Up until earlier this afternoon, I was of the opinion that my beliefs were half-formed inasmuch as gender and gender studies were concerned and, for the purpose of decision-making, ignorable. However, after a short discussion with a friend of mine, NP, I realized that I did have something to say. Worse, not only did I have something to say, but I was apparently saying things that were “evolved”, or well-formed. That makes me sad (because even without as much forethought, I had opinions more rigid than the others that NP had spoken to).
One more thing. Once the discussion concluded, however, it struck me that I’d observed that most of NP’s questions were loaded. For example, her first question was this: “Would you marry a woman who earns more than you?” This question assumes that the woman’s income is a factor in me making my decision. If I’d said “Yes”, I would’ve ended up acknowledging that I would have considered her earnings before arriving at a decision – irrespective of the outcome. If I’d said “No”, it would have been a simple refusal of commitment solely on the basis of something I’m sure I’m not acknowledging in the first place.
Because I was her friend and was having the conversation informally, I could clarify, saying, “That’s a loaded question. The question should have been: Do a prospective bride’s earnings matter if you had to decide whether you wanted to marry her or not?” If it had been someone else, someone who didn’t have the liberty to scratch the question and see through what the questioner was going for, the study’s results would have come out nice and biased. “Would you be OK with staying at home and taking care of the babies” was the other question that assumed too much, though not as much the first one. I wouldn’t mind at all, but I don’t want babies!
NP was only being curious, attempting to give form to something she’d already thought about. They seemed like loaded questions to me because I wasn’t sure in the beginning as to what she was thinking, and once that became clear, I could come clean. My caution is only directed at those who are concerned with field-work and surveys.
Anyway, the rest of the discussion proceeded smoothly, and was a bit of an eye-opener for me (like I said earlier). It jumped from one point to another and achieved coherence towards the end, so I’m going to just copy and paste the edited conversation here. As a primer: I explore the notion of gender as performance. It most definitely isn’t a new thing but it feels like it is, perhaps simply because not many people see it that way.
NP: Do you think today women have become more aggressive and dictate how a relationship plays out?
Me: In some cases, yes. Let me divide it into three categories. 1. The relationship is egalitarian, where both partners dictate what's happening. 2. The woman is aggressive and wants to dictate more of what's going on for reasons other than what constitute a relationship. 3. The woman is aggressive and wants to dictate more of what's going on for reasons within the relationship - these are subjective cases.
I think #1 is more often noted than #2. However, #1 would also mean the woman's role in the relationship has advanced toward the front, which I think is what you were gunning for.
NP: Why I am asking is, often men today seem really out of depth when dealing with women and what they want. So what I want to know is, why that is? Is it because the women are more vocal today and aren't shy about asking for things?
Me: Men are finding spaces which they used to assert their masculinity in being invaded by women, and that's troubling. However, how they adapt to it makes the difference. If they understand that those spaces in the relationship that were once open to assertion are now gone because of reasons that have nothing to do with a "gender-based" role, then it's fine. That they don't is what causes attrition.
It's not just being vocal - being vocal constitutes the establishment of an identity in spoken terms, in terms of an identity. There are other things that constitute that identity, and those are what I refer to when I say spaces.
NP: like what?
Me: Like the girl earning more than the guy.
NP: But what I am asking you is how you see men negotiating this change? Do you think these are issues that still bother men: urban, educated men?
Me: As far as I'm speaking for myself: I’d like see gender as performance. Gender is not just in the genitals but also in the mind, and if a girl chooses to live like a boy, it is her choice. In that case, however, I don't expect anything from that person.
NP: So to you it’s a non-issue…
Me: To me, gender is not a fixture of society. It was at a point, but in seeing gender as a choice - in seeing gender as coming with a set of decisions that some women are conditioned to make every day in one particular way - I can understand if some other women choose to play their gender-character differently. At the same time, because women play their roles differently, it is also necessary that I engage with my spaces differently. And that's why I say I don't care if my partner earns more than me or if she wants to go to work while I stay home and cook. I don't see earning or cooking as being the definition of what makes me me, just as I don't see earning or cooking as what makes her her.
