Goddess or Slut

Sometimes I wish I could be a wild slut than be your goddess.

Placing me on a pedestal binds me strong. Your look of adoration eats into my heart. How can you expect me to be perfect? I am not a goddess. but a woman, wild and wanton. I have my desires, and just like everyone else, I would like to attain them, means be damned.

But you....... You stop me. With your steadfast belief in my integrity and my sense of fair play. Your eyes are guileless, open and honest, with all your faults bared to me. You place your secrets on my feet, and burden me with your innocence and trust. I am your goddess, you tell me, and add that you, your secrets, your ambitions, your insecurities are safe with me. You add, I will never hurt you. You say, I will take care of you. You say, you trust me of being incapable of doing wrong. You ask favours of me and I give. You ask for help and I provide. Because I am your goddess and your goddess will always take care of you. Your goddess always puts you first, and can never do wrong.

You move away, your eyes still full with that worshipful look. Oh, if only you knew how that look makes me grit my teeth...

What if I told you that there are wicked thoughts in my head at times? What if I told you that I am tired of harbouring your needs and putting them before mine? What if I told you that when I see your secrets, they remind me of my own - pathetic, both. What if I told you that I am sick of helping you, because I would rather help myself first. What if I spilled my guts, your secrets, my sins, your ambitions and shred my robes and ran naked down on the street, dropping my beatific smile? What if I devoured children and bedded strangers in throes of lust?

Would you love me still? Would you worship me still? Would you want to hold me still?

Would you? Would you?

The Measure of Things

Despite my rant about money, I cannot but acknowledge that money is the most convenient and the most obvious measure for worldly success.

Just like marks (read grades) are the measure for intelligence. Just like the duration of a marriage is a measure for the love between the couple. Just like the beauty of a woman is measured by the number of men who desire her. Just like the worth of a painter is measured by the price his work commands.

If there were no readymade measures to assess the chaotic world that we live in, how would simple minded folks ever get by?

Measures are a necessary evil alright. But there are things beyond measure, where the human capacity to measure becomes subjective, and depends upon the viewers perspective. And often times, the measure that the world provides, such as money, grades etc falls short, woefully short. Thats just me, I guess. For most others, what the world provides as measures is good enough.

It is not the worlds fault that I have a wacky perspective of things. I am a dork. And I shall continue being so. And will continue paying a price for being so.

Dork. Dork. Dork.

Entitled to a Woman

(Image from the Internet)

Over the past weeks, I have met several young people of both genders, none of them married. I met some of them with their parents, who worry incessantly about finding the right life partner for their offspring. This is so typically Indian. Education, marriage and sometimes even a home, Indian parents want to do it all for their children, sometimes even at the cost of their own well-being and material pleasure.

I understand where these parents come from, though I do not like it. Afterall, I am one of them too. However, this note is not from the viewpoint of the parents, but from the young people's.

Young girls really really chafe about the fact that the men they would marry, as arranged by their parents, would be on the basis of the young man's education, the economic status of their home, the status in the society and so on. Not on the basis of whether they find these men attractive, like minded-ness etc, and sometimes even without these two qualities. The way the girl feels about the boy she would sleep with, and spend the rest of her life with, is expected to evolve - positively - post marriage.

On the other hand, young men feel no such trepidation. Young men, if they have been lucky enough to be born to affluent parents who have managed to give them good education and a good home, feel almost entitled to any girl their parents line up for them. It does not even OCCUR to them that the young girl, who is trading in her life, may not like him. And he does not care. He assumes that she would like him, and in most cases, love him. However, he would make no effort whatsoever to be worthy of her love. The reason for this is the fact that young boys in India have no clue how to behave with a girl. Also, this mechanism of parents arranging for the girls, makes it very convenient to ignore this touchy feelie territory. So, he sits back, and either chooses/rejects the girls his parents line up for him. He is entitled to his wife. Afterall, he is a male.

The arranged marriage relationship, no wonder, seems so awful to most young girls. The girls of the current generation - and truth be told, even the previous ones - do not like men who feel "entitled" to them. They would like to be woo-ed, won over, charmed and all the romantic things that their sensuous nature demands.

The Indian society, however, is not equipped to create such boys/men. And indian women have no alternative other than indian men in their geographies. No wonder, the indian marriage events are so huge, with parents creating a big smoke cover, to hide the inconvenient truth from the bride. Once married, the great indian system also provides no real exits for the girl. She is the one who will carry the burden of making the marriage work, ensuring all the needs of her husband are taken care of, his relationships are in place, and so is his house and children. The indian male focusses on being the provider, and nothing else. In case she fails to make the marriage work, she would be ostracized forever by the society. It really does not matter that her husband is a drunkard, or a insensitive lout, or simply someone who she cannot get along with, she is expected to carry the yoke without a murmur, as divorce is a ugly ugly word. The man, on the other hand, stands effortlessly on his impregnable citadel of patriarchy, and enjoys his entitlement of this woman he has married. Without making any effort to be the man of his bride would like him to be, and to treat her the way she would like to be treated. In most cases, the man would not have spared a single brain cycle on thinking about what his wife wants.

This entitlement system sucks.