तुम्हारी सुर्ख आँखों पर काजल कैसा लगता होगा ....

तुम्हारी सुर्ख आँखों पर काजल कैसा लगता होगा ....

आज भोपाल से इंदौर वापस आ रहा था .. हाँ वही शहर जहाँ तुम कभी रहा करती थी .. तुम्हारी परछाई ढूँढ रहा था ... शायद तुमने पीछे छोड़ दी हो मेरे लिए ...  बहुत प्यारा शहर है भोपाल ... जगह जगह पे एक नया रंग ...

एक बात बोलूं ??

भोपाल मुझे पहले कभी इतना पसंद नही आया ... पर जब तुमने बताया की तुम पहले वही रहती थी तो .. ईज़ शहर की हर गली ... हर चौराहे से प्यार हो गया. ... अब जब भी भोपाल जाता हूँ बस हर जगह तुम्हारा ही अक्स नज़र आता है ... जिस गली ... जिस चौराहे  .. जिस दुकान पे जाता हूँ .. बस यही सोचता हूँ ... कभी वो भी तो यहाँ आई होगी ना ?? ... कभी उसने भी तो अरेरा हिल्स पे शामे बिताई होंगी ना ?? ... कभी वो भी तो शाम को सिविल लाइन्स पर गोलगप्पे खाती होगी ना ?? ... कभी वो भी तो गोलगप्पे वाले भैया से कहती होगी ना की भैया थोड़ा ज़्यादा स्पाइसी करना ?? :) :) :) ..... तुम्हारी इन बातों को सोचते ही चेहरे पे बड़ी सी मुस्कान आ जाती है ... गम हो या... मूड ऑफ हो .. बस ये सोच लेता हूँ  तुम यहाँ होती मेरे साथ तो क्या करती ... और सच मानो ... सारी थकान...सारी उलझने ... सुलझ सी जाती है ...

तुम मेरी पावर हाउस हो ...

तुमसे जुड़ी हुई कोई भी चीज़ को देखता हूँ तो बस तुम ही तुम नज़र आती हो... यार तुम्हारी पता है एक प्रोब्लम है .. तुम्हारी आँखें बहुत बातें करती है ... दिन भर बक-बक, बक-बक .... थकती नही हो तुम .... ???  याद है वो रात भर फोन से चिपके रहना  ... बेतुकी ...बेईमानी सी बातें करना ...  बातें करते-करते सो जाना .... याद तो होगा ना ??? वक़्त बदल चुका है .. पर मैं तो आज भी वही खड़ा हूँ .. जहाँ तुम मुझे छोड़ कर गयी थी ...

आज भी फोन का स्क्रीन अनलॉक करता हूँ तो इसी झूठी उम्मीद में की कहीं तुम्हारा कोई कॉल आया होगा ...

अच्छे दिन थे वो यार ... जब हम दोनो साथ थे ...

चलो छोड़ो भी यार .. फिर से वही गुम का फसाना .. और फिर से वही रात में बलेंडर'स प्राइड का साथ ...

बात कहाँ शुरू की थी कहाँ पहुँच गया ... देखा तुमने तुम्हारा जादू ... अच्छे ख़ासे को तुम पागल करदो ... पर क्या करे तुम हो ही इतनी अच्छी की , हर कोई तुम्हारे प्यार में पागल हो जाता है ... I am envying you seriously right now ....

तो बात हो रही थी भोपाल की ... भोपाल ही क्यूँ .. तुम्हारे नाम को ही ले लो ... जब भी किसी के नाम में तुम्हारा नाम मिल जाता है तो बस उसके सामने नज़रें अपने आप झुक जाती है .... सच बोलूं तो प्यार हो जाता है उससे से... सिर्फ़ इसलिए की उसका नाम भी वही है जो तुम्हारा  है ... पागलपन की हद ...

हाँ तो भाई ... बात हो रही थी भोपाल की .. फिर आपके नाम की भी कर दी .. अब तो मुद्दे पर आ जाऊं ??

भोपाल से इंदौर  travel  कर  रहा था  ...  cab share करी थी मैने ... साथ में मेरी colleague थी ... आज पहली बार उसको इतने पास से देखा था ... उस पर मेरा ध्यान इसलिए भी गया के उसकी आँखें जो काजल से सराबोर थी ... मुझे दिन में भी अंधेरे का एहसास करवा रही थी ... ज़्यादा ही अच्छी लग रही थी ... झूठ क्यूँ बोलू ?? बोलता भी नही हूँ ... तुम्हे पता है ...

