Sexism and self-education

As a feminist/womanist, you get used to endless questions. Most feminist and womanist bloggers write, read and interact with their minds and fingers ready and primed to filter and/or delete, because of these endless questions. Quite often, seemingly-naive questioners will reveal themselves to be toxic arseholes bit by bit, in a manner that somewhat recalls, now that I think about it, TV-drama serial-killers sending bits of paraphernalia to their victims/potential victims/the police/all of the above. All too often, the person who says 'What's wrong with thinking/believing/saying X?' does not mean ''What's wrong with thinking/believing/saying X?' What they mean is: 'Hey, I think X. What is your problem? Why aren't you treating my opinion with the respect it deserves?!' All too often, these nuances of meaning become gradually more apparent, as I was saying, until they are deleted and/or blocked. Occasionally, you get a person who DOES mean what they're saying, but still turns out to be a toxic arsehole anyway, and even more rarely, you get a person who means it AND genuinely engages with the other point of view.

The way the process typically goes is as follows:

- Commenter pops up on a feminist/womanist blog and asks a question to feminist/womanist blogger/commenter.

- Feminist/womanist blogger/commenter responds.

(Often, a Q may not be clearly addressed to anyone in particular, so several respondents may weigh in).

This usually repeats at least twice, possibly more, and depends on the patience level of respondents and the blog author.


- Once respondents' patience is wearing thin, they will urge the questioner to go educate themselves. This frequently results in a flurry of questions about how to do that. Respondents provide links, which are very often ignored, and questioner continues to ask questions, OR:

- Questioner will simply ignore links and keep on asking - I have seen this so often, I swear that it now raises my blood pressure in Pavlovian fashion upon glimpsing it again.

Once this show of disrespect has been sufficiently extended, the questioner will usually end up being deleted, blocked and/or ignored.


Now there may be some of you out there who, even after reading this description of how it happens all too frequently, are fool enough to ask: But what's so wrong with that? Isn't it flattering for feminists/womanists, to be treated like an expert on a subject?

To which I have to respond by figuratively looking you in the eye, and asking: Have you been in the world much? Watched the news? Do you read blogs, Private Eye, newspapers? Let's take this little thing that you might have heard of - now what was it called - 'climate change.' It's also known as 'global warming' and 'AGW'. If you exist in a state of about-average wakefulness (i.e., you're not given to chronic blackouts or narcolepsy), you'll be aware that a majority of scientists believe that it's happening, that it is down to humans and that we need to do something about it. Now, I don't give a shit what your personal stance on it is (unless you're a hardcore fruitcake of the still-disputing-that-most-scientists-believe-it's-happening variety...). You will have received this basic knowledge through the news. Now tell me, what was the response of most national governments to this knowledge? Did madness break out? Were presidents and prime ministers touring the country and writing to the press, crying that SOMETHING MUST BE DONE?

No. No, they were not. If, as I assume, you are a fairly average person, not massively political, you probably responded in similarly muted fashion. Cue some stuff about recycling and less car journeys and green products. Thus, despite a MASSIVE EXPERT CONSENSUS, the global reaction was mostly something along the lines of:

'What? You - What? Really? Melting? Flooding? Us? Omigod. Shit. Fuck... ahhhh, hell.'

Just goes to show what you think about experts. To use another example: hunger and poverty in Africa. You know it's happening, right? You know that it's still pretty bloody serious in parts of Africa. Does this send you, screaming and militant, to devote your life to building huts and raising money for water filtration and Fairtrade farming? As Michael Kyle says: 'Ah... Nah'. We will always ignore or filter out what someone's saying, even if they're an expert and at times, especially if they're an expert, if we've already made our own minds up.

I really urge you, even if you've blanked out by this point and have little or no will to continue reading, to read this brilliant post by a disabled feminist: 'Go educate yourself (please)'. Hopefully by now, you comprehend how massively disrespectful it is to keep harassing someone after they've told you to find out for yourself. Some feminists and womanists have had it happen so often that they now move to refusing the role of educator instantly. While I can accept that men may feel intimidated by feminism and think it's something they aren't allowed to be part of - surely no-one's actually going to stop you getting feminist texts from the library? Women aren't really going to leap from your screen and strangle you for attempting to read things online either, are they?

I've been tremendously lucky in that I've never really had to deal with this that much. On Pickled Politics, however, there is one commenter who's just pulled a questioner on me after having done it once before. He seems like an OK chap as far as I know, but he asked the question which prompted this post. The thread in question was in response to an article about Dr. Mitu Khurana, who is fighting to protect her five-year-old twin daughters from a murderous husband and in-laws - PLEASE read the article (if not the comments) and sign the petition. The commenter in question, Ravi Naik, wrote in response to me:

[...] in my mind, I am wondering what sort of grandparents want to harm their own flesh and blood? Is this an exception or the rule in Indian society?

To which I just thought... How the bloody hell should I know? Why should I know, given that I don't live in India?

Now if your response to my reaction was along the lines of 'Why don't you know?' and/or 'You should know,' then congratulations. You are a joke, and you have your very own square on the anti-feminist bingo board under "You should..." I would also turn the questions back onto you, and ask: do you know? If so, why not? Is the calculated murder of female children, whether in the womb or after birth, a subject of worth only to a select minority, mostly-female, here and in India? Why is it so? Why does the exercising of women's right to abortion in America draw vocal and violent protests from (usually) godbags, but this issue doesn't? Furthermore: what is it that I'm expected to know? Sex ratios in India? The individual psychology of mothers-in-law like Mitu Khurana's?

Ultimately, I do know to some extent - and how I found out is no secret (as the above link indicates), hell, I even link to an Indian feminist blog and one which campaigns against female foeticide up above ^

The matter of why I should know this is separate, however. There is such an easy answer: why should I know about this topic? Because I am interested in it. The minute you ask a question about something, you are expressing interest. If that wasn't your intention, then either think before you speak or type, or shut the hell up, listen/read, and learn. Even better, do both. It is not the asking of a question in itself which is troublesome. What is troublesome, is the assumption that you can - nay, SHOULD - keep asking, and get answers, because it is your RIGHT. Why, on the Internet of all places, where nothing is sacred and everyone is hidden, would you have more of an entitlement to an answer than in the 'real' world? Would you be more inclined to give your bank details to an e-mail scammer than your wallet to a mugger? No, because the fear of violence and the lack of possibilities for concealment keep you in check in the latter scenario. Interestingly enough, questioners may themselves resort to abuse and threats of violence after being deleted and/or ignored - which I think says a lot about the mentality and masculinity of questioners.

Note I didn't say 'maleness,' I said 'masculinity.' Questioners often reveal their masculinity very quickly through their assumptions of superiority over those they are asking for information - how paradoxical is that? They claim to be seeking help, yet they often ignore that help when it is given. This subsequently suggests that what they really want is attention and to provoke - it's no wonder that we must then be constantly alert for trolling. Scholars of masculinity and male feminist allies have pointed out how contradictory masculinity is, and the behaviour I'm describing is a perfect example of that. What it also brings to mind is the behaviour of a spoilt child, whether at home crying for Mummy until she's ready to tear her hair out, or in the classroom, driving the teacher insane. Which is when I stopped, and realised that I had to write this post.

Sure, there's the more apparent sexism (or racism, or homophobia, or transphobia, or ablism!) that is demonstrated through the assertion of the 'right' of white men (for it is usually they!) to be endlessly showered with attention and appreciation in spaces which are supposed to be kept safe for women, transwomen, non-white people, queers/homosexuals and the disabled, and in areas that have nothing to do with them. The very notion that it's 'OK' to ask a member of any or all of these groups to explain what they believe and what they experience for you without bothering to do even a little of your own research, and not only that, but expect them to do so in a way that doesn't offend you personally, is laden with privilege. If you really believe that that is your 'right' or 'entitlement,' then you are a massive, arrogant, dickwad and you can fuck right off. It's funny how even the most 'libertarian' of white males can develop a very bad reaction to being told that they ought to do some work of their own accord.

Yet for the men among you who have been reading this so far, and are feeling relatively confident that you don't behave in the manner, I've just described, consider this: the repeated posing of questions to feminists/womanists is sexist and disrespectful in itself, because it projects your expectations of femininity onto a bunch of women you don't know and ultimately becomes a subtle way of trying to put women 'back in their place'. If, as I'm assuming, you're relatively liberal/lefty-leaning socially and fairly politicised - how often do you go onto politics blogs and start asking the commenters there (for example) why the Labour party is historically considered 'left-wing' or not, or why the Conservatives are generally considered 'right-wing'? Have you gone out of your way to get people to explain to you in full (for example) why opposing wars is generally seen as a left-wing thing?

Unless you inform yourself on EVERY LITTLE POINT by bothering other commenters, then it is absolutely unacceptable to do that on feminist blogs. So feminism is large and diverse - so fucking what? The leftist movement's hardly homogeneous. The key difference in the two settings, which makes all the difference, is that politics blogs, whether left- or right-leaning, are seen as 'male' territory. Politics has always been overwhelmingly regarded as the domain of the male - which is why even I sound like I'm separating out feminist blogs and politics blogs. Despite being political, feminist blogs don't duplicate the style of most politics blogs and thus are not really regarded as such by the 'blokeosphere'. Hence the cynical gender-aware observer will be unsurprised to see feminist issues being mocked, ignored and trivialised even on supposedly 'liberal' sites. Politics blogs are an exercise in hyper-masculinity, with a frankly pathetic show of macho piss and pyrotechnics in the comments. Anyone who dares to show ignorance of the basic context of a particular situation will usually be ignored, and sometimes also mocked - and men have the nerve to claim that feminist/womanist bloggers treat them harshly! Men venturing onto feminist/womanist blogs, however, are well aware that most of the commenters are women. Women are feminine, they don't DO that hyper-macho rude thing! Women are mothers and nurses and carers and primary school teachers, don't you know?! They're there to pat you and tell you you're a big boy and make everything better. Answering your questions and doing your work for you - that's their JOB.

