanuman. Dude, he must be the best friend in the entire history of the universe to set his own tail on fire to rescue somebody else’s wife! And then there is Durga: The Demon Slayer! I mean, look at who all male Gods turn to when all their efforts to kill asuras fail… a chaar bachchon ki Maa! Never send a man to do a woman’s job! Durga knew how to kick some mean demon ass! Attagirl!

I dated a theoretical physicist once. They are fascinating creatures with an uncanny ability to think in a structured systematic way. They have some kind of an elaborate cross-referenced index of ideas in their head. Most of us fail to understand their behaviour. Notice how every conversation will adhere to the three laws of Asimov’s robots and how every aliens vs. humans debate will eventually boil down to Batman (human) being way more awesome than Superman (alien).

I know my scientist ex-boyfriend is hopping about like an excited little bunny on steroids today and it’s not because he and his kind found God… but because they found an awesome little particle, none of us non-science people could ever understand the significance of. To put it in simple words, every story has 5 Ws and 1 H. Who, When, What, Where, Why and How. These guys had a theory about the story of how the world was created. The Higgs Boson proves their theory right and that they got their 5Ws and 1H bang on (well at least 5 Sigma accuracy).

I hope you know baby, that in some weird detached way… I still love you… I wonder if love has mass? It does leave a void behind once it has left your life. 

Leap of Faith

26 year old Madhuri Pandey is your quintessential girl next door. Her bubbly laughter and sing-song voice have made her a darling of millions of women who religiously follow desi soap operas. But Madhuri is far cry from the characters she has played over the last four years. She settles down for our interview in a pair of jeans and a black and white check shirt that is a polar opposite of her onscreen avatars. 

"I hate those 10 kg ghagras and the dangling earrings. My ears used to bleed and I once gave a take with my jhumka taped to my ears!" 

Madhuri is perfectly secure with her looks and had no qualms meeting us without make up. While she is opposed to cosmetic surgery, she is honest enough to admit that she doesn't quite like her nose, "Sometimes I think it is too big," she says, her eyes comically looking at her nose. That's when you wonder if this TV diva is actually nothing but a child-woman. 

She says acting happened to her by chance. Madhuri comes from a family of doctors and academics from North India and was studying for a degree in Software Engineering in Delhi when she and her sister Anjali started modelling, just for the lark. But destiny had other things in store for Madhuri. The stylish sisters moved to Mumbai when Anjali won a talent hunt. 

Madhuri decided to pursue a career in music and started performing with other singers and artists. That's when she got noticed by casting directors and offers for TV shows started pouring in. Always eager to take up new adventures, Madhuri decided to give it a shot. She soon became a darling of the viewers for her roles in Bhabhi, Dahej, Ladli and many other shows. But there was something missing. 

“Music is my passion. I did not come to Mumbai to become an actor. I came here to follow my dreams." That was when Madhuri decided to quit TV at the peak of her career and plunged headlong into music. She is quite active on the events and live music scene. She is also seen performing stand-up comedy. "It hasn't been easy. There is a lot of competition. There is also pressure from my family who would like to see me settle down. This is my make or break year", she states matter-of-factly. 

We quizzed her about Mr. Right and Maduri says she is looking for an uncomplicated man who would understand and respect the demands of her profession. "I'm a self made woman who is open to taking risks. I have been independent so far and don't like being controlled or caged. My line of work involves odd hours. My man has to accept that." 

She accepts that it is probably her straight forward-ness and fierce independence that keeps most men away. "While some get intimidated by my success, others find it unacceptable that I like taking my own decisions and live on my own terms. But my independence is not-negotiable", she asserts. "I find it hilarious that so many men expect me to be docile and covered from head to toe like my onscreen characters. Off camera I have a mind of my own and I wear what I please. If I can respect women who like wearing sarees, why can't they respect a woman who wears cocktail dresses. I have a certain lifestyle, I do party a lot with my friends. I carry myself with a lot of dignity." 

Well, we will certainly vouch for Madhuri's style quotient as the girl hardly ever has a fashion faux pas. "I know what works for me and dress accordingly. I love my pastel one piece dresses, I love my LBDs, I like single statement pieces when it comes to jewellery rather than cluttering up my look with too many unsightly accessories." Madhuri also swears by plunging necklines, but warns "Wear it only if you have the confidence to carry it off, otherwise it comes across as cheap." 

Madhuri is currently taking life a day at a time, enjoying her transition from actor to full-time singer. She claims this is the best time to get a break in her chosen field. Her years in similar industries have helped and she is taken seriously. "Being an extrovert helps. I'm not shy and I always speak my mind, but I'm also conscious of the fact that my every move is being watched closely." She says she is very image conscious and works hard to appear composed even in the most emotionally turbulent situations. “This is a price driven industry and people love to discourage you, find the smallest fault, just so they can force you to reduce your price. It is important to act professional and stay focused in such situations, lest you get branded as a cry baby or a whiner." 


Well, we like that she is grounded, goal oriented and honest. Here's to young women like Madhuri Pandey who are not afraid of taking a huge career risk to fulfil their dreams.