तो पूरा आज का लेखा-जोखा बस तुम्हारी आँखों की तारीफ़ के लिए था .. तो बात ये है की ...उसकी काजल भरी आँखों को देखकर मुझे तुम्हारी आँखें याद आ गयी ... बादलों से बाते करती तुम्हारी आँखें... बेरंग में रंग भरने वाली तुम्हारी आँखें .... इशारो से ही सब कुछ कह देने वाली तुम्हारी आँखें .... तुम्हारी आँखें मुझे सबसे ज़्यादा प्यारी है ... सबसे ज़्यादा ... मतलब सबसे सबसे सबसे ज़्यादा... तुम कुछ ना भी बोलो तो तुम्हारी आँखें सब कुछ बोल जाती है ... तुम्हारे लिए लाई डिटेक्टर का काम करती है ... एक snap में तुम्हारी आँखों में काजल लगा था ना... काजल तो तुम हमेशा ही लगाती हो ... पर उस snap में कुछ उभर के आ रहा था  तुम्हारे काजल का रंग .. वो मुझे आज भी मेरे दिल के सबसे करीब है ... lappy का वॉलपेपर ... पिक्चर पासवर्ड... हर चीज़ जो मेरे लिए सबसे important है सब में बस तुम ही तुम हो ... तुम्हारी आँखों में काजल कितना खूबसूरत लगता होगा ना ...  किसी को भी घायल करने के लिए काफ़ी ... तुम काजल लगाकर घर से बाहर ना निकला करो ... काले घने बादल आसमान पर  छा जाते हैं ... और तुम्हारे प्यार की बारिश मुझे मेरे हर जर्रे में भीगा जाती है ....

काजल से भरी तेरी आँखें , मजबूर करें जीने के लिए ...

दबंग इस्टाइल में कहूँ तो....

तेरे मस्त मस्त दो नैन

मेरे दिल का ले गये चैन....

तेरे मस्त मस्त दो नैन

मेरे दिल का ले गये चैन.....

मैने हार मान ली है .....

आज बहुत हारा हुआ सा महसूस कर रहा हूँ ... लगता है मानो किसी ने शरीर में से पूरी जान ही निकल दी हो ... आज वो पास आउट होकर निकल रही है .. फ़ेसबुक पर वाल्फि (valfi) की फोटो डाली है ... मैं अंदर ही अंदर जल रहा हूँ ... रोना सा आ रहा  है ... आँखिर मेरे साथ ही ऐसा क्यूँ होता है ... लोग वाल्फि की फोटो खींच खींच कर डाल रहे है .. और मैं यहाँ चू##यों की तरह बैठकर ब्लॉग पोस्ट कर रहा हूँ ... वो काफ़ी बदल गयी है .. लो अब तो लॅपटॉप की बेटेरी ने भी साथ छोड़ दिया ... चार्जिंग पे लगाता हूँ...वो बिकुल अपनी मम्मा जैसी दिखती है ... उसकी एक फोटो देख कर खूब रोया ... वो जो कभी मेरा नही था उसपे ... खुद ही अपना हक़ जताने चला था ... नतीजा तो यही होना था ... बहुत होशियार है पढ़ाई में ... 9.5 कुछ  cgpa थी .. पूरे चार साल भर .. होनोर्स की डिग्री मिली है ... दिमाग़ ऐसा शार्प है की डाइमंड को भी कट कर दे ... एक sem में तो पर्फेक्ट 10 थे ... दिखने में बला की जितनी खूबसूरत उतनो ही पढ़ाई में होशियार  ...

मैं तो खुद को tees maar khan समझ रहा था .. पर आज उसने मुझे फिर से ज़मीन पर पटक दिया ..
पर चलो जो भी है ... she deserves it.... हर चीज़ में अव्वल है .. पढ़ाई खेल कूद गाना बजाना ... उसकी cv देखी दिमाग़ खराब हो गया मेरा.. ऐसे cv किसी की कैसे हो सकती है ... फुल ऑफ अचीव्मेंट्स .... शर्म आती है मुझे खुद पर...

मुझे जीने का कोई हक़ नही है ... मुझे तो मर ही जाना चाहिए ....

अब नही सहा जाता यार .. मैने हार मान ली है .....

Are you Unhappy ?? Then do accept being unhappy..

Are you Unhappy ?? Then do accept being unhappy..

