On Irom Sharmila and misplaced morality in Manipur
On being the owner of a pair of breasts
On Arya Orphanage—do we not care about these kids because they’re not “ours”?
If the films are to be believed, this new Indian woman can be instantly recognized by one or more of the following traits: smoking nicotine or other substances, mouthing expletives both in Hindi and English with ease, being sexually promiscuous or even vaguely ambivalent, manipulating people close to them without giving a thought to causing hurt, and a sound lack of any sense of ethics in the professional sphere or personal turf.
Whenever a crime is reported in the NCR, the media and the middle class rush to stereotype the perpetrators, causing the process of ‘othering’ to begin anew even as one successfully situates the possibility of criminality outside oneself.
The last fortnight or so though, walking my streets has taken on a different meaning. In this time, I have walked to work or back on some days with my heart and consciousness overflowing with so much rage or sadness that I have often missed seeing the stay-at-home mum wheeling her bright-eyed toddler to the park by the road in her perambulator, or the anda-bread man loudly discussing the Indo-Pak match with his customer.