Vampire Romances to the Rescue

Sometimes my dreams end up surprising me. For a long time I was getting standard nightmares about harpies at work trying to choke or kill me in very innovative ways. Surprisingly, it wasn't an effect of watching too many crime shows. It was just a work thing. So after this very bad spell of nightmares, having a great dream is like discovering treasure. Not that I have an experience of ever finding any treasure but I figure that that's how characters in those fantasy novels feel like.

Now the dream. Being single for a long time has its effects on ones brain. The stimulants in my body which allow me to feel the effects of being in love were, sadly, dying. Not having anyone to fixate on was a sad thing. Since I didn't want to become a robot, I was concerned. How could I save my poor hormones and nerves? What could I think of that would ensure their survival?

Since these hormones and nerves do not come under stem cell research, top scientists of the world refused to help me. They also laughed, but that's beside the point. So, I had to come up with something. I had to make a plan which would help me be human and still have great boobs. Both these factors would ensure my survival. Attaboy, Darwin!

Leslie Nelson from "Dracula: Dead and Loving It"

To save myself, I thought, why don't I employ the use of those very skills which gave me the harpy nightmares? I mean, the skills I use every day at work: writing and imagination! Voila! Problemo solved! Thing is that I'm already writing a book on vampire-human romance that has vigorous sex between both species. Stephanie Meyer missed on that opportunity so I thought of cashing it in. I ensured that my vampires were the right degree of stupid to commingle with humans. Similarly, my humans had to be the right degree of rock-brains to flirt with semi-dead people.

I set my premise and started writing. The stimulants that were allegedly dead, came to life and with great vigour! My mind worked on Nitro mode and spewed out all kinds of vampire-human romances which were disturbing, at first. But if you are into that kind of kinky stuff, you'll love it. I'm a fan now. After writing a couple of chapters, my writing feels like crack. I'm addicted to it. That is the reason I am promoting it.

But my dreams... Oh, the turn my dreams took since the vampire romance tale is delectable. Being single is less of a worry now. I have my mind occupied on things that matter. And I'm not saying that it's work or family that is in the top of my mind, it's my writing and the scandalous stuff I write about. I am amazed at my ability of coming up with ways to make vampire-human sex easy, look natural, and attain orgasm each time. See, I am making the impossible come true. That's always something a writer should be really proud of.

Of course, the writing is done in secret and I can't reveal it till I complete the whole book. You see, I haven't introduced my characters yet. They've only had sex--lots of it--for now. So I need to do the mundane task of giving them a background, a story and a dysfunctional characteristic before telling the world any more detail. Each story needs that and I can't succeed without covering my basics.

The only thing I can hope for now is that I keep my concentration up and that there aren't any more videos of Hugh Jackman, Michael Fassbender and James McAvoy dancing to distract me. God, they're gorgeous!

Finding Mr. Right

I honestly believe all the magazines and articles when they tell me that finding Mr. Right is very important in my life. The benefits of having the perfect man by your side will ensure that my life is be the fantasy tale that I've dreamt of since I was a toddler. Finding me a Mr. Right is a task that my parents are also invested in. They are willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure a perfect match. Having dated a bunch of dummies, I have all the more reason to throw my hands up in the air and declare, "Cosmo, find me a Hugh Grant (specifically his Notting Hill character)!"

The only catch is, the world is full of Mr. Rights. Each and every dummy you see is a perfect fit. For someone. There are enough desperate men in this country to deserve the handful of girls available. They will be all the more grateful for it. Desperate men should not be left to their devices. They deserve a woman who can slap sense into them. Similarly, dumb girls deserve a man who is equally dumb, to hold a mirror to them. I am against wasting any amount of intelligence on people who are just destined to be dumb. By the way, people being dumb because it is their destiny is the only time I believe in destiny. Otherwise I'm not a "destiny" fan.

Having judged people all my life, I have learnt a lot of things from my observations. First and foremost, sometimes intelligence can be found in the most unlikeliest of places. You saw a nerd wearing a Batman T-shirt and smelling like wet laundry left wet too long? He just might know the exact measurement of Superman's dong after reading all the printed comics available. And all of us have met those girls who have long, painted nails that can be possible murder weapons if you got too close? Turns out, they might be the world's foremost experts on how whales mate. (Yes, whales, like other mammals have penises but where are their holes? Is it the blowhole on the top of their heads? Tricky question, huh? I know!)

Secondly, looks do not matter. Sure, there is a fairness craze in the world but I have always found dark people the hottest. It's also partly because they don't have to spend any money in sunscreen. And sunscreen don't come cheap, son! Trust me, because I pay for all of my brother's lotions, creams and cosmetics! But I digress, sorry. Looks also ties up to intelligence. If you tell a person that he/she is very pretty, chances are, they will stick to working on the pretty aspect only and forget to do the important things in life, like learning how to cook. Of course, there are exceptions to each case. You might find a Barbie's Ken blazing trails in the scientific world but trust me, he will be aware of his genetic good looks and will use it to his advantage. Ugly people, on the other hand, have to work hard to not merge into the background. That's why they garner many essential skills to survive. And they survive. No wonder National Geographic said that Americans in 2050 will look like Beyoncé. Trust me, it's not just for the fantastic booty.

