Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Secret Diary of a Feminazi


I

t’s funny how often a woman with a mind of her own and opinions galore is dismissed as a feminist. God forbid if you don’t happen to agree with folks who think a woman is meant to be a voluptuous body sans a mind, a tethered cow, born to serve and please - you are considered an anomaly. If a woman cries foul at being treated as an object, pawed and groped at every available opportunity, she is accused of overreacting.

Ironically even women are reluctant to identify themselves as feminists for the fear of being branded as man-hating, bra-burning, whiny liberals. Even among the so called metrosexual crowd, feminism is still seen as too radical, too uncomfortable or simply unnecessary.
 

It seems ‘Feminist’ is the new four lettered word!
 

As a woman who doesn’t believe in tempering her emotions and words, I have often been at the receiving end of the F-word. Not the type of person to take things “lying down”, I have decided to mend my ways and behave the way the world expects me to.

Presenting the SECRET DIARY OF A FEMINAZI.


I was all of seven when I knew something was right with me. I was on a reclining chair, waiting with my eyes closed, when I felt a man’s hands inside my mouth. I bit it so hard that my dentist needed a tetanus injection. Not one but fourteen of them.

Me, I was a born fighter. I grew up beating my brother and when I finally got married to a man foolish enough to fall in love with me, I didn’t spare him either. On every weekend and holiday, I beat him black and blue, so what if it’s only in a game of Scrabble. Weekdays I am busy, shouting slogans in front of DNA Tiwari’s residence. Why is it so difficult to accept the unwanted and the unclaimed as his progeny?

Actually every time I want to lose weight, I go on a protest fast. Right to cause earthquake by exposing my cleavage…right to be a slut….right to distribute pink chaddis to men who prefer wearing langotis. As long as the world is full of men who have mindsets that refuse to time travel from the medieval ages, I will have issues that will help me lose weight.

I almost lost three kilos when I saw a product threatening to brighten up my privates – all that raving, ranting… Phew! It was so exhausting. “A liberated woman is one who has sex irrespective of privates” It was retweeted 69 times and I almost became a Twitter celebrity! So famous that I had to hide my face behind kajal smeared eyes and shock of curly hair. Someone even mistook me for Arundhati Roy and tried to stone me.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

A soap opera

An aggrieved teen uses her "dry sense of humour" to appeal to your out-of-the-bucket thinking. Tee, my guest blogger pours her heart out.


Today, I speak for a cause. I speak on behalf of millions of repressed people. I speak to protect our heritage.

I must confess that my reasons for this soliloquy are a little selfish. Why mum, why must you always treat me like a pigsty if I don’t bathe for a few hours? Whyy??? It’s not like I’ve grown festering sores and flaking scabs!!

*Ahem*

I apologise for that outburst. I have been in the grips of such gross injustice for most of my life *sobs quietly*. But I, no WE, must hold our own. My compatriots and I are all that stand between humanity and complete destruction! Without us, the rest of the world would have already run out of water, and succumbed to some horrific disease! We shield our less-able brothers and sisters from a viral onslaught. Due to our constant efforts to save water and soap (some of us have even sacrificed the luxury of shampoo- my heart goes out to those brave heroes), there is enough for those *cough* over-zealous, neurotic *cough* individuals who have declared a life-long vendetta against those microscopic denizens of the natural world.

Ever wonder why allergies are so prevalent in the western world? Why a little mosquito bite can turn into a swelling the size and shape of Australia? Without a little bit of detritus in our lives, we become weak, diminished! Man and nature, living together- that was how God intended it. If He really wanted us to be dirt-free He would have had soap grow on trees (“And on the eighth day, there was anti-bacterial soap”). Better still, He wouldn’t have created dirt in the first place! We must not deny our natural state: we must rebel against the norms imposed on us by society!

I admit that if my kindred were to ascend to power, many bystanders would suffer. Laundromats come to mind. But that is a small price to pay for humanity’s survival. I implore you, my comrades, raise your arms (Or rather, don’t. We need our audience to be conscious)! No longer shall we be called ‘barbaric’ for our sacrifice. No longer shall we be shunned by our family and friends. We shall make them realise our great contribution to the march of civilisation. Let the world hear our roar, we are revolting! We....wait, where are you taking me? I’m not finished yet! No! How dare you try to oppress us! No keep that thing away from me! I will not bathe, I tell you. Mooooomm, noooooooooo!

