Mistake

Does mistakes in life embarrass you? Make you think oh I wasted time on this? There are some mistakes I would like to revisit and correct. Why I ask myself? Maybe to feel good and to enjoy those times in a better way. But I don't regret over them though bittersweet, I paid a price for each mistake and they did make me strong.As someone said its not enough that you just make the mistake, be sure you learned the lesson.This was one such mistake that changed my life- a wrong gang.

I loved meeting new people I still do. I thought I was a good judge , I think I still am :) the trouble arises when I let someone know me too well. I had my share of lessons in the past but this was a totally different experience.

We all joined the hostel for graduation on the same day.It was not my first time but for many others who were at home till 12th std it was their first time and I could see girls crying. Never did these parents who stood with buckets and bed rolls know their daughters would cry three years down the lane thinking of leaving for home, or over some arbit guy whom they met here.

6 of us who lived in nearby rooms became friends.My room mate was the last to join . I used to sulk over not having a roomie and voila!I was blessed with one from my same course and home town who turned out a Judas- with whom I planned trips to home till a semester. I was too blunt even then, said what suited me. From the beginning I knew I never belonged there, with them. My thoughts, my ways, my plans were different. Theirs were limited to getting a degree maybe a job or just marry.I was an alien to them who made them feel inferior ( they told me that later).

Now hostels had political affiliations. It was a tradition to identify a hostel to either KSU or SFI. Mine was unfortunately a KSU followers hub and I was not a KSUite.The others in my gang had no political affiliation but were motivated by seniors to join KSU.Seniors soon realized I would not heed to their wishes. One girl in our gang was quite pretty and guys had started commenting her in college. She had some financial problems and was always worried. To help her out we decided to start a small income generation program( IGP :) ). Most of us painted so we made hand painted handkerchiefs. It earned quite some money.

I don't know what happened later. We had some misunderstanding and this girl thought I was telling people on campus that I felt pity over her and was supporting her.Some seniors also thought that I was the SFI spy in hostel .Clubbing all these allegations some scheming minds who were waiting to split us planned to trap me.

One day when I was asleep my own room mate and 3 others in the gang wrote a written petition to the warden stating that I was harassing them and I had insulted this particular female by linking her name with guys in college.I boss over them and threaten them because they come from poor families was another allegation. Had it been today I would say that it doesn't even qualify for a kindergarten complaint. I was called . In my sleepy state I saw so many lined outside warden's room.Oblivious to what happened, I asked these friends what the issue was . They stood silent. Warden read the petition and asked me to apologize , I refused. Some seniors supported me, some supported them and before I knew what was happening, I had to leave the hostel.I was shocked at being cheated, sad that when we shared meals these plans were going on in their heads. One member in the gang was silent and crying saying she could not stand this.

Months later the pretty girl came and apologized and said she was manipulated by seniors to do so. Well the whole incident shook me a bit, and as far as my party comrades were concerned this was fuel for their pent up anger towards my hostel.

I never spoke to any of them till I left and I don't even today.My roomie is still my neighbor but I don't talk to her.Years have passed by people might think it was a prank but to me it cost a lot then for a mistake I had not done. The hidden agenda of campus politics.

I still meet new people, but maybe I am more careful.Tales of woes doesn't make me altruistic and I don't help beggars anymore.

UC Days

I looked into those eyes for the first time and I saw truth. I saw pain.
‘Mama’ as all called him was part of our campus way before us. In his thirties probably mama (whose real name is Badru) who is a mentally retarded person knew the nook and corner of UC college and would run around with his imaginary car honking "pom- pom". I can visualise him even as I write this now. To some he was a joker, to others he was the symbol of UC. It was sad to see him with unbuttoned shirts and sometimes unzipped pants running around.I often saw him singing all alone comfortable in his solitude. He loved being there without his mother scrutinising him. People said he had an elder brother whose condition was worse and they were born from parents who were cousins which led to this complication. His house being near the skinner hostel he was frequently seen near the Psychology dept. What irked me was the cruelty of the society when I saw how the boys reinforced Mama to pull the dupatta of girls passing by and made him sing a song which was mostly humming of some mapila song he heard at weddings by offering him chocolates. He smiled all the time sometimes drooling and wetting his shirt and people found him delightful to uplift their moods.