Review: Piya Behrupiya

It’s often considered sacrilegious to suggest anyone can add value to Shakespeare’s work, but theatre veteran Atul Kumar appears to have accomplished just that with Piya Behrupiya, his Hindi adaptation of Twelfth Night. 


I couldn’t sleep all of Saturday night after I first saw the play at Rangsharada. So I went to watch it again on Sunday. I found that I could watch it again and again. No point telling you one of the world’s best known stories. Piya Behrupiya retains the essence of Twelfth Night but adds a dash of Indian-ness to it. It also stars some of the best looking men and women in the business.

Young Amitosh Nagpal, his twinkling eyes never failing to make contact with the ladies in the audience, walks on to the stage to tell us that it was he who translated the play and what a thankless job it was. He laments Shakespeare’s step-fatherly treatment of his character, Sebastian (Viola’s twin), and that he has all of four lines that too at the end of the play and wonders aloud if he could have played another role or if the actors could have performed the play in Shakespeare’s English, “Yeh thou-thine kar lete?! Dil par haath rakh kar kahiye, yeh Toby ka role main nahi kar sakta tha?” All the while his wicked smile held in place with dimples that can melt any woman’s heart!

Piya Behrupiya is replete with gender and identity confusion, so typical of many of the bard’s plays. While the play is essentially a musical comedy, it does have its deeply moving moments. 


The lovely Viola (Geetanjali Kulkarni, flawless, measured and layered) pinches your heart as she rubs off her fake moustache and lets her hair loose, getting in touch with her feminine side as she feels the pangs of love for Duke Orsino (Sagar Deshmukh, commanding stage presence, often hilariously breaks into Marathi while herding his co-actors off stage after a scene) who thinks she is a man. However, the homosexual subtext that underlines Sebastian and Antonio’s relationship is completely done away with, as Antonio only finds a passing mention in the play.

Piya Behrupiya stands out because of its songs. All actors are also gifted singers and there are generous dollops of folk music, ranging from Phool Singh’s (Neha Saraf, lively and confident) beautiful rendition of Kabir’s verses, to a hilarious Mata ka Jagrata where Gagan Riar who plays the perpetually inebriated Uncle Toby suddenly takes stage as Billu Dangerous and the rest of the cast doubles up as his Jagrata Mandali! There’s also a killer Qawwali at the end where Sebastian and Andrew (Mantra, his rich deep baritone making many a complex note sound as delicious as melting dark chocolate being washed down the throat with bitter black coffee) take on each other as they fight over Olivia (Mansi Multani, spunky Punjabi kudi with her accent adding just the right amount of zing).

Neha Saraf’s un-self-conscious performance as the delightful fool, Phool Singh, is as much a treat as is Trupti Khamakar’s spirited Maria. Watchout for Kahmakar’s impromptu kiss with Riar! There’s some girl on girl action too as Viola struggles against Olivia’s advances. 


The play is full of clever writing. Watch out for gems like Olivia’s “Bas use kiya aur reject!” or “Feeling koi kabootar thodi hai ki dana daalo toh aa jaye!” or “Aap kahaan ko belong karte ho?” to which Cesario replies, “I belong to a very good family!” Then there’s that priceless moment when Sebastian struggles to untie the knot of Olivia’s scarf with his teeth even as she sings and winks naughtily at the viewers.

A word of caution for the weak hearted… The most shocking scene in the play is where Malvolio (Saurabh Nayyar, perfect timing and a head full of heart-breakingly sexy curls) appears on stage in near transparent yellow tights, family jewels struggling to break out of barely concealed blue kachchhas! Toby trying to pull back his lungi even as Sebastian and Olivia share a ‘private’ moment or whenever he puts his hands into an unsuspecting Andrew’s pockets, had the audience doubling over with laughter!

Piya Behrupiya worked for me and the good news is there are more shows scheduled in other cities over the next three months.

I still wake up with “Darwaza kholegi hi nahi” or “O ri sakhi mangal gao ji” playing in my head, hoping the effortlessly charming dimpled Sebastian asked me out for a cup of coffee. I permit the other dangerously handsome young man in your mandali to share my number with you.

The Truth About Harrish Iyer

6000 e-mails, 1200 smses, 200 BBM messages, almost 500 calls… and still counting… That’s what the first 48 hours were like for Harrish Iyer after the Satyamev Jayate episode featuring him was first telecast this Sunday. Needless to say, it is all very overwhelming, for Harrish is a very simple man, not the publicity hungry media whore he is made out to be. Yes he has a publicist and a manager in me, but that’s because it is humanly impossible to keep track of the vast deluge of correspondence and media invitations he receives.

It all started as soon as Harrish appeared on Satyamev Jayate. Within minutes our phones started ringing. His friends, my friends, the press… There was a flood of BBM messages, Facebook and Twitter came alive. And then the e-mails started pouring in… an overwhelming majority from people who wrote in to say they were survivors too. Harrish diligently replied to as many as he could, but after a while it started to take a toll on him. Reading message after message where people… complete strangers bare their heart to you about their suffering… it gets to you… and sometimes the best thing to do is take a break.

I decided to take him out for lunch, and we headed for the food court of a mall nearby. We ate in silence for a while for that is what he craved most… there was too much going on in his head and he needed to calm down… We shared a Pav Bhaji pizza and a bottle of cola and decided to just walk to clear our heads and figure out a way to deal with the present situation. And that is when I saw how far Harrish is willing to push himself for what he believes in.