And so, with this embedded deep in their psyche through mere socialisation, men set out on feminist blogs to behave in a way they wouldn't dare demonstrate in front of other men. Even the most well-meaning of my male readers may have made this mistake already, because of socialisation. If you find yourself thinking or even hoping that feminists/womanists are going to be patient with you and entertain your dumb ass when you know that commenters on political blogs wouldn't - well, then, you deserve all the flaming, deleting and banning you get. So you cast women in supporting roles in your head because you're a heterosexual male - so what? Our spaces are for us, not you. That name on the screen is not your mother, your sister or primary school teacher. She wouldn't do it for you, and you shouldn't even be expecting her to. Take yourself over to here to get some feminism 101, and here for some womanism 101, use Google and libraries. As for asking questions, it's not verboten, but if you really want to be a feminist/womanist ally and demonstrate basic respect for women, you can't really go wrong with the following formula:

a) STFU, pay attention and read/listen. More than likely, you will get the answer to what you were wondering about if you just read what feminist and womanist bloggers are saying on a regular basis. Once you find a blogger whose style you like, check out their blogroll. Most have reading lists, or you could always ask them or their commenters for suggestions politely - that's perfectly fine. If you know somebody in your personal life who is a feminist or womanist and who wouldn't mind dealing with your Qs, you can approach them, but remember that ultimately, if you're interested, it's your job to find things out for yourself.
b) Stop and think. If you're thinking of asking a question, is it really necessary, or will a bit of patience and/or research or reflection do the job for you?
c) If you must ask a question, do so as politely and respectfully as possible. You may still get flamed, which you'll just have to live with. We feminists and womanists come under constant attack and have absolutely no obligation or relation to you. You have to earn our attention and trust.

Ultimately, if a man can't do that much - and it really isn't that much - then he is a sexist twat. THIS is what challenging privilege is all about - realising that the world does NOT revolve around you, confronting that fact head-on with people who have been harmed by the privilege that attaches to your body and accepting that their reality is equally valid with humility and respect. It's an ongoing process of course, but really, if you can't be bothered to make the effort to act like a full human, there's no reason why anyone should be bothered to treat you like one.

Existence-based guilt

I meant to write a post on this before. I have meant to do it many a time. Fear of making some invisible descent into irredeemable humourlessness/congealing self-pity held me back. Plus, y'know. It's BIG SHIT. It's like serving up an elephant turd in a kitty litter box. Haha. I would be presenting you with the elephant turd (existence-based guilt) in the kitty litter box (my blog) and your eyes would roll collectively back in your heads before you fainted. Or you would go 'That's not cool, man. Get over it' before continuing about your business.

But - y'know what? THIS IS MY BLOG! That basic elementary fact eludes me sometimes - rather too much - and that in itself says a lot. I've never really had a physical place in which I felt 100% 'safe,' especially not a place which could be accessed by others. That's probably why I forget that my blog is such a place. No-one has tried to hound me out (yet). It may never happen. The length of my posts probably wears them down. Haha.

Anyway, the nub of my gist is that while my place is 'publicly-accessible,' I don't have to tolerate whatever. I take a similar line to many feminist blogs, although I've not had anywhere near the level of trolling that they have. I set it up and it belongs to me, hypothetical bitches! So now, I can proceed at last to offload.

I think I've mentioned this particular issue of mine before. In this post, here <--- look! :-D I brushed over it quickly though, as if I were simply glazing pastry with milk, or egg or... Anyway. I need to explain the whole meguillah properly. 'Existence-based guilt' is when I want to die. It's not that simple, though. Take two. 'Existence-based guilt' is when I am hurting inside - for WHATEVER REASON - and then I proceed to reach into said pain, pick it up, stretch it out even further and then stab metaphorical sharp objects into it. I make it bigger and more acute. I try to make a whole, functioning personality from it, because, you know what? When I am depressed, I am like broken pieces of a mirror. Lots of little fragments which should be related, but which aren't. I chose the mirror image not for emo appeal, but because a mirror shows a reflection. It passes no judgement in its own right. That is what my mind does when depressed - it doesn't pass judgement, it simply reacts to external stimuli in a completely irrational and suspicious manner.

I don't know who I am. That's not me being melodramatic, it's the result of a very genuine FEAR and confusion. Do you know me? Have you met me in real life? Whether or not you have, let me tell you something now: I have lived my whole life rooted in fear. You may reflect now, and think that actually, yes, you can see it. You can see slices of the fear and uncertainty in my responses to things, in my social interactions. I don't think I hide it that much, though I have been told that I am 'remarkably well-adjusted.'

Plus, y'know, you get used to living a certain way. You can FORGET that that is your life until the mirror breaks.

Ever since I was little, I have been very emphatically 'the odd one out' of my family. Now, this is nothing new. It led to a situation which was also 'nothing new': the second-generation liberal Asian female child rebelling against older, more conservative, more religious Asian parents. That is FOINE. Well, it's not, but for now it is.

The problem is not that particular conflict, but another one altogether: that of the crazed, wrong and abnormal VS. the sane, right and normal. My mother must be singled out and accorded special status here. Bluntitude time: this woman should not have had children. Or married. She should have been working on projects at NASA.

However, she was born in the India in the '50s, so... dream on. Here we are today, and here I am. For whatever reason (and I strongly suspect that it emanates largely from her own disappointment and resentment), my mother has somehow bypassed the whole 'maternal instinct and human empathy' bit.

I am extraordinarily sensitive. I don't know why, I didn't ask for it and that should be the end of the story. Unfortunately, I was (as I said) born into a family much in the manner of a cuckoo appearing in a nest. I had two older sisters who were 10 years above me, and then I got a brother who was two years younger and the youngest. My sisters hence were on the receiving end of my parents at their most energetic, erratic and maladjusted. Immigrants to this country, they underwent cultural displacement, racism and a late swing towards major religiosity inspired by guilt. Great. Naturally, the deeply-conservative values that this all reinforced, were passed on to my sisters.

Social conservatives, let it be said, do not generally look kindly upon difference. Maybe, if I had not had two older sisters, or if I had been the youngest, things might have been different. I found out years later that apparently my parents thought I was going to be a boy, which may have explained a lot.

My mother despaired of me as a child. From the start I was shy, artistic, imaginative and rebellious. She thought for a while that I might be autistic; I apparently refused to do anything but draw, and would not learn to read English until my drawing was threatened. Eventually, I started to get it together and by year 2 I was top of the class and apparently 2 years ahead of my peers ability-wise.

Then, disaster struck. I got into books. My mathematical ability vanished; my artistic inclinations deepened. My natural shyness and bullishness prevented me from being especially sociable. I've pretty much been that way ever since.

My mother despaired. She couldn't understand me - so she condemned me. In the harsh Indian world she grew up in, her father smacked her hand repeatedly when she said she 'couldn't' learn times-tables. The fact that I wasn't like her, or any of the others, meant that she had nothing with which to 'manage' me, and my brother, the much-longed-for boy, made an appearance before too long. Instead of taking time to treat me as a human being, she criticised me incessantly. Why was I so slow? So lethargic? This lethargy was not only physical but mental too, according to her. Why did I not have Asian friends? Why did I give her trouble, by refusing to acknowledge teachers who were mean to me?

On its own, I might have dealt with this. However, seeing the love my brother got made me intensely jealous. One of my earliest memories of him is of scratching out his eyes in a picture everyone loved, and being put in the garden as a punishment. I paced, weeping 'Nobody loves me, nobody loves me.' I knew that what I had done was wrong, but my parents didn't allay the terrible anxiety that I had about being replaced. My brother was beloved, and I was a problem.

My sisters, supposed to be the elders, also could not help being resentful of the lenient treatment and spoiling that my brother received. While my parents constantly made a show of how we were all equal, the hypocritical truth was always there. One way my parents made us equal was to turn any telling-off of one person into an attack on all the others. Imbibing this, my sisters were resentful not just of my brother, but of me too. In some ways, this was useful for me. In many others, it wasn't. Both were training to become healthcare professionals in the NHS - a stressful job - and had to look after us too while my parents worked. Hence it became 'OK' for them to take this out on us, particularly me. My brother, detecting his inborn advantage early on, started exploiting it before very long and would cheek them constantly. In a strange way, I think they themselves ended up seeing him as superior; he was rarely punished though empty threats were frequently made by my parents.

I took their attacks because, well, I couldn't not. When you are one of six living in a house and the second youngest, where do you go to escape? I didn't have my own room, and the toilet was hardly a place to relax. I had to deal with being told that I was fat, lazy, useless etc. etc. constantly. My brother and I bickered a lot, and soon my sisters refused to intervene at all, so the only one who could avenge what he said to me was ME. That got me in further trouble. I ate my sisters' low-fat snacks because... well, it was something to do, I suppose and eating made me happy. More trouble for me. When my sisters had PMT, I knew I was going to get bullied. They often ganged up on me, making bitchy comments together. My boobs were too big. My dress sense was weird. I breathed too loudly. I dragged my feet. I thought I was 'so clever' and a 'tortured poet' (as if! Just because I wrote). My mother in particular gave me life-long insecurities about my nose. She kept saying I looked like a duck, that I had a 'duck' nose; she would then say it was going in the wrong direction, seize it and try to 'pull it back.' The others subsequently made the same comment, and I became paranoid about my nose. I only tried to stop her yanking it - and stopped doing so myself - after blood came out. Even now, I do it without noticing.

My brother joined in with GLEE when I got older, and then I was well and truly alone. My family repeatedly impressed the notion of not trusting anyone outside the family on me. I felt like I couldn't tell anyone about what was happening to me anyway, because it was normal. They all told me it was normal; no-one behaved in any way that indicated that my position was especially hard. When I threatened to commit suicide, I was laughed at. Everyone just thought I was a weirdo. It didn't matter that I was good at some subjects because in my family's eyes, they weren't useful. Besides, they were not subjects we had ever done in our family before. When I said I wanted to study English, my older sister said 'Over my dead body'.

The thing that I learnt better than anything else was that you could not question ANYTHING. Question my sisters' authority, and they and/or my parents would punish me. Do the same with my parents and ditto, but even worse. Question my own or my brother's position, and I would be made to feel guilty. Any deviance from their beliefs was asking for trouble. I spotted my family's hypocrisy over religion early on, because I became devout for a while. I did a lot of reading and realised that a lot of their actions and claims didn't match up with how Sikhs were 'supposed' to be. This led to me becoming agnostic.