Thirdly, accumulation of wealth does matter. Too rich is too bad. The right amount of poverty is good. After all, you want a partner who is less pompous than you. Someone who is ready to ignore your tantrums and remind you from time to time what an enormous drama queen you are. That sort of person will ensure that you don't spend 30 grand on shoes. That person will remind you, sternly, that Carrie Bradshaw and the Gossip bitches are actresses who don't buy the clothes they wear. It's their stylist who does that. Obviously, you can't afford a stylist so all you can do is slobber over the pages of Cosmopolitan and People magazine in the dentist's office.

These are just a few characteristics of the perfect partner. However, based on these few points, one should have a clear idea of the kind of person you want. Obviously, it's all hogwash because you can only fuck Hugh Grant in your dreams. You can't get him to marry you. So, you settle for the trolls and gargoyles that you meet in random places. Don't worry, they may be desperate enough to ignore the giant wart on your face that you call your brain. If you get a person who does just that, you have found treasure, my friend. Nurture them, love them, feed them popcorn if they say their hands are too busy playing Call of Duty. Occasionally, watch them eat a messy burrito and get enticed by the fat globs of  mayonnaise dripping on their T-shirt. Trust me, it doesn't get any better than that. Such a life, in my opinion, is the perfect life with your perfect partner. Thank the gods if you've already found your Mr. Right!

What Sort of a Person Are You?

I think I am a nice person. Most of the times. And yet when I think about the way I behave with people around me, I doubt myself. How nice am I? Is holding the door open for someone considered nice? Yes. Is letting an old person get on a bus before you nice? Yes. Is apologising to someone after you step on their toes nice? Yes. Where then am I going wrong?

Thing is, I might be more than a bit sarcastic. In my attempt to be funny, I may come across as rude sometimes. That's OK, comedians are sometimes nasty. That's where we get all our good material from. All the pain and suffering we endured as children, and then adults, has to be projected onto someone in our present--loved ones included.

There is a reason for the pain and suffering and the internalisation of it all. How do you express to people your true feelings when all they expect of you is to make a joke of it? They expect that you will know how to make light of a serious situation. Sometimes they are also angry when you do that. They know that they should not expect anything apart from jokes of you. That is your job, after all.

Internalising anger, pain, hurt, emotions, and true feelings is bad. Look at me, I tried to eat my way out of depression. Six months and many awful looks in the mirror later, I am still in the same spot. I am fatter than ever and I do not how to stop myself. Once upon a time, I starved myself for 2 months and I was only happy when that ordeal ended. It involved a guy and the moment I came to know that he was not interested in me, my stomach sang with joy! It meant that it would see food again. My colon wasn't too happy about the junk I piled onto it for the coming weeks, but it helped me ease the pain I felt emotionally.

I am still eating. I do not tell my friends what I truly feel. I listen to them talk about their problems and I can never bring up the courage to talk about what I am going through. Somehow, when I hear them talk, I feel like my problems are nothing compared to theirs. Depression really isn't such a big deal compared to job stress, or husband troubles, or weight loss issues, or getting over an ex. Right?

I know that I am my own top priority but when I am busy stuffing this body, who is watching me? Sure, friends, family and colleagues say that I should do something about my fat. But what do I do? I cannot starve myself even though I eat normal portions. I do not feel comfortable exercising because I cannot come to terms with why I am doing this to myself and why I want it to stop. 

Every time I go out, I cannot stop but feel pitiful of the fact that I have no one to tell how my day went. People who ask me that question are content with an OK. They would not like me to elaborate. Anyways, what would I say? "I feel like my soul is being crushed into a million pieces each day and I do not have a clue how to repair it?" Yes, I see how that conversation would go. Awkward silence all the time.

So I make attempts to write everything down but even that doesn't fully help with the depression. The sadness lingers like the smell of garbage. It rots and rots your soul until you feel so helpless that you give up and find the smell fascinating. By then, you end up smelling like sadness. Who wants to hang out with sadness? Clearly no one who is sane. Not even myself. Depression hurts and it adds to the pain which already put you in a depressing phase. How do you turn your life around? There seems to be no rock-bottom like in the movies. The spiral just keeps going down endlessly. How does one make it stop?

Well, I internalised my anger and I make fun of people. I tell people everything is just fine and I ask them to tell me their problems. I act and act and act and never stop. I'm bad. I'm terrible. This is the worst thing. Feeling bad about myself and still not being able to help my situation? What could be worse? Being in Sudan, most definitely. See, I never stop. Depression is lesser than hunger and civil war, evidently! What a moron I am for thinking otherwise!

Landing in Shit, Mud, Garbage & More Garbage

Adventures in Delhi never fail to surprise. Just getting out of home is an adventure. Staying at home is also an adventure. The maid says or does so many amusing things that you can't help tape her mouth but you keep on listening to her anyways. She's like crack to a non-addict. Weird, but surprisingly an experience worth having.

So, getting out of home and experiencing Delhi. Well, I find that my dad gives the best driving experience. He's an absolute bore, so you have to drive the conversation. But since I'm the family comedian, I know that it is my job to keep things cool and to make everyone laugh. It's OK, they laugh. Though some of my best lines sometimes go over their head. 

OK, so driving in the car with dad. He has a real knack of making sure he stops the car for you to get off at the most amusing places. When I switched jobs in June last year, I travelled in the metro. That meant that dad had the job of dropping me off at the station and picking me up if I got late. Firstly, he ensures that he is the best dressed man when he gets out of home. Not a hair is out of place because he knows that the women are watching him. Yes, he thinks he is young enough to be my brother. (Sigh!)

So, what was it like being dropped by my dad? Well...interesting. There was hardly a day when I didn't raise my eyebrow at him. Most of the days, I would say, "Dad, you have a real talent for 'landing'."