Disappointment, fear and loss are as much a part of life as achievement, hope and joy. But this indeterminate state no longer seems to be socially acceptable.

I am going to come out of the closet, and make a shocking, even shameful, admission. I am not a happy person. In fact I am the sort of chap who complete strangers come up to in the street and advise to cheer up, since it might never happen. I am not, I should emphasise, an unhappy person either. I love to laugh. I think I am pretty much like most people, with moods that shift and transform. Sometimes I am happy, sometimes sad, most of the time I am pretty much neutral, with my mind elsewhere. Disappointment, fear and loss are as much a part of my life as achievement, hope and joy. It is all of a piece.

However, this indeterminate state no longer seems to be socially acceptable. It is required of me, both implicitly and explicitly, that I remain in a state of continual near-explosion — passionate about this, excited about that, looking forward to something else. If not, I am antisocial. Worst of all I am a failure, because if I was a success, I would be happy.

Happiness, we are confidently assured, is the objective of life and it is something we “get” by working hard, shopping, playing and exercising, giving to charitable causes and taking part in the drama of late capitalism. Because capitalism loves the goal of happiness — since it can offer endless products that will promise it. When they fail to do so, it can offer alternative products which make an identical promise. And so on. I am not an advocate for misery — far from it. Happiness is good for you and for those around you. But you mustn’t be ashamed if you can’t.

I wish I were happy all the time — I just don’t think it’s a very realistic possibility. The daily parade of disaster on the news is sobering enough. The fact of my own mortality is a downer. The difficulties of human communication produce as much isolation as connection. The corruption and venality of the powerful are daily reminders of injustice. It’s no coincidence that all the greatest works of human drama —from Elektra to Hamlet to A View from the Bridge — are tragedies.

We can, it is suggested, find happiness through good works. This is also an ideology. I am as likely to be disappointed by “doing the right thing” as I am elevated. That’s why it’s so hard to do. The secret truth is that being unselfish can leave you just as empty as being selfish. Not that I’m advocating selfishness — just pointing out that if “goodness” were easy, it wouldn’t be particularly admirable. It would simply be a form of hedonism.

Lifting the weight of denial.

I am sincerely glad that we have all cheered up since we are born. But there’s a danger that all this positivity is becoming counterproductive. The UN now has an International Happiness Day when we are all instructed to be happy. If I wasn’t grumpy before, I was after this particular injunction, a classic case of happiness bullying. There is plenty of evidence that cheerfulness is not fuelling the zeitgeist quite as much as we suppose. Depressive illness is at record levels. Children are stressed like never before, as are teachers. Suicide is the main cause of death for men under 35.

There is plenty of unhappiness. Why dwell on it? There’s no need, I agree. But we shouldn’t refuse to acknowledge it. TV and the Internet disseminate a form of propaganda by insisting on and showcasing shiny, creative, fulfilling lives. It makes me feel inadequate because my life, although creative, and fulfilling and quite well paid, does not send me into paroxysms of ecstasy every day. It is just life, sometimes good, sometimes bad, often a confusing mixture of both.

I would not go so far as Slavoj Žižek who, when asked what he found most depressing, answered “the happiness of stupid people”. But I know what he meant. Anyone intelligent and sensitive and thoughtful cannot look at the world and themselves without some inkling that everything, although strange and remarkable, is not always awesome. If we could acknowledge it, the weight of denial could be lifted. And you know what? We’d all be a lot happier for it.

If heaven had a window

If heaven had a window and God granted me a view,
of all the beauty it beholds I'd only look for you.
I'd listen for your laughter that was always music to me,
your beautiful hair and hazel eyes is what I'd wish most to see.
If I could only view once more the smile that warmed my heart,
I'd treasure that moment as long as I live and we must be apart.
Here on earth I search for you and pray to God for signs,
and every day that passes you're still with me in my mind.
I know you're happy in heaven you've earned your mansion indeed,
I imagine your kitchen table and you waiting there for me.
I love you and I miss you more than words can say,
and what I wouldn't give just to talk to you today.
I hope that you can hear me and listen to my thoughts,
and where ever this life takes me you know I've not forgot.
That once upon a time I was blessed and loved its true,
and if heaven had a window I'd only look for you.

A Boy And His Closet: My Coming Out Story

“So how did you figure out that you’re …gay?”