The turning point came when I confessed to being agnostic. Big fucking mistake. My whole family sat opposite me. Now that I reflect, I remember that I was literally up against the wall. As if I were facing a firing squad. I sure felt like it. My second-eldest sister, who I partly wanted to be like, smugly asked me why, what my arguments were. I could make none, I was terrified. My father had just accused me of betraying him, stating that he couldn't believe that a child of his could live under his roof and say that. My brother thought it was hilarious, naturally. I didn't want to be kicked out or shunned. They kept me there for three hours, until I was wilting with tiredness, then I was watched like a hawk for months.

(Apologies if I've described this incident already...).

See, I got into a relationship and my ex-boyfriend slowly started to make me see that what was going on wasn't normal. My family had no right to shoot me down just because I didn't agree. My mother had no right to say that I was a psychopath just because I refused to obey her. I got the courage to tell friends, and slowly but surely I got to the stage where I am today.

However, the problem is that along the way, I lost my anger. Much of my teens were consumed in a burning rage, I would literally sit in my room, reflecting on things that had happened, until I was shaking with rage and crying hot tears. I wanted to kill one of them, but I sincerely believed that I would be arrested and/or killed myself if I tried. I came close to striking my mother once, and she used the guilt against me like a billy-club.

Just as girls are trained to do, not just in South Asian culture but very acutely and particularly in SA culture - I began turning the anger and hatred inwards. My parents HAD worked hard to support us, my sisters HAD been like mothers to me. I couldn't reconcile these facts with my anger at the way they'd treated me. So, I absorbed them. I got myself into a destructive relationship, repeating the same dynamic of harsh criticism and inferiority that I had with my mother. He was always seeking to change me, to 'improve' me somehow, and I thought that was good because of my messed-up values.

This relationship absorbed a lot of my self-loathing. In some ways, it was a coping mechanism - though I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. I spent five and a half years not being quite right, pouring all my energies into my partner who had problems of his own. He emotionally blackmailed me; I gave him money. I don't even think he was doing it consciously, but it happened nonetheless. My outbreaks of PMD (pre-menstrual depression) which I was then unaware of, baffled him. He could not listen; he tried to tidy me away. Like my mother, intense emotion was beyond his comprehension.

Away from him in France, I got myself into a similar relationship with a friend. Our intense friendship impacted upon my mood severely when it was in a 'down' (which it was for many months). At one point, I deliberately endangered myself, subconsciously hoping that something bad would happen to me. I wasn't sure what, but I 'reasoned' with myself that I didn't really matter enough for it to be an issue if something did. That was the first time my mind 'fragmented' and the evil depressive demon appeared. It justified my decision to me, and after I took it, I regretted it. I was reeling with guilt, and my then-boyfriend's reaction made me suicidal. The friend who had 'replaced' him expressed relief at my safety, and that brought me back to something resembling normal.

When I came together with The Libertarian, I finally got what love was supposed to be about. I realised early on that I was going to fall for him. The day we met after kissing for the first time ever - it was our sixth meeting - I told him how my sisters had shredded my self-confidence. He did not respond. He stopped walking, let go of my hand, turned me to face him and then pulled me into a tight hug. Things finally made sense in me; I felt delighted. This, THIS was what I needed! How could he understand that so instinctively, so easily, when my boyfriend of five-and-a-half years couldn't?

In a relationship with a wonderful man and realising that I had trustworthy friends after all, it was me VS. the demon depression. I determined that I was NOT going to let it wreck things like it had with my ex, even if he was wrong for me. I would prove my mother wrong; I was NOT going to turn out to be a serial killer. I was NOT a psychopath. Sadly, it's taken a lot of hard work to convince me that I can trust people and believe in myself. Even now, I belittle myself and my needs, especially when PMD strikes. I cannot believe that love - whether platonic or romantic - is unconditional.

That is where existence-based guilt comes in. A lifetime of negative thinking that was both passively inherited from, and actively reinforced by my mother, kicks in. This links neatly up with the ongoing pressure on women to be perfect, especially in SA culture. Add fear of being 'unwomanly' and a desire to change the order of things as a feminist, counterbalanced by the ugly knowledge that nowadays 'feminist' is a dirty word that carries a huge burden. I cannot settle for my contradictions, like most people can. Ever since I was young, I have to 'choose' whether I'm British or Indian. However, it's always other people who set the parameters of those categories for me. My mother framed the choice cleverly, in terms of health and the greater good. My family specialise in hyperbolic distortion with a tiny grain of truth embedded in it - and when PMD strikes, that little grain flies like a fishing hook, embedding itself in me. I wish I had never existed, I wish I was dead. I wish this because I cannot wish to be what my parents want - for emotional reasons (my mum's never happy and it's already ruined our lives) and logical reasons (they already have my brother).

I wish death upon myself because it would be 'easy.' I am not an 'easy' person, I'm always analysing shit and refusing to be gift-wrapped as 'Asian' or 'English.' After my family's bullying, the LAST thing I want is to identify myself with a group of people. A whole, hurtling boulder of pain and guilt is too much for any individual to bear. I do not want to wear out the love and patience of those who I always turn to. There are no human Atlases for me; I have outgrown mythology. That is when posts like this one pop up, and I tip the load off my back and into the depot of cyberspace. Forget gods, forget humans - machinery's the future!

'There ain't no way...'

... is the title of a song by a group that I quite like, called Cunninlynguists (yes, that IS the play on words that you're guessing at).

I met with Laurie today in a somewhat soporific afternoon encounter that was hopefully helpful to her (apologies if I came across as an automaton at times - having my hair out AND hot weather and sunlight to contend with, make me akin to drunk).

Now, she is a very patient and intelligent lady who tends to attract to her blog many of the sort of people who I'd frankly just like to sock one in the face. I find it amusing - I think many of 'em have followed her there from Liberal Conspiracy and wait around for her to metaphorically pat them on the head, and then she posts about REAL feminist stuff, and you get 'permanently bewildered' and victim-blaming (see her post, Perfect Slaves?, for example) among other things.

Bizarre, really, since in the main, the comments on other pieces have been largely supportive and encouraging.

Maybe it is 'radfem' of me to say so, but I confessed something to her today. I believe that things are really not going to get any better until the middle classes get their act together and start rocking the boat.

If you read this blog, I am presuming that you live in a Western country. I will say this to you now: live your principles.

LIVE YOUR PRINCIPLES. Granted, there are limits to what we can do, but I am sick of hearing, reading and seeing women and men staying with each other out of pity. Out of fear. Out of sentimentality.

It is VERY RARE to find a dysfunctional coupling where nostalgia and sentimentality don't play a substantial role. I am struck by how many women say that they are feminists, and yet in their home life they end up doing most of the work, and generally giving in...

While I know it's not easy to up and leave, or to dig your heels in - is it impossible? Is it really impossible?

Might you, after all, have the privilege of being able to live your principles?

A while back, Feministing had a post on this, but in a more straightforward sense of 'being privileged enough to educate oneself in a feminist-friendly way.' They also had a very good recent community post, where the notion of 'using privilege for good' surfaced in the comments. That came back to my thoughts today, along with a very interesting F-word post from late March this year. In America, it was apparently found that:

Wealthy families, she said, have tended, with their work-around-the-clock husbands and at-home wives, to have adopted a rather old-fashioned model of marriage, with fixed sex roles. They’ve set the tone, but the rest of the population hasn’t necessarily followed.

Something makes me think that such a scenario may not be entirely inconceivable in this country.

I'm not going to rosily claim that all middle-class people really love the Daily Fail and that working-class people are like exaggerated versions of the characters in Saturday Night, Sunday Morning (which by the way, you should totally read because it is a British CLASSIC, and also because that's how I want to write when I grow up).

The fact remains, however, that the Daily Mail - and the Telegraph, I would say, as well as the Guardian and Independent - exist as sources of information written by middle-class people, for middle-class people. We middle-class people are the source of normativity. Boo-hoo, we have it so hard, etc. Seriously though, I for one do not feel OK with the idea that I am part of that normativity (even though I am) because of my family's economic status, though that may have a little summat summat to do with my race and gender.

To recap though: WE ARE THE SOURCE OF NORMATIVITY. Even little ole privileged I. People want to write about US, the lives we lead, the foods we cook and eat, the money we spend and what we spend it on. That last factor is possibly the most important (ADVERTISING!). Basically, WE MATTER. WE MATTER in a way that working-class people don't; because our 'class' is growing all the time and because of our spending power.

You just can't reduce people to evil or pitiable caricatures when you're trying to coax their wallets from them now, can you?

So, all I'm asking is a very small thing. Though it's a good rallying cry in some ways, I'm not going to say 'People! Vote with your wallets when it comes to shit you don't like.' That involves effort and thinking and nobody likes that nowadays.

Instead I'll say: 'People! Live your principles.' We are economically and socially privileged. Let me contextualise to remind you, gentle reader, of the power you (unknowingly) wield.

In some communities in India, when a man divorces a woman, she is thrown out onto the street. Just like that. Sometimes, as is believed to have happened to a cousin of mine, the woman is married. Then, her husband and mother-in-law (almost ALWAYS that particular team, but not always) murder her and flee with the money/gifts/property rights. My cousin was praying in the house when she somehow got locked in and the building burnt down. Let's not even start on 'honour'-based violence...

Obviously, if you're in an abusive/domestic violence situation, it's going to be different and a lot more difficult. To those of you who aren't, I ask you this. Are you pressured into getting married before sex and living together can even grace your wildest dreams? Will you be ejected from your territory if you break up with someone? Is a lack of companionship and a bit of judgement from Smug-Married friends and hapless-but-well-meaning family (or friends) comparable to being burnt alive?

No. No, it's not. Your incentives for 'staying' come much more from YOU than from outside. Though there is bourgeois influence as well, no doubt. The decision is much more 'yours' than it would be in other countries and cultures. I'm currently in the process of trying to get my eldest sister (now living back with us at home, in case you forgot!) to just hurry up and tell the mofo she's divorcing him already. 'Tis a frustrating task, one that led to me writing an essay on the day it was due and then handing it in with another, which turned out to be LATE by two days (!), earlier this year. I wrote the bibliography by hand, having forgotten it entirely, 15 minutes before it was due. I subsequently found myself having a crying breakdown in my tutor's office while she was out retrieving the late essay...

My sister will be gossiped about by some in our community. Some will be pleased that her marriage failed, and many will now doom her to eternal celibacy as a result of her being divorced at the ripe 'old' age of 32. Benign-intentioned inepts will continue to suggest that she should have 'tried to make it work.' Yeahhhhh. Try to make it work with a man who spouted these gems:

He: I've lost respect for your dad now. He should have asked me before he came to pick you up.
(Translation: I own you).
She: ?! You're lucky he didn't beat the crap out of you.
(And how!).
He: (smirkingly proud) He's just an old man. I would have battered him.

