Recovering From The Colonial Hangover

Today, this French professor guy came to college and talked to us about Comparative Literature - and how he thought Indian literature was an excellent starting-point and viewing-glass to look at world literature, and how the Euro-centric approach to literature was a failed one.

Two hours later, my Indian lecturer in class commented with a snide smirk, that it was funny how 'those who colonized us and told us their books were superior to ours were now coming back to tell us how great our own literature is'. I immediately told her that that sounded ridiculously racist. She replied with a laugh and said she was only returning the favour. We all laughed it off and the lesson began.

But this really got me wondering about the continued modern repercussions of our old colonial rulers. Will we ever get over it? Must we? How did we manage to get over something as magnanimous as the enslaving of an entire nation, of an entire culture, of the great big colonial bully pissing on his new found land to mark his territory? - did anybody from the British or Spanish governments ever really apologize for it? But even if they did, what good does an apology do after what's done is done? The English Queen's lovely crown still has jewels stolen 'procured' from colonial conquests all over the Indian subcontinent - but then again, what does it matter today?

What's done is done and what matters is we are colonized no more, right? Every now and then though, you see some remnant of the old days having seeped its way into today, some modern interpretation of the White Colonial Master's supremacy lodged in the brain of his Asian subject who after centuries of being told so, has now himself started believing that his Master is indeed superior.

"Welcome to WHITE Ceylon", says the caption beneath. "We are proud to present an innovative new day spa focusing on luxuriously skin whitening rituals to pamper guests from head to toe." 

I did a double-take when I saw this, because it's so goddamn in your face that it's almost funny. WHITE Ceylon, because Brown Ceylon is too bourgeois. It's not just this place that I point the finger at, but countless, countless others - in Sri Lanka and predominantly in India. Every day, there is a new advertisement on TV here in Delhi, informing men and women of some new amazing product can make them look whiter - and therefore - more successful, and awesomer in general. And why are they getting away with selling racism in little pink tubes at the supermarket? Because that's exactly what the masses want. Being dark skinned is bad, in India and in Sri Lanka; you can hear the tone of disapproval in an aunty's voice when she goes 'oh you have grown dark...' or the compliment in someone's voice when they say 'you've become fairer!' 

It's such a sordid affair. I remember telling a friend once that Colombo sometimes reminds me of this properly fucked up rape victim, who after having been assaulted by her colonial abuser day after day and year after year, and being told again and again that she is worthless and he is better than her, begins to believe it. Later she grows up but you don't get over that kind of trauma easily, so instead she starts dressing like him and behaving like him, because the years of standardized abuse has ingrained in her the idea that the person she truly is - is not worth being, and like a child who associates 'parent' with 'protection' at an early age, she associates power and success with her colonial abuser because those are the things he projected in her presence for centuries. The woman's got a serious identity crisis, you see. 

Anyway, my weirdass allegories aside - I think this is a serious issue that needs to be addressed ASAP. Because we need to get over that shit. It's all connected - our love for fair skin, with our love for emulating Western clothing, a Western lifestyle, a Western accent (like someone cleverly commented under an album of a premier event by Spa Ceylon's WHITE offer: "oh look, it's a bunch of brown people who want to look white!") . And I don't think we can just throw it all away, and suddenly wear reddha-hatas and everyone burn all their English books - that's just silly, and globalization has even made some of our Western universality relevant - but there needs to be discussion about it, campaigns, forums. Because as long as a Sri Lankan man looks up in awe at the white man who has come visiting from England (and believe me, I have seen these looks of worship not just among the working class but even and especially in the faces of the upper middle class as they are greeting some foreigner to their gala with their lips puckered to kiss his white posterior) - national 'Independence' may as well have never happened at all. 

