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The Ideal Y

The Ideal Y

I am the ideal Y, yes the same that you have been looking at; as they stare at you like an animal eyeing its prey.
Oh, not clear?
The same one that gets its value evaluated at the time he promises to be a personal demon to a woman; when he gets the right to vandalize her like the ocean has the right when the shallow rivers and it becomes one.
Just making it clear, though, I need not because all of us are the same right?
But yeah, here, I will list out the differences between an animal and the man and wait for you to scratch them off the list and put them under the column of “strikingly similar”
But wait, Why am I telling you all this?
You already know who I am,
You know me so well that you list out what I need and need not be.
You have even laid a to-do list for me.

It is easy to be me, you don’t need a cheat sheet, you see.
Just smile and be the tough one in the family,
Bruise your cheeks and knees but “don’t come home leaving a fight”
because “that’s not what boys do.”
But there are some things that even YOU are not allowed to do;
so much for the liberty right?
What are those? Well, they are not as cruel as for your counterparts,
But let them succumb you and you dare not give out a cry for help,
because “that’s not what boys do.”

We too are at fault you know?
We are at fault for not letting them know that we not as similar as the drops of rain.
We all are different but shh they don’t know.
Well, that was an apt analogy if you were wondering,
How can one say the drops are different or same if all they do is
act all the same and be called rain or drown in the puddles that are termed as dirty.
I know I am not making a lot of sense but we haven’t really been taught that.
What have we been taught?
Just be stoic because that’s how you should be.
Don’t let a strand of emotion go out or…
Or what? Oh nothing, they will question your masculinity.
At all cost what you must not do is cry,
And fill your bottles of ego with every tear that you didn’t shed,
And shadow your senses till all your souls become the same.
Don’t ever try to stand out and show who you really are,
Don’t ever try to come out and be vulnerable;
because “that’s not what boys do”

Ah the to-do list, I almost forgot. Here it is.
Grow some balls, pick up fights.
be called the pride of the family.
Take Karate lessons or Sports, what? Dance. That’s girlish.
Try to act all grown but because that’s the need of the hour.
Choose a career path which can help you sustain because that’s the need of the hour.
From now on,
There’s more,
Pink. No Pink.
Why? Really?
I told you
That’s not what we do.

Take your bottles of ego and pour it like acid on the women of your lives.
Take control of the lives that are near you because that’s not only your right but duty.
Abuse. Physically, Mentally, Emotionally.
Rip those clothes of every woman you see. First in your head.
And let the demons take over you and do what you did in your head.
Make every stare,glare,whistle a call for reminding them their place in the ecosystem.
Sip coffee, read a newspaper and comment on every single thing that you lay eyes on because that’s what you do while she cooks and washes.
And if that’s not enough then ask for what you want in bed and if she doesn’t cooperate; rape her. that’s legal by the way. (not that it makes a difference)
Paint the walls when you feel like and jerk off at every woman you feel like.
Rules have exceptions. They are just for the weaker sex.
Don’t ever have feelings for other men.
Remember, holding hands is not cool. If you’re gay then maybe you are not a man after all.
This who you are.
This is what we are.
This is what they know of you.
This is what they think of you.

I am the ideal Y,
You are too.
You’re “different”?
Doesn’t matter.
Because they don’t get it.

The tyranny of our times

The tyranny of our times

“Woman is not born: she is made. In the making, her humanity is destroyed. She becomes symbol of this, symbol of that: mother of the earth, slut of the universe; but she never becomes herself because it is forbidden for her to do so.”

Andrea Dworkin

I recently read a book called “The Palace of Illusions”

I learned two things.

  1. Our morals have been the cornerstone of society.
  2. Our women have always been the victim of these morals.

Today, I want to talk about sexism.

Our morals and our rules have been a shining beacon to us. A beacon that guides us to prosperity and success.

Our morals are the reason for a rich culture which some of us proudly claim to be better than firangis.

Our morals are the reason for a long-run patriarchal entity.

Well, let’s face it. Our morals are flawed.

Every woman in India is still facing blatant sexism. Either from her parents, boyfriend, boss, friends, husband.

It has become so normal that as this slowly shreds her life; her beliefs and dreams to pieces; she just stares and wonders – What am I doing wrong? What do I do? ; unaware of the tyranny of the times she lives in.

Do You want to see how bad is it?

Here, let me give you some examples:

– She can’t go out late at night because “accha nahi lagta”
– She can study but not too much otherwise, she won’t find a groom as no groom likes an overly qualified wife.
– She has to “adjust” because well, THAT’S HOW IT WORKS.
– She is important but not more than her brother’s career.
– Her education is a waste of money; her marriage is not. Because, “Status”
– She can’t hangout with guys late at night.

Because (Wait for it, it is funny)
1. Some men are assholes.
2. “chaar log” matters more than her.

There’s much more to it than what meets the eye.

I cannot imagine how suffocating it would be for them.

When I read the book; I felt the pain. And I don’t want the women of my life to feel that ever.

A Note for Women:

Fight against this tyranny. You might face your dear ones. But you must do what’s right. Break those chains. Close your eyes. Feel your powers. Feel the wings on your back. Spread them. Burn those who come in your way. Be a rebel if you have to be one. Fly.