Showing posts with label society. Show all posts
Showing posts with label society. Show all posts
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Wednesday, 18 May 2011
A tribute to family
My grandmother's cousin today noon arrived along with her two daughters and their two sons (I don't know whose child was who and, frankly, couldn't care less). As has always been the case, excursions to a relative house must mandatorily involve a hired drive, preferably a fancy SUV (Toyota, if you please) that has space for eight but, for their sake, will and should carry only five. Petrol, you see, is a commodity whose price affects only their husbands or, for that matter, that insolent bitch of a house-maid who keeps clamouring for a pay hike.
My grandfather has been a brisk man all his life—industrious is a fitting word—and in the time of his retirement, it is only his greatest sorrow that anyone who pays his wife a visit must announce themselves by ringing the calling-bell four times just as he closes his eyes for a short nap. Why four times? Because it's so much fun listening to the muted sonorous "ding" from on the other side of the door.
The next habit on this list of must-preserve traditions is that of treating everyone else's property as public property; after all, there is no necessity to address it anyhow else when the government buses smell strangely of all the odours of humanity, is there? Pyols are pushed up against the wall, mats, pillows and blankets are heaved off of it and unfurled on the ground to seat themselves on it, only to complain of backaches ten minutes after and climb back up on the bed, grumbling something about a missing blanket.
As grandma leaves for the kitchen to make coffee for six people, she knows that she is going to draw some ire behind her back for getting the amounts of sugar wrong for each individual serving. Still, she makes coffee because these people did promise to her, a fine day not some three years from now, a trip to some obscure temple; the fear of god is the flame that boils the milk, I believe.
What is it with the children of middle-class faimlies in India who, upon having spotted an air-conditioner, must needs operate it for the purchase of their invaluable silence for the next... two minutes? On. Off. On. Off. I and grandpa look on. The bills! Rs. 0. The bills! Rs. 0, or that's what I think he sees. I only couldn't believe his mother was laughing with him at how the lights were being turned on and off.
Doors are slam shut, the warning in the slow creak of the hinges being thrown to the winds, as the dames gather for a commendable session of gossiping, as is due the dutiful housewife who has been showered with enough money by an unsuspecting gem of a husband—picked as he was based on his father's choice of shoes that afternoon—and then chaperoned for evenings after evenings to movie theaters, music shows, and shopping sprees. I say, cry havoc and let loose the "radical" feminists; I'd like to see what brand of egalitarianism theirs is!
100 chapathis and four bowls of tomato chutney later, they, the guzzling and gorging duly done on the fortunes of those whose benefaction must never waver because—hey!—they're family, dash all my hopes that they would leave; would more could they need? Food they have received, drink they have received, talk they have received; did they not have all of our afternoon's peace? Unfortunately, then, the cousin produced two tickets to some movie for the evening: in the cataract-infested eyes of my grandmother, that was two tickets for a visit in the future by the same dollops of humanity that, in all probability, had always seen it only as a deal.
My grandfather has been a brisk man all his life—industrious is a fitting word—and in the time of his retirement, it is only his greatest sorrow that anyone who pays his wife a visit must announce themselves by ringing the calling-bell four times just as he closes his eyes for a short nap. Why four times? Because it's so much fun listening to the muted sonorous "ding" from on the other side of the door.
The next habit on this list of must-preserve traditions is that of treating everyone else's property as public property; after all, there is no necessity to address it anyhow else when the government buses smell strangely of all the odours of humanity, is there? Pyols are pushed up against the wall, mats, pillows and blankets are heaved off of it and unfurled on the ground to seat themselves on it, only to complain of backaches ten minutes after and climb back up on the bed, grumbling something about a missing blanket.
As grandma leaves for the kitchen to make coffee for six people, she knows that she is going to draw some ire behind her back for getting the amounts of sugar wrong for each individual serving. Still, she makes coffee because these people did promise to her, a fine day not some three years from now, a trip to some obscure temple; the fear of god is the flame that boils the milk, I believe.