Rape: Clothing Matters

Let me start off by stating the most obvious: rape is nobody's fault than the rapist's - and the death sentence for a rapist is letting him off easy, if you ask me, he should be castrated first. Choosing to pin a woman down and physically and emotionally violate her, to take from her by force, is the worst crime a man can commit and it takes an utterly heinous mind to make that choice, and honestly when someone goes 'oh maybe it was because of something she did' as though it was a justification of the act, I just get all:

Having said that, I realized something important today while talking to a friend in college. We were on the lawn soaking up the faint afternoon sunlight which is so rare this winter, and we started talking about what we could possibly do if hypothetically three men tried to attack one of us while we were walking down a pavement.

I live in Delhi - so this wasn't exactly the 'if you were on an island in the middle of nowhere'-sorta hypothetical situation. Women get raped all the time, women were being abducted and attacked in this city long before the infamous gang-rape case was blown up by the media. Because we were talking about what-we-could-do in reality, it all came down to real preventive measures. My friend raised the issue of clothing.

At first, I reacted the way almost every woman in my social circle would react to this - a woman should be able to wear whatever the hell she wants, why should clothing ever factor into a possible rape situation? The problem is with the man - it's with the culture - it's with society's mindset - it's with the law - etcetera etcetera. She agreed with all this too.

After a long discussion however, I came to realize something that hadn't occurred to me before. When it comes to real life preventive measures, and trying to make yourself least vulnerable to an attack - clothing does matter. Firstly, I am talking strictly in Delhi-terms here, because the problem is very real and current here, the stats are such that most girls I know feel there is easily at least a 40% chance they could get attacked on the way home today. Second, I am talking of rape by a stranger, not domestic issues. Thirdly, please don't confuse this notion with the notion that 'if women dressed conservatively, they wouldn't get raped' - these two are different notions, entirely. The terrible ugly bottom line is that women will get raped, and one woman would have worn a short skirt, the other a long unflattering gown, one would have been married, the other single, one may have been a teenager, another a child, another an old lady, one would have gone out with her boyfriend, another with her girl friends, another alone -- and rape would have had no logic and made victims of them all. 

In the same vein, I think that though we can never reduce our vulnerability to these animals in the streets to a minimum zero level -- there are still precautions that, if you're lucky, could reduce your chances, at least by some degree. A psychologist (I spoke to one in particular, for a sexual-harassment project I was a part of) suggested that psychologically, a very drunk man (whose sexual desire is consequently at its peak... FYI, drunk men make a considerable percentage of rapists), or a man in search of forced-sex - in several cases, looks for an easy target: meek individuals, easy to overpower, and whose clothing looks easy to rip off (this last point along with other pointers is making the rounds lately on a popular Facebook post), and he also stated that little or scanty clothing can heighten and enthuse this drunk or violent, horny man's perverse cravings. 

Now, this is obviously not an ideal solution -- far, far from it. You could dress like an ugly hobo and just bump into the wrong crowd - and because these animals are senseless, they could just rape you for the fun of it. There is no easy escape - and in the long run, the main root of the rape problem is made of societal mindset, culture and patriarchy. Fixing these problems is the ideal solution. But this is not an ideal world. It's end-of-days shit when children are being raped and women are gang-raped and others watch and do nothing. So till we, one day, hopefully, manage to tackle the true heart of this issue - it is important not to blind ourselves from reality with rhetoric. It's true that it does not even make sense to try to curb the potential victim's actions instead of the criminal's -- but shall I tell you what else doesn't make sense? The fact that Jyoti, the young medical student got gang-raped in a bus, and her male friend was attacked by iron rods - the fact that apparently (according to my Indian colleague), some of these men here in India, are more prone to sexually attack a woman because she is travelling with a man - a boyfriend or husband, because it suggests she is 'open' to sexual behaviour. 

Till we manage to cage these animals, I think it is a very stupid thing to do to kid ourselves into thinking that wearing a low-neck blouse and small skirt and travelling by foot in the evening -- or even in the daytime if you're in a high-rape-rate city like Delhi -- does not at all affect your chances of being attacked by a horny, drunk savage or a group of them. Yes, it is completely fucked up that we - the women, should ever have to reassess our clothing, when the real problem comes from these rapists. But till we find a way, God help us, to get rid of rapists, to communicate with these wild, horrible creatures - don't be foolish. Don't be foolish enough to throw caution to the wind and think you are doing a great thing by exercising your freedom and liberality by wearing little clothing when you don't have to, in a city where girls fall victim at random every day. This is definitely no guarantee, and certainly not the fix to the rape problem, but it is a temporary preventive measure. I think this is a good wake up call for all of us, a necessary jolt to our repugnant society's senses: How did we get here? To this point where our daughters must wonder if their sense of wardrobe is more or less likely to attract rapists? 