Psychology supposedly deals with mental behaviour and cognitive processes but people who took up the subjects had no idea why they did so. Maybe fascination, job opportunities, to repeat medical entrances - god knows. Very few of my batchmates actually understood what they read forget how they would practice what they learnt.

We would have ideological fights when students of psychology would just tend to show off by labelling people names of psychiatric disorders and insisted to speak in psychological terms to show other students we were superior.
I sadly held a reverence to my subject and insisted human beings should be treated with dignity and compassion.
One day as I entered the class I was informed we had a free hour. We were all busy chattering when Mama appeared at our window. One smart guy asked mama to sing. When mama refused he held a stick which, always frightened mama and asked him to sing. By then others started getting interested including the HoD’s daughter who claimed to be bestowed with psychological insights by birth (mother claimed it daughter believed it). Someone held out a chocolate and asked him to dance and sing. Poor thing looked at the chocolate like a 3 year old. I looked into those eyes for the first time I saw truth, pain and helplessness. People inside the class room looking eagerly outside made me wonder which side of the world was insane one looking from this side or that side of the window? What if mama thought we were mad? Weren’t we?, to fool with him despite studying this subject?

I got up and yelled them to stop. There was a sudden silence .“What’s your problem” ?, the guy asked and others started speaking in hushed tones. “I think it’s unethical considering the fact we study this subject, also considering the fact we claim we are sane individuals” I said. “Don’t you teach us and we were just having some fun”, he replied. I had a sudden urge to slap the SOB but my eyes welled with tears. I could not believe they could take this as fun. “What if that guy was your own brother”, I asked? “But he isn’t right? and don’t over react” he yelled back. I stormed out of the class. People were silent when I returned. Today when I look back and think could I have presented it more calmly my conscience says no!!! Had it been today I would have beaten that guy for what he said.

Years have passed by since then. None of the genuine psychologists ended up being one (if you are genuine u cant stay in this pretentious "I know it all world" for long!) and all those born with psychological insights they are probably infiltrating minds of innocent people reinforcing them to do things that’s amusing to them, offering chocolates and what not.After all they are Prodigal daughters and sons of Skinner and Pavlov using jargons to soothe their egos.They can hardly tell where mind begins and ends.

But Mama is still there in that campus preserving his sanity in an insane world.

Random Thoughts at 1. 43 am

Reading a passage from Jonathan Kozol’s “Death at an Early Age” my thoughts wandered to some comments I heard recently. Jonathan Kozol is an educator who, having taught in a traditional school understood the pitfalls of the system. His first years in Boston school with Negro children is the background of this book.Reading him is a delight. In the first chapter of this book he describes a student “Stephen” a maltreated foster child who never did well in school. The only skill he possessed was drawing which never could be accepted by the Art teacher whose dictum required him to copy images not to alter and fictionalise them.
Kozol describes a very touching incident in this chapter. When he once confronted Stephen who was crouching like a rat , he told him to sit straight or he would mistake him for a rat. Stephen replies laughing that’s not possible because I got no tail. It somehow struck Kozol and the school psychiatrist that Stephen was trying hard to believe he was not a rat because of the absence of a tail. Similar feelings of inferiority were subjected by the Boston School system which saw every Negro child as an animal and the school as an animal house.
The racial prejudice among teachers amazes me, for that matter injustice of any kind from teachers supposedly torch bearers is disheartening. I remember reading Om Prakash Valmiki’s Jhoothan. He describes his early classroom experiences where he was forced to sit on the floor behind the last bench because he belonged to the Chamar caste – (Chamars skin animal hide).

Recently when I spoke to a friend he said “Are you crazy to study these tribals”- they deserve to be where they are. If you emancipate them all who will do what they do? And you should see their vengeance when they get into positions. I was silent did he mean people from reservation category were revengeful than the general category?
Well what do you expect from people repressed and suppressed for years deprived of basic rights?

Where do they deserve to be? Why are people so prejudiced? How come we claim being globalised yet these traits seep out? Reminds me of a class in social psychology where we discussed how prejudices were formed. Logically listening to it, one would never think biased because the class was a total deconstruction. But soon after the class students discussed in hushed tones as to how Muslims were underdeveloped and terrorists. 