What is it with the children of middle-class faimlies in India who, upon having spotted an air-conditioner, must needs operate it for the purchase of their invaluable silence for the next... two minutes? On. Off. On. Off. I and grandpa look on. The bills! Rs. 0. The bills! Rs. 0, or that's what I think he sees. I only couldn't believe his mother was laughing with him at how the lights were being turned on and off.
Doors are slam shut, the warning in the slow creak of the hinges being thrown to the winds, as the dames gather for a commendable session of gossiping, as is due the dutiful housewife who has been showered with enough money by an unsuspecting gem of a husband—picked as he was based on his father's choice of shoes that afternoon—and then chaperoned for evenings after evenings to movie theaters, music shows, and shopping sprees. I say, cry havoc and let loose the "radical" feminists; I'd like to see what brand of egalitarianism theirs is!
100 chapathis and four bowls of tomato chutney later, they, the guzzling and gorging duly done on the fortunes of those whose benefaction must never waver because—hey!—they're family, dash all my hopes that they would leave; would more could they need? Food they have received, drink they have received, talk they have received; did they not have all of our afternoon's peace? Unfortunately, then, the cousin produced two tickets to some movie for the evening: in the cataract-infested eyes of my grandmother, that was two tickets for a visit in the future by the same dollops of humanity that, in all probability, had always seen it only as a deal.
"Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever."
Michael Corleone
A tribute to family
My grandmother's cousin today noon arrived along with her two daughters and their two sons (I don't know whose child was who and, frankly, couldn't care less). As has always been the case, excursions to a relative house must mandatorily involve a hired drive, preferably a fancy SUV (Toyota, if you please) that has space for eight but, for their sake, will and should carry only five. Petrol, you see, is a commodity whose price affects only their husbands or, for that matter, that insolent bitch of a house-maid who keeps clamouring for a pay hike.
My grandfather has been a brisk man all his life—industrious is a fitting word—and in the time of his retirement, it is only his greatest sorrow that anyone who pays his wife a visit must announce themselves by ringing the calling-bell four times just as he closes his eyes for a short nap. Why four times? Because it's so much fun listening to the muted sonorous "ding" from on the other side of the door.
The next habit on this list of must-preserve traditions is that of treating everyone else's property as public property; after all, there is no necessity to address it anyhow else when the government buses smell strangely of all the odours of humanity, is there? Pyols are pushed up against the wall, mats, pillows and blankets are heaved off of it and unfurled on the ground to seat themselves on it, only to complain of backaches ten minutes after and climb back up on the bed, grumbling something about a missing blanket.
As grandma leaves for the kitchen to make coffee for six people, she knows that she is going to draw some ire behind her back for getting the amounts of sugar wrong for each individual serving. Still, she makes coffee because these people did promise to her, a fine day not some three years from now, a trip to some obscure temple; the fear of god is the flame that boils the milk, I believe.
What is it with the children of middle-class faimlies in India who, upon having spotted an air-conditioner, must needs operate it for the purchase of their invaluable silence for the next... two minutes? On. Off. On. Off. I and grandpa look on. The bills! Rs. 0. The bills! Rs. 0, or that's what I think he sees. I only couldn't believe his mother was laughing with him at how the lights were being turned on and off.
Doors are slam shut, the warning in the slow creak of the hinges being thrown to the winds, as the dames gather for a commendable session of gossiping, as is due the dutiful housewife who has been showered with enough money by an unsuspecting gem of a husband—picked as he was based on his father's choice of shoes that afternoon—and then chaperoned for evenings after evenings to movie theaters, music shows, and shopping sprees. I say, cry havoc and let loose the "radical" feminists; I'd like to see what brand of egalitarianism theirs is!
100 chapathis and four bowls of tomato chutney later, they, the guzzling and gorging duly done on the fortunes of those whose benefaction must never waver because—hey!—they're family, dash all my hopes that they would leave; would more could they need? Food they have received, drink they have received, talk they have received; did they not have all of our afternoon's peace? Unfortunately, then, the cousin produced two tickets to some movie for the evening: in the cataract-infested eyes of my grandmother, that was two tickets for a visit in the future by the same dollops of humanity that, in all probability, had always seen it only as a deal.