When Monsters Become Real

Last night, I dreamt I was back in Delhi.

I was taking the metro train at 9pm on a weekday, back from Hauz Khas, a time and direction in which the train is often barely occupied. I was in the women's compartment as usual. It was winter so I was wearing my favourite grey jacket.

I hadn't even got to the blue line yet - there was more than half an hour to get to my station. We slow down to a station and I notice a group of boys get on in the next compartment. They're noisy and chattering, they look like college students, my age. The usual.

I'm staring out the window and watching the buildings rush by. Suddenly I hear someone has been addressing me, snapping me out of my reverie. 'Hey... hey! How are you?' a male voice says to me in Hindi from the next compartment. I turn and it's the typical leering, jeering face of a young man that we females are so used to encountering, at the mall or on the street or in public transport, whether in India or Sri Lanka (I would like the boys reading this to take a moment to consider this reality - to try and imagine a life in which being jeered and leered at by strangers is a 'normal' 'every day' occurrence).

I ignore him as I do every one of these types, brushing it off as we always do, turning back to the window. A moment later he is standing a foot away from me, in my compartment. I suddenly become acutely aware that I am the only person in my compartment. I remember feeling an inexplicable gripping fear.

He was not doing anything. It didn't turn into a 'nightmare' - his face wasn't scowling, he hadn't put his hands on me, the florescent lights above were still brightly lit. Just that I was aware that I was the only person in my compartment, and there was a man my age now standing a foot away from me, and his male friends were standing a few feet behind him, laughing and poking each other, throwing sidelong glances at their pal. My heart was pounding in my chest and I felt a sense of dread filling me up. I remember becoming aware that he was taller and quite obviously stronger than me. 'What happened?' he mumbled in Hindi, a laugh in his voice, as he sensed my tension.

Then just when I was going to move away from him, he raised his hand - in a non-threatening way - as though to put it on my arm. Before he could, I let out a little yelp, and I woke up.

I woke up like you do after a fast-paced nightmare about being chased by rabid zombies, sweaty palms and heart in throat and all. What was so scary about that dream? The whole thing felt like no more than 5 minutes and had virtually no action, featuring only my apprehension at being a few feet away from a group of men in an isolated metro compartment. The realness of the dream also struck me: those feelings of apprehension and anxiety were very real, I would have reacted the same in real life.

The thing about nightmares, is that usually you can wake up and say 'Phew! It was just a dream - rabid zombies aren't real!' I can't say the same for this nightmare. (Click Here). 

Marriage-ophobia

I turn 23 in February, which in Sri Lankan Muslim sp33k is code for 'ah here, it's time to find a partner for this one ah'.

I'm terrified.
Don't get me wrong, my parents are extremely understanding, liberal people, and would never force me into anything. My mother got married only at 29 after medical college, a mad old age for the marriage of a girl by ordinary conservative Muslim standards. They don't care if I find someone myself or if I want them to find somebody, and either way, I'll get to know him before the actual thing.

But it's not even a Muslim thing anymore.
Everywhere I look, people are getting married or having babies. My friends are getting old, man. Blurry Instagram pics of weddings of peers fill up my newsfeed, some married friend says 'hey I'm pregnant!' - and I'm here, like, what the hell? Where did all the time go?

You don't have to get married so, just wait.

