Kartikey Sehgal

“Mother I want to be gay”.

Mother stopped doing her work.

“The last time I held Sheetal’s hand and walked on the road, everybody gave me a funny look. But the gay people are celebrating so freely and nobody is objecting”.

“I also read that gayness was no big deal in Indian culture and many Gods also turned into women at times. I think Krishna and Vishnu”.

Mother was shocked to hear such blasphemy.

“Sure, there were sages who were against this but their thought was not forced. Some also thought it was a disease. Maybe it is. But I am all well mother”.

Mother was perspiring.

“Don’t be scared. Your fear is a result of western homophobia, given to us by those who colonized us”.

Mother finally spoke. “If we all turned…it… then how will civilizations persist?”

“Mother everybody doesn’t have to turn “it”. It could be a disease or a disorder as well. Or you could marry and also be “it”. But in special cases, “it” was allowed. Maybe special meant that the couple were not facing any mental disorder or abuse. Now you always claimed I was special”.

“Stop this nonsense. You are not special”.

“No I must be special. That is why you stop me from meeting Sheetal, Sheena, Aarti, Mariam, Minnie and other girls”.

Mother was stunned. She knew what was coming.

“But you never stopped me from meeting Arush, Ajay, Abhay, Vinod, Charles and other men. Why mother why? Because I am special and you always wanted me to mix with the men. You knew it all the time”.

Then suddenly, so that mother gasps and falls on the sofa, he tore his shirt and was found wearing a shirt with the slogan, ‘Gaylord’”.

“I am going mother. I am going to find the next man and hit on him. Unless you can think of some alternative”.

“Just give me a moment son!”

Mother rushed to the telephone and called Mrs. Saxena.

“Hello Mrs. Saxena. Is your daughter free for a night over tonight?”

Santa Singh

Illustration: Kartikey Sehgal

Diwali is time for shy men to become brave hearts. My two friends decided to be generous and give a box of sweets to a girl.

About these two boys: They seldom talk to anybody. One of them is bespectacled and doesn’t tuck his shirt inside his trousers unless there is a formal function. He walks timidly, miles away from girls. The other one is a devotee of his friend. He is tall and lanky and very supportive of all forms of cowardice.

Our bespectacled man, let’s call him B, wanted to wish ‘Happy Diwali’ to the girl. It was an act of immense courage that required immaculate planning. My help was sought and I told him to knock on the door and ask for her. Then give her a small box of sweets and wish her. But B was worried that if the girl’s mother opened the door, then B would be in trouble. B would never have the courage to ask the mother for the girl. He would keep standing until the mother slammed the door on him.

B’s lanky friend suggested that they throw the box through the window. B refused the idea stating that the girl could get injured and curse the boys. The friend suggested that they don’t mention B’s name in the greeting card attached to the box. But then she would never know that B bought it for her.

B told me his desire; he wanted to give the gift but not make it look like he was actually giving the gift. He wanted to appear very casual and natural, like he was just passing by and decided to give sweets to the girl since she saw him. Many plans were discussed but none had the spark B wanted.

Frustration took over. I told B not to go ahead with this idea because it could cause great trouble. He did not listen to me but listened to his libido and asked one of the local cracker-loving boys to help him out. The plan was set.

The local boy, clad in brown shorts and a half-sleeved shirt, crept alongside the floor railing and towards the door. He placed some crackers near the door. Red crackers; they make lot of noise. According to the plan, the boy would burst the crackers and then run. B would be standing at some distance. The girl or somebody would open the door and the boy, fed on 50 Rs, would run away. The girl would then see B who will promptly point towards the running boy. She would see the box of sweets in his hand and surely ask him to come inside. But B would just give the box of sweets to her and immediately leave.

The boy lit one cracker and ran without waiting for it to burst. He dashed across B and across the lanky friend and I; we were standing near the elevator. We could see B standing and scared. The boy had done his job but the crackers won’t burst. The door opened and the girl saw B standing. She waved out and said hello. B didn’t respond. She asked him if he was fine. B didn’t respond. As soon as the girl stepped out, the crackers started bursting. She screamed and ran inside her home. B was too scared to move. A minute later the girl opened the door and glared at B.

“Why didn’t you tell me there were crackers?”

After she slammed the door on him, B walked towards us, dejected and hurt.

Goa Education Minister Atanasio Monseratte’s son Rohit, charged with allegedly raping a 14-year-old German girl, Tuesday managed to elude the police, even as his father maintained he was innocent. (Source)

The state police booked Rohit for alleged sexual and mental abuse of the 14-year-old girl and was charged with offences including rape, abetment to crime and outraging her modesty. (Source)

Some female acquaintances remarked that women have no reason to walk late at night and behave like **u** (the word) and attract attention.