I do not know if it is talent or his internal, male GPS honing system, but it never works. Whenever he dropped me at the metro station, he would stop directly next to a puddle if it was raining. On dry days, he would stop right next to the pile of garbage that the street sweepers would pile up on sides of pavements where they know no one steps.

Well, everyone except me.

My dad has a real knack for these things. Come mud, garbage, sewerage spill, dog poop, or cow dung, my dad has stopped right next to them all. Recently he topped it all. I opened the car door and put out my left foot. I know that I should always look down, so I did this time too. Since this was in the morning, the sight that greeted my left foot was fantastic: a used condom.

When my dad does the usual "stopping the car in top of garbage", I look back at him with disgust and have him drive forward a few inches to "clearer ground". When that is not possible, I do some acrobatic stretching and long-jump out of the car. This time, I rolled my eyes. And I opted for long jump.

When I looked back to close the door, he was grinning. That's his way of saying "Have fun at work!" Yeah, right! Like that ever happens. I could not really say, "Dad, you topped the car stopping list today." I navigated carefully out of the way. For a condom, it was in quite a good shape. "Recently used", I thought. "Hope the wearer had fun." Well, when you have to start a day by not stepping on a used condom, I believe that positive thoughts like these help. After all, worse could have happened. I may have stepped on dirty semen and ruined a pair of lovely leather shoes. Now that would be a real shame.

That Thing Called... Love... Something....

Love makes me feel icky. 

No kidding. When I see couples walk by, it disgusts me. I can't believe that everything is as perfect as people claim. There are problems on the surface as much as the deeply buried, numerous ones. Why do people pretend to be in love? Why do they show off to the world that they are desperate to keep it together but clearly cannot do so.

I have seen people all around me change drastically for the people they are dating. Dating actually translates to "love" because casual dating is so cliche. The girl is going to ask you about marriage anyways. No escaping that. "The Future" is so important to the preservation of our sanity that we cling desperately to whoever gives is even a smidgen of attention. So shallow are our personalities.

Anyways, the rantings of an overweight, chubby woman rarely evoke any kind of reaction except dismissal. Did I mention that I also lead a loveless life? Gosh! How did I miss that?

Contrary to popular opinion, I did not push people away. The ones I do push away are obviously annoying. Why wouldn't anyone want them out of their lives? Sorry, people, but I'm not patient with "stupid". It's like slowly roasting to death. Being with people of your own intelligence is tough. They rarely know what their time and place is. They love being reckless.

So, the hurt I caused people is not on my conscience. The hurt that other people caused has been utilised for rising above bad situations. It has also been diverted towards overheating sometimes. But I'm working towards fixing that. Food, I've come to realise, doesn't have all the answers. And "42" is an elusive one. What did Douglas Adams mean when he wrote that?

Then what is one way which would allow me to accept that stupid thing called love? Sorry, but it's not easy to be convinced otherwise when all that I see and observe supports my stand. Love is a vomit-inducing idea. It's too farfetched and a human construct. 

Till I get convinced otherwise, Love = Vomit. Trust me on that!

I Climbed a Spanish Mountain

The story about how I conquered my emotional side and stainless steel-coated my ovaries (not actually, but metaphorically)

As a human being with friends, I have been a witness to many a pity party. I have to clarify that (a) I am a human being because I have been called emotionless too many times, and (b) a pity party is a way of experiencing grief, in which you spend your time feeling sorry for yourself and whining endlessly about how crappy your life is. I try and make friends with people who generally seem strong and willful because I know they will not start crying fountains of tears at random points of our friendship. Sadly, however, the reality is very different. Just like Dr. Clock (Heather Graham) from Scrubs said, "...some people have a hard outer shell, but inside, everybody has a creamy centre."

(Pause for effect and look like you are deep in thought. Like Mr. Gorilla here.)

Creamy centre, indeed. At first, there is no pleasure in seeing my friends and people on the Metro break down about their ex-lovers. Those people are genuinely hurt, or at least trying to act hurt. Girls are like: "How could he break up with me? Doesn't he like the way I look?" Meanwhile guys are like: "Yaar, I don't understand why she broke up with me. What did I do wrong?" 

Then there are others who are like: "Man, I was waiting for him/her to say something, anything, about our relationship but he/she didn't. And that's why we are no longer talking."If I had made a face like this in front of my friends while they were narrating their stories, I would have been murdered. Strangers get the best of my sarcastic eye roll with a "Grow Up!" sigh. I really cannot help it. These reactions just come to me naturally. If I was a person with more emotion than rationality, I.... Hmm, I cannot imagine what I would be like if I had more emotions.

Anyways, pity party, friends, and break ups. Making a sad face works. Be angry at the person who dumped them. Tell them they did not deserve a great person like she/he. Tell them that the world has millions of people who are single and ready to date you at a moment's notice. Tell them that to get over the break up, you all could go somewhere, or shop, or binge eat, or watch a million rom-coms. Whatever works. These have all mostly been used by me over my friends. It only works in the moments when they are looking at you talk. They never listen. When your friend starts talking though that is when you know that whatever great idea you suggested was plainly ignored. People will deal with break ups like idiots. They will not give heed to rational thought. Been there, went through all of that. (Sigh!)

While I want to believe that I am smarter than most people, I know that I have had my pity parties too. Surprisingly, they are great ways to get to know new people. That's how I met many of my friends. But then one day, I decided that I should do something better. Like climb a mountain, go on an adventure, DO stuff. Anything to get through the sudden emptiness in your life, to get over the loss of a close confidant. That's why I wanted to climb a mountain.