This is what I told myself and tried every possible way to argue it out with people. But I don't know, on the other hand I'm far from the dating-around type - it probably makes me retrogade but I don't like the idea of perpetually trying-on-a-new-relationship till you find the mythical 'one'. And honestly for how long can you keep playing that game before it just gets ridiculous especially in an Asian society? I do also appreciate the security and social order that a marriage typically signifies. Also my mother claims at some point you'll be the only single person in your clique and then they won't invite you to their tea parties anymore because they'll be afraid you'll steal their husbands.

Yeah, okay, mother.

So what's the big deal, Shifani? Everyone gets old and everyone gets married, don't be a pussy.

I'll tell you what's the big deal. 

1. I have come to realize that I have really shit taste in men, judging from 90% of the people I've felt affection for so far. They're usually completely aimless principle-less anarchists, and almost always, at the end of the day I go 'what the hell was I thinking?' (the idea of my parents making a saner, more secure choice is actually more comforting, oftentimes.)

2. But then I also have this gripping fear that either way, 1.5 years into the marriage - I'll have this conversation with my husband about, say, kittens - a subject we've never broached before. And he'll say 'kittens are so annoying and stupid, I just wish they'd all die'. And then I'll be like, 'WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY' and I'll realize 'oh no, I am married to a kitten-hater, oh god what has my life become' but then it'll be too late because you're stuck with this fellow forever and ever since you've committed yourself, especially if there are kids involved. My children will be fathered by a kitten hater. (the kittens here may be a metaphor for several sorts of things, or quite literally, may just mean kittens - because seriously, what kind of horrible, horrible person hates kittens?) 

I'm an independent-spirited sort of person, and I've been raised that way. I do my own thing and life changes according to my own decisions, and no one else's. So I think this is all just basically a fear of being stuck to someone forever. Suddenly, you wake up in the morning and you realize, hey I can't book a train ride out of town to that awesome joint for the fun of it, because I have to take the little one to the doctor because of its nappy rash, and I have to work it out first with the ball-and-chain husband's schedule.

On the other hand, maybe I'm just subscribing to the stereotypical Western notion of 'omg marriage is, like, so last century'. Mostly, though, I think I'm just panicking about this growing up stuff, as per usual. Mum says life is short and life is full of challenges and you're going to have problems whether you get married or not, so just face it and deal with it as it comes. Also she said you have to get married because I'd like to have loads of fat, beautiful grandchildren.

Yeah, okay, mother.

Speechless

My trusty notebook of silence

I've lost my voice.

Not in the romantic, poetical sense, but quite literally.

I can't make a sound. I can try and squeeze out some cracked syllable but even that makes my throat feel like there's a fork pressing into it.

Courtesy of the winter flu, thank you very much.

It's been a bit nightmarish. I can't ask the lecturer questions in class, I can't swear when I spill something on the floor, I can't shout out to the rickshaw driver from across the road, I can't call somebody I see down the corridor. I was closing a chest today and the lid fell shut on my fingers - I couldn't even scream!

Lots of flailing your arms around involved when you're forced to be silent. *Flail* when you're angry. *Flail* when you want food. *Flail* hey hey look over here I'm trying to tell you somet- too late, they didn't hear you, they're walking away (likely, fleeing from the strange girl flailing wildly at them).

First world problems.

The perk is that the housemates are treating me like a proper invalid, so they cooked me an amazing dinner and even mixed me up some homely medicine (ginger and honey - ew).

I have to say I'm starting to get used to it, this silence stuff is starting to grow on me. I have a little notebook I carry around, each page has something important that I'm likely to say (the last time this happened, I had cue cards): 'Hey man', 'Have you seen my earphones?', 'I'm studying right now', 'ASSHOLE', 'Is this a clove?', 'HA HA HA', etc. I have emergency messages scribbled on my palms as well. An acquaintance at the canteen exclaimed, 'Hey why is shifani so quiet today?' - so, excited to make use of my new emergency-messages prepared for the occasion, I shot up my right palm at her which was to read I LOST MY VOICE. She read it and frowned at me and abruptly walked off to the library. I looked at my palm; it was a message I'd left for myself: REMEMBER TO BUY ONIONS -- shit, wrong hand. Goddammit, this is going to take some practice. 