For those who think Satyamev Jayate was Harrish’s first TV appearance, let me give you the low down. Harrish has been speaking up for fellow survivors of Child Sexual Abuse for over a decade now. He has been on talk shows hosted by the likes of Barkha Dutt and Richa Anirudh. 


He has also given several print and radio interviews and has been counselling fellow survivors for over 10 years. It is not easy… to go back into the darkest part of your life and relive it, just so that you can help another survivor confront his worst demons. Harrish has been walking what many would describe as nothing short of a mental minefield, only so he can carry others on his shoulders and deliver them to the other side.

At the mall people first stole glances at him, then started pointing, then someone developed the courage to walk upto him and shake his hand. Then one by one nearly 50 people walked up to him to introduce their families and children to him, to take pictures with him. Harrish patiently obliged, but asked them for exactly one thing in return… that they promise to educate their children about CSA.

Even now, Harrish’s work is far from over. The restless soul that he is, Harrish is now planning to hold awareness campaigns in schools, housing societies and public spaces. So if you want Harrish Iyer to speak to speak to parents and children in your school or neighbourhood, or if you are a mall manager/PR, please get in touch with me, Deborah Grey on greyfrost1013@gmail.com

We are prepared to do whatever it takes to prevent a child from confronting the horrors that Harrish did. If that means more media whoring, more appearances on TV and radio, more interviews to websites and publications... then so be it!

And while I'm still in my Maa Durga avatar... let me kill one more demon that has raised it's ugly head... the Demon of Doubt... Many people doubt the genuineness of Harrish's story. They think that he took 11 long years to break the cycle of abuse because he is gay and was probably enjoying the abuse.

Well first of all, YES... Harrish Iyer is gay! So what? He DID NOT enjoy the abuse. No 7 year old would enjoy forced anal sex! Also, homosexuality and sexual abuse are not connected in ANY WAY! Harrish was born gay... just like I was born straight! Homophobia has to be wiped out! People don't become gay after being sexually abused! Get your facts right and stop this mud-slinging campaign against Harrish Iyer or for that matter even Aamir Khan! 

The entire team of Satyamev Jayate has worked very hard to ensure that the subject of CSA was dealt with in a very sensitive way. And nobody willingly withheld information about Harrish's sexuality. The show was about Child Sexual abuse and not Homosexuality. Just as no body would introduce Deborah Grey as a straight journalist, why should anyone be expected to introduce Harrish Iyer as a gay activist?

It's time we looked deep within ourselves and killed the Demons of Doubt that plague our souls... 

The Cleanest Picture

While the uproar over I&B Ministry’s high-handedness in cancelling the telecast of The Dirty Picture still continues, few have bothered to examine what really makes the said film ‘dirty’. There are no sex scenes, just one kissing scene, no bare back scenes… just a lot of cleavage thrust ‘shamelessly’ into the viewer’s face. 

But ask yourselves… doesn’t your friendly neighbourhood Bhalla aunty show off more when she bends to pick up the morning newspaper or your very own Sakku bai when she swabs the floor? And why is it offensive for a woman to show off her décolletage? What is wrong with acknowledging the existence of breasts? Would you ever be ashamed of having knees or fingers or a nose? What’s the harm in showing off an aesthetically packaged cleavage… 

We have all aspired at some point of time to be able to carry off a plunging neckline! (Plug! Plug! Plug!)

Haven’t we seen far greater skin show by Urmila Matondkar (“Hai Rama yeh kya hua?’) in Rangeela that has been telecast at least a hundred times on TV since its release 15 years ago? And what could possibly be dirtier than the sundry characters played by Shakti Kapoor? Haven’t Juhi Chawla and Anil Kapoor gyrated to, “Main maal gaadi tu dhakka laga” and “Khada hai khada hai khada hai” from Andaaz? I clearly remember watching Mamta Kulkarni and Mithun Chakravarty’s now legendary “Button meri kurti ka” being played on DD Metro’s Superhit Mukabala (now isn’t that a Sarkari channel?) And don’t even get me started on Madhuri in Beta and Khalnayak!

The Dirty Picture is perhaps one of the cleanest movies ever made… It’s not about sex… It’s about insecurity, politics and jealousy coming together in a wild orgy of hopelessness… and one woman who used her body to pull the right strings till she too was swept away by hubris and loneliness…

Colour Coded

A few weeks ago, I saw this video on YouTube titled Riley on Marketing. It shows a little girl, about 4 years old, questioning gender stereotyping in her own way. She wonders why all toys for girls are always pink. "Why do only girls end up with Pink Princesses", she asks. She also wonders why boys get to have superhero toys in all colours? She feels girls are tricked into buying the Princess dolls by their pink packaging, so that the boys can have the Superheroes. She reasons that although even girls want Superheroes, boys would never/rarely buy anything that's pink!