When that particular exchange was conveyed to me (by phone, by my sister herself - a sign of all the progress I've made with her!), I neared tears trying to summon swearwords appropriate to my strength of feeling. Thankfully, because I was cooking, I settled for taking it out on my ingredients. Nothing like a spot of stabby-stabby for Mr. Motherfucker-you-are-my-property-and-you-will-stay-till-I-hit-and/or-kill-you, safely exorcised via chicken.

(Just to clarify: he didn't hit her and there's not very much evidence at all to suggest that he would. While undoubtedly abusive and uncouth, he does not fit the profile of the charming and cunning abuser that I have seen described on feminist websites. He just really is incredibly pathetic, compulsive, childish and deluded. Still not a reason to forgive him and 'settle,' now, is it?!).

People! Just stop and think. You are adults now - if your partner don't split the housework/other duties with you - they don't got your back. Yes, it really IS that fucking simple. You may not have the guts to leave just yet, but think twice if nothing else. Reconsider how much of your life you want to give to something that cuts right at the core of you NOW, and isn't likely to go away.

As the villains of Indian soaps so hilariously proclaim, 'just wait and watch.' You have a brain, you are not just a bag of hormones. The lulls in conversation are a chance to reflect. DON'T SETTLE WHEN YOU HAVE THE PRIVILEGE TO LIVE YOUR PRINCIPLES. That's all I ask of you.

Ladies, in particular: ROCK THAT FUCKING BOAT. Shake it like maracas. Cleanliness and neatness is not its own reward. That shit come and that shit go! There is a time for being adult (it's called PARENTHOOD!), and there is a time to fight fire with fire. If you haven't got kids with a bloke yet, you do not have to give in and do the housework. Talk to him - make him aware of what needs to be done. Give him a little 'guided tour' of the house, i.e.: 'Washing starts here, then is transferred either here if underwear, or here if in need of ironing...' Make a list of the tasks that need to be done, and split it so that it's equal or close enough.

Once you have children, it is GAME OVER on that front. Fighting for yourself will, unfortunately, become secondary. Do it while you can. If you don't, you WILL regret it (unless you get a lobotomy) and then your children will suffer. Hmmm, inconvenience yourself, or give your kids a chance to be equipped to fight the patriarchy? Even if you don't want kids, you still have YOU - ageing, society-and-culture-blasted, frail mortal YOU to consider.

I have, I freely admit, been uber-lucky. The Libertarian was raised in a household where his father did the cooking and the bulk of the washing-up. However, that didn't mean that he shirked on his parenting or housework duties - it was equally split. Once TL was old enough to help out, he got involved with everything from icing cookies to painting walls.

Again, privilege played a part in that arrangement being possible. I accept that not everyone can have it 100% equal. If nothing else though, we can avoid becoming servile. Men going out to work keeps the economy running, but women doing housework and raising children keeps society functioning. House + work = it's work too, even if it's not publicly visible. Be houseproud by all means but don't be a workaholic. Make your partner do what he can. Privileged feminists - LIVE YOUR PRINCIPLES!


Recommended Reading: Who needs two parents?

(P.S.: This is HILARIOUS). I think I am in love with an unopened jar of peanut butter. Gulp.

Totally random aside relating to this post on Cath's glorious blog: I think feminists should perhaps strike back at the men who try to portray their purchasing of sex as perfectly normal. Y'know, like you pop into Boots for a magazine, and then you go down a side street to buy a woman's vagina... They refer to themselves using the relatively innocent term 'punters.' That's what I mean, when I hear 'punters', I think of normal consumers. Not men who buy sex. So let us not let 'em off (even inadvertently). 'Punters,' my ass. I personally favour 'ratfaces' myself, but I know this is both a) unfair to rats b) somewhat unworkable. So let's be having your suggestions, please?

Putting Things Right

A while back, I had a go at Laurie of Penny Red. I feel pretty bad about that now, to be honest. Not that there wasn't some truth to what I said - but really, what was I expecting? That she should be able to represent the likes of me? Of course she can't; and it's totally unreasonable to expect such a thing of her. Furthermore, although I hope she ends up as an investigative journalist (I imagine she'd be super-duper at that!), she can do what she likes in the meantime. The whole thing did perhaps come off harsher than intended; essentially what I was saying is 'you can do better than this' when it comes to some of her writing...

But who made me an arbiter of what is good? Who am I to tell someone else (especially someone who ain't listening, haha) to 'do better'? This - this post right here - is about me trying to put things right. There's a lot that needs to be put right. This v. good and simple post on PR has inspired me to try and begin to do so, if nothing else.

What I was expecting of her is the same thing I expect of myself. To do better. To strive for perfection. To achieve consistency all the time, blah blah blah. As her post so ably describes, we are all prone to this tendency. It is worse in some ways for women, than it is for men. They're not free of it either, though.

I appear to have indulged in classic projection and lashed out at a fellow struggler rather than stopping and thinking about why I did that. Having said that, I do still want her to go on and become a Socialist Superwoman, and I sincerely hope that she won't lose sight of herself in striving to achieve success. That is a genuine warning, because in trying to sell an unpopular cause to people, one can find oneself unexpectedly compromised. Everyone knows that... I am also developing some rad-fem tendencies, thanks in large part to this blog (and the assholes on Cif but also seemingly EVERYWHERE ELSE on t'Interwebz!), and so I got a bit unfair on someone who I felt didn't have to be quite as 'feminist' as me.

How stupid is that, eh? You live and you learn, though, I guess. I think that is true of many Asian feminists though - there is quite a gulf between what they, and their white (middle-class...) counterparts are concerned with. That is nobody's fault. We have to deal much more with really barbaric things like honour-killings, and the pressure of being sandwiched between liberal society (not free of misogyny and sexism for all that...) and conservative families.

For example, Laurie mentions in her post how:

I've just been watching Meera Syal's documentary about self-harm, in which she asks, amongst other things, why Asian women in particular are so very high-acheiving and yet so desperately unhappy - being the group statistically most likely both to graduate with high honours and to deliberately hurt their bodies.

There you go. We have more freedom to work than is still permitted in India, Bangladesh, China et al (though those countries ARE, in some cases, getting better for women...) yet in many cases, our cultures don't sensitively adjust to this. Instead, it is expected that women will work full-time - AND be perfect slave housewives. It's not just the job market, but also the marriage market, we have to grey our pretty little heads over. British middle-class society also still has this mindset in many cases, but not in the same way as the Asian community.

Paradoxically, no-one wants to touch with a bargepole any woman who doesn't have a high-powered degree (that means I'm out of the running, eh?) - think Biomedical Sciences, Accounting, Medicine, Law... teaching as well. Yet in most cases, she also has to be a housewife. Getting 'lucky' involves all or any of the following:

a) Your husband doesn't hassle you about housework (for the most part) and/or sometimes even HELPS (aka my father).
b) You don't live with your mother-in-law.
c) Your mother-in-law doesn't expect you to become her.


Quite simply, you're not allowed to be thick, dark, rebellious or lazy. Given that I am both rebellious and lazy, my mum actually used to mutter: 'Thank God you have fair skin.' My mother has also tried repeatedly to break my spirit, claiming that she's just preparing me for my mother-in-law. Alongside this, she harangued both my sisters to learn Indian cooking (including how to make a full dinner in one go, even though NOBODY I know, us included, ever eats that). Despite both successfully doing so, she subsequently tried to blame all marital problems, especially my eldest sister's, on cooking.

So, my second-eldest sister and I have a lengthy discussion with my mum about how our brother-in-law is a psychopathic abuser, who enjoys publicly humiliating my sister and refuses to either let her come see us, or come to see us with her. This may last 20 minutes or longer. Mother nods agreeingly and even participates. Two minutes later, she is ranting about how it is all my sister's fault, and talking about cooking. (Although she dropped cooking-as-cause after about a year-and-a-half of ongoing strife...)

The thing is: my mum means well. 'Nine times out of ten,' she informed me with a faded bitterness, 'the woman must bend.' It didn't matter that I actually had a boyfriend at the time who cooked for me and shared the housework (at one stage when he briefly lived with me, just before finishing his degree, he was actually preparing every meal and doing all the washing-up while I worked on a project). She had seen what it is like for us Punjabi women, the sham of Sikh equality, and she wanted there to be no hope to so cruelly give way, treacherously feather-light, to betrayal and disappointment.

Despite having a decent boyfriend at the time, I could see myself falling into the patriarchy's tentacles. I sincerely believed that I would never make it to 21, and that if I did, I would find myself in a marriage that would eventually drive me to suicide. How could I continue my mother's cycle, and raise children that I resented? Why would I want to raise another child like myself, plagued by self-doubt and devoured by the family pack?

I was so hellishly afraid of this happening to me that I clung to my now-ex, despite not being happy. The fact that he largely didn't mean to upset me became a handy guilt-trigger, for when I wondered how the hell I could ever love him. I went through my degree, picking up Firsts and even winning a prize. The initial hostility of my family to my education choices gave way to a less-antagonistic but not-much-more-satisfying complacency. They told me 'Well done,' and then would add that I SHOULD be getting marks like that. Their congratulations were always severely compromised by the fact that they neither understood, nor particularly cared, WHAT I was good at. There was also an underlying assumption that what I was doing was not really that difficult or worthwhile.

This last attitude infected me deeply. It birthed in me a painful and schizophrenic feeling. I regarded my mute and detached contemporaries in seminar rooms with a kind of superior hatred. How many of them had been told that they would study English 'over my dead body' by their sisters? How many of them had earned the right to be there, like I had, and were capitalising on it feverishly, like I was?

Even as I felt like this, I kept myself 'humble' by reminding myself always, in a back corner of my brain, that I wasn't doing anything useful or important. But I was also doing French! But I wasn't going into business with it. Even though I hated the French part of my degree at times, it gave me a further edge over the other losers. Were they struggling like I was struggling? Did they have to dilute their favourite subject, just to be taken remotely seriously?