Courtesy Google Images

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Delhi meets its Water-loo

Courtesy -peakwater.org

Recent findings have revealed that Delhi’s drinking water has something that the rest of the country doesn’t have. As if it’s not enough that the capital is envied for a world class Metro, flyovers that zigzag all over the city, wide roads with a separate set of corridors for buses, sprawling maidans where millionaire yoga instructors practice cross-dressing, bustling markets that terrorists bomb to settle scores with the government, a Rashtrapati Bhawan with a non resident President, a towering Qutub Minar where lovelorn couples engrave their undying love on its ancient, crumbling walls.

Yet it’s Delhites who are turning green and the secret lies in the water they are drinking. Actually it’s also the secret behind Mrs Khurana’s suddenly yummy tadka daal with its pungent odours. So pungent that Ramkali, the neighbourhood bitch died after having it. The secret behind Laloo Srivastava’s toxic fumes that managed to send all the mosquitoes to their next birth cycle. Srivastava Aunty can’t stop bragging about her laadla’s gassy feat. But it’s Malini from Maharani Bagh who is the happiest. She managed to shed 6 kilos in just fifteen days thanks to her diarrheal state. The lucky girl had started her eight glasses a day regimen and has now shrunk to an enviable size four. She can now fit in her 13 year old niece’s skinnies! Yipeeeee.

Delhi’s aqua pura indeed has something the rest of the country doesn’t have - liberally laced with sewage, Delhites can finally claim they are full of shit!

Men and women above 25, lucky enough to have a liver that works have turned this around as a golden opportunity and vowed to drink only “child” beer from Haryana’s highways. But Pinky Pawar and her bunch of gym buddies who flew all the way from Amritsar have been guzzling water like it’s nobody’s business. Two weeks of drinking aqua-toxic from one end and discharging from the other, Sweety was reunited with her long lost waist. Unfortunately Harvinder didn’t take a shine to this all new aqua-discharge diet and is now on a glucose drip.

Delhizens dying to fall ill now have a bevy of sickly choices. Should they opt for water borne diseases or should they conserve and die of dehydration instead?

Meanwhile Delhi Jal Board has been hailing inclusion of sewage as yet another humble attempt towards recycling waste. If we can’t control our waste, we should consume it. Few officials on conditions of anonymity and under the influence of free alcohol were quoted as saying that for water to be contaminated, the city has to get water in the first place! And supporting their theory was our honourable CM, Ms Sheila Dikshit who proudly proclaimed that she uses just half a bucket of water to bathe. It appears Sheila jee washes just one body part a day. Ever since her cabinet heard this good news, they have stopped breathing in Ms Dik-shit’s presence.

So, Delhi has yet another first to its name - a Dirty Chief Minister.

Ironically in this teeming megapolis of 14 million, it’s easier to die than stay alive.Road accidents, road rage, rape, mayhem, mosquitoes, hospital bills, depression, suppression, inflation – Delhites are spolit for choice.And now they have two brand new options – go Ms Dikshit’s way and get killed for raising a stink or drink stinking water and die a shitty death.

This is India shining. Dying of natural causes is a luxury here.

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Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Ash you like it

Image courtesy entertainment.in.msn.com

I wish I had the same friends and well-wishers that Aishwarya has. It’s been over five months and the lady has yet to shed her post-natal fat. Yet all I hear is applause for letting nature take its course and bravado for choosing to spend time with her baby instead of sweating it out in the gym. When questioned about her larger than life appearance at Cannes, Ms Bachchan proclaimed that she’d rather be “healthy” and is no mood to listen to people’s recommendation when it comes to dieting.

Personally I have no problems with Ash flaunting her flab in the tents she wears. In fact I am also happy for Abhishek for getting more than he bargained for.
 
My problem is why weren’t you there to defend me, when I had started looking like Dolly Bindra’s distant cousin during my pregnancy. My “alleged prettiness” was referred to in the past tense and I was branded a moti for no fault of mine. By my last trimester, I couldn’t see my feet and my feet couldn’t see the sky. I was waddling like a penguin and even my Mom (after a lifetime of accusing me of being too thin) had started sniggering at my new shape. My clothes refused to accommodate me and I refused to recognize myself in the mirror. Things took a turn for worse when a heavily pregnant me was asked by sweet little girl in my school – Didi, are you married?


How dare she assume that I am this fat! I mumbled to myself as I shed copious tears for my lost vanity.

The next few weeks whenever I met strangers, I made sure that I acquainted them with my marital status before disclosing my name. Guess what! I am married. By the way, I am Purba.

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