Little Riley got me thinking about a deeper problem... Why is pink a 'girly' colour? What's wrong with being 'girly'? Do boys actually dislike pink? Is it wrong for a girl to like pink? Does liking pink mean she is not as strong or independent as a 'Tom-Boy'? Does linking pink mean you are a bimbo? What's wrong with pink? Have we, in our bid to correct gender stereotyping, actually reinforced it? And what's wrong with having a Barbie or a Princess doll? It makes you more loving, more caring... a nurturer.
Instead of discouraging little girls from playing with toys that augment gender stereotyping, why not encourage boys to play with 'girl' toys too? A girl who plays with cars may not necessarily be a tomboy or will grow up to be a lesbian! Neither will every boy who likes fashion, grow up to be any less a man than those who play baseball or football. Chances are that he will grow up to be a loving, protective dad and a man who doesn't physically abuse his wife/girlfriend.
No, I never enjoyed outdoor sports as a kid and yes I loved my Barbies (much to my mom's dismay), but I turned out just fine! I have fought off a mugger (taking a knife in the face in the process), broken 6 out of my 206 bones in the line of duty and been as tough and ready to get my hands dirty as any of my male colleagues. I'm not 'afraid' of bugs, I go running in the woods behind my house everyday and can change car tyres on my own. But I haven't lost touch with my 'feminine side'. I'm very observant, creative, expressive and yes I love dressing up and applying make up...
In short, there is nothing wrong with being 'girly', coz it doesn't really matter if you are a girl or a boy. What really matters is that you are caring, compassionate, well read, independent and most importantly... a good human being.

Safedi ki Chamkaar

While Julia Roberts is busy winning well deserved accolades for her evil queen act in Mirror Mirror, I'm left wondering when (in the name of the Lord!) will we, Bharatiya Naaris, stop setting such a huge store by "Who is the fairest of them all?"

A recent advertisement, offering women a fairness creme for their privates, made me almost throw up in revulsion! It appeared to say that pati dev will not love you unless you are white... down under too! Then of course there are those 'sunscreen' ads that promise to 'correct' dark spots and tanning. Er... since when does Hindustani chamdi get dark spots??? Unless you are Kareena's twin, you will not break out into freckles or 'suffer' any other 'harmful effect' of Sun exposure as long as you keep your system well hydrated! And what does tanning do exactly... make you a little browner? We have more melanin in our skin than the vilaayatees. Melanin is a pigment, the quantity of which determines the shade of your skin. Fair skinned people have less melanin, darker skinned people have more. It's not some evil curse... it's just a freakin' pigment! That's why we are brown... and brown isn't ugly!!!

In my seven years as a journalist covering crime and politics, I've spent weeks on stake-outs... Boom mic in hand, my video-journalist and I would stand outside police stations, courthouses, jails, hospitals, government offices, political party offices etc. for hours together... waiting for the crook/news-maker of the day (or his lawyer/spokesperson) to step out and give us the all important sound-bite that would be played in a loop across various television news networks. As a result, my skin has come to resemble an Apcolyte shade card (mera wala Brown!). 


My ex was a 'Safedi ki Chamkaar' (jo andhere mein bhi saaf nazar aaye!!!) and once asked me if I could lend him some sunscreen as it was way too sunny to step out without 'adequate protection'. I looked at him lovingly, slowly undressed myself till there wasn't a thread on me and asked, "Baby... What part of me looks like I'm familiar with the concept of Sunscreen?!" Before you ask... yes we spent the remainder of the day indoors ;-) And yes, my privates are as brown as the rest of me!

When I'm gone...

"What will happen to him when I'm gone?"
Sounds like the familiar melancholy refrain of every Hindustani Maa about her son. Our Mother Indias don't trust their sons to look after themselves. Infact this is perhaps the root cause of most Saas-Bahu khit-pits.
"That is not his favourite Sunday T-shirt!"
"That's not how he likes his poha!"
"Did you add two spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee?!"
Mothers-in-law seldom trust their daughters-in-law to be able to look after their sons after the Saas breathes her antim saans!
But mothers of straight sons can at least leave their pyaara puttars in the (however seemingly inadequate) care of their bahus. What happens if your son is gay? 
This fear was written large over the faces of many mothers at a Gay Bombay meet I recently attended. The law still prohibits same sex marriages, thus leaving many homosexual couples with only two options. Either defy society and move in together or live, grow old and die alone. 
Adoption laws also don't help. A man can't adopt a baby girl and a gay man cannot adopt a baby boy. While the intention of our law makers is only to protect children from abuse, it leaves most gay couples childless, unless they opt for surrogacy. The law of the land, unwittingly or by design, punishes gay men by making it almost impossible for them to have a happy family life.
It takes me back to that scene in Mrs. Doubtfire where Robin Williams tells children about different kinds of families... "Some have a mommy and a daddy. Some have just a mommy or just a daddy. Some only have grand parents..." It would be prudent to extend the scope and include families with two mommies or two daddies.
Gender doesn't define families or hold them together... Love does.

Jerk!

This Friday is going to be very interesting for movie watchers. While the affable Ayushman Khurana will play Vicky, a young man who gets paid to jerk off... newest Bong bombshell to come out of the Bhatt arsenal, Palomi Dam, will lay bare the deep dark recesses of the mind of a woman seeking redemption (always an interesting area to explore). Wonder why the Bhadralok in Poshcim Bongo want to paint her bare back blue in the film's posters... Do they have some secret Smurf kink?