The evidently gigantic chip on my shoulder was carved into deeper by this 'humility' I enforced on myself. One of my best friends inadvertently contributed to it when she joined in with my mocking of other students saying that to those kinds of people, she would say: 'I'm doing SCIENCE, bitches.' I must never get above myself because literature was not essential to the world the way science was. Yet this attitude allowed me to mock those who were fanatically devoted when I didn't understand things - they were out of touch. They didn't see, like I saw, that science mattered more!

Ironic, really. I had tried to take science at A-level, had found it a nightmare (though definitely interesting) and then made a defiant show of taking arts at uni, because other people got to, so why shouldn't I? Deep down, though, I had internalised my family's beliefs and knew that I had failed at perfection. It was bad enough that I was lazy and rebellious, aware of the sexual inequality around me. Now, I had to mess up the career thing too. I was not ambitious enough to reply 'journalist' quick-fire when well-meaning people Qed me about what I would do afterwards.

The one thing that galvanised me above all else, was injustice. Especially the treatment of women by our community. I knew this wasn't exactly a 'career choice' though, and I resented that it was so deeply embedded in my being. I resented others, as just described, because they were normal. I superficially belonged to their world, but behind the facade of shared interests and economic/educational status or political views, lurked That Bloody Awareness. My aunt abandoned. My cousin, believed to be murdered. My other cousin, forced into marriage then deceived and abandoned. My sister, pushed into marriage when she was not, and might never be, ready.

These women were in me and with me, and I couldn't relax and make small talk like normal people. I'm still very socially inept.

[Interlude: My mother just came down because I am STILL up, and when I told her I was writing and that I had to do it, called me 'weird' and said 'You'd better come down to Earth, you're flying around in the clouds.' Thank you, mother...]

I was, and still am, wrong wrong wrong. Odd, and wrong. I'm the lightest in the family. I'm the only one who didn't pursue a science degree. I'm the first child (and until my brother, the only one) to have lived away from home. I'm also the only agnostic, and the only one to date two very 'wrong' men. One, a non-6-foot, non-Punjabi atheist. The second, a 6ft, fair-skinned, believes-in-God dreamboat... only he's a) white b) a historian, with a penchant for reasoned debate on just about everything. Given that my parents like to subscribe to Daily Mail worldviews and a, er, 'Sikh-centric' view of history, it's going to be interesting (i.e., the other day, they were watching a man talking about how Jarnail Singh Bhindranwale was a saint, and totally right to agitate for a separate Sikh state...). If they ever meet.

So ja, I am a spectacular failure. I plan on raking myself over the coals some more in later posts (ooh, what fun!). Even my body is all wrong for a supposed 'Indian' woman. I'm slightly taller than a lot of the Indian girls I see (despite being about average for a British woman), and I don't really look Indian at all. I'm most frequently mistaken for Iranian and Greek, but also Spanish. I'm not tiny and petite and delicate-looking. To quote Laurie again:

I weigh almost nine stone; I have fat on my upper arms... I have d-cup breasts, which I despise, and a tummy which no amount of sit-ups will flatten.

Sorry, Punjabi Sikh community of Britain! Sorry British society! I don't fit either of your notions of 'conventionally attractive.' Believe me, the shops have drummed it home by now that an apple-shaped body is NOT GOOD. I'm not Kelly Brook, and I'm not Freida Pinto either. I didn't trade in my plait and glasses for feathered/layers and contacts as soon as I hit 16. I want to aim for more than a car, a house near my parents and a husband that doesn't hit me. I won't pretend stoically that the guilt and shame that keep us locked into deceiving our parents and beating ourselves up are to be respected or tolerated.

Call me pathetically feminine if you will, call me 'coconut' and 'posh' and whatever else. I will cry in your faces about the fact that I have been, and still am, hurting. No 'put up or shut up.' How about 'fess 'up, or fuck off'?

Putting Sex In Its Rightful Place

Sound the klaxons! I am about to go on to write a non-watertight post which will include some assertions and much musing. WHAT IT WILL BE: a reflection and an invitation to debate, discuss and ponder (I know, I know, call the ponce police NOW!). WHAT IT WON'T BE: sociological treatise supported by pages upon pages of peer-reviewed science.

Sex is overrated.

Yeah, I said it. That's right. You read me right. SEX IS OVERRATED!

Now that I've grabbed your attention with my controversial soundbite, sit still and bear with me. I don't think ALL sexual activity is overrated...

but when I said 'sex,' you thought of penetrative intercourse, didn't you? Go on, it's the right answer! It's the answer I want you to give!

I've always been a bit dubious about penetration. When I was younger, it was the idea that something being inserted up you could be fun. If you think about it, that brings to mind injections. Injections are not very fun, now, are they?

(Incidentally, I've only just now made that link, so don't go crediting my teenage self with scope I didn't actually have...).

As an Asian woman though, the prospect of it absolutely fucking terrified me. Ideally, I would be imagined - and expected - to be a virgin, a sexual ingénue, whilst my husband could have had numerous sexual encounters, and we would not discuss it because you Do Not Go There. Why would you want to broach a topic that would only lead to strife? Wondering how many previous lovers he might have had, if he's being honest about that number, how you compare, why it's OK for him and not for you...

Not all Asian men are hypocrites. Some of the genuinely devout ones aren't. However, depressingly enough, it is the religion-following (rather than any sort of internal reflection and self-awareness) that makes them so, for a lot of the men I know of. Sikh men. Let it be said though, that the power structures are partly responsible. Even though men benefit much more than women in Asian culture, they're by NO MEANS free of baggage.

So yeah, I would wonder why the hell the whole world was so goddamn obsessed with sex anyway. From the age of eleven, I made a resolution, and this was my only life's resolution. Now it may sound sad to some, and maybe some sort of betrayal to others (OMG, WHY DIDN'T YOU LIKE, AIM TO BE AN ASTRONAUT OR SOMETHING?!), it was important to me. It still is - important and necessary, and I feel that I was very lucky to find it.

I vowed that I wanted to love and be loved. Note: I didn't say 'wanted to be married,' or that I 'wanted to be in love.' No, I wanted to be loved. Not drama and not tears. Not the sort of relationship where his basic acknowledging of me as a fellow human was a source of happiness. Not the sort of marriage where his leaving me to get on with the housework, rather than criticising me for not doing it the way his mum did, was considered desirable. A partner who could understand that, was THE benchmark by which I would set my standards, thank you very much.

Sex has always been important, but many would argue that it has become more recent in modern times. I would be inclined to agree, especially when you think of changing attitudes to pornography, the arrival of the Internet and a general liberalising of society. That's not to say we're all fine with talking about sex now, but you know, you have things like Anne Summers shops and mainstream papers such as The Independent running lists of 'The Ten Best Sex Toys.' Hard to imagine in the 1950s, eh?

However, the way we think about sex has often been problematic. For a long time, you had a love/sex dichotomy, and it still persists. The idea that love and sex could be separate (especially for women) began to develop towards the end of the nineteenth century. I'm thinking specifically of Kate Chopin's The Awakening (1899), which tentatively broaches a subject all too familiar to modern readers: the notion that you can love somebody - while simultaneously being attracted to someone else. No doubt it was there before, but it was very likely taboo, especially for women. Fancy someone other than your husband? You strumpet!

For some people, I don't doubt that love and sex is often - maybe even always - separate. That may even work for them. Unfortunately, it doesn't work for a lot of people. Read any number of letters to any number of agony aunts, and you see the same ol' time-weathered issues recurring: I love a married man, but he won't leave his wife for me, blah blah blah. Or I'm unsatisfied and I'm having an affair, blah blah blah. Alongside this kind of thing, you get celebratory articles about women finding sexual satisfaction in their 40s by having affairs, and stuff like that.

What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that - perhaps because of an increase in sexual freedoms for women - it became more acceptable for women to 'do as men do' sexually. Unfortunately, however, that increase in freedom didn't necessarily coincide with a weakening of certain ideas about sex and gender. Hence, many women had more sex, but the old idea that women wanted love and men wanted sex still held firm in the minds of many. So, you got this stupid and painful situation where women could have sex with whoever, but for many, love and sex were intrinsically bound in their subconscious.

There's also the fact that sex leads to the release of oxytocin, which:

has various functions in the body, such as inducing labor contractions and milk ejection, but from evolutionary biology’s perspective, its main evolutionary function is to bond us to our children for life. It also serves to bond us to our mate…at least long enough to produce a child and (if we're lucky) get it on its feet.

We are not programmed for monogamy, nor our own sexual satisfaction, it would seem. I DO NOT mean by this to say that women should stop exercising sexual freedom like men. Evolutionary science has been conveniently used in the past to enforce gender stereotypes and permit men to 'sow their wild oats' while denying women the same freedom. That's what you'd call 'bad science,' though. Proper science shows itself to be egalitarian in showing that actually, we're all set up for the same goal: to further the species. If males will 'sow their wild oats,' then females will replace flagging partners.

This is where I come back in. Yuman beans are, of course, brain-equipped creatures and not just bags of hormones, correct? We realised the dangers of blindly following our instincts since very, very long ago (see: Greek tragedy), in the form of overpopulation, if nothing else. We can't have our cake and eat it too. Either we have long-term stable relationships, or we have incredible sexual peaks and troughs. The time-honoured way to have both is to fake replacing your partner, by means of sexual exploration. You may notice how people always use terms like 'reinvent' or 'rediscover.' It's change, but you're tricking your brain - instead of a new partner, you're simply using new techniques to keep dopamine levels consistent.

Another possibility, to be used alongside, is to reassess the importance of sex. To put sex back in its rightful place (AT LAST! I hear you cry). No sex vs love. No more of this 'I love my husband, but I have great sex with the plumber.' No more of this 'I love my wife, but my secretary is so naughty and dirty.' Actions have repercussions. That's the shittest and most important bit of being an adult. Especially when there's children or friends involved, and Lord knows, there so often are. It's almost embarrassing.

Be slow. Be messy. Be fumbling. Learn, gradually and carefully, how to turn each other on. Think of your sex life as a book, which you chop into bits and put back together again. Does the end HAVE to be the end? How final was the end, anyway? In so many cases, you probably read to the end and then thoughts lingered in your head. You thought 'I wonder what happened next to so-and-so?' Even if there was a sequel, the likelihood of it carrying on right where the last left off was unlikely. In cases where that DOES happen, the first media I can think of are soap operas and comic-book series - and what are they? Long-running.