However, climbing even a fake wall is tough business. My body is of course, devoid of all kinds of physical exercise except for some walking and escaping the speeding vehicles on the roads. The last one is a sure-shot heart attack-giver, because nothing gets the heart pumping like imminent vehicular manslaughter. But I had climbed a steep rock when I'd visited Rishikesh, bungee-jumped, walked up and down mountains, and was the elder child. So I simply had to do it.


Anyways, the moral of the story is that I turned a bad situation into a dream. That was the one and only time I was able to do that. I have failed terribly all the other times. Which is why I have become the way I am now. Failures have made me a person that I like being. Sure, I pick on the extra fat I have on various parts of my body but overall, I appreciate the fact that I am an OK person. I suck at friendships, sure. But my friends know this about me and work to ensure that I do not come across as that bad a friend. I love them. If they hadn't listened to me bitch, I probably wouldn't have been able to move on from the countless heartbreaks. Johnny Depp, Daniel Radcliffe, Heath Ledger, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and most recently Benedict Cumberbatch....

That is how I came to learn Spanish. The language is as lovely as any other language but the most important thing was that it was spoken widely throughout South America. The continent has such an interesting culture which is different from anything you have seen so far. Or at least, Discovery Channel makes it look like so.

Depression Sucks at the Soul

I was not clinically diagnosed as depressed but you know that there are symptoms. As a formerly sane individual, the patterns of my behaviour took a complete dive. It was not because I had changed as a person. I was still the same, goofy person. It was what I was projecting and internalising. That was the most dangerous part.

When you are in that state of mind, your gender doesn't matter. Your mannerisms and behaviours are more or less the same. Drinking, eating, laziness, dissatisfaction, aloofness.... I could go on but it makes me sad. It is not as if everything has completely become alright suddenly. It's screwed and very badly screwed.

And everything in the world is seeming to be alright. That's ok, people should really try hard at that. Facades are so important. Trust me, I know. It saved me from telling people how screwed I was.

Internalising my anger, disappointment, sadness and hurt was something I was a natural at. I would pluck at my cuticles and rip off the sensitive skin. I still do that. Once the skin is all out, you can't eat with your hands. The spices in the food hurt. Even salt does. The pink, exposed flesh hurts physically. Yet, when I am having an idle moment, I press at it and relive the pain. Just checking that I'm still human.

Pain is really bad. It hurts physically as well. The mental agony of my experiences are not easy to put into words. Where would I even start? People have mostly been good to me. So how do I tell them that there is something wrong? My facade of being a happy person and a sane individual is going to be diminished. What will happen after that?

Sometimes I think that my future is going to like those bleak, apocalyptic zombie movies. No, I won't be the lone survivor fighting off zombies and trying to save stranded humans. The scenes that I remember are always the lonely walks through the deserted city. That is my mind. There is a lot of clutter but all of it is important. Those desolate buildings give my messed up mind its character. How can I bring those walls down? Each window pane is a memory that looks down on me with pity. What am I doing in this town? I should be somewhere where life exists, where existence is not always at risk. A place which values human life and where there are people to help protect you.

That's in my fantasies. A part of what keeps me going are those questions my memories ask me. Is that a good thing? Probably not. I dream too much. I read too much. I see too much. How does one stop doing all of these and still be sane?

The Gray Terror

Monet and a kiss...would that ever happen?

Some time ago, I discovered that I had a gray hair. In the panic that ensued this immediate discovery, my life flashed before my eyes. A successful book publishing career, a socially conscious wedding, a sex-ful marriage, a warm home (at last), kids running in the park, growing old with a faceless partner, and dying in peace under the night sky. Never being able to kiss Benedict Cumberbatch in front of a Monet. These are the things I would never get around to doing after an untimely death in my 20s. I looked at my scared self in the mirror and gulped hard. It took all my resolve to not break down and cry.

I plucked the gray hair and went to my phone. If I was to die prematurely, I had to leave a will and a love letter to my few friends. As a will, I had credit card debts that were thrice the amount of all the money I had in all my accounts combined. The debt, I figured, I would leave to my parents and brother. They had extracted quite a number of favours to take on my debt. At least that much they owed me. Here is how the letter went:

With a heavy heart I regret to inform you that you can use my "Died an eternal virgin" speech at my own funeral. My descent into old age has begun with the discovery of a gray hair and my father terming it as a deal-breaker to any marriage proposal that should, pray, come my way. [Insert dear friend's name here], you have been a good friend and will likely outlive me. If we do not get a chance to meet before I pass into the bright lights of the Kryptonian ship that will airlift me from this earthly above, know that I have loved you deeply and all my jokes were seriously jokes. My purpose was always to create a camaraderie and I meant you no harm. Sure, sometimes I would look at you with crazy eyes with the expression, "What the HELL?", but it was meant in a good way. I have always kept your best interests in my heart and will continue to do so as I roam in space.

Much love,

Anita
xoxo

P.S. That's the ONLY time I'm using "xoxo" to sign off on a letter.

Obviously, the friends whom I sent it to laughed their asses off. After guffawing a lot, they sympathised with me. They had started graying much earlier than me, they told me. Their parents had also reacted the same way, publicly declaring the hopelessness of ever finding a suitable partner who would accept them, gray hair and mental illnesses included. Did I feel better? Dear Jor-El, no!