I know what will be my 'paisa vasool' moment... a shirtless John Abraham getting wet and wild in a song that I'm sure will make no contribution to the storyline of the film he is producing. But as the said film's tag-line goes... Every Drop Counts ;-)

Takes me back to lines immortalised by his ex-flame Bipasha (the original Bong Bombshell of the Bhatt camp) in Jism... "Barson se is banjar zameen par barsaat ki ek boond tak nahi giri... Aur ab yahaan toofan aayega..." (I wanna kiss the horny little devil who wrote that!)

Vicky Donor also took me back to the 'reckless abandonment' argument from Legally Blonde. Or the priceless "Tujhe Holi khelne ka bada shauk hai, par suna hai ki teri pichkaari mein dum nahi!" from The Dirty Picture. Man... I love this new breed of writers!

Ek Akeli Jawaan Ladki

It's tough being a single 29 year old in a city like Mumbai... Try finding a house (bigger than a 1BHK) on rent, saying you want it all to yourself, and everyone from the broker, to the home owner, to the neighbours would 'advise' you to share the apartment. Do they fail to understand the concept of personal space? Is it inconceivable to them that a young single woman would be willing and able to spend that kind of money? Or is it something more sinister... the presumption that a well paid single woman, who is unwilling to share her personal space... is a hooker? They will either refuse to give you the house saying they are looking for a family, or in the unlikelihood that they do rent out their house to you... notice how each watchman, liftman, newspaper boy, domestic help, neighbour and sundry auntyjis will keep a hawk's eye on your male visitors.

I live in a luxurious 2BHK in an upmarket neighbourhood. Given that my house is on a higher floor with a breath-taking view, and that the resident demographic appears to consist mainly of young, well educated, urban, rich couples with small or no kids, I thought they would be open minded. I have my own business and on most days, I work from home. I have clients, friends and other sundry visitors coming in throughout the day and most of them are men.

Given that I am newly single and have a healthy sex life, I also have male visitors after daylight hours. One of my male visitors, Mr. Hotness, who was a permanent fixture in my bedroom in my previous home, visited me for the first time in my new home this weekend. He was not only going to spend the night, but also drop in frequently and at all kinds of un-Godly hours. I had to prep the building security guys about this. So I decided to go down to greet him at the reception desk in the lobby.

"Aaj sign kar raha hai, aage se jab bhi aaye aane dena... Mera bhai hai," I lied with a straight face. Thank God, Mr. Hotness did not raise an eyebrow or do anything to blow his cover. After all, it was already well past 10pm. Two auntyjis shared the elevator with us on the ride up to my floor. I could almost hear their thoughts, "Shakal se toh bhai nahi lagta... Raat ke 10 baje ke baad, paraaya mard ghar aaya!" Luckily they did not ask me anything.

Once inside the house, Mr. Hotness burst into peals of laughter as he hastily took off his pants. "You think anybody would buy that I'm your brother? Honey, we look NOTHING like each other!", he said with a characteristic twinkle in his eye that never failed to melt my insides. I promptly shut him off with a bar of sinful dark chocolate and went about fixing his drink. I led him into my bedroom, where we spent the rest of the night in a whirlwind of sexual fantasies, dirty talk and alcohol. Exhausted we both fell into a dreamless sleep.

The morning after is always tricky... We had to maintain a distance in front of the domestic help and this was going to be tough as we both woke up only when she rang the door bell. There was no time to set up a sleeping arrangement in the living room to make it look like Mr. Hotness had spent the night on the couch in the living room. Plus he is usually a little lost and disoriented in the morning, so he just stood in my bedroom, blissfully pant-less, scratching his head and stretching his limbs in all his glory in full view of my maid who I quickly led first into the kitchen under the pretext of first washing the utensils. She usually first sweeps and cleans the entire house. I quickly poked my head into the bedroom and hissed menacingly at Mr. Hotness asking him to wear his pants! I popped back quickly into the kitchen and guided my domestic help to the washing area insisting that she wash the clothes first. As she got to work with her back towards me, Mr. Hotness and I quickly transferred a mattress, a bedsheet and a pillow into the living room. He then parked himself in the balcony with a cup of coffee while I went about fixing his hair to make it look a little less like he had fallen out of bed. He wanted to go out and ring the doorbell and enter the house officially, but I knew that the maid had seen his nangi-pungi angdaai!

The maid finally 'officially' saw him when I asked her to leave without sweeping or cleaning, saying I was expecting some students who would anyway dirty the apartment. She gave Mr. Hotness one last questioning look and left without a word. We then promptly went back to the bedroom and stayed there for most part of the day, except when he followed me into the kitchen and looked lovingly at me while I cooked his breakfast. (What can I say, woh mere andar ki aurat ko jaga deta hai!)

There was no dearth of verbal and non verbal communication. He is quite an intellectual and can hold his own in controversial debates. We talked a lot that day... about how sex should be about pleasure, about why even hookers deserve respect, about how we looked great together... almost like a husband and wife... We even talked about having children!

I finally forced him into the shower and went about fixing his lunch. We ate quietly, with the measured serenity of two people who have spent a lifetime together. I urged him to spend another night with me... there was so much more we could do together... But he left saying he had a family waiting for him at home. He promised to return soon.