Penetration is not the end, nor should it be. It's been established that many women don't come through penetration alone; evidently it's not the key to orgasm in itself. Yet we persist in elevating it to such ridiculous levels of importance. Teens are all so interested in 'going all the way' and 'doing it.' Very few people's first time is about learning how to enjoy sex; it seems more to be about 'getting it out of the way.' How depressing! That's life, though. Social conformity exerts such horrible, crushing pressure on us that people have sex - or pretend to have - before they're even really ready for it.

I think the common attitude of 'lose virginity drunkenly, so as to ease fear, then have sex whenever I feel like' is fair enough, but watch out, people. If that's how you want to do, then you have to do it right. Go all the way. Don't think about love. Where sex leads, love does not necessarily follow - and you know what? That's not because men want sex and women want love. It's not because love and sex are opposed. It's because reproduction and monogamy are opposed. Yeah, that's right! How hilarious it feels to read that, when religion has been advocating socially/religiously/legally-enforced monogamy as the prerequisite for reproduction for years.

Sex needs to be rethought, and not just by feminists. Enough of the turgid meatstick in the quivering lower-lips. Enough of tits, asses and cock. Have you ever found somebody's eyelashes sexy? No? I sure as hell have (The Libertarian's thick, charcoal-dusting caught my eye even before his green-and-gold eyes). I like lips, in a man. The Libertarian has very rosy cheeks and lips, a freckled nose and unexpectedly dark, thick upper lashes. Half the time, I don't know whether to frame-and-display him, or kiss as usual.

I think I'm lucky, because I grew up with an awareness of classic Bollywood cinema, where filmi courtesans redefined the markers of sexuality. Between the sashaying of hips and the thrusting of abdominal muscles that we know so well, alongside wet saris, there was something new. I'm thinking of Madhuri Dixit as the courtesan Chandramukhi in Devdas, of the song 'Kaahe Chhed Chhed Mohe.' One of her most fervent admirers sings (roughly translated from memory):

'Jasmine makes fragrant her lovely dark tresses... Radha's face is aglow, electric... Her gait, seductive.'

In Sanskrit poetry, as well as old Bollywood, eyes, eyelashes, hair and faces are most often described as alluring. The face and hands are most often employed by filmi courtesans to seduce. It's still objectification, you might argue - but at least it's not quite as violent a form of objectification. It's not the same as when: 'you talk about getting laid, you never say a woman, you say a broad, a lay, a baby, a doll, a bird, you talk about butts and boobs, every time you mention a woman I see her either as a sort of window-dresser’s dummy or as a heap of dismembered parts, breasts, or legs or buttocks.’

There is some sense that a woman has some power, something concealed which is hers and which she can choose to give. Granted, this is somewhat illusory with a courtesan (a bought woman) - but I'm not telling anyone to be a courtesan! Nor am I saying 'cover up' or 'behave like a man/lady.' Sexual problems in a relationship are so often merely the most visible element of a larger underlying problem. Fluffy handcuffs, toys and dressing up are all very well. Just make sure it's not all one-way - and just make sure you're realistic about the relationship of sex to love for you. Does sex really = love? For a lot of us middle-class kudia, raised as respectably as we are, I don't really think so. Intercourse - especially penetrative - is not the apogee of desire. Standing close to someone, denying yourself, a loaded glance, a telling kiss - give it a try sometime if you haven't already, o no-doubt-horrified readers...

Sex Before Marriage - Bring It On

I have been moved to write this by a series of comments on a note I posted on Facebook. An American who took a bizarrely thorough interest (not romantic, just general) in me and who I fell out with/stopped talking to via the Internet a while back assumed that because I said I don't believe in waiting till marriage to have sex, that I am no longer a virgin:

'the mistaken.. version was...."I'm just saying that I don't believe in sex
before marriage"...i would be relieved.....if the contrary was not approaching
the end point....then u may say. why...to be blunt or direct as i call it... the
answer is:.because u were once a sweet virgin girl..!'

The implication being that 'once' I was 'sweet' and a 'girl' and now I'm not, apparently (Might I just say that I am so not disclosing any details of that here, it's my business and no-one else's).

That was precisely what infuriated me about such a comment. Where is the need to extrapolate from a general view of mine and then try to apply it to me? The ongoing discourse is only making me angrier and angrier, which at this time of sadness-prone-ness, is welcome.

More than anything, it made me angry because it reminded me of the wall that we South Asian feminists come up against - and will continue to come up against - when we try and deal with things like this directly. I know enough of our society to be fully aware that throwing up your hands and saying 'This is who I am, take me as I am' doesn't work. It might make you feel better, in that you'll stop living a lie, but then the bigots will regroup and bear down on you again. That's the precise problem - you can't reason with bigots whose beliefs are rooted firmly in their irrational, emotional prejudices.

I will just say that the fun didn't stop there. I replied, saying:

'.because u were once a sweet virgin girl..!'

Er, how can you presume to know about my sexual status just because I've said I no longer believe in sex before marriage? Nice jumping-to-conclusions there.

I know a lot of men, particularly those of South Asian descent, just love the idea of the virgin bride. However, knowing increasingly more about the realities of Indian marriages (at the very least), I find the thought of waiting until marriage quite terrifying, as do many women. Especially, as is usually the case, you don't know your partner very well, or even not at all.

And here is the rest of it in full. Him:

"the death of virginity at ur age begins.. when u no longer value it.."
i didnt quite pressume....i infer from the absence of a clarity...
i hope u dont find it rude...
i wonder if ur field research.. of "lot of men" and "indian marriages" reduced to ur CENSORED .."lot"

Me:

No. How did I imply that, even directly? I simply replied that my 'field of research' isn't necessarily as narrow as you seem to be assuming, and that I have based my opinions on judging for myself, things I have overheard and directly discussed, and my knowledge of what it is like trying to do things 'the traditional way.'

Him:

so are saying.. the ppl above 30 yrs of age... born and raised... in the "3rd world" have endoresed ur present view..? are including ur parents... u discussed this with them..


when did u come to ur current view point on this precious matters....?
did u include ur parents in this discussion..?

I stopped responding here, and then deleted him from my friends list. I was absolutely furious, and my ex even said 'What a dick.' I just could not believe it. A man in another country (America), who does not know me, who has no real link to me whatsoever and whom I have nothing in common with save for the fact that we both, as far as I know, 'originate' from India, policing my sexuality?

This is where anti-feminist wackjobs would leap in and say 'How is he policing it? He's simply asking if your parents are aware of what their daughter is up to, HAVING CONSIDERATION FOR THEM.'

To which I'd say: read the whole thing, fuckers. Where exactly does my stance (disapproving about waiting till marriage to have sex) cross over into my private life? At what point did I stand up and say 'YEAH, I'VE LOST MY VURGINITY AN IT WOZ GRATE TOO!!11!!'?

That's just it - I didn't, because contrary to the insulting assumptions being made here, this isn't another story you can write off as 'Oh, she met somebody she wanted to sleep with. Just another slut then!'

See, my 'skinny friend' who I haven't mentioned for ages took it personally when he found out that I'd kissed TL and said 'I thought you were different.' Trans: you turned out to be just another slapper. Note how the same assumption is being made about me by this man, ALSO of Indian extraction. Why, despite my affirming that the two things are not linked, does he persist in asserting that I must have had sex before marriage just because I said I don't believe in waiting? And furthermore, what business of his is it anyway?

Witnessing the break-up of a marriage, being aware of the lack of sex education that women of South Asian descent receive (South Asians in general, but it's worse for women since the obsession with our being 'pure' and 'innocent' means we don't get to participate in the same kind of consequence-free fucking and hence experience-gaining that the males frequently do...!) and considering the things that will be expected of me when I'm married, as well as a comment on Pickled Politics by the commenter Jai (which I won't link to because I have no idea where it was now)... all these things made me think. A big part of my sister's break-up was the fact that the guy didn't want children with her.

I began to think about that. I am a fairly sensual person and I knew I'd want to have sex for more than just procreation, but given my lack of knowledge how was I supposed to know what to do? I will tell you totally honestly that despite receiving some sex ed at school, I wasn't even sure where in me it was meant to go. Yes, I was that clueless. I did research on this (Internet, talking to friends) and was told that in order for it to go in, I'd have to be 'wet and slippery.' 'How does that happen though?' I asked. 'You have to be relaxed and turned on,' I was told.

I thought of a woman shipped over from India, to meet her husband for the first time, or my sister, married to a man she had known for a matter of months, a man who enjoyed slighting her and trying to control her. I thought of the prescriptiveness of our culture that treats sensuality, but female sensuality in particular, with huge doses of guilt and shame, preventing women from being able to understand their bodies and use them effectively. Jai's comment had been that for many women, the wedding night is effectively rape (I think he was talking about arranged marriages in particular though). I thought about it, and hang on, he was right. The 'consent' given was highly dubious - not really given by the woman within the couple, but applied from outside by society, in the form of the marriage ritual.

Far from 'consent,' it was rather submission - a submission which her female relatives, more often than not would groom her for. The patriarchy would make her understand that this was expected of her, because it is a husband's and his family's right to expect an heir. Many women want stability and want children, and then are implanted with so much fear and such low expectations, that they yield. It is a general submission. Learning to live with it is Stockholm Syndrome, not love (though that's not to say that love can't happen in the course of the marriage). When you have to sleep with a man at the start, when you don't know him well enough to be safe OR you do know him but he doesn't understand/appreciate your needs, it ends up becoming rape, does it not? The 'consent' is extracted, not offered freely.

Although, I bet that in many modern couples, the 'wedding night' doesn't happen at that time, because they are probably both too exhausted by the day's events. Ironic really - I criticise the excess of Indian weddings, but I suppose in a way, it's almost doing brides a favour in some instances...

I must say here again that I haven't touched on all the things that have drawn me to think this. Meeting a long-lost friend who had put her daughter's husband and in-laws in jail for their rampant mistreatment of her (including violently buggering her, which my friend only learnt of via the police report, which she couldn't bring herself to finish, understandably), the idea of marriage as prostitution... (I know it's Bindel, but swallow down the horror and just read the interview - she doesn't interject! Thankfully. I think she's probably too overcome with hero-worship, or something...).