My grandfather has been a brisk man all his life—industrious is a fitting word—and in the time of his retirement, it is only his greatest sorrow that anyone who pays his wife a visit must announce themselves by ringing the calling-bell four times just as he closes his eyes for a short nap. Why four times? Because it's so much fun listening to the muted sonorous "ding" from on the other side of the door.
The next habit on this list of must-preserve traditions is that of treating everyone else's property as public property; after all, there is no necessity to address it anyhow else when the government buses smell strangely of all the odours of humanity, is there? Pyols are pushed up against the wall, mats, pillows and blankets are heaved off of it and unfurled on the ground to seat themselves on it, only to complain of backaches ten minutes after and climb back up on the bed, grumbling something about a missing blanket.
As grandma leaves for the kitchen to make coffee for six people, she knows that she is going to draw some ire behind her back for getting the amounts of sugar wrong for each individual serving. Still, she makes coffee because these people did promise to her, a fine day not some three years from now, a trip to some obscure temple; the fear of god is the flame that boils the milk, I believe.
What is it with the children of middle-class faimlies in India who, upon having spotted an air-conditioner, must needs operate it for the purchase of their invaluable silence for the next... two minutes? On. Off. On. Off. I and grandpa look on. The bills! Rs. 0. The bills! Rs. 0, or that's what I think he sees. I only couldn't believe his mother was laughing with him at how the lights were being turned on and off.
Doors are slam shut, the warning in the slow creak of the hinges being thrown to the winds, as the dames gather for a commendable session of gossiping, as is due the dutiful housewife who has been showered with enough money by an unsuspecting gem of a husband—picked as he was based on his father's choice of shoes that afternoon—and then chaperoned for evenings after evenings to movie theaters, music shows, and shopping sprees. I say, cry havoc and let loose the "radical" feminists; I'd like to see what brand of egalitarianism theirs is!
100 chapathis and four bowls of tomato chutney later, they, the guzzling and gorging duly done on the fortunes of those whose benefaction must never waver because—hey!—they're family, dash all my hopes that they would leave; would more could they need? Food they have received, drink they have received, talk they have received; did they not have all of our afternoon's peace? Unfortunately, then, the cousin produced two tickets to some movie for the evening: in the cataract-infested eyes of my grandmother, that was two tickets for a visit in the future by the same dollops of humanity that, in all probability, had always seen it only as a deal.
"Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever."
Michael Corleone
The phenomenon of sexual arousal
Sexual arousal is not a purely biological phenomenon, a hypothesis that has received twofold confirmation in the form of the existence of homosexual tendencies and the enjoyment of power-play, both of which—however strictly or liberally speaking—can never come to assume a completely corporeal design. While there are those who may argue that homosexuality, by way of being only a product certain circumstances, whose nature can further be diagnosed with the assistance of investigative and psychological techniques, becomes a curable phenomenon; be that (the argument) as it may, homosexuality is a social phenomena and not a biological one, and therefore, its "eradication" will leave in its wake a social bremsstrahlung just as any attempts to alter the body's biological imperatives—whether in measures or means—causes a side-effect.
That being said, I would choose to set aside the case of homosexuality and, with the assumption of its "case" being settled, pick up the subject of sensual power-play for discussion, an eagerness that reflects my enjoyment of the same: I enjoy being dominated as well as to dominate. With the conscious consensus of a partner, I find that I am able to achieve increased levels of pleasure and satisfaction when engaged in role-playing activities that, as a matter of discernment, constitute a non-uniformity of intentions, desires, aggression and/or will—id est, allow one partner to dominate over the other in a matter that is decidedly aphysical and emotional in its essence. While often erroneously, and much to my chagrin, being dubbed as an act of "escapism", sensual power-play suffers from its rejection as a valid form of human expression: while being pushed toward "accepting" a behavioural garb that is closer to an act of prostitution than anything else, misguided social and cultural traditions ensure that an individual's choice of an alternate lifestyle is condemned by the chooser himself, eventuating 1. a scenario in which such practices remain "taboo" despite being secretly common, and 2. the simultaneous muting of the voice that sought to "break free".
