Thattathin Marayathu (transl. Beneath the Shadow of the Veil)

 

I was trying to stalk two seniors from school a few minutes ago when I stumbled upon a picture of my ex with one of them, dating back to 2017. Note that we never really dated but I was so close to them (not them to me though) that a mere ghosting incident felt like a brutal break-up. I was devastated beyond the capability of my catharsis. I remember crying like a baby deep in hunger, the Diwali lights blazing both my incessant tears and the eyes producing them. It was a cinematic muse, an inspiration for art and words that I am typing at the moment. I was a 15-year-old 10th grader in 2017 and they were a college freshman. It’s a sight to behold how different we all look from our high school years. I have grown and highlighted my hair. They have shed their cuteness and replaced it with a very protective, rugged look. I don’t think they are aware of my hair. I don’t know if they know that I look nothing like Jon Snow from Game Of Thrones, as they predicted. I wonder if they know that my love for Malayalam actors and cinema has only grown. I want to ask them if they borrowed their personality from a Muslim Malayalam actor. I want to rave about Parvathy and Kumbalangi Nights and Joji with them. I want to talk about that amazing dance reel by two Malayali medicos on Rasputin that now has almost 10M views. Or do I? I don’t think I possess an answer. I don’t want to go to a person who just can’t reciprocate my feelings no matter how hard they try. I deserve better. I don’t want to be that underconfident, miserable and perplexed person I used to be some months back. 

A personality trait, good or bad being subjective, is that I can’t hold grudges. I am always likely to forgive people no matter how greatly they hurt me. I have found, over years, that this helps me to move on. Vengeance is never a healthy emotion. How do you get over a person when you’re constantly wanting to hurt them back? I believe in forgiving people so that they still respect me as a person and vice-versa. 

I still have no idea how I would react if I come across them in the city bazaar or in a millennial café. Would they recognize me? I sometimes try to find them in random strangers I never come across more than once. Are they so magnificent? I know them enough to know that they are long asleep right now.

In the pursuit of progressive men

Nothing much has been going on in my life. I live a boring life where a mere hangout with my male friends lands me into a deep existential crisis about my morals and beliefs as a feminist. Indian teenage boys thrive on rape jokes, constant objectification of women, porn riddled with the male gaze, homophobia, misogyny and transphobia. Sometimes I feel sad and sorry for the women associated with these young men for they’re constantly stripped of their agency and individuality just because men fail to know any better. Younger brothers being chaperones to their elder sisters is one such example we see every day but fail to evaluate. I have identified as a feminist for as long as I can recall but in a household devoid of daughters, it wasn’t until I turned 18 that I started realizing the deep-rooted patriarchy, casual sexism and misogyny which have always existed. And now I can’t help but notice this in everything, everywhere. Men romanticizing the toil and misery of their mothers instead of contributing in the housework. Men wanting homely wives. Men justifying dowry but hating on that one stereotypical gold-digger from some Punjabi music video. Men slut-shaming Swara Bhaskar for her masturbation scene in Veere Di Wedding as if they don’t joke about their penises and their emissions most of the time. Men calling effeminate men “chakka” or “meetha” as if they don’t sexualize lesbians to death. It’s a sick experience hanging out with guys and I really hope these men don’t give trauma to the women they date. Just men being men and women having to change themselves because of them. 

Where are all the progressive men?