Both that American and my ex-friend can fuck right off, because they are just more dull, unthinking collaborators with the patriarchy. Who gives you the right to police my sexuality, ey? It's MY BODY, not yours, and not really my parents' either. To be crude, if I have sex or not, it's MY BODY PARTS that are interacting with another's, not my mum's and not my dad's. Ergo it is only a matter for my parents if I were to get pregnant (H to the E double L no) and have to rely on them financially - because that would directly affect them.

I find it outrageous too that my virginity is assigned a value and deemed as the marker of my becoming an adult. How fucking patronising is that? I'm an adult upon reaching the legal age, though I could emotionally be an adult beforehand. Engaging in a physical act, while undoubtedly a milestone, is not THE milestone for me, thank you. I must ask as well: why is my sex life or lack thereof so 'precious' to you? Is it a heap of gold in which you have a stake invested? Did you 'give' part or all of it to me? No, you did not. So, mind your own business and piss off, if you please.

It really does bewilder me why people do this though. Is it because I am fair-skinned and relatively pretty? Not just that, but I look younger than I am and sort of innocent, which is probably why the weirdos seem to flock to me. I'm also relatively open, friendly and polite, which no doubt encourages them. It infuriates me though, because my parents have always tried to imply that such behaviour is 'weak' and that made me only more determined to stick to it. How dare you think I'm weak? I'm strong enough to admit my own ignorance on many topics, and I'm strong enough to have carried the emotional weight of someone 10 years my senior. It's my body; butt out.

(I just wish I could be one of the Save The Earth Foundation members beating up the Sri Ram Sena wankers who attacked women for daring to go to the pub in Mangalore). This is why I want to make sure I do SOME SORT of women's rights-based work this summer, even if it's only for two weeks. A girl's gotta fight.

THANK YOU to my four subscribed readers by the way, I appreciate the fact that you think I'm worthwhile enough to subscribe to and I am sorry for my general shittiness. I'm really not good with people. :D As to lurkers or random readers - I hope you find something educative here. If not - well, tough titties.

'Bankish' Behaviour - Sexism at the BoE

As regards the title of this post, just follow the link and READ THIS STORY. READ IT.

I am really quite angry. I didn't think such ridiculous things could irritate me that much, but no, the feminist tiger has been roused and she'd like to rip the head off the 'image consultants' who ran this thing, if nothing else. Though REALLY, what she'd like to do is get some choice 'alone time' with the fuckers at the Bank of England who arranged this. Don't shoot the messenger, etc. etc. etc.

I mean, FUCK YOU. The word 'bankers' has become Cockney rhyming slang for 'wankers' and I tell you, it's feeling like a pretty fitting epithet right now. Although of course, that's hardly fair because not all bankers are, and not even everyone at the Bank of England is.

We're going to use an extreme comparison now to attack what is occurring here. Y'know how, (as anyone who's read/watched Persepolis will know?) the 'Vice Squad' in Tehran roam around policing women's clothes so that they show the acceptable amount of modesty? Well, this is just another version of that, really, but in Britain and done without religion or violence being involved. Not that that makes it any more acceptable for it.

This parallel I've just drawn may seem extreme to some of you, but let me explain:

A memo leaked from the meeting details the advice given to staff, including the warning that wearing certain accessories would make women workers look like prostitutes.

This is the bit that sent me over the edge of calm and hurtling dangerously into the lava-paved fields of rage. Firstly, my brain screamed: WHY? WHY should women not look like prostitutes if they want to? Let me elaborate.

1) By taking this decision in the first place, women are being told how to dress - just like in Tehran - and not being credited with intelligence enough to not dress like sex workers. Ruth Lea, former Centre for Policy Studies director and current economic advisor to the Arbuthnot Banking Group, had this to say:

"Surely it is up to men and women, and their peers at work to decide for themselves what is suitable to wear. If you can get a well-paid job, surely you have the nous to choose the right clothes."

Amen, sister! Seems simple, don't it? Yet this whole fiasco is not just insulting to the female employees and a sheer fucking pisstake at a time of intense economic difficulty for the whole fucking country. It's also insulting to the men who work there.

As Craig David used to popularly sing, re-re-wind:

'wearing certain accessories would make women workers look like prostitutes.'

Here we are, back in the familiar terrain of 'Oh NOOOO! Female sexuality! SHIT! Lock up your sons and fathers and brothers!'

I'd frankly be curious to know what they had in mind here. Maybe they were thinking nurses' uniforms, thigh-high stockings, kinky boots ending above the knee? Or maybe this is just supposed to cover anything that makes you look the tiniest bit attractive and not like someone's stern aunt, or Margaret Thatcher? I have to return here to saying: and what, if women look like prostitutes?

2) If you're working for the BANK OF FUCKING ENGLAND, I think you'll know better than to turn up looking like a prostitute, as observed above. I'm sorry, wanky image consultants, but a woman wearing something which is cut slightly lower/fits slightly tighter/is shorter than you might like is part of a wonderful thing called Choice. It tends to go hand in hand with a concept known as Real Life Is For Living, and although I'm sure the BoE is full of old-ish white middle-class male types, the times they are a-changin'. Plus, it's winter. You certainly wouldn't catch me dead in a PVC maid's dress in this current snowfall!

3) As to insulting the men, I'm quite sure that, er, they're able to discern that the women they have been working with all year are not prostitutes. To be honest, giving the following advice:

'wearing certain accessories would make women workers look like prostitutes.'

is firstly infuriating because it proves that, time and time again, even the merest showcase of female sexuality is a problem for some men - and despite it only being some, all the women must be suppressed accordingly, and also because it wildly insults the intelligence of their male cohorts. Having been hired by the Bank, she knows she's not a fucking prostitute; having worked with her, he knows she's not a fucking prostitute.

The 'logic' that I can see spiralling out of this idiocy runs as follows:

Women dress like prostitutes. This presents a problem for poor, helpless males who let themselves reach the point of unbearable strain. Women subsequently sexually harassed/raped/bullied - go on to take BoE to court and money stands to be lost. Unhappy faces all round!

So, the answer to the kind of bullshit institutional sexism and recycling of outdated gender stereotypes is *gasp* not trying to educate those men who can't cope with a woman wearing a slightly shorter skirt, it's to waste a load of fucking money during a recession period telling women to 'Dress For Success.' The common sense of simply crediting the men with the awareness that their fucking co-workers are evidently not sex workers - and explaining very slowly to the especially thick/bigoted ones - is lost. Do they not think men have enough self-control to avoid leaping on their colleagues at the slightest flash of thigh and humping them unconscious? Do they really think men are that utterly lacking in self-control? Jesus H. Christ.

Interestingly enough, just to dispense with this, I like how women's sexuality is being pummelled into projecting just the right sort of mother/older auntie attitude here. By all means, don't turn us on - but don't confuse us either! Tomboys and androgynes (my coinage) not welcome!

"... always wear a heel of some sort – maximum two inches; always wear some sort of makeup, even if it's just lipstick,"

(BUT WHY?!)

Identity, Culture and All Dat 'Ish

As any fule kno, the um, 'situation' with the Gaza Strip and Israel has provoked a lot of what I can only term sheer utter fucking lunacy everywhere. Pop along to Pickled Politics and scroll down a little to marvel at the sheer volume of articles on it; or if you're a rubbernecking connoisseur, wade into the brain-rotting depths of personal insults and virulent misunderstandings and misinterpretations that tend to make up the comment threads of such articles. Sheesh. I have heard several times how mental people go over I/P, but to see it in action is really something else. Some brave commenters, such as one douglas clark, ventured to say that British Jews should not be forced to shoulder the responsibility of Israel's actions and expected to 'make everything right' from a tiny island far away (I paraphrase). Now, that seems like common sense, don' it?

It got me thinking again on how so much of the danger that comes from having a religious identity (as far as I'm concerned) is in that symbolism. I'm far too timid to say anything like that the world should be rid of religion; I like to throw up my hands on these matters and say, I don't know, and if pressed, I could give you an answer, but not a simple one. I can't ever see myself becoming famous because I don't on the whole do snappy soundbites or 'big ideas' - but back to religious symbolism. It scares me because it allows, nay in many cases, demands the establishment of a connection of oneself with a much larger body of people. The way I see it, many people 'get into' religion for the community and stay for the God (forgive me if that sounds very cynical, and just to elaborate, I'm talking here about the things that keep people born within religion within it, but especially of those who leave and 'come back' or those who enter for the first time...).

Now that is all very edifying and so forth, but it becomes hugely problematic when you start to think about what this means. What it means, as I see it, is a declaration by the individual of surrender to a collective, over certain things and at certain times. In short, it's like hazing or any sort of unpleasant club membership, and even if you were BORN with those privileges, you never know when the tide of mass opinion might turn against you. Hence, though more shored-up than the new convert, you're still forever at risk of being undermined by the very fact of your 'membership', paradoxical as it sounds.

(Might I just say how painfully paradoxical this strikes me as? A significant part of the promise of religion to many is as an access of ready-made identity, culture, history, yadda yadda yadda... and instead it gets to the stage where you're always having to prove yourself. Well, I guess as the popular maxim goes, in life, nothing (but nothing) is free!).

Now, it must be averred that this risk of being undermined is not always greatly present. It tends to emerge handily with the arrival of an Other. I suppose the process works something like this: your 'identity' and 'culture' are threatened, hence you are threatened; by aggressively reasserting these, you refuse the attempt of the Other to undermine you completely. However, as we have already established, this shadowy Other (which may not be as much of a threat as imagined to be, who knows?) will then become projected unconsciously upon your fellow-believers for whom you must perform the rituals of belief. Isn't it ungracious? Isn't it undignified, how the best and brightest of us find ourselves bending the knee before those we know, know, in our hearts and minds to be stupid, ugly, and generally inferior... and yet whom the deranged reach of (oft-bigoted) zeal places on the podium, above us?

I commented disparagingly on a thread about a Sikh 'holocaust' museum, saying that I don't think the word should be bandied about quite so readily. Aye right, I fuckin' don't - the word means 'burnt sacrifice' and was applied to the full horror of the Nazi plan (need I really mention the gas chambers here...?) in light of the specificity of how this plan was implemented. I am a writer; I have the most enormous respect for words and it really annoys me when people don't use them properly, or use them out of context. Fuck you if you think that's precious - you wouldn't say the same of someone like Ben Goldacre seeking to debunk bad science now, would you? Miscommunication, apart from when it's deliberate, has a lot to do with making our lives harder than they ought to be, and the misuse of language is one of those things. Call the suffering of other minority communities 'genocide', call it 'mass murder' - but given how saturated this word has become with meaning - and that too after a prolonged effort by History not to let us forget such an awful happening - don't go bandying it about. Especially when the events in question are lacking in the same scale, type of mass-murder and specificity of evil intent.

