Eulogy for Girl X

Feminism is not a dirty word.

Feminism means you either have a vagina and believe that doesn't make you inferior or you know someone with a vagina and believe they're not inferior.

A vagina is not an invitation.

Your body is not an invitation. In fact, it's members-only and the members are whoever you'd like them to be.

That means you can still take pride in your long legs, your shapely calves.

You can love your high breasts, your slightly low but large ones. You can wear flattering necklines. You can accentuate your waist, or your butt, or your boobs. All totally your call.

You can choose to let the person who gives you tingles rest their hand on your knee. You can let them make love to you or make love to them. You can kiss them in the back of an auto rickshaw till you're both cross eyed with desire.

People might look at you. Chances are, that they will. Don't let that stop you. Looks can't hurt you.

Wear your body like a banner. Let your vagina be a badge of merit. Sure, you can only pee sitting down, but you have magical things going on over there.

The human body is a wonderful thing. All of it. Innies or outies.

If someone grabs you, don't go along with them because you don't want to make a scene. Make sure everyone knows your body is YOUR body. You give it pleasure, you feed it, you nurture it. Your body belongs to you.

If someone grabs you, yell. If someone lays a hand on your beautiful members-only breasts, tell them your breasts are your own. It might need a little knee to the groin to get this message across, but you are only to be admired from a distance.

You are a feminist, not because you hate men, but because you love women. You are a woman who believes in equal rights--including walking down the street in that fuck-off red dress--you are a man who thinks women can walk down the street doing whatever they like, as long as they're not harming anyone else.

You will not be raped today.

Why Delhi gets away with rape

I haven't been able to stop thinking (and tweeting) and giving my opinion on The Rape Case. Each one is horrifying, the only silver lining is that this one somehow got everyone's attention and people are actually talking about rape in a real way now.

A version of this short opinion piece appeared in Tehelka. You can read the full article here.

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When I was in high school, a popular local boy’s school had a fad with their car horns. Any time you heard these teenage boys, zipping across the city, they’d beep continuously, almost like a tune or a ditty: beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeep-beep. It was a code, someone told me, laughing, but didn’t reveal the code till later. “Pakad, pakad,ke chod do.” Catch ‘em and fuck ‘em, for those who didn’t grow up in this city where ‘chod’ is one of the first Hindi swear words you learn, ‘chutiya’ is almost refined, and I will rape your ass tossed around at any altercation.  I didn’t think the boys meant it, they were nice boys, my friends, and plus boys schools are dens of sexual deprivation, right? But then, later, I overheard a classmate in my co-ed school laughing about this “really cool” trick he pulled on weekends, going for a drive with a friend around M Block Market, slowing down when he saw a pretty girl and leaning out of the window, grabbing her breasts and driving away before she could react. 

Fear of flyover-ing

Yesterday, Good Thing asked me if I could drop him to the airport. Totally normal boyfriend-to-girlfriend request, but it sent me into a panic spiral. Couldn't we take a taxi together, I asked, hopefully. Totally worth the cost! Couldn't we just say goodbye in the flat? He looked a bit puzzled and said sweetly that it meant more time together, which is true, and finally, I girded my loins, bit the bullet and began to drive.

The problem began on the flyover. You know that fancy new airport flyover, the one that's designed to save time, the one that takes you from Chanakyapuri to the airport in a flash, and you're ready to check in, even if you left off leaving for the airport till half an hour before the stipulated time. Once I was on the flyover, my palms began to sweat, my heart started beating really fast, and I was in such a stranglehold of panic, all I wanted to do was pull over and die quietly. Cars whizzed past me, honking, probably shaking their head at the female driver, I had to change lanes, and even though it was a really cold night, I could feel the damp of fear-sweat under my sweater.

Things I learnt at 30

* If writing is your job, treat it like a job. There are no luxuries of a week off when you're writing a book. Write the goddamn thing. Work during work hours. Turn your computer off at 7 pm.

* I really, really love solitary Sundays.

*  I really, really love Sundays-with-someone-else.

* Red wine is officially eM's Drink Of Choice.

* Except when in Bombay or any other humid place, where it will give you the vilest hangover ever, so stick to vodka, fresh lime soda and salt. (You can drink five of these and wake up fresh as a daisy.)

* Assertiveness.

* Curly hair loving.

* How to enjoy a meal.

* Clothes loving. (This was dormant, and woke up in my thirtieth year.)

* The general appreciation of the finer things of life.

* House parties > nightclub nights.

* How to manage a household.

* How to travel with a small bag.

* How to stay skinny with minimal effort.

* How to say yes.

* How to say no.

* How to give less of  a shit.

* How to give a shit.


Good year.

Birthday wishes

I'm going to be 31 in a couple of days.

I wrote three books by thirty.

I am largely happy. I'm happy because I'm doing things I like, in a city I'm fond of. I'm happy because I have people I love, and that love me. I'm happy because it seems things are coming together.

And yet.

Cold Feet, Cold Feet, Cold Feet!

You guys, this is awfully short notice, but will you come to a little conversation and reading I'm having today in Defence Colony? I'm in conversation with Samit, who you all know I love--and in fact, this new book is co-dedicated to him (the other dedicatee is the anonymous (on this blog) Good Thing)--and the good thing about Samit and I is that we have very good interaction chemistry. So, the conversation will be fun, and knowing him and me, probably will have lots of giggling.

Unfortunately, the book won't be on sale today, it should be in bookstores by the 17th? (Which totally kills my goal of having three books out by 30 and not 31.) But you can preorder on Flipkart which delivers really fast, or Infibeam which takes a while longer but is cheaper. (Oh wait, both the same price. Huh. Well, just a matter of preference then.)

I also interviewed myself on Brown Paper Bag, which you can read over here. Asked all sorts of hard questions too!

Anyway. Today. Come.

5 pm ( but don't worry if you're running a little late, we won't start chatting till 6)

Barista, Defence Colony

Friday, December 7.


It would be lovely to see you all!