I told them, “That’s because you want to get married and stay at home. You are working right now only to attract the highest earning man and make his home. All you are interested is in money and wealth.”

They didn’t respond and I continued casually.

“You can say that women can stay at home because you won’t mind doing so. Of course, the home has to be wealthy and your friend circle influential.”

“You are a dog”

“You can’t get a girl yourself so you are…”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls”

Many more praises were showered on me. Of course I don’t know how to talk to girls. I am unaware of the rules of the world.

Girls should stay at home because it has been discovered that they don’t have artistic talents and their desires are secondary.

That fourteen year old girl from Germany who was harassed and apparently raped by the son of a minister in Goa should have had friends like these girls who were angry with me for misbehaving with them.

They could have told the German girl the wisdom of being home dolls and informed her of the superior Indian culture on whose pretext women are not raped and killed regularly.

I should be sane and accept that it was the fault of the girl’s mother that her daughter got raped. She should not have given the mobile phone to her girl. Without a mobile phone there would have been no lewd messages to read.

The mother is in India for researching on Indian mythologies. She should know better about India’s glorious past where there is hardly any erotic literature; kamasutra was just a passing phase.

Like the real Indian mother-best mothers in the world according to Indian men-she should have closely guarded her daughter and never left her alone in hotels or car parks or public places. By her mere presence, the girl was inviting rape.

Of course, Indian rapists must rape so that they can tell their wife or friends about the difference in raping an Indian woman and a German woman. They at least have a strong purpose; what purpose did the mother achieve by giving freedom to her daughter and not guarding her constantly?

Let’s consider the Indian future of the German couple now; the girl would be called a **u* and the mother would be charged for neglect.

Since the girl is a **u*, it is ok to rape her because she is constantly ‘asking for it’. It is indeed a possibility that the mother must be a **u* as well and therefore she mustn’t complain if she is pawed in public. (Like this)

I am upset and feel that I am not a man since I am not raping or thinking about raping women; especially the ones who ask for it by being cloth-less or mother-less.

However, I do enjoy looking at them and inventing some sexy scenarios in my mind. I feel guilty about my thoughts after meeting these acquaintances. Maybe I should become pristine like them by being the kind of man they want; the one that earns money to domesticate a woman.

As for the mother Fadela Fuchs and her daughter; change your surname. It sounds like a popular abuse and implies that you are ‘asking for it’.

This girl, by Indian standards, is asking for it

Photograph by jmsuarez.

A general photo and model not related to story

My mother and I made fun of Chinese babies while watching the film ‘Christmas in August’. Then we discovered that the film is Korean and we promptly implied all Chinese jokes to Koreans.

In this film, actor Suk-kyu Han plays the role of Jung-won, a terminally ill photographer who owns and manages a photo studio. We laughed whenever Jung-won smiled; he smiled almost all the time. We laughed when his father, who knows about the illness, stared passively or solemnly at people and things. Then Jung-won met Da-rim (Eun-ha Shim) and she too started smiling; we had a laugh fest for some time.

I recalled some popular jokes on Chinese people. How do Chinese or Koreans name their baby? They drop  a utensil and name the baby after the sound the utensil makes. How do Chinese (Korean) babies see the world? In CinemaScope.

The film has some instances of abrupt editing of shots and background score but otherwise it is ‘picture perfect’. It was joyful to see the smiling Jung-won get frustrated while teaching his father to operate the VCR; or make a portrait of an old lady that would serve as a memory after her death.

I knew that he would die leaving all these people alone, including the pretty Da-rim who could then visit the photo studio and celebrate reminiscence with the cameras and machines.

I could laugh because Jung-won and Da-rim were at ease with the photography and the choreography of the scenes. The width of their smile presented the limit of human life and supremacy of moments.

And in my expansive laughter, I collected the scooter and the lanes and the studio and the colour of the film. I collected Da-rim’s skirt and her school like uniform. And they are mine, as much as they belong to director Jin-ho Hur.

[The author missed the last 30% of the movie to attend a movie preview. He planned to write about that film in this story. The film was terrible and after seeing how this story turned out, he dropped the idea.

You can understand the paradox he wanted to project. The film he saw is supposedly a comedy and the author did not laugh at all. He laughed at the ‘sad' film on television and the ‘funny' film in the theatre bored him to seriousness.]

Jung-won teaching his father to operate the VCR

Photographs: www.shuqi.org