Tag Archives: Thoughts

Rapist Manifesto


The prescriptions by various political, religious and social leaders in the wake of the Delhi incident have enlightened us, unveiling the mindset of the rapists. And this is how one rapist may speak to you.

Dear sisters and virtuous women,

We are writing this for the sake of all women who wish to safeguard their honour, virginity and life.

You know we don’t rape every woman out there.

  • We are very selective.
  • We are not barbarians or beasts who pounce upon every woman we come across.
  • We have our own criteria, rules, and even scruples.

But before we explain that, you should acquire some insight into the stuff we are made of.

We have strong bodies but our minds are weak and uncontrollable, at times. Of course we are made of sterner stuff. Unfortunately, we lack control over our emotions especially sexual. The moment we set our eyes on the beauty or the contour of a woman we are turned on. So you may be wondering all the women who have been raped were not noted for their beauty. Yes, but we have the power to imagine the beauty even in an ugly one (just like we morph certain pics). Above all, there is no distinction between the pleasures the bodies of the beautiful and ugly ones could offer. So we compromise on external beauty, looks, size, age.

There are a few kinds of women we prefer/choose/must have to rape. It will be beneficial to you so that you can wipe out such traits (1 to 5) from you if you wish to go unharmed and live a  peaceful life.

  1. The bold: There are certain women who never hesitate to blurt out their opinions, claiming that they know a lot, trying to outsmart men. Blame the modern media and the undue amount of education women are receiving these days. Such women can be tamed down only through rape. After that they will realize how fragile and worthless they are. Keep in mind that we have nothing to lose.
  2. The fearless: These days many women dare to step out of their houses even after nightfall. Isn’t that obviously a challenge to the men folk who monopolize the world at that time? Women are supposed to be afraid of darkness. What business do they have on the streets at night? We know what they expect and we are too happy to administer them what they are asking for.
  3. The independent: They believe they can survive without the support of men. We just want to prove them wrong. If they start defying men and writing them off as unnecessary, what will be the future of our society? Hope you get our good intentions.
  4. The lonely: This is a variation of the third group. They don’t mind travelling around alone. What are they trying to convey? “We are not afraid of men”? They definitely need an experience to correct their misconceptions.
  5. The immoral: (We are not talking about the prostitutes.) Some try to blindly imitate the western culture by using makeup and wearing revealing clothes. We enjoy watching our favourite sexy actresses in such accessories, but what will an ordinary woman have to do with that sort of things? Some move around with their boyfriends at odd hours. Even many of you are against such immoral girls and will be only too happy if we teach them a lesson. And no decent woman would roam about in the street after 6.00 pm. Those who are there don’t mind us using them for our entertainment because that is what they come prepared for.
  6. The retarded: They are damaged goods, who are not in demand in the marriage market. So what is wrong in using them for our pleasure? They rarely complain. If they have no complaints why should others bother?
  7. The kids: The kids are pure. They will keep quiet. So if we are not lucky enough to get grown ups sometimes we will have to adjust with the tender ones. (6 and 7 are used usually when we are bereft of chances to satisfy our needs or when they are easily available.)

We are sure you would agree that rape is the best solution to tame down women 1 to 5. Acid attack is effective too, but not as ‘good’ as rape. Our goal is to conserve the family and the patriarchal system in our society. If women start raising their voice the society will soon be headed for its extinction. So sisters, understand this and do follow the given instructions:

Remember, you are too weak to save yourself (from us). You are supposed to be under the protection and at the beck and call of your husband, father, brother or son. We will take good care of you if you are willing to limit yourselves within the constraints of your house. Your desires (food, sex, kids, clothes and ornaments) will all be meted out. Never interfere in our affairs or question our deeds. Never ever demand a trip to the dirty world outside where we will be busy teaching those immoral ones some valuable lessons.

 Note: In spite of all these precautions if someone assaults you, chant this mantra: Brother, please let me go. He will immediately melt (thinking of his sister) and comply with your request.

 

 

Actions and Intentions


“We judge others by their behavior. We judge ourselves by our intentions.” -Ian Percy

Sorry for that space pollution. Actually I am yelling it out to myself. Did you hear that too? Then join me for the ‘aftershocks’.

How we wish others tried to understand our intentions before they judged our actions! However, being an imperfect human, I am not always able fathom the intentions of those whose actions offend me. Selfishness? Or is it impracticality? I don’t know.

My actions have often been misinterpreted because of my nature. Things were straightened out whenever I got the chance to explain them, but life is not always that fair and straightforward. So, I now and then I enter the foe-list of other people, the latest entry being made last week.

No grudges. It’s nobody fault. As part of my Mission Positive Thinking I am trying to analyze the problem.

Introverts are cursed with misunderstandings. I, being one, am no exemption. One fine morning it is impossible to undergo some metamorphosis and move around sporting the new label of an extrovert. After all I have always been rather comfortable with my existing tag. Still I am greedy for a bit more comfort. But how? Hmmm….

Given below are a few Utopian suggestions:

  • Announce my intentions to the world before doing or saying something.
  • Include a comment box for my words and deeds so that I will be alarmed whenever someone gets me wrong.

Rubbish! (Ooops! I let it slip. Let it be. Once in a while everything is okay.)  :)

Well, what can I do?

Stop judging, because…

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”
Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

This will be of some extra help: Before acting I must remember that…

“You are (I am) responsible for your (my) actions, not for your (my) intentions.” –  Paulo Coelho

Will it really help? Let me try, and then wait and see.

Editing Nostalgia


How do you make use of your past, I mean, your distant past whose wounds are long cauterised?

We merrily let ourselves stray to the (so-claimed) picture-perfect days of our distant past, only to dwell upon the deterioration of modern times. How many of you could solemnly assert that, in every sense your past outshines your present?