This prejudice is so much well built into our belief system and sadly education in formative years plays a significant role. My dad for instance was too conscious about the ancestral lineage and occupations. He never referred anyone with their present occupation. To him a doctor was always the boatman’s son or the Indian President a coconut climber’s brother.Individual's merits were drowned in his ancestral lineage. I saw it in my fathers family too so the formative years and training given was evident. However he failed to pass it down effectively to me. He blames the commies’ ideologies to have infiltrated my thought process but I don’t know I somehow can’t understand why we want to find faults in others to preserve ourselves.That reminds me we should discuss Erich Fromm sometime :)

U and Me

The weather was sultry, so was my life lately. When you are in deep waters believe me taking advices never help. But she offered to meet me and again I was here for her to feel better by advising me and not for my good. Same place, same mall, same seat, but how different one minute was from the other, yet we believe it’s the same place, same thing, same husband you love, same child you send to school. The difference arises when they act differently but even if they were ritualising monotony, are they the same? When I told G , that the ME he sees now wont be the ME he sees tomorrow he smiled and said , “I know that” , but his eyes were teasing me , wondering if its again one of my blue days. Adi has started rebelling recently; he keeps away from me, sulking at my asking his mark sheets, entering his room, asking him who’s on the phone. Lately he is always on phone and disconnects seeing me. He has even changed our snap together and replaced it with one with his friends. Adolescent changes, you know it better, G says. But, he fails to see what I see, fails to hear to what I hear.
I asked him not to open the Pandora’s Box, but then again Adi had to know about it some day. Did he really have to tell him? Tell him that I am not his mother that his mother passed away at his birth, that I was his father’s second wife. He did not cry or scream at the revelation, but did he understand what it was all about? I don’t know if being an adopted child and having a step mother are two different things.

G and I met at a friend’s party a decade ago. I guess we were both new to the gang; I was new in town and had joined MRS as a counsellor. I preferred being alone and in a metro, life moved quite fast without much interference something which I wanted at that point of time. I had survived two disasters in the past year, my dad’s death and my ex-lover’s wedding. And since I could not indulge myself in smoking or alcohol or drugs, owing to my professional ethics, counselling patients and personal ethics being a god believer, I thought an escape would work. And that’s exactly what this city offered me - a hide out.

I hated parties. Firstly I had not been to many, dad never permitted and growing up that way I never ventured when I found opportunities. Blaring music, psychedelic lights, drinks and people howling was the picture that came into my mind when I thought of parties. But Shikha my roomie who knew me quite well in a month told me nothing of that sort would happen there. It’s more of a get together at a friend’s place where people hold discussions over a cup of coffee. Now discussions were depressing to me because I was in no mood to speak. Its fun she said and to keep her happy I agreed. After all what could happen over a cup of coffee?

The gathering looked more or less similar as Shikha promised. There were people from different walks of life with interesting hobbies. Ron was a wild life photographer, his recent explorations took him to Kazaringa, he spoke of Rhinoceros with a passion Wordsworth would of Daffodils. He had a typical photographer style in khaki pants, Animals are friends not food, T shirt and a pony tail. Shikha was a physicist working on nuclear physics, our room was filled with her papers strewn all over and books on floor, she was totally messy and confused about everything in life from her relationship to managing her finances. The only clarity she had was about physics and music. She sang quite well.
Karthik was into stock market and the odd one out, I mean he had nothing of interest with others , he kept interrupting or getting up and was flooded with calls, he was short tempered and given a topic to discuss would be factual and materialistic in analysis. The reason why we had to bear him was he was Shika’s fiancée.
Nova, was a VJ , she painted fabulously and dreamed of exhibiting her stuff some day, she was passionate about colours and a bit funky as in piercing body and colouring hair, mom would call me outrageous if I did those.
Andy was an environmentalist and eco friendly guy, he rode a cycle everywhere to reduce pollution, he was involved in too many projects related to environment, having him around would make you nervous. He would comment on how eco friendly your dress, shoes, bag and sofa was.

And then there was G. They called him G. He was a Business analyst. What made him look odd at the party was that he was heavily overdressed in formals like some model from Raymond’s. When I asked him to pass the snacks he gave me a “Business - people -don’t – do- odd - jobs -lady - sort -of -look” . MCP ( male chauvinist pig ),I mumbled. That’s when someone caught hold of my dupatta not seeing anyone around ,my eyes went downwards and that’s a beautiful scene I cherish till today a baby maybe around 10-11 months was trying to stand up holding on to me. I didn’t know why he came to me of all the women in that room but maybe we were destined to meet.