The number of gray hair on my head has increased since. As a person who barely cares about her health, I descended further into depression. Would I turn into one of those Garnier women who dyed their hair, turned anorexic, and then found their confidence? Or would I instead take a stand like Nafisa Ali and age gracefully?

Who in sweet Krypton am I kidding? I am nothing like the Garnier models or Nafisa Ali. Some people carry gray hair with swagger. My mom applied kajal on her hairline to hide the grays. My dad ignored it all together. What would I choose to do?

Well, coming face-to-face with your mortality is a vexing situation. I have come close to having my head busted on gravel or being run down by speeding vehicles, but the terror of those situations passed away in a few minutes. This "gray terror" though, that is something I still have trouble coping with. For one, I am not a beef magnate whom guys flock to, so yes, my dating AND marriage prospects have slimmed down. What could I possibly say was the cause of the graying hair? Stress? Depression? Too much shampoo? Fatty food? All of those answers are deal-breakers.

Much like the journey of Middle Earth, there are all sorts of monsters I have to face before I settle down comfortably in the Shire. Oh no, wait. I am Gandalf the Grey, so I am not exactly sure what I will end up doing, or where I will end up. And Gandalf the White is a scary prospect. I don't think I can carry off white hair with Ian McKellen's panache. Sweet Krypton, why can't an anti-aging spider just bite me? That would work better than those fake Olay creams. Those creams are pure bull excrement. 

But where can I find a damn radioactive spider...?

When You Try Your Best But You Don't Succeed... Thanks, Coldplay!

How do you tell your friend that you do not like the person they love? How do you tell them that you do not trust their partner? How do you tell someone who finds love after searching for it a long time that settling is not the answer?

If there was any way I could say these things and not sound jealous, or envious, or like a child, I would do it. Thing is, half the stuff I say comes out in a sarcastic or taunting way. While my friends tolerate that in normal settings, would they believe me when I start saying the truth about them to them? I always fear that I will end up looking like the boy who cried wolf thrice. Having faced that once already, I do not want to experience it all over again.

The first time I said it, my friend agreed with what I was saying. She understood that I was coming from a good place when I said I didn't trust the other person. At least, the friend seemed to understand. The happiness in my heart lasted for a very short time. My friend and the person I did not trust were back together before I could blink. They are still going out and seem happy. Was I wrong?

Admittedly, I do not have a good matchmaking track record. Nor can I--or will I--predict which couple will last the longest. I am not good at that. The only thing I know for sure is people I can trust and those I cannot no matter how hard they try. I have a "people radar" and I am not wrong. Not till now. Sure, it may make me seem like a bitter, old hag, judging people and pronouncing whom I can trust and whom I cannot. But this radar has served me well. It has protected me from getting hurt. It has been my shield.

I wish communication was easier but it never will be. People will hear what they want to hear and again interpret it in the way they seem fit. Urgh! Why does this happen? Why can we not teach our friends, lovers, parents, and children to talk like androids and emote ONLY when needed. Being an android at times works for me. I know the person I am talking to will find it weird. And this is probably why I do not have "bestest of friends" or "BFFs!!" kind of people. I could not be my best friend no matter how hard I try.

Weird, or what??!!

How Women Started Prostitution and How Men Ruined It

Disclaimer: This is not a research thesis. I have done absolutely no research in this matter. All that is written here is a result of whatever I have seen and read for as long as I've been alive. Please take everything in good humour and drop a comment if you think you want to. Thank you.

Ancient European Frescoes

The oldest profession in the world may probably have started off as a chance to make some money. And I am pretty sure it was a woman's idea. When men had all that they wanted, why would they resort to sex as a favour or a profession? Women did not hunt, they rarely were part of societal discussions, and they never held any jobs. They must have been bored of sitting at home and gossiping. I think there is an extent to which you can gossip. Most women draw that line when the rumour mills are about them. So, in this scenario, two situations seem plausible:

1. A smart woman noted that sex is a primal, powerful tool which soothes men, wins wars, and gets them expensive jewellery. So, rather than be bogged down by the tragedy of marriage, why not sell sex and make some money, soothe men, get expensive jewellery, and still win wars.

2. Some poor hapless woman(/en) must have sold sex to a man(/en), got money in return, and then after a "Eureka" moment--or after being ostracised from society--decided to make sex her career.

In either case, it is about a woman taking charge. No matter how hard I think and look for proof, I do not see men starting prostitution. They may have joined it as homosexuals first and then diversified, but they cannot be the pioneers of prostitution. There is no way.

Is there anything bad about sex? No, I can't see how. Procreating is our primal nature. We evolved and survived because our ancestor, bacteria, reproduced and replicated like crazy. The only tool to ensure one's survival was through tremendous procreation. There was no other way. God, or aliens (Jor-El, mainly), put only a handful of the ancient beings on this earth, and their job was to procreate and make the environment habitable for the future generations. They did it successfully only through bacterial sex. Yeah, I can't picture that either.

As we evolved into mammals that walk on hind legs, created languages, and left the forests, we still had the need to "do it like rabbits". I mean, look at our grandparents. Didn't they pop a child out every year? My maternal grandmother had six children and I can't think about the pain she endured. But I've heard of 11 or 12 children being the norm in those days. How is that even possible? 11 children from one mother? Ouch!

The reason why our parents probably stopped at 1, 2, or even 3 was because they realised their parents didn't remember their names all the time. And our parents didn't want that awkward situation with us. Also, think of the pain, the drama of an infant, and the money involved in raising a child. Which is why I'm thankful for both female and male empowerment. Both sexes finally have gotten out of the rut that surrounds childbearing.