That being said, I would choose to set aside the case of homosexuality and, with the assumption of its "case" being settled, pick up the subject of sensual power-play for discussion, an eagerness that reflects my enjoyment of the same: I enjoy being dominated as well as to dominate. With the conscious consensus of a partner, I find that I am able to achieve increased levels of pleasure and satisfaction when engaged in role-playing activities that, as a matter of discernment, constitute a non-uniformity of intentions, desires, aggression and/or will—id est, allow one partner to dominate over the other in a matter that is decidedly aphysical and emotional in its essence. While often erroneously, and much to my chagrin, being dubbed as an act of "escapism", sensual power-play suffers from its rejection as a valid form of human expression: while being pushed toward "accepting" a behavioural garb that is closer to an act of prostitution than anything else, misguided social and cultural traditions ensure that an individual's choice of an alternate lifestyle is condemned by the chooser himself, eventuating 1. a scenario in which such practices remain "taboo" despite being secretly common, and 2. the simultaneous muting of the voice that sought to "break free".
The phenomenon of sexual arousal
Sexual arousal is not a purely biological phenomenon, a hypothesis that has received twofold confirmation in the form of the existence of homosexual tendencies and the enjoyment of power-play, both of which—however strictly or liberally speaking—can never come to assume a completely corporeal design. While there are those who may argue that homosexuality, by way of being only a product certain circumstances, whose nature can further be diagnosed with the assistance of investigative and psychological techniques, becomes a curable phenomenon; be that (the argument) as it may, homosexuality is a social phenomena and not a biological one, and therefore, its "eradication" will leave in its wake a social bremsstrahlung just as any attempts to alter the body's biological imperatives—whether in measures or means—causes a side-effect.
That being said, I would choose to set aside the case of homosexuality and, with the assumption of its "case" being settled, pick up the subject of sensual power-play for discussion, an eagerness that reflects my enjoyment of the same: I enjoy being dominated as well as to dominate. With the conscious consensus of a partner, I find that I am able to achieve increased levels of pleasure and satisfaction when engaged in role-playing activities that, as a matter of discernment, constitute a non-uniformity of intentions, desires, aggression and/or will—id est, allow one partner to dominate over the other in a matter that is decidedly aphysical and emotional in its essence. While often erroneously, and much to my chagrin, being dubbed as an act of "escapism", sensual power-play suffers from its rejection as a valid form of human expression: while being pushed toward "accepting" a behavioural garb that is closer to an act of prostitution than anything else, misguided social and cultural traditions ensure that an individual's choice of an alternate lifestyle is condemned by the chooser himself, eventuating 1. a scenario in which such practices remain "taboo" despite being secretly common, and 2. the simultaneous muting of the voice that sought to "break free".
That being said, I would choose to set aside the case of homosexuality and, with the assumption of its "case" being settled, pick up the subject of sensual power-play for discussion, an eagerness that reflects my enjoyment of the same: I enjoy being dominated as well as to dominate. With the conscious consensus of a partner, I find that I am able to achieve increased levels of pleasure and satisfaction when engaged in role-playing activities that, as a matter of discernment, constitute a non-uniformity of intentions, desires, aggression and/or will—id est, allow one partner to dominate over the other in a matter that is decidedly aphysical and emotional in its essence. While often erroneously, and much to my chagrin, being dubbed as an act of "escapism", sensual power-play suffers from its rejection as a valid form of human expression: while being pushed toward "accepting" a behavioural garb that is closer to an act of prostitution than anything else, misguided social and cultural traditions ensure that an individual's choice of an alternate lifestyle is condemned by the chooser himself, eventuating 1. a scenario in which such practices remain "taboo" despite being secretly common, and 2. the simultaneous muting of the voice that sought to "break free".
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