I must admit when G took him from me yelling at him for coming to me I felt my feelings for him to have softened. And from Shikha I learned his wife died during child birth and he was adamant about raising Adi all alone. I don’t know if a 11 month old can turn around and smile or was it my feeling that day but I felt Adi smiled at me lying in G’s shoulder and I knew a bond was born.

G becoming a part of my life was odd too. parties and gatherings of this nature was common and in one such meeting I remember discussing to G- we had become friendlier then- I was worried about mom pressing on marrying and I wish I could get rid of the whole idea. “Why don’t you introduce some guy to her and pretend you will marry eventually”?. “That’s too filmy G and besides whom would I introduce”? “You could, you know anyone out of here” – he suggested. “Oh yeah you think Andy, Ron or Karthik would do”?. “Yeah why not”? said G, “its just to act”. “Then why don’t you”, I asked? He froze and I knew I touched the wrong chord. We didn’t speak for some time, Adi had started speaking and he babbled some synonyms which sounded like ma-ma. “He tries to say mama, G said, though he doesn’t have one, and I am trying to make him call da- da all day”. That’s when Adi caught hold of me again and screamed at the top of his voice ma-ma, he was excited at this own mastery and sudden discovery. I could sense a silence in the room all looking at us, at jubilant Adi, some looked with pity at the kid, and some looked embarrassed for me. I don’t know why I did what I then did, I scooped him on to my lap and said,” Yes mama’s boy, I am mamma”. Adi looked puzzled at his wishful thinking being reinforced. G was silent again.

“Are you sure Shikha asked, not that I got reservation against widowers or G for that matter, but it’s a big responsibility”. “When Adi grows up”…. “I can handle this I told Shikha”. Did I mean it? Why was I doing it? Did I love G? Was it for Adi? Was it for me?

Shikha was on time as per her schedule which was 45 minutes beyond the fixed time. The regular grumbling began. “Do you know my son is weak in physics- a physicist’s son”?” But he is not into commerce either- like his dad”. “Do you know what he wants to be”? “An artist it seems- I tell you Nova is responsible for this”. “See Adi is far better he is good at everything just like you”. I smiled, “The point is he is not your son but he is so much like you and my own son is a jerk if I could call him so”. That was the point people never could see- Adi as mine.

“So what’s it bugging you now”? “Adi is growing he needs space takes it in that way”. Now she was talking after all the cribbing about her son. I smiled again. “Now don’t give me that smile, you always do that”. I smiled broadly. “I am surprised you didn’t want a child with G, it’s your fault” Except for physics she never knew what suggestion to give, I thought. “I am happy with my life, Shikha and I don’t regret a bit”. “You know what ‘G’ is a nice guy”. “Shikha thanks for that information but we are discussing about Adi”. “Well I guess it’s gonna be ok”. “Is that why you insisted we come here, I asked”? “No. I thought we deserved a girl’s day out”., she gave her sheepish grin.
On the way back home all I could see was snapshots of Adi growing up, how much had this kid caught up my world. Is it this hard to be a parent?

The room looked dark, so was life these days. “Turn on the lights Shikha”, I said and I heard a blast.

Happy birthday to you……. B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y mine? What was the date?…. , it had escaped my mind.

“Mom sorry to keep you from my room. We had this surprise planned for you. Dad and Shikha aunty all were involved. I had to keep you away”. My 17 year old toddler hugged me and said “Mom you are the best how can I keep you away”. And here I was worrying to hell.

“G” smiled and whispered “he chose his mom when he was one and he is a responsible son”. Nothing had changed from the party 16 years ago, though aged, the same friends, same ambience, the same life just tipped with a tinge of happiness. My toddler winked at me and took me to his room. On the wall was a huge portrait of me with him when he was one year old. “Mom, not even dad has a place in there”, he said. I smiled. “I really don’t mind that, G said”. “You know, Adi is smarter than me”. “Why”, I asked? “He had a sense for best at a very young age. Left to me I would never ask you”.”Yeah I got better sense of women”, dad. “Dad’s a flirt mom, let’s ditch him.” I smiled. “Mom don’t blush at dad’s words”, Adi teased. “Well your dad’s worth it dear”, G said and I sat back admiring the men in my life.