The first time someone asked me this, I was in the 10th grade and I had just come out to my best friend. We had a free study period due to the CBSE board exams just around the corner, and she asked me why I had been so fidgety all day long. I tried to go with the ‘I’m nervous about exams’ excuse but she knew otherwise. So we went on a long walk around the school to talk it out. I was 14-years-old at the time, a highly self-motivated student with big plans and seemingly no worries. It would have taken me a second to tell her, ‘I’m gay’, but it took me an hour to gain the courage. She had no qualms about the fact that her best friend was gay but I still didn’t have an answer to her question.

In 7th grade, I spent most of my time with a small group of male friends. This meant that our conversations spiralled around 3 topics that we apparently weren’t supposed to be talking about: hot girls, the human body, and sex. The only information we had about these ‘trending topics’ came from popular movies, music, and ridiculous classroom rumours like ‘masturbation will give you pimples’. But although it was very exciting to talk about all of this, I could never quite relate to how my friends felt. While they described their vivid dreams about some porn star’s breasts, I told them fake stories of how some girl made me feel some way. I kept waiting to feel that certain way about a girl so that I could tell them real stories, but that never happened. I knew by then that I was so much more fascinated with the male body but the idea that I was gay never struck me.

In 8th grade, the word gay was synonymous with stupid, lame, and inferior. It took me another 2 years and lots of internet surfing to realise that homosexuality was more than an insult and that I wasn’t the only male who was physically attracted to other males. I still wasn’t ready to call myself gay though. In my mind, no one else in India was gay as far as my teachers, classmates, and politicians were concerned, and I definitely did not want to be the odd one out. Especially not in high school. I was also told that it was a choice, so I chose to ‘un-gay’ myself, or tried to, at least. That didn’t work either – for me, Varun Dhawan was still hotter than Alia Bhatt. What’s worse is that I actually believed for some time that I brought on my sexuality through some set of decisions and choices, and that I could get over it by engaging in sexual intercourse with a girl. Since no one talked about it, the silence only convinced me more of all my misconceptions.

Finally, in 10th grade, I fell for a boy and things started to change. I had a puzzle of mixed feelings for the funniest guy in my class, and when I put the pieces together, I could call it a crush. In retrospect, it was the silliest but most exciting experience to have at the time. It was the first time I could feel butterflies in my stomach, all those awkward cheesy feelings, and that curiosity about what it would be like to kiss the boy I liked. There was something intriguing about holding a secret so tight, but I had so many unanswered questions and a lot of hesitation. I finally wanted someone to talk to about what I was starting to experience. Subtle homophobic bullying plagued the school corridors with remarks about how homosexuality is disgusting. But when non-heterosexual representation increased in the media, people were finally talking about it. It was starting to get lonely and dark in my closet, but at least I could recognise the closet I was in.

As the doubts haunted my adolescent mind, I was so afraid that I may never be able to have a satisfying relationship with anyone. If only I saw more gay people that I could relate to in my school, in movies, in newspapers and in books, I wouldn’t have felt that way. All I needed to know was that gay people existed in my country and that they were completely ‘normal’ – that I was completely ‘normal’.

When I explained this story to my best friend during our long walk, I realised that my answer to her question shouldn’t have been so complex and long. If only we’d learnt earlier in school that human sexuality is diverse, intrinsic, and ubiquitous, perhaps we would think twice before pushing more teenagers into their closets.

Today, I can see how much has changed since that significant day. I’ve come out to all my friends and my closest family members, and almost all the reactions have been positive. For most people, it was the first time someone came out to them, and so a lot of explanations were needed. But would it have been different for people like me if we knew about human sexuality already? The student bodies in our schools today are taking forward the pressing need for Comprehensive Sexuality Education with initiatives such as Social Awareness Week . Perhaps if we start to #TalkSexuality in schools today, the impact will shut more ignorant ideas and open more closet doors for students nationwide. Perhaps, as people will then be more informed about gender and different sexual identities, which may decrease the likelihood of bullying and derogatory comments from peers and teachers, and prevent people from feeling ‘wrong’ or ‘alone’, among other issues.

NOTE: We , the people at stupid cupid house take it as an immense pleasure to support the people who are not able to express themselves. We hereby declare that we are not making any mockery, of any section of the society.

Porn, For All Its Pleasures, Is Not Reality. It’s Entertainment

It was fifth grade; the time of hopeless misinformation and burgeoning puberty. The mornings were reserved for droning lectures that put us to sleep but our lunch hours were reserved for erudite discussions about history, art and politics. No, I kid. It was the hour when young boys discussed the topic that confounded us most – the funny feeling we got sometimes when we saw a girl.