(Rumbold helpfully intervened to explain what I was saying before I even could myself, so I have left no further comment 'pon that thread. Please head over to Charlie Brooker to see, fully and perfectly expressed, how I ultimately feel about Internet 'debates'. Ta for that Rumbold, true to form you put it rather clearer and more polite than I probably would've managed... comment threads often fill me with impotent rage, and then I feel dirty, as if I've just rubbed myself all over with The Daily Mail, and vow to do something REAL when my degree is over).

To return to the point - I can't help thinking that such things happening - such ridiculous abuses of language and over-aggressiveness - come, because with things like I/P, people's 'imagined' ancestry begins to come to the fore. Hello, trouble. The collective, baying for blood, seeks its recompense of the individual - now is the time to prove yourself, Sonny Jim! Now show your ideological colours! Lo, and so it comes to pass that people in Great Britain set about each other from the screens of their computers over something which is happening far, far away and to which they are not (short of having relatives in Gaza or Israel) directly connected. I mean, ffs, the link between Jews and Israel is imagined and symbolic, just as the link between Muslims and Muslims in Gaza is imagined and symbolic. Why do you suddenly feel the need to multiply yourself into a fucking representative of your whole religion? Because your people are being attacked here - your people, that's who! Jayzus.

I think here of all the times in the past that I have been forced to say things that I don't believe and agree with statements I find abominable in order to avoid attracting my family's negative attentions. I did it up to a certain age, and then I realised that I didn't have to any more. I could use the power of silence against them. They could infer what they wanted from it; I would not agree, and having got in serious grief on past occasions, I would not condemn either. If this was a coward's way out, I didn't care. My objective was to protect myself and to emerge intact.

My mother has made the observation in the past - very accurate, I feel - that it is only wealthy, middle-class people who have the time to dwell on these things. While this is not entirely true (I'm sure there have been some suicide bombers who weren't fairly financially stable too - or does that only fuel my mum's theory, in implying that poverty only added to ideological frenzy?), there is a LOT of truth to it. While discussing things is all very well and good, I often feel that if you are going to spit blood so, then why the heck don't you get off your arse and do something to help directly? Complain to the BBC, give money to the DEC, hell, fly out there and do something. Just spare me the bitching, and the soapbox-ing, which begin frankly to dive towards unsettling levels of moralisation and dogma, for me. A minority of disenfranchised people will, inevitably, react badly to the injustices that have befallen them - but since when was stooping to that level acceptable? What of all the other people who just want to fucking get by? Like me, they're more concerned with survival rather than ideology. Life is hard enough 'secular' as it is.

Religious fraternity and perspective is not enough when terrible things like this happen. People must remember that we are all ultimately human and that ultimately all the vitriol begets no solutions and no progress. Of course, there are always those who profit from such quarrels, but if people learn to practise a bit more forgiveness and a bit more forgetting, hopefully the planet can proceed on to the future.

Just to bore you senseless a little further, all this really churned about in my brain like clothes in the washing machine when my mum read to me a hilarious, and I fully believe, fictional account of a Sikh wedding (in two parts) from a Punjabi newspaper. Apparently in the duration of this story, some 'sensible observer' remarked how there were far too many women at weddings these days; if you went to the marriage palaces, all you would see was women, and that in the old days, women weren't even meant to be part of the baraat (the wedding procession, otherwise understood as the arrival of the groom and his party at the marriage venue). I immediately stiffened, my brain standing to attention like a guitar-string being pulled taut. My mater had not noticed this; nor did she notice the sudden, emergent incongruity of this remark peeking its ugly, goblin little head from the narrative.

As I glanced idly at the sheet she was holding out before her, a dim sort of epiphany set in. I tilted my head, casually covering the sheet with my gaze - yup. I rolled back my memory to previous glimpses of this paper (I think it must have been the Punjabi section of The Sikh times) - yup. The overwhelming majority of the participants in this production were male, bearded, turbanned and for the most part, pretty old (late 30s onwards). There were women (or there was one I knew of definitely, anyway) in the English part of the paper, but the only columnist I could think of, Rupi Gohlar, was consigned unfussily to a slim, 6cm-wide column somewhere near the entertainment section, which, if I was not looking for it, I would have likely failed to notice (first couple of times, I did miss it).

(To any Private Eye Readers, I appeal to you to recall the E.J. Thribb column. Do you see it now, in your mind? Yes, that's very much what her column resembles, in its slender insignificance. I am struggling now to recall if there are actually any female stalwarts besides Rupi).

I continued to take in what was being read to me, almost laughing at the right moments, but inside I vibrated with epiphany spreading, like the opening of a curtain admits more sunshine. Had I not, upon viewing Channel Punjab, only ever viewed the blurry outlines of women stereotypically 'dancing in the fields' (or had I imagined that too?) and consigned to women-only programmes such as Trinjhan (as far as I know it, a women's talkshow where they had writers and so forth on)? Other than that, women abounded only in the horribly cheap Star-Plus knock-off soaps, where a stereotypical mother-in-law bitch-from-hell would try to undo her stereotypically butter-wouldn't-melt daughter-in-law. Things might be complicated by the arrival of, or transformation of the latter into, a stereotypically gold-digging Westernised 'un-woman'.

I cast about in desperation, but the awareness was glaring me in the face. This was simply not me! None of these were me, and a slow, snakelike rage bubbled luxuriously in my veins. To think that all my life I had been told - had it insisted upon to me - that this was the right and the true, the tradition in which I belonged! I had grown up thinking that Punjabi culture and Sikh culture were one and the same. As I delved into Sikh history, I became much more conscious of the guiding principles of that religion, and as I began to find out more about Punjabi culture - through talking to people other than my parents - cracks began to appear. I discovered that Punjabis had a reputation for being big drinkers and loving fried chicken (that'd explain our local high street then, I tell you...) and, above all else, I began to notice the almost obsessive and deranged sense of male privilege that underscored Punjabi society. I suspect this went something like this: Punjabi men, being among the tallest, strongest and fairest-skinned in India (remember how colour-conscious India is!) were not only superior to women as it is taken for granted that men always are in Indian culture, but also superior to other Indian men! Hence they had extra entitlement!

The fact that the Punjab abounded with rich landowners whose sense of self-worth was only further pumped by laying claim to the glories of Sikh military history won't have helped. And so it came to pass that I watched Long Da Lishkara (a cult Punjabi film made the year before I was born) with my family, I think around the age of 11 or 12. I had not understood the obsession, in some films, with showing women jumping into wells. My young brain established that this must be for them to kill themselves - but why were they killing themselves? The screen soon brought me the answer.

A turbanned, well-dressed man - a man with a neat beard and moustache, and a fair complexion, almost like my own father - was holding a tumbler of whisky. I knew not the name of it, but by the shape and design of the glass, and by the colour of the liquid it housed, could discern what it was. I was horrified. Here was, to all intents and purposes, a Sikh man taking alcohol. Did he not realise it was forbidden? I was to be more horrified still, however, as he advanced upon the servant tidying the room. He seemed delighted by her; she was terrified. He continued to advance on her, I think breaking the glass, if I remember correctly to further frighten her, with his wrath. He managed to trap her on the bed somehow, her horrified shrieks and pleas for mercy only irritating him. Though the next part was obviously absent and left unelaborated upon, my precocious mind made sense of it. He had raped her, and she killed herself for having borne an illegitimate daughter.

My brain struggled. So the stereotypes were true, then? Punjabis were capable not only of drink, but of roundly disregarding the respect for women and acknowledgement of their equal status that lay at the heart of Sikhi? My world was painfully jolted. A man attired, as I said, not unlike my father, had committed a grievous crime against a woman who was, both socially and physically (I was sensitive to the former fact too!) as his female servant (and an Indian woman, thus hardly practised in self-defence) at his, the rich male landowner's, mercy. He had refused her his mercy. He had used her, and then left her to dispose of the evidence of his crime by disposing of herself altogether. Meanwhile, his wife, who had found out about it, did not leave, or punish him. Nor did she adopt the poor little girl. If anything, she began to get angry and worried as, now adults, her son fell in love with she who was technically his half-sister (eww!).

As I looked at my mum reading to me, all this came back to me. My mind whirred with the cascading visions of tiny, rectangular 'mugshots' of old, bearded, turbanned, male faces. I looked upon the writer of this 'humorous' article. His fat, round face was just about visible in black-and-white. I wanted to spit on it. More than anything, the urge to slap my mother fizzed dangerously in my arms. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I wanted to cry. 'How dare you try and sacrifice me to these people who have never had a period, never worried about leaving their family, never feared their wedding night with awful dread? OF COURSE marriages are full of women now; we all know the awful suffering that many Indian marriages entail and women turn up in sympathy and commiseration! They too remember how it felt to pin your scant hopes to this one day of grandeur, wishing for its flashy charm to rub itself off on the union forever sealed afterwards!'

However, it wasn't really that strong - gone are the days when I came anywhere near doing that. This was the merest flicker, and it gave way, as always to sadness. My mother is a compromised woman, lost in the values of the time she grew up in. She still moves within the fug of '50s India, and all I can do is cast it off. It is not me, it is not my culture, and I feel elated that at last I can express myself with a concrete example. So you say that these white club-going 'goris' aren't me? Well, those old, sanctimonious bearded twats aren't either! Nor is that overweight, high-blood-pressure-suffering housewife, who dares not even suggest things to her husband any longer for fear of provoking dispute! I'm not the virtuous bahu! I'm not a gold-digger! I don't want my children, my sisters or any of my immediate female relatives to suffer, and that is why I keep trying to take them all under my wing! I may not know my American cousin too well yet, or the daughter of my mum's 'brother' (I think he's actually her cousin?!) whom everyone discusses in low, disapproving tones for having married an older, white man. I may be estranged from my eldest female cousin, Rani - but I'll fight for them, I'll fight for them all in any way I can, just like I did for my eldest sister pre-wedding, when her husband started shouting at her over her wanting speeches. I got in trouble, but I was proud - because that, that is who I am, and for a brief, shining minute, I was no longer leading a double life. That is who I am, my 'identity', my 'culture'; that is me.