As I look at his still wet towel hanging nonchalantly from the arm of a wrought iron garden chair in my balcony, I can't but help myself from picking up the phone, calling him and telling him, "Harrish Iyer... Kabhi toh cheezein sahi jagah par rakh diya kar!"

Yup, my 'after dark male visitor' was none other than BEDARDI BAALAM (a.k.a Harrish Iyer), an Equal Rights Activist who is best known for his quirky campaigns for the rights of Homosexuals. He has also campaigned for the rights of Children, Animals, Homeless People and even Hetrosexuals! The visit was to ideate on and build the website for his campaign for Women's rights. Watch this space for more. What can I say... I'm happy, and he's gay!

And today, April 16th, is his Birthday... Big kiss!

Mardon wali Baat!

One of my favourite writers of all time, Ravindranath Tagore, had the unique ability to delve deep into the heart and mind of women and was therefore able to give us complex, multi-layered, strong yet vulnerable, determined yet confused female characters like Binodini, Chitrangoda, Sucharitra, Mrinal, Kalyani... and many more.
This inspired me to try and get into the male mind, think like a man, challenge my long held belief that men cannot feel romantic love the way women do, that they only care about two things sex and ego... So long as she is good in bed and adds value as a head-turning arm candy... But there have been some men in my life who have challenged this notion, forced me to accept that men too are capable of love, sacrifice, tenderness and devotion.
The following poem is an experiment. I have, for the first time, attempted to write about a man's love for a woman from the point of view of a man. I would welcome feedback from all my male readers:

Kuchh der tumhare seene par sar rakh kar sona chaahta tha,
"Baalon mein ungliyaan mat phero, irritating lagta hai!"... Yeh kehna chaahta tha...
Suti saadi ki silwaton mein reshmi badan ki narmi ko chhoonaa chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

Roti banate waqt, gori kalaaiyon ki rangeen choodiyon ki chhan-chhan sun-na chaahta tha,
Balcony mein kapde sukhaate waqt koi dhun gungunaati tum, woh dhun sun-na chaahta tha...
Shaam ko kahin bahar jaane se pehle tumhe singaar karte dekhna chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

Sardi ki dhoop mein Maa ke saath chhat par papad sukhate hue tumhari tasveer kheenchna chaahta tha,
Phir chori chhupe, jab woh naa dekh rahi hon, gaal hi par sahi tumhe ek baar choomna chaahta tha...
Pyaar karta hoon tumse, bas ek baar tumhe yeh kehna chaahta tha...
Par yeh ho na saka...

The above poem is the registered intellectual property of Deborah Grey and will soon be published. I strongly discourage any attempt at plagiarising/churaoing my work. Also boys... agar ladki patani ho toh original maal use karo!

Jawaani ki Nishaani

A few days ago... as I waited along the thickly canopied rocky road that runs through the forest I live in, hoping to hijack an unsuspecting rickshaw that may have accidentally lost its way, I saw another young woman doing the exact same thing. Our eyes met and we exchanged smiles like old co-conspirators. She too had missed the hourly bus that connects the woods to the city and neither of us was driving anytime soon. My car was in the garage for servicing and her dad had taken their's earlier in the day.

Suddenly there was a faint hum... a mechanical hum that grew louder and then a little black and yellow three wheeled metal chariot of joy appeared. My co-conspirator and I were thrilled to find that there were no passengers in it and the driver was thrilled to find passengers in the middle of a forest. We hopped in excitedly and asked to be taken to the railway station. She said, she would get off mid-way. We exchanged names, floor and appartment numbers and then she said something that gave me a minor coronary...

"Kaunse college mein padhti hain aap?", she asked me with a genuine look of curiosity in her eyes.

"Main college mein padhti nahi, padhaati hoon", I replied... thorughly relishing my Santoor Sabun moment.

"What?", she asked genuinely shocked.

"Haan. I teach Journalism in four different colleges, plus I have my own PR business. But I must say... you made my day!" I thanked her.

"Really?", she asked again looking genuinely incredulous.

"Yes dear... I'm almost 30... I finished college more than 10 years ago!", I said wondering what made her think I was still in college. As if she read my mind, she replied, "Aap kafi slim ho. Plus jeans, T-shirt, cap aur back-pack wala get up dekh ke laga college ja rahe ho..."

I thanked my high protien, zero carb, roughage rich diet for my 26 inch waistline and told her that I was actually going to college to hold a lecture on conflict journalism. Her eyes narrowed the way it happens with people when they try to place where they have seen someone. I pointed to my cap that gave the name of a TV channel I used to work for and proudly stated I was one of its founder members. The sense of recognition seemed to grow in her eyes. I showed her an old picture on my cell phone and quipped, "Bina make up pehchaan-na mushqil hai!"

"Make up ke saath aurat lagte ho... aise hi raho... young lagte ho, college girl type" with those words she got off the rickshaw, paid her share of the fare and left.