Life was turning mediocre

Life was turning mediocre. The same job, same classes, same answers in papers being evaluated. I had been ignoring calls and mails, though I could not find reason sufficient to substantiate the action. There was emptiness but not loneliness, singlehood- to me was a blessing. It freed me from the burden of conforming to things I don’t want to. When I stepped into work, time lost pace, I never found it boring, though yes life was again mediocre.

Ashu called again, he was getting desperate these days, and he wanted a final answer. Same time the dean called up and said he was sending a student to meet me. Over the last 2 months 4 suicides had taken place on campus. The council always had a students counselling unit but the professors were from different departments and counselling was more of personal talks hence often biased and students who knew the professors would never want to see them again. I was new on campus and had a counselling background but I was not a senior to be entrusted with this duty. The dean still insisted. I wanted to tell him having a counselling degree doesn’t make one fit for the job and I was no god. Lately I was shocked about my inner feelings.

I didn’t have the energy to fight with Ashu at this point. The suicides and atmosphere in classes were disturbing enough. I promised to talk to him later a promise I never kept. I admit I am not the best individual, though a counsellor by degree. I never had tackled my issues well, but something’s changed over past 2 years in our relationship, I had grown matured or less demanding, or rather Ashu had grown impatient and more demanding. Things that fascinated him ceased to interest me. Those days he was a star in college so I was love sick puppy when he hardly noticed. But the moment I stopped drooling around maybe he felt the need for attention now he seemed to be the love sick puppy. In short I was back to being the ‘real me’.

Someone knocked at the door, a tall lanky boy not more than 21.Looked as if he hadn’t shaved and bathed for a week or two maybe. The bandage on wrist need not be explained for it screamed- “I don’t care so I did it”. But his eyes cold and lethargic also with a tinge of desperation said, “I don’t know if you can but will you help me”? He handed a letter from the dean “Nakul Gupta” final year Mechanical it read. I left it on my table showing him it was of no importance to me neither his case sheet nor the authority that send it. “Why you don’t sit down Nakul”, I said. He looked lost and hearing his name he jerked. Nakul aren’t you, I asked? Yes madam ME04B0045, he said. How pitiful I thought, these roll numbers like jail numbers but with the stamp of an institution with an acronym of three letters it’s always a passport to these students and an identity that merged into them, Nakul was ME04B0045 and I wondered who suffered? Nakul or ME04B0045? Holding my train of thoughts I asked, “What would you like to talk?” He shook his head which meant -nothing, not interested; don’t want to tell you, why can’t you let me go?????

I took my time, breaking the ice was always difficult but being prepared to face the storm after was equally important. You can walk around if you are uncomfortable sitting -I said, noticing him sitting at the edge of the chair as if ready to dash out and digging his nails into the armrest of the chair. We won’t talk if you don’t want to, infact I just want you to be here as long as you like. He looked at me with disbelief wondering if this was a new trick. He relaxed a bit, I could notice the muscles at his neck relaxing, his eyes were studying the room, the book shelves with leather bound books and journals on education, psychology, philosophy- what did it seem to him dull, boring or frightening? – I wish I knew. I wish I knew what he read and could have left something that caught his attention so the conversation was easy.

I was fed up at the beginning of every session. The principles and guidelines taught in classes came in front of my eyes like Moses holding the commandments, the fact was that I did not want to be conventional and 2 years in academics taught me that theory and practice were two different worlds.

Should I talk, prompt, comfort, just talk, tell him a story, everything sounded artificial.
Madam can I ask you something? For a second I thought I saw him smile, his face looked calm. “Yes,you may”, I said. “Everyone wants to know why a nine pointer in his last days at institute wants to take his life, when he is well placed”- he paused and looked at me. The rest was obvious – did I want to know the same? I waited for him to complete. “Is that why I was send here too”?

“Well would you believe if I told you I don’t know”, Nakul? For the first time I saw a twinkle in his eyes and he said “I will believe you coz I know that feeling, I have felt it too”. Students often get surprised when I say I don’t know something they don’t expect teachers to say. But my admitting my vulnerability broke the ice. It was like Alibaba’s magical code and cave opened.

Sometimes when a father wants his kid to hold his hand he says would you hold my hand son so that I won’t fall, unlike let me hold your hand so you won’t fall. It helps to see that both are safe. At that particular moment I felt I was doing the same with Nakul and we both wanted each other to stay balanced, we both were equally lost in a pretentious world. “So, a cup of coffee, Nakul?” I asked – He nodded his head and this time I knew we had a long conversation ahead. The phone was vibrating showing Ashu’s name – and for the first time I did something I had not done in years, I switched it off and continued listening to Nakul.