Some recent insights have gainsaid a few of my long-cherished convictions, the most striking one being those about my school life.

It’s true that my school used to obsess my thoughts as a green pasture. But ask me what I enjoyed there, and you find me groping for words. All I could dig up is hardly a handful of such jolly instances juxtaposed with a longer list of scathing or scary ones!

No resentment. No plans to pay back. Because if things went wrong for me they were merely the reflections of my attitude – years later I am mature enough to say so. Now looking at the educational system from a teacher’s standpoint, it is quite lucid why the abilities of timid students are rarely ferreted out and thereby go unsung, especially when they have no feathers of academic excellence to sport on their mortar boards. I was one of those few diffident lads later doomed to repeatedly chant “If I had been more …

Then why all the hoodwinking, while reality has always been plain as day?

This is how my conscience puts it across. “You feared getting stamped and sidelined as the black sheep when it is customary to exalt school life. The easy way out was to feign a happy teenager and keep on crooning: Oh, how I wish to be a school girl once again!”

  • Nostalgia is an emotional state in which an individual yearns for an idealized or sanitized version of an earlier time period.

That well expounds it. We idealize or sanitize our past. Communication experts term it Selective Retention. We retain only what makes us happy while we connive at the bitter ones. When the present turns grim, our conscience turns to the past for solace.

But what if both past and present are equally despicable? Patch up the past, and tag it ‘nostalgia’. If you can make yourself fanatically believe in your renovated past, you are nostalgically happy. Cool!

  • Nostalgia is excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition.

Nostalgia is the haven of the ‘excessively sentimental.’ Note that it is far from reality as it is just a yearning for something lost forever.

Even history has  repeatedly been subject to this sanitising process. So I can excuse myself, a ‘nobody’, for that fib about my school life.

What about the other places/persons in my nostalgia-list? Scrap them too?

Thank God I was not so ill-starred to go to that extent. I would rather accept my past with all its lapses, than laud them to utopian levels. We and our lives have never been perfect, so why should we strive to sanitize our past or feed ourselves on lies when that won’t, in the least, improve our present?

A wounded soul returning for revenge – that’s just fiction, I believe. The past won’t/can’t hurt forever.

Learn that nostalgia is a “sign of old age, extolling the past at the expense of the present” (Sydney Smith).

I am not old, and I have proved it. What about you?

Paradise Lost


Balancing themselves on the ridge through the green carpet of the paddy fields, are two Red Riding Hoods, heading excitedly to their grandmother who lives in the little cottage completely cut off from the busy world. ‘Amminna’ is waiting to open to the little girls, the door of affection, freedom and exploration.

They would be there on a week’s parole to celebrate the most cheerful days of the year. That was some twenty five years ago! The youngest one – ten or eleven years old at that time – was me.

Amminnadukkal (amminna’s house) was a fairy land, a resort, a museum set amidst an orchard for us to marvel. A great mango tree (Why great? Wait!),  two chaampa trees as the sentries, jackfruit tree, kadaplavu, irumpapuli tree, guava, mulberry, papaya, puli, ampazham, not to mention the other galore of trees like the cotton, clove, cinnamon, jaathi, and the coconut trees strewn all over – that was the plot. Beneath each tree I used to linger a long time feeling its pulse and studying how it changed after my last visit.

Many of the trees are still ‘green’ in my memory.

My youngest uncle told me once that the mulberry bush was the rendezvous of my mother and her friends – gossiping, safely away from the evesdropping brothers.

The ampazham near the cow shed bore green olive-like sour fruits – the harvest was always bountiful, more than enough to fill the brine jars of Amminna.

During Onam the swing was made on the mango tree but once on the irumpapuli tree whose trunk was cloaked by the succulent, glassy green fruits. Those fruits were dried and pickled (I believe so).

Then the kadaplavu – the breadfruit tree – was the source of the special boiled dish with grated coconut. The most savoury papayas in the world, I would proudly say, were the ones which grew on my grandmother’s papaya tree. The jack fruit was preserved. I could still call to mind the colour and smell of the sweet, sticky delicacy with a dash of sugar over it.

It was our turn to sample the preserves, one by one.

The mango tree – really a ‘grandmother’ tree – was to the house, what a banyan tree is to a traditional Kerala temple. Even as children we could touch its low branches. The majestic tree bent lower when it abounded with the biggest and the sweetest mangoes I have ever laid my eyes on! Amminna used to support them with great love, the same way in which she tended to her calf-bearing cow. The axe laid on its trunk a few days after her death, ruthlessly cut off all the remaining tenderness associated with her. I couldn’t bear the sight of its stump! They could have spared just that one! Tears rolled down for the relishing treats it provided me once. The already dejected house now looked like a behaired Rapunzel.

Another scenic speciality – the only one intact even today – was the brook behind the house. It looked like a forest stream all overgrown with climbers and bushes. Had I been Tarzan I would have crossed the brook on those strong climbers. During the summers the brook almost dried up – the boys in the neighbourhood dug holes in the sand to eke out some water. But during the rains when the brook would be in its full swing, its rage did frighten me. We used to go and watch the boys catch fish at the check dam using traps and also the men collect the drifting trees uprooted from the highlands in the heavy downpour.

The narrow canal from the brook brought water in to the grove only when the brook was brimming. And when the grove was flooded, little fish swam everywhere in the shallow water over the grass. The house, still untouched by the waters was like Noah’s ark awaiting the waters to lash against it, any moment.

Today I jibe at my girl saying that while her grandparents’ house opens into the busy traffic of screeching vehicles, mine opened into the pristine world of Nature where we could breathe in the purest oxygen!

The nostalgic ONV song reverberates – ‘I long to be there once again….’