I proceeded to college where everyone from the gatekeeper to the watchman to the peon to other professors kept asking me for my ID and lecture room number. "Child, why are you loitering in the corridore?", asked Prof. Bannerji from the English Department. She gasped when I told her that at 30, I could hardly be called a child. When I went to sign in the attendance register, the office boys asked me, "Idhar faculty section mein kya lene aaya?"

Everyone did a double take when I said, "Teacher hoon... Journalism padhaati hoon!" Luckily a student spotted me and came to my rescue... "Ma'am aaj lecture ground floor pe hai. Please come with me!"

Moral of the story, everything is perception. People always judge you by how you dress. If wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt makes me look 10 years younger... then I'm glad I discovered my jawaani ki nishaani!

PS: I don't hate my zit marks any more. They add to my youthful look ;-)

Don't believe me... take a look at this pic...

Bachche ki Maa!

I'm not particularly maternal, though many who have seen me in the company of infants, children, sundry young people, would vouch for my ability to become one of them and yet retain a slender but strong element of control. They know they can have fun with me, but they also know that it's always on my terms... Infact, it is this quality that has helped me in both, the newsroom (with interns) and in the classroom (with my Journalism students).

I'm quiet skilled at changing diapers and many pre-teens have benefited from my relationship advice (eg: If he can't deal with your pimples, he doesn't deserve the dimples!). I have always felt protective about young people... They are so vulnerable, one emotional scar is all it takes to turn them into conniving, evil adults! Even at 30 (OK... OK... 29!), many would agree when I say that I have retained my innocence. It is this innocence that makes me look for innocence or its remnants in everyone... cops who ask me to pull over, hoping to make a quick buck from a lady driver, faces hidden behind a thick veneer of make-up in the bylanes of Kamathipura, the sweet-talking political party spokesman, the journalist who once tried to steal my story... I believe... If you dig deep, somewhere we have all retained a part of our innocence, our hearts are horcruxes and our innocence is the last vestige of our fast fading soul...

But one often forgets that it is this innocence that nourishes the depleting soul, it is what keeps us young... it keeps us alive... One innocent remark, a twinkle in the toddler next door's eye, the toothless smile of the old lady selling Oranges on the train... They all have a therapeutic quality... Much like love! Yes... When I'm vulnerable, I allow myself to become... just for a fleeting instant... a helpless romantic!

And on one such occasion, I was caught off-guard by the most romantic question in the world...

"Deborah... Will you bear my child?", he asked me with an unabashed and earnest sincerity...

"Why darling?", I asked... fighting back mutinous tears that stained my cheeks with kohl...

"Deb, you know I can't adopt a girl child as it is against the law for a single man to do so in this country", replied Harrish. "... and I wanna be a father!", he continued in a heartbreakingly measured, calm voice...

"I can hire a surrogate... and I was checking out this website where everything is perfectly legal. Married women from economically backward families are artificially inseminated after getting their approval and also the approval of their families. They are then looked after and given nutritious food during the course of their pregnancy and paid for their services once they deliver the baby. They give a written undertaking relinquishing their right to the child and since I will be the biological father, the baby is legally mine...", he said... hope brimming from the corner of his mouth contorted in the most beautiful mix of pain, hope, fear, happiness and love...

Excited at getting my full attention, he continued... "But Deb, then I thought... why can't I have a baby with you?"

"Hmmm... Let's see Harrish... with your dimples and my wit, we do have a world beating combination... If you father my kids, I can rest assured that they will be sexy little devils, and you can breathe easy as they will be blessed with my linguistic skills!", I said.

We both relished the delicious idea for the one beautiful moment before reality slammed it to bits...

"Harry bunny," I said, "I have two spinal injuries... so bearing babies is a bad idea... But you know what... I'll sign whatever documents required to become the legal mother of your children!"

The optimistic little muffin that Harrish is, this instantly perked him up and he was back to his quirky self, "Matlab... Tu sach me mere bachche ki Maa banegi?"

"Haan... Harrish Iyer... Main tere bachche ki Maa ban-ne ko taiyyar hoon!"

And just like that... we sealed a deal held most sacred in all religions across the world...

Sex and Politics

It's Election Day and all I can think of... is sex! Two of my dear friends are debating if the LGBT Community should start a political party or field independent candidates, who will openly speak up about and address concerns of the community. It is an interesting back and forth on Facebook. I am also a part of the marathon argument (which is technically not an argument, coz we're all saying the same thing!)
Well first, LGBT Community sounds like something from outer space. I thought we were all Mast people! (Remember the slogan at this year's Gay Pride Parade... "I'm Gay! Main Mast Hoon!"). If you want to become a part of the mainstream, shed your 'special interest group' identity.
Next, if you are serious about politics, understand that you have to work for everyone and care about the concerns of hetros too... Personally, I think both, hetros and Mast people have the same concerns. Mumbai potholes don't spare Mast spines and Mast people aren't the only victims of crime and disease.
As far as sex is concerned, it all boils down to the Right To Scr@w (RTS, if you will ;-)) Some people have it, some people don't. Do Mast people think hetros have it easy? Dig deeper into the lives of pados ke Sharma ji, Chaddha sahab, Varma aunty, Kavita Bhabhi... Do you think all is hunky-dory in our great Indian arranged marriages? All your life you are taught not to talk to strangers, then you are expected to sleep with one?! Most Pati-Patnis 'do-the-due' under family/societal pressure, just so that there's someone to carry forward the family name. Almost all pregnancies are unplanned, most kids are the by-products of failed contraception! And that is precisely why we as a society are terrified about talking about sex... coz most people don't enjoy it... It's a chore... a formality... Raat ko attendence lagaani hai!
People don't understand love, passion, pleasure... Romance ki toh waat lagi hai! We are hardwired to believe that we should live to make others happy. Low self esteem is a virtue in out collectivist society. When will people understand, ki hum ek baar jeete hain, ek baar marte hain, aur pyaar bhi sirf ek baar hota hai! When you live double lives you die everyday and you keep falling in and out of something that sure as hell ain't love! Sachchaa pyaar kabhi kurbaaniyaan nahi maangta... maangta hai toh sirf ki tum jiyo... jee bharke!
In short, straight people need to be liberated as much as Mast people! And if we need to take a political stand to sort out our sex lives, I'm all for it!

