darling

we had discussions on the role we play on each other , during the active parts of our word. In the passive other side of it we carried fuels of confusions, dark with insight and imagination. My friend calls it light with secrets. let it be, at least here we know that we dont follow the same reality. In the dark side of my words the reality was this: I dont answer properly. I strted seeing that.

For example, when you ask me what i've been doing today, I would narrate one of the interesting episodes of the day, or I may say the worst experience of the day..in a tone that says that's all i have done that day. I dont know where this smart tone hides itself, when i take the words and turns it upside down, its timid, slow paced. No revenge!

If I tell you what you are to me, will u believe now?Please dont.

U are a known language, or u have access to the known and u paraphrase me.

she wrote!!

if my vagina could sing,
it will have the sound of a saxophone.

if my vagina could have a taste,
it will be the taste in the mouth of a child,
who likes to chew her slate pencil.

if my vagina could adorn herself,
it would use fresh and wild paalappookkal,
which blooms into the midnight.

if my vagina would fall in love,
it would do so with sree.

if my vagina wanted to get drunk,
it would take golconda ruby wine,
plus two sips of vodka.

if my vagina wanted to give birth,
it would to neethu, sudha and pooja.

if my vagina wanted to unwind,
it would swim in the waters of souparnika,
which carries the scent of an untouched forest.

if my vagina were a little more romantic,
it would miss those unbearably beautiful, still crookedly sharp,
dainty fingers
of her ultimate lover of the past.

if my vagina wanted to see herself in a portrait,
it would be that of a woman, earth and tree,
and she 'd lie between careless and open thighs,
adorned with red,
aroused by her own scent,
breathing very slowly, relaxed.

and if my vagina could change one thing about herself,
she would happily say goodbye to periods,
which pierces her, which violates her with that adamant flow of blood.
--sandhya
inspired by gigi's blog.
thanks to sudeep.

5 February, 2009 6:16 PM

she has posted this as a comment in gargi's blog.

passions of

I will tell you a story, where there is beginning, middle and end. For it was my ambition to be able to do that. It is. Because I never knew where to begin things, where it goes , i simply let it go. everything seemed to me immense possibility. as do relationships. The story of passions begins with a quotoation "...nt look this way, as if you are in the passions of joan of arc"
It marks the end of the day. They were both women, feminists. They had a nice time together without their male partners around.
That was a night and a day. or a half day. They discussed issues of independance. To one it was all about being happily alone.
when you want to be happily alone you expect your others to be so when you leave them.
What if life is different for your others. What if they think you are not performing the duties of togetherness, not being emotionally sensitive?
it summarises the experience,
It solves the riddle.
It tells you that you could be crucified while being in company.

difference

I welcome your response on a confusion of a feminist friend.

Talking on difference why do we not address the issue of difference between men and women in the same way as we address the diffence between women of different caste, class and region. How do we talk of gender?

I often felt that the approach we have on the older issues is a bit partial. we try to evade the issues of classic feminism thinking that it is older and pretend we live in a society where many earlier question has been resolved. Another thing I want to get your response is that when you move from one position to another and has resolved certain problems how will you respond to the sections of society which is still in the grip of that problem. Will you live in a world of your own without much communication with more patriarchal society? Or will you perform many roles and carry many selves and spend more time deciding how should i comment here and which body language i shouuld exhibit here?

These are the question I encounter only now when I stopped and declared to myself that I have stopped my search for an utopia and have to be social. I would like to be introduced to you in terms of the socialization of your feminist subjects.

class

To be a teacher offers a space for performance. you a a theater person and editor and director. At time you get good shots. Sometimes everything cooperate and you feel yo have prepared a good scene. Many flops follows and you realize you a bad film maker.
I thought of many ways to begin the South African novel "My Son's Story". I didn't begin with an account on Nadine Godimer.
We started with notions on creativity and relationship. how to construct oneself , violating from the notions of once parents. I asked then from where did they get their notions of love.
They started speaking of so many things. They didn't miss out queer relations.
IS it because they are students of English literature and their syllabus has been made politically as correct as possible? I'm happy with the Syllabus. Not just by reading it. But by experiencing the quality of sensibility in the students of third year B.A.
My colleagues might have done a good job.

on emotions

One of my friends is sad that she has once frozen her emotions due to deep pain and now she cannot call them back. She knows this is not the ways she wants to live but knows not how to
be emotional without doing harm to her sense of well being. She summerised her problems as not being able to decide what all comes to the box of herself.

There are moments when I too share this. I find myself confused before a set of problems of which I cannot decide whether My sanity is important or the solution to the problem of a friend. And most often a choice is made to solve the issue at the risk of my sanity. I saw her on the virge of insanity and could identify with her completely. But life has gifted me with options to survive. I do get drowned in the mess of the emotional complexities as before but it takes lesser time to get out. And I'm happy that people are capable of emotional depth.

A very dear friend once tole me that he had fallen in love for three times and has been in hell each time the relations brakes. But he preferred to be in hell than to be balanced without being in love wholeheartedly.

A feminist friend once expressed her contempt over another feminist in police department for crying over phone. And i was restless of the fact that she is in academics. I wait for a day when activists stop promoting any kind of false sense of self.

If our political people feels that crying is weakness I would happily be weak before them.

Do you know that one of the strongest friend of mine had her email id asking us to laugh and cry louder?

a bus journey.

signboards-- May be because I was a happy person that day--Everything around was capable of taking me to happiness. A board carrying an arrow mark said "toilet 30 meters from here". There was so much love present in that message. A world opened up where everyone takes care of others.

In the bus there was the song "bewafa..." someone was repenting the love showered over a person who turned out to be a cheat. two three songs followed that again tried to catch feelings for a bewafa. What a wonderful medium to discharge negative feelings! And a mass was waiting patiently, risking their afternoon on it. (though somebody with an i-pod managed to throw the public feelings out)

I like 502 bus, there's always some way of beautiful communication.