Fashion time

I cudn’t help laughing when she told me this first. I was getting late for department and what she said hardly struck me first. She had a weird way with words. "This is so unfeminine", she said. "What" ?, I asked. "This you know – I mean you can wear capris but" ….. "But what" ? I asked. I was limping around with an injury and in no mood to wear a salwar letting the salwar stick to my bandage. "Ya, so tell me", I said. "You know what , I would love wearing a Capri and I don’t for this reason". "What’s the reason now don’t test my patience", I said. "Well hair"!!!
"Ya hair mammals that we are, we will be hairy some like gorillas and some less", I said putting my things in my bag. "You are missing the point Teena this is not feminine". "Look, I am not doing this to challenge femininity neither am I going to stop wearing stuff that makes you feel I am masculine".
"Well Teena it looks sad and I am going".
I sat on my bed wondering how compelled we are by standards set by someone. Men are supposed to be hairy and men who aren’t fret over that. Women are not supposed to be hairy and those who are fret over that.
Suddenly Nandita Das’s Extra Murel lecture came to my mind. I had wanted to write about it for long. Many of my intellectual friends here found it disinteresting but that very comment of theirs made me think as to did I really know them.

She made an interesting comment about the terror posted by advertisement and cosmetic industry together.She mentioned an incident at a beauty parlour where a beautician told her “ Madam sun tan hai massage se nikal jayega” ( madam your face looks tanned and might clear if I massage) and she replied “ Yeh toh paidahishi tan hai ragadne se nahi jayega” ( This tan is permanent by birth wont go by your scrubbing).

I often hear friends saying you are fair any colour suits you. Their obsession with fairness frightens me. Its sickening to see people fall for every poster and buy these creams its obvious they apply some dark paste on fair models and show how they turn fair in 14 days , might be using graphics for this too. No transformation of a real dark girl has happened and people still buy these creams hoping to be supermodels.
When Nandita Das said she fears flipping pages of these magazines out of fear of feeling inferior I had a laugh obviously the gloss effect of faces on paper create havoc in minds of women who dream the same miracles.

One of my hobbies now is to apply all that my sister gave me dutifully out of the fear these stuff are nearing expiry dates and I cant waste money, but I could not beat my target some of these stuff are horrible so I threw them ( sorry Asha, sorry mom)

I learned terms like concealer ( some stick which conceals marks on face), Astringent ( some chemical that clears blemishes) recently from my sis, my sis stuffs my bag with some icky liquid called sun tan coz Chennai is supposedly sunny and my friends ask me what’s the SPF of the suntan ( I smile coz I am ignorant about SPF).

And they tell me darling this is not being fashionable it’s caring yourself (yeah colouring hair to cover grey, using creams worth 800 bucks to cover wrinkles is caring to some to me its extravagance). When I said I love greys they told me I am insane, well maybe people like Nandita who mocks these comments like me would be labelled art film actress. Who sees her in mainstream cinemas anyways a girl told me.

The same industry would worship Bipasha Basu as the dusky queen and black beauty and Naomi Campbell as dark queen of ramps. I am sure they would find creams soon to get darker and we would have people fighting to get dark, get dark brides all they got to do is stick posters of Naomi and Bipasha and write “we dare do you”. “Black Is in”. I wish they did it to prevent many suicides.

And as for fools like me- I might lose my candidature in the wedding market for cherishing greys, frowning at waxing and acting unfeminine.
Someone recently told me my blogs are feminist- well I don’t do what people expect me to without questioning why I am doing them. If that is feminism hihihi I am one .
I thought men were spared but with ‘Fair and Handsome’ boom, men shaving hair and shaping eyebrows and going for facials things seem dismal. Well today media decides if cracked heels should be hidden, or yellowing teeth will ward off proposals or grey hair will reduce sex appeal, when we have already survived for years with all this. How much of our behaviour is health seeking or consumerist is the question.

The truth is we are conditioned subliminally and we find umpteen excuses to pamper our desires. You could negate me by saying what’s wrong in looking so. My answer would be it’s alright as long as you give space for people who don’t follow you and don’t label that off the stand.

Note: Before reading this bracket your thought, forget that you think I am a feminist and forget what you actually think. This is no legal battle its just a blog.Then it makes sense.