However, notions of sex still remain the same. Who can explain how sex suddenly was derided in society? Why and when was premarital sex considered taboo? And who gave us the authority to judge a person who liked to have sex?

Art at Khajuraho, India

Somewhere down the line, we changed our mindset and became guarded about sex. Sex became about ownership of the sexual organs and power was derived from it. Yet, we see art all over our cultures about kings, queens, and commoners enjoying sex and other pleasures of the flesh. If one ruler liked it, another hated it. Was it because religions and religious leaders kept changing their attitudes? Was it because women became too demanding after sex? Was it because men wanted to hurt women using sex as a tool?

These questions require a lot of studying of the past and reviewing each and every ruler and writer. Even then, the scope of knowing what the common man thought is beyond my reach. Any which ways, I only have a biased understanding of how sex worked over the years. That is simply not enough.

Today when I hear about prostitution, at least I know what I think. Legalising prostitution is not the answer. Our governments are so screwed up, that prostitutes will end up being more ridiculed, derided, and worse, taxed beyond the usual cut to the cop. What I do know is that just because they were forced into, or have chosen, prostitution doesn't mean that they waived off their rights to be human. Every Indian citizen has the right to life and a dignified one at that. Why can't we let prostitutes have a dignified life? Will they become dignified if they shift to desk jobs like us? How dignified are we? Aren't we being "ridden hard" at our work place? 

So, what I started with comes back here after a full explanation. Like everything men do, they took ownership of prostitution and then screwed it up so much that what we have today is a shame. I have to be sexist here because my point is just that. The thing about sex is that it will never be mutual. Every person in the world knows the benefits, the gains, and the losses from sex. So everyone is at it like a game. It is a power tool now and this will not change. Women use it for their advantage. Prostitutes have to protect their sex like a diamond. Men are sadly victims and perpetrators at the same time. They get a double whammy deal here. And that's raw. Pun intended.

Whichever way prostitution started, we still have to deal with it and do something about it. I would start by stop calling prostitutes and sex workers "whores" or "sluts". I would use that on myself and give them the respect they deserve. I could be a slut for books. Or a movie whore. Why not? Let words not judge ones penis/vagina, the level of one's virginity, or the standard of one's dignity. Judging someone is so bad that even when I do it as a joke, I feel bad. So feel bad for a sex worker you may know or don't know. Think about the condition they are in, and feel their pain and suffering. And that is when you will make a change.

New Love Stories Part V

Read Part I here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2011/04/new-love-stories.html
Read Part II here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2012/02/new-love-stories-part-ii.html
Read Part III here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2013/02/new-love-stories-part-iii.html
Read Part IV here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2013/03/new-love-stories-part-iv.html

PizzaLover123 looked to her left to reassure herself that she was in fact checking out of the library with the only male in the whole building. The fat girls and lesbians weren't happy. They glared at her for not only disturbing their peace with her giggles but also for "having a life" albeit an unsure one.

"I'm KeyboardPlaya87 by the way," he said as they walked out after reserving their books and magazines at the checkout counter. 

"PizzaLover123," she replied. 

"That's a cool name. Wish my parents had given me a cool name like that," he told her. "Sometimes people mispronounce or mistakenly call me 'Synthesiser'! Like that's a cool name!"

She smiled. "That's true. It can be confusing to some people."

He laughed and skip-hopped over the steps leading down from the library towards the cafeteria. She smiled and looked at him skip-hopping. In spite of his feminist jabs, he did seem like an OK guy, someone who could be conditioned into fighting for women's rights over time. And she would work on him till he turned into a feminist lover.

"Do you live in the hostel, PG, or are you from here itself?" he asked her as they continued to walk the distance to the cafe.

"I live in the city," she replied. "With my parents, unfortunately."

"Ha! That's never fun," he laughed.

"No, it isn't," she agreed. "They expect me to be home at a certain time and push me out early in the morning so that I utilise daylight as much as I can. I only have freedom as long as the sun shines during a day."

He laughed loudly. "So that means night-outs are a definite no-no."

"Absolutely," she replied. "But I don't know why you'd ask me that."

"Hey," he held up his hands defensively. "Don't shoot me for asking you questions."

"Do I look like I have a gun in my bag?" she asked in an irritated tone.

"No, but you could be smuggling in nunchuks."

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. KeyboardPlaya87 had an innocent expression on his face trying hard to convince her that he was indeed afraid of her. That is, in case she had nunchuks in her bag.

"No!" she barked. "I don't carry weapons of any kind."

"Thank god!" he let out a sigh of relief and acted as if wiping his brow of sweat. She rolled her eyes again.

"Don't worry, I'm buying you tea to tolerate all this," he told her.

"At this rate the deal better be for a lifetime," she said. 

"Oh, haha!" he said mockingly.

They were now at the entrance of the cafe. It was early in the afternoon and the lunch crowd had dispersed. As the autumn sun was warm and there was a light breeze, everyone had shifted to the college lawns and bamboo grooves to relax in the sun. There were only a handful of people inside the cafe, including the staff. No one looked up as KeyboardPlaya87 and PizzaLover123 walked in and sat next to a window on a stone slab.

KeyboardPlaya87 removed his bag and kept it on the stone slab, next to where PizzaLover123 had settled. "Let me order the teas," he told her and went to the counter. PizzaLover123 nodded and smiled.

