Have your B***S been stared at today?

Let me first tell you why the headline of the post does not spell the word out. It’s not because I won’t, ahead in the post. It’s because I didn’t want to sensationalise the post; because it must have already got you thinking what this post is gonna be about. Half my work’s done :)

Okay, so let’s get to business. Why this post? And what’s it about anyway? Let me begin at the, well, not beginning, but somewhere in between. I recently started going for morning walks (the treadmill has been given a break for now). So, dressed up casually in my Capri pants and a simple, workout-favourite pale green Reebok tee, I set out. In Cochin, even that can attract attention. But let me tell you, my intentions were not such (have you even seen the crowd that’s out here for morning walks!!!?).

And as I happily swayed my arms (and my plentiful hips), I was, for obvious reasons, stared at. The question is, where? Not my hips, as I would have thought; but at my—you guessed it right, I’m getting to the point—my boobs!

Most glances were pretty casual—“I shall gaze at your face for a good 3 seconds but as a parting gesture will take a quick look at your boobs so they don’t feel neglected.” Thank you, I say!

But there are other, more intense ones—“Hello boobs, you have a person!!!”—that drive me up the wall. I like being acknowledged for my womanhood. But this…is something way off the mark.

Boob-ogling is a hobby that cuts across men of different classes, castes, creeds, ages, social status and marital status. So, yeah, I have encountered many of them:

• The I-don’t-intend-to-stare-but-my-eyes-have-a-mind-of-their-own colleague;
• The I-am-in-love-with-your-boobs creep on the street;
• The you-are-my-daughter’s-age-but-not-my-daughter elderly ‘gentleman’;
• The hello-how-are-you? How are your mother-daughter-husband-doggie-job ‘friendly’ neighbour.

…and so on (please feel free to add your own versions of boob starers).

The fascination with boobs, I can understand. But how they become independent entities, and take over the person we are, is simply amazing! It’s also amazing how some men pay individual attention to them. I don’t mean to be vulgar here, but if you are a woman who has ever been stared at, at you know where, you’ll know what I mean. It’s infuriating, belittling and objectifying.

But what’s even more appalling? Not strangers doing it; but people you know doing it to you. Some even have conversations with the boobs. Like a woman colleague once said about one of our male co-workers who was a compulsive boob-talker, “I always wanna ask him—ABC (name withheld to protect privacy-LOL!), please, the face… the face… look at my face…” :D

Maybe an Anti Breast Staring Campaign can help. But what would that entail? Staring back at their privates? Nah! That would only delight them. An any such sort of delight will be ‘uplifting’ for them, and hair-raising for us! So, no thank you… 

Solutions?

Letters from the past

Letters…they open up a world long-gone; they take you back to a time and place you once lived in. They reveal the person you once were; and who even you may have long-forgotten.

I was quite an avid letter-writer. Having been a fauji kid, I moved town every 2-3 years; which meant making new friends, and leaving old ones behind. But I fervently wrote letters to my friends, and for many years, kept in touch with them. Until the internet came along and the art & science of letter-writing fell out of the scope of my life.

Recently, while chatting with Kasturi, my childhood friend, who is now in Cochin, she opened one of the boxes lying close by and took out a bunch of letters—letters I had written to her; first from Calcutta and then from Trichy. We were the ‘bestest’ of friends in school and hence my letters to her spoke about everything under the sun; from studies, movies, parents, new and old friends, gossips, and of course, boys! From the hard time I was having with cramming for board exams to how the dance parties were fun/boring depending on the amount of attention I could garner from the opposite sex. 

I particularly had a hearty laugh at this one anecdote I had written: “This time, at the Christmas and New Year’s Eve parties, I danced with a lot of boys (because Rashmi had not come)!” Rashmi, fyi, was our classmate, who was and still is one of the prettiest girls we had ever seen. @Rashmi: I loved you nevertheless, babe!!! :)

Other stuff these letters had: silly, obscene limericks, adult jokes, songs, sketches, et all! They were not just letters. There were canvasses of my life! I could actually imagine myself, plonked on my bed, scribbling ardently or secretly penning out these letters during a boring economics lecture in school.

Reading out excerpts from them was like going back in time. So many beautiful memories. And as I stood there, sharing that nostalgic moment with my friend, I wondered…why did we stop writing letters? Why don’t we have time for them anymore? And despite emails and facebook and all the photo-sharing we do, why doesn’t it feel as good as letters did?

All said and done, those days are never going to come back. At least I am thankful for having been a part of a generation that used to write letters and has now moved on to becoming tech savvy. I am glad I wasn’t born directly into this mad world of smartphones and tablet computers. Yes, that does make me seem older. But then, I am not complaining… :)

Hey, You! Woman driver!!!

Yeah…I’ve committed that unforgivable sin. I am a woman. And OH MY GOD… I drive!!! :-O

If you are a man reading this, you must be shaking your head in exasperation, recalling the many times a clueless woman driver broke right into your racing track on MG Road. Damn! I apologise on behalf of my sisterhood; because I know God made roads so you could honk till our eardrums burst, verbally abuse and make rude gestures at us and rash drive through the roads like it was your ancestral possession.

Who believes women can drive? The men don’t! No, I’m not generalizing. But does a man ever let go the opportunity to joke about women’s driving skills? Sadly, I feel a number of women don’t want to drive because they worry too much about such criticism from the male quarters. C’mon girls, no one ever said driving was a man’s job! And what really defines good driving, anyway?

I don’t think I’m perfect behind the wheels. I suffer from road rage. I make hasty decisions. I mutter swear words under my breath. But I know I’m pretty good too. What I don’t do is overtake like my life depends on it, make gestures at people or abuse them, and speed irrationally. This may not necessarily make me a good driver. But it sure makes me a safe driver. And I would take safety and cautiousness over quality any day.

We may be slow, we may drive in the middle of the road at 20 km/hr and we may suck at parking, but we surely meet with fewer accidents, hurt fewer people on road and make sure we stay alive for longer when behind the wheels (that’s what statistics say, at least). If that doesn’t classify as good driving, what does!

PS: Dear men, please refrain from eye rolling and “what the heck do you think you are doing?” hand gestures as well. Even they classify as rude. And I promise I’ll forgive you for driving with a mobile phone jammed into your ears and for forgetting to turn that indicator on (that’s not for decoration, by the way).