Dear Maa

A few days ago I lost the woman who could have one day become my Mother-in-Law. She had been sick for many years and lived as quietly as she died. In the two years that I had known and grown to love her son, I had never once seen her. My man always said that he would introduce us at the right time. She was bed-ridden and never ventured out of the 10x12 bedroom, that was a virtual prison. I always imagined what my first meeting with Maa would be like. Today I'm writing to a woman I would never be able to talk to...
Dear Maa,
I'm your son's girlfriend. Yes the same short haired girl Papa told you he spotted in your son's bedroom as he walked past the door. The same girl he often catches a glimpse of when I sneak in and out of your house at all kinds of un-Godly hours. I have told your son that I hate this hide and seek business. We have been together for almost two years. It's time he introduced me to you.
I often wondered what that 'meet the parents' would have been like. The very first Saas-Bahu encounter is always a scary experience for both women involved. What would I have worn, a feminine pink salwar-kameez or my everyday jeans and T-shirt (wouldn't wanna come across as trying too hard). Would I have let my hair loose (the way your son likes it) or tied them up in a neat pony-tail (it's easier to manage). What would we do about the 'bahu ke haath ki chai'? Would you have asked me to make some in your kitchen, as our first meeting would have taken place at your home...
What would you have asked me?
Beta can you cook?
What are your future plans?
Why did you quit journalism, beta?
Is PR a good business to be in?
What do your parents do?
Do you like children?
Would you inspect and observe? Would you ask me to sing, smile, walk...? Ask me why I wear no jewellery? I'm not as strikingly good looking as your son. Would you wonder if I'd look good next to him? Would you wonder if I could give you good looking grand children? Would you ask me if I loved your son? Really loved him... How much? How would I answer that?
I have so many questions for you...
Did your son tell you that I performed a special pooja for your recovery during the Ganpati Festival and then sent you prasad through him?
Did he give you the Durga Pooja bhog I specially sent for you? I know Papa doesn't believe in God, because if there was one, you, the love of Papa's life, wouldn't have sufferred so much and for so long. But now you are with God and I'm with all these questions... Questions I will never find answers to...
I wanted to meet you Maa... but I couldn't... you son wouldn't let me... and I didn't insist... But I must say, your son is one tough young man. He was a picture of calm at your funeral... so was Papa... Even didi was strong... But I couldn't hold back my tears.
I'm sorry Maa... I love you Maa... and yes I love your son...
Goodbye Maa.

I'm Gay... Main Mast Hoon!

I'm blessed to count Harish Iyer as one of my closest friends. Most of you know him for his unabashed and tireless campaign for gay rights. To many, he is the face of Gay Pride in Mumbai. Few know that he has a private mini army of female journalists pals who dote on him (and are secretly jealous of his dimples!) I'm one of his many 'Kalam wali Bai' buddies and love it when he wears our friendship on his sleeve, much like his heart.
When we are not busy handling each other's PR, we brainstorm about how to make the world more Gay-friendly. With the 2012 Mumbai Gay Pride Parade just round the corner, Harish and I realised, one of the biggest reasons homosexuality is still discussed in hushed tones by a majority of Indians, is because we think it is a part of Western culture. This is mainly because we don't have one decent word for gay in Hindi. 'Samlaingic' doesn't count as it sounds more like Sanskrit, a bit like the name for some incurable disease. Infact most Indians see homosexuality as some kind of disease and many a religious/spiritual guru has offerred a cure! Most common words used for gay people, like gud, mittha, dheela, fail to convey the meaning. Infact, these are just derogatory words that aim to emphasis how un-manly most gay men are. That got me thinking... What if we came up with one Hindi word that is not offensive, a word that conveys the essence of being gay in a fun and meaningful way, we might just be able to make the concept slightly more relatable. That's when I came up with Mast (like fun... bindaas)... It is nothing but the Hindi translation of the English word 'gay' and it fits!
Also look at the name of the parade... It is the Gay PRIDE Parade... Pride is what you call a group of Lions. The courageous leaps that the Gay community has taken over the last few years, should leave little doubt in anyone's mind, that this is a community of Lion Hearts! Not a herd... not a pack... but a pride...
So from now on, feel proud when you say Main Mast hoon... Sherdil hoon... Gay hoon!