She looked at him as he went to the counter and ordered in the teas and waited for it. He had a nice enough behind, she noticed. Though he had a skinny body, his full face indicated good health, and this was misleading. As she had not noticed him in college before this day, she wasn't sure of his nature or behaviour. She had never seen him in the library either, even though he looked like a bibliophile with his big-framed geek glasses. She herself had glasses but she preferred the thin, metallic frames to the plastic ones. 

KeyboardPlaya87 had the plastic tea cups in his hands as he walked over quickly to their spot and placed it down on the cool, stone table in front of them.

"Hot?" she asked as he cooled his hands down by placing it palm down on the stone table.

"Of course," he replied. "You didn't want iced tea, did you?"

"I would have told you if I did," she answered.

He smiled. "Of course, you would."

PizzaLover123 took the tea cup in both hands and blew over her tea. There was a moment of silence as KeyboardPlaya87 also picked up his cup and took a sip.

"So," she said looking into her tea cup. "Tell me about yourself."

He looked at her and she gazed back. He smiled.

"Um...well, there's not much to say, really," he started. "You know my name and which course I am in. I will graduate next year and hope to do my MBA right after graduation." 

She nodded and he continued.

"OK, I don't know if you know this, but I am sort of a musician. I play the keyboards. I have this band with a couple of friends from school and we play in schools and college fests. We played last year at the college fest. Did you see us?"

She shook her head and frowned. "Unfortunately, I wasn't in the city when the fest was on. My grandmother died and I flew out with my mom for the funeral."

KeyboardPlaya87's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I wasn't close to her. I was happy to fly for the first time though."

At this he raised an eyebrow at her but she continued to sip her tea as if nothing was wrong.

"O....k....," he continued. "As I said, I play in band. I play the keyboard and sometimes fill in for the bass guitarist."

"Wait, is bass guitar the one with 4 strings?"

"Yes, it is. It's not as flashy as the lead guitarist but it is important for the band."

"Umm hmm...." she replied.

"Anyways," he continued, noting the sarcasm in her voice. "So, keyboard and bass guitar. I'm not much of a singer though. I leave that to the lead singer."

PizzaLover123 was enjoying listening to him explain his band and the various gigs they had done, their experiences on the road, squabbling, and their musical influences. He seemed like a nice enough guy who was earnest, loved his music, and also read a lot. After they were done talking about the band, they moved to the subject of books.

"I was in school when the Harry Potter books came out," she told him. "And my whole family wanted to read the books as soon as we got them. So finding time alone to read in silence was rare because all of us were fighting to read the book. So what I used to do was after everyone went off to sleep, I would pick up the book, remove the curtains from my bedroom window, and read in the light which came from the streetlight outside on the street."

He laughed. "Really, you could see in the darkness?"

"I had to! Flashlight was too risky and I didn't own a mobile phone. The streetlight was bright enough but the issue was my father's bladder," she said. "Every night he gets up at 2a.m. for a leek, and during this pee break, he comes and checks into every room to make sure no one is upto any hanky-panky. Whether everyone's sleeping or not."

At this, KeyboardPlaya87 laughed so hard that his tea spilled a little onto the floor. He quickly kept it down on the table and slapping his thighs, laughed and snorted at the same time.

"That's so funny!" he said when he finally stopped laughing. "Were you ever caught?"

"Of course! Which is why he made mom sleep in the same room as me to keep a check," she explained. "He didn't want me dozing off in class because I was up all night reading books."

"I have to admire your resolve," he said proudly. "When I read the Harry Potter books, I felt the same too. Recently, I read the Lord of the Rings series and it was the same...."

And he went on to explain in detail the plot of the series, the comparison of the books and the movies, CGI effects, etc. After this they talked in detail about other books they had read, authors they liked and authors they thought were worthless. As the discussion kept going, the hours flew by and the number of tea cups kept increasing. As the sun started to settle in the sky and sent an orange twinge across the horizon, signaling it's journey into the underworld to let the moon and stars take over the sky, PizzaLover123 was both in wonder and admiration of her new friend. And for some reason she could not help herself from wondering what it would be like to rip his loose shirt off his chest and "go to town" on him.

(To be continued)

New Love Stories Part IV

Read Part I here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2011/04/new-love-stories.html
Read Part II here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2012/02/new-love-stories-part-ii.html
Read Part III here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2013/02/new-love-stories-part-iii.html

"Do you wanna see a picture of Sir-Abs-a-Lot?" Tweetster24 asked her friend.

"Yes, of course," PizzaLover123 replied. 

Tweetster24 quickly unlocked her smartphone, tapped a couple of buttons, smiled when she reached the picture, swung the phone around so that her friend could see the picture finally.

PizzaLover123 took the phone from her friend and saw the picture. The guy in the picture was smiling warmly. He was wearing an unbuttoned shirt which showed his well-sculpted abs all the way down to the navel. He had dark eyes which were crinkled in the sun, when this photo was taken, and which made him look all the more adorable. PizzaLover123's heart skipped a beat when she focused back on his smile. She had seen this guy before. And she knew him really well....

It was four years ago, to be exact. PizzaLover123 was still struggling as a teenager on the cusp of adulthood and navigating her way through the cliques of undergraduate college. Most of her time was spent in the library as her girlfriends were busy canoodling with their boyfriends. Her guy friends were off chasing any and every single girl worth their attention. Which is why the library was full of the fat girls and lesbians. And PizzaLover123. The other girls were out enjoying the attention under the warm autumn sun.