Dear Mr President (Remembering All Your Crime)

Mr President is not just one man but a timeless ghost that possesses a new body every Sri Lankan election. 

The Sri Lankan Media is sick of your bullshit - sick is an understatement. We are tired. And we are angry.

The Media is not an exclusive group if you ask me, but it is the People ourselves. If one wants to speak one's mind and be heard, he or she has the freedom of doing so in the papers, on the radio, on TV, of conversing with the entire nation, and eliciting a response. The Media is a powerful, and many say the most powerful, vehicle of modern humanity's expression and democracy.

And so, Mr President, when you and your people (yes, your people, who are an exclusive and elite tightly-knit self-serving band who live on the other side of us over here) suppress the Media -- when you killed Lasantha Wickrematunge, when you abducted and set on fire Nadesapillai Vidyarthan, when you abducted and severely assaulted Keith Noyahr, when you imprisoned Jayaprakash Sittampalam, when you hacked to death Paranirupasingham Devakumar, when you shot: Selvarajah Rajivarnam, Relangi Selvarajah and her husband, Dharmeratnam Sivaram, Aiyathurai (Nellai) Nadesan, Rohana Kumara, Richard de Zoysa, K. Navaratnam, Wimal Surendra, Sathasivam Sivashanmugamoorthy -- and this is only a small fraction of the list and not even counting the massive exodus of journalists out of the country -- you are not only assaulting, humiliating, and butchering the Media - you are butchering your People. When you violate the Media, when you confiscate their liberty - you are doing the same to your People. 

Even if you deny everything, against all the fingers pointed at you, because you are the Maharajah of this New Monarchist nation and you can say 'I didn't do it' and get away with it -- even if that is your only defense, why then has your Government not had the decency to even address these murders beyond your standard transparent lie 'my best team is on the case' (I mean you managed to end a 25 year civil war, you would think finding a journalist's murderer would be a cake walk)? Just as though these countless murders of human beings can be swatted away like insignificant bothersome little flies by your mighty hands.

Do you remember those names of the journalists who have 'disappeared' or whose bodies have been left to float in the river? Does it ring a little bell in your head when you see one of their names printed somewhere? Of course I don't expect that you killed or abducted any of them yourself, of course not, such vulgarities are beneath the glory of any true King living in the lap of power and affluence. You have the men of your Court to do all that, the henchman who detect threats to your Autocratic Rule, and 'fix the problem' without you having to deal with any of the nitty gritties. But still, one has to wonder if the King ever spares a moment to think of the hundreds of beheadings that would not have been possible if not for his rule.

I don't know why I am even bothering with these questions, because you are not an idiot, you already know exactly what's what and why. So the point of this is not to scream at you and demand a semblance of humanity from 'Your Honourable Excellency' -- because that would be futile -- but my point is to ask you, do you really, truly believe you can some day overpower the Media by simply going on in this way?

That some day, every one, every single Sri Lankan, will say 'The President is always right, and anyone who thinks he is not, is a traitor'? That one day, not one single Sri Lankan will even mentally contemplate the idea of protest? That you can some day root out all rebellion, all forms of dissent, all modes of individual thought that is opposing to yours? Are you really that deluded?

I just want to tell you that you can kill and kill and kill, and it will be horrible and people will mourn and you may as usual be untouchable on your Red Throne in the White Palace -- but you can never, ever stop the People from dissenting. You can never stop people from speaking their minds. It is never going to happen. You can murder thousands, you can send hundreds fleeing out of the country -- but there will always, always be more, to voice the truth in newspapers, on radios, on television, on the internet - the truth, that will many a time call you out for the things you do, time and time again. So I ask of you to prepare yourself. Your kingdom who is now like a dog that has been beaten for far too long is one day going to turn around and bite, because as with every tyrannical King of the Dark Ages of history, your regime, your oppression against the Media, that is the People, will inevitably come to an end -- either by nature - or by force. 

Insy winsy spider, climbing up the spout...

Look what I found in the sink today. Cool huh?
Click on it to get a better view.