In due course of time we turned to the most useful source of information available – porn. One morning, a classmate beckoned a group of us excitedly. We were four gawky nerds. Our friend, by dint of his slightly extended curiosity about sex, was the ‘wild one’. He told us he had found his older brother’s collection of porn on his desktop and had watched one of the videos. We had never seen our friend so animated. He broke into a stream of garbled sentences about its sights and sounds. The woman was moaning loudly. Her breasts flapped in a rhythmic motion. They were having sex. We were all appalled at our friend’s shocking lack of moral behaviour, but also a little jealous. After all, one of the qualities that define a boy at that age is sexual curiosity.

A few days later, when the friend in question’s parents and older brother were safely away, we congregated at his place. We were too young to realise how weird it was that four boys were watching porn together. That activity took an exalted tone. It was our rite of passage from boys to men.

The video started and all I remember was being disgusted. Sex looked so painful and messy. At that age, with my obliviousness to the nature of sexuality, the people in the video came off like grunting animals I had once seen in a zoo. We couldn’t believe that our parents had indulged in this repulsive act to bring us into the world. Once it ended, all of us were silent. We said our awkward goodbyes and went home. I couldn’t sleep that night because the guilt racked me.

As I grew older, I realised that watching porn wasn’t a sin. In fact, it was also a great stress reliever (that’s about the classiest way I can put it). Every year added a few notches of awareness and porn viewing slowly became part of our ritual as teenagers. We used to exchange videos, debate the hotness levels of the women in Naughty America videos and discuss those close calls – when parents walked into the room at inappropriate moments.

This dissipation of guilt was also accompanied by a deeper understanding of porn once I got into the age of relationships. I realised that it was far from a realistic depiction of sex. Not all women maybe ready and willing to have sex in an elevator or perform oral sex at the man’s beck and call. Moreover, women in porn generally have giant breasts, tiny waist sizes and Brazilian waxes. It’s very much a romantic fantasy catered towards men, not unlike those Anne Hathaway romantic comedies that teenage girls like.

Moreover, my penis does not resemble the members I’ve seen on-screen, which seem to have a life of their own. I spent part of my childhood worried if my penis was the right size because porn had normalised large sizes as the benchmark. Not to mention the ones on screen were erect all the time. If porn has unrealistic depictions of women, it also reinforces standards of masculinity, which we, as men can’t live up to.

Porn also unfortunately creates a stark racial fantasy. Most middle-class Indian boys are reared on porn that features white men and women. I had a heterosexual friend once tell me that he didn’t watch porn if it had a black man in it, even if he was watching for the woman. It was easier for this Delhi bred boy to put himself in the shoes of a white male than a black one, even in partaking in such ludicrous fantasies. I also wonder how many young men in India have formed their primary impressions of white women based on the porn they have watched. It’s not correct to conflate the play acting of porn with the likes of an entire race of people but like porn, a lot of men, for reasons that are extremely debatable, are fantastic at categorising women into good girl, slut, bitch and aunty.

It’s only natural that all of us turn to porn as a source of information. We have few platforms to discuss sexuality in India, least of all with teenagers. This is a country where a majority of schools don’t have ‘sex education’ classes. Even in classrooms, students’ natural curiosities are shut down with either avoidance or curt responses by teachers.

Moreover, female sexuality is still taboo. The few times it is discussed in school by female teachers, boys are sent out. Don’t boys also have a right to know what changes are taking place with the other gender? Puberty is a time of shared concerns. Openly discussing masturbating and menstruation will only engender mutual support and respect.

Ultimately, we are failing our young generation by leaving them to uncover such information covertly. Porn for all its pleasures, is not reality. It’s entertainment. Using it for education about sexuality is like looking towards Dabangg for information about the Indian police force! And if our young men traipse around and expect a woman saying no to actually mean ‘yes’, it’s because we have left all the edifying to videos with titles like ‘Indian aunty hot sex’.

Do you think porn is one of the sources of information on sexuality for young people? Is that information reliable and accurate? What other sources do young people refer to for such information?

Conversations that remotely have any connection with sexuality are more often than not pushed under the carpet. Vikas Joshi and Stupid Cupid House through#TalkSexuality have taken a step towards creating a space for these conversations around sexuality highlighting the need for Comprehensive Sexuality Education.

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