The month had just began which meant that new magazines had come in and PizzaLover123 wanted to be among the first to browse through the pages and smell the freshly-printed issues. She always smelled books before reading them. For some reason it calmed her. Reassured that everything in the world was right and there was peace all over. She would flip the pages fast many times if she was tensed. Lesser if she was happy. Today she was not too over the moon and it was her fifth time smelling the new paper and glue.

"Are you going to check that out?"

At the sudden voice, PizzaLover123 was shaken out of her sexual book dream and startled, looked around to locate the source of the voice. 

Standing to her left, at the entrance of the two rows of bookshelves, was a boy she had never seen before. He was tanned, had long hair which fell to his shoulders, and a skinny physique. His face was round and full though. And his expression was half amusement and half laughter.

Regaining her senses, she held the magazine to her chest, and said, "You can't check out magazines. You'd know it if you'd ever visited a library before this."

"Hey, hey, hey!" the boy held up his hands. "Don't kill me for asking what would be on anyone's mind if they saw you like that. Looked like you were getting turned on."

PizzaLover123's eyes widened and her face flushed with embarrassment.

"You do a good 'deer in the headlights' expression too," he said. "Ever tried out for the drama club? My friend's a director in the Hindi drama club. I could introduce you."

"No, thanks," PizzaLover123 said in a low voice. She'd been embarrassed enough for the day. She wanted to leave the library but just couldn't. She wanted to check out the other books of the shelves too but the boy was not making any attempts to leave. And she couldn't leave now. Students would start coming in and start checking out and reserving the books and she couldn't let that happen. She wanted all the books to herself.

"Fine by me," he replied and turned his eyes to the bookshelf facing the opposite of the one she was browsing through. "Theatre might never know what it's missing."

"OK, stop! Enough with the jabs."

He laughed and turned to look at her. She looked at him with anger but was still a bit embarrassed. For some reason she couldn't bear being angry at him. His face had a warm and calming quality. Like the books she was smelling.... Was she being turned on in the middle of the library by a human?

"Sorry," he apologised. "What are you reading anyway?"

"It's the latest issue of National Geographic," she replied. "You can tell by their iconic yellow frame."

"Yes, like Time has the red frame," he added.

She looked up at him suddenly, impressed, and smiled. He looked sideways at her too.

"You're impressed, I see. Don't you get that often?"

"From the knuckleheads that go here? No!"

"Hey, I'm one of those knuckleheads too, you know. And so are you."

"Yes," she agreed. "But I'm a bit less knucklehead-y than the rest. Bit more sane."

"You can't be the judge of that."

"No, I can't be," she answered. "But wouldn't you agree?"

He looked at her again an open book in hand, mid-browse. 

"Much as I am shocked by your jab, I have to agree with you, miss," he answered.

PizzaLover123 smiled and put the magazine next to her on a stool to browse through later on one of the comfy couches in the library's reading area. Her attention turned to the other books on the shelves.

"Which course are you in?" he asked her. "I'm Economics, final year."

"Pol. Science," she replied. "Second year."

"Politics," he said in a sing-song voice, smiling. "No wonder."

"What?" she asked in an offended tone. "You think Imma feminist beyatch your ass?"

He looked at her with shock. She looked at him and wondered what he was thinking. She'd had this response ready ever since school when the other kids would tease her for being too much of a bookworm, and she'd pick verbal fights with them over the intricacies of national and international politics when all the other kids wanted was to make jokes of the situation. They called her a "Femi-Nazi" to keep her from raining down more political theories and ideologies. 

"Actually, no, I'm not afraid of that," he finally answered after a few seconds of silence. "I was wondering that I'd never seen you around as we aren't in the same course."

She realised her mistake."I'm sorry," she told him.

"That's the second time within five minutes. Wonder how many more times you'll say it if we continue this conversation," he said.

"We don't have to continue this conversation," she said matter-of-fact. He looked at her, one eyebrow raised.

"I mean, we could talk about something else," she explained. "That's what I meant."

"Of course," he agreed. "But I do love it when women get all fired up about their causes."

PizzaLover123 rolled her eyes. She strongly restricted herself from responding to that jab. She would only respond if he kept the sexist comments going.

"Rolling your eyes is also an expression of your thoughts, by the way," he said, smiling widely. Now she was stopping herself from even doing that. He was getting on her nerves for sure.

"Do you wanna take all these books and reserve them?" he asked her. He had picked a couple of books from his side of the shelf. "I do wanna catch up on the National Geographic too. Would you mind sharing it with me once you're done?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "Umm...sure, I'd do it. When I'm done reading it."

"Great!" he exclaimed. "Do you want to go to the cafe with me then? I'm a bit thirsty and hungry, both."

"Um...well I have a bottle of water with me and some biscuits," she offered. "Do you want to share those?"

"Oh no, I could not ask that of you," he answered. "I'd rather take milady out and treat her to a really cheap tea or coffee. Which one do you prefer?"

She smiled. But she was also surprised. No guy had asked her to tea or coffee yet. Most guys would say "coffee" but this one gave her an option of either. Not both. That was probably because both of them were on a restricted college budget.

"Tea, please," she replied. 

He smiled. "Perfect! Me too."

They looked at each other and smiled. The conversation was moving in a favourable direction for them both.

"Let's go then," PizzaLover123 said.

(To be continued)

Read Part V here: http://herethis-therethat.blogspot.in/2013/02/new-love-stories-part-v.html