Maybe we don’t deserve you. But we need you.

All of you who have faced it. It is time to make it stop. Speak up when your friend faces it. Speak up when your daughter faces it. You must know. She has never been weak. You have never been weak. Don’t settle for the idea of “This is how it works”.

You hold the baton now. I don’t care whether you are a feminist or not. It doesn’t matter if you quietly bear the tyranny.

A Note for Men:

Dear Men, We are better than this. We are better than what they think of us as. “They” are not women. They are the people who still believe in the age-old beliefs. Tell them that we have evolved. Don’t just tell. Let it reflect in your words and actions. Let it become a habit. Tell them we are okay with women who rebel. Women who don’t have just honey dripping off their lips but also blood; the blood of all the people who did her wrong and tried to shun her. Tell them we are okay with women who know how to love themselves and respects themselves as much as they respect you. Tell them that we are okay with women who are fearless. No, we are not okay; we are honored.

And let us make it clear that women dressed in shorts don’t provoke us. Women  who have tattoos don’t provoke us. Let us not make them make us into the demons we are not. Let us tell them that we are better than what they think of us.

The next time you see your mother, your daughter, your wife, your sister, your girlfriend face the blatant sexism; stop them. Revolt against the tyranny.

Because if you don’t; maybe you are not worthy.


Note to self: 

Keep reminding yourself that it is not okay. Just because it has been there for so long; it is not necessarily right. Respect the choices of women in your life and treat them as an equal in truest of senses.



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Sand dunes

Sand dunes


I recall a song,
sorry, not a song but its tunes.
It makes me feel like water does;
In never-ending sand dunes.
What did it say I can’t recall,
It was something along the lines of
how important it is to fall.
But why am I telling you this,
What’s the point?
I don’t get all this,
Like all those other things.
What other things you ask?
That why do we fight,
How much blinding is the light,
or-or what’s that I want from Life.
Some want Love, Some want Power,
Other dig deeper to find Peace.
And here I am smacking my lips,
confused what to lose and what to keep.
I have made myself a part of mundane,
That soothes my nerves, keeps me sane.
But I know I will get tired of too,
Don’t believe me?
Come check those unused ballet shoes.
Or those canvas in the cupboard getting painted by dust.
But I often manage to distract myself,
maybe that’s my art.
Maybe I am the traveler who doesn’t have a path.
Now that I look at it this way,
It calms me a bit,
It screams, and I don’t hear,
It whispers and I glue my ears.
And while it distracts me from its heavy breathing;
wisdom; it says,
“It is okay to skip a hurdle
It is okay to not solve the puzzle,
It is okay to not be a part of the huddle”

Post Office – Charles Bukowski

Post Office – Charles Bukowski

In the morning it was morning and I was still alive.
Maybe I’ll write a novel, I thought.
And then I did.

Henry Chinaski is a real badass.

Who is Henry Chinaski?
Henry would be Charles’ fictional alter ego and rightly so.

Five words to describe him?

Drunkard. Sarcastic. Cocky. Lousy. Foul-mouthed.


Post Office manages to capture all the emotions that have been left out in the tales of Love and “Happily Ever After”. It will take you to a ride and into the soul of Henry, and when you are there; you will feel extremely ordinary and mundane. Because that’s how it is.

The book revolves around the times when Henry used to work in a Post Office. It follows him to his stints at drinking, love, marriage and betting (not in the same order).

I enjoyed the book because I laid my hands on a type of a book I’ve never read before. It is dark, direct and bold.

Read the book for its offbeat writing style. You will rarely see a writer not give a shit about the readers and writing just because he wants to. And if he is going to do so, he will do it his way. Read it for a glimpse into the low-life world, the damp barn, cheap booze, afternoons spent in hangover and sex. Read it to see how a writer evolves and my dear Indian readers; read it because you will be introduced to a new kind of writer. A writer who doesn’t give a shit what you want to read, a writer who knows no sugar-coating and a writer who doesn’t write to please. Such is Post Office; Charles’ first book.

Why not read it?

Frankly, If you are not into reading or if you read but don’t like taking risks (which I cannot believe would be possible); you might find it mundane and boring. It is not magic, not unicorns or snowflakes. It is how our lives are. Moments of sheer pleasure and joy sandwiched in loads of ordinary.

Also, this book is not for the people who don’t like profanity or boldness as other would call. It is not for children. 

Here’s an excerpt from the book for you to understand the content and context.


Excerpt from Post Office
You can buy it from here






Those flickering eyes stealing glances at the horizon,
That numbness of nerves and bones growing at a steady pace,
The jar of wisdom filling with lessons of uncertainty,
The untold words, the unheard sighs,
Those grey hairs and deliberately hidden wrinkles,
Those moments between soulful lyrics that seems too long to be true,
That promise you made after you came out alive when you shouldn’t have,
The determination under the tears,
The feats of happiness and kicks of pain,
Those clenched fists, pumped up heart, mercurial eyes,
The scars and stitches,
These books around.

Listen to their whispers,
Listen to their muffled screams,

They just tell you this:

“You’re the seeds that grow up to be the stars,
You’re the fire that can burn the sun apart.
Don’t let them tell you otherwise”

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