Tips to Prevent Rapes: Government

 For Men

1. Don’t put drugs in women’s drinks
2. When you see a woman walking by herself, leave her alone
3. If you decide to help a woman in distress remember not to rape her
4. Never creep into a woman’s house through an unlocked door/window or sneak up behind her or rape her
5. If you are unable to stop yourself, ask a friend to always be around you and to alert the cops if needed
6. Don’t have sex with anyone who is asleep or unconscious – if it is not consensual its rape
7. If a woman looks at you, get out of her sight. It is not an invitation. You might be tempted later to rape her.
8. Drop all kinky ideas. You can’t justify rape as surprise sex.
9. Find innovative new ways to keep yourselves occupied like reading or community service.
10. Don’t ever eat Chowmein, especially before a date

For Women

1. Don’t step out of the house after dark
2. Actually don’t step out of the house at all
3. Don’t go to parties at locations further than 1 km from your house
4. If you do, then make sure that no men are present in the party or in within 1 km radius of the party destination
5. Don’t ask the cops, watchman, step father, brother, etc for help. They might just rape you instead.
6. Don’t eat Chowmein. Ever
7. Don’t show any skin, even the Burkha’s shouldn’t have eye holes
8. Get married before you attain puberty
9. Actually get married the minute you are born. We don’t acknowledge marital rape as an offense.
10. Don’t get born as a woman

(With inputs from Ayush Mishra)

Do Rapists really Exist?

For Representational purpose only, NOT profiling this person as a typical rapist. Image picked up from google.

1. The constitution doesn’t acknowledge them… as there have hardly been any convictions, so they don’t legally exist in our country.

2. They come in all sizes and shapes – nobody knows how they look like. How will you warn her/anyone against them?

3. They can manifest themselves as friends, family and your friendly neighborhood watchman too … people you are supposed to trust. Just becomes too difficult to explain, right?

4. You cannot provide any do’s and don’ts for your daughter – if you wear only sacks, don’t step out of the house ever, don’t talk to anyone, etc doesn’t hold.

5. There will be no mass movement against rapists in this country… its just not a election worthy issue or more than 2 days media worthy news.

6. There will be no harsh punishment for rapists… as it’s never the fault of the rapist. You must have been ‘asking for it’.

7. As a woman, you are just a statistic while a Rapist is a protected species (by the law/government)

Last Note:

Do I even want to say something before I leave? Why should I? Nobody wanted to hear me when I wanted to talk… now I don’t care if somebody hears or not…yet I write. Maybe some silly romantic notion that some day someone will want to know why I chose to move on.

Although wont it be better to offer no explanation? Let those buggers figure out what drove a seemingly harmless 33 year old to such extreme measures. 33, the magical age where the most talented, departed from the worldly pleasures to an unknown place. Is it the age … has to be…as it definitely can’t be talent…not the ones that you have been used to, don’t want Jesus, Alexander to turn in their graves hearing my whining. The most obvious reason that they would come up with is stress… some gyan giving know it all will say “she couldn’t take it, the stress got to her”. Old friends will say “she should have atleast called us”…really do you guys ever called me? Well, honestly some of you did share stories about your life, your kids, spouses, work and it bored the hell out of me.

Most people who decide to end it all, are termed cowards, there is even a law terming suicide illegal. Many think it’s an escape from a sad life. There are medical terms like clinical depression and shit which always precedes conversation around the same. But can’t it be plain boredom? Yes there is a certain amount of sadness somewhere, but it’s no bigger than most people. Hey, there are people who slog their asses over 40 rupees just to spend it all on local hooch and sleep on the pavement. Can it be sadder than their life? Yeah yeah, it’s sad and very touching…but do I really care… do I have empathy, no…do I have the brains of a Zuckerberg…no, do I have the grit of a Phelps…no, do I have the gumption of a Kardashian…hell no!

If I share this with anyone, I will get a few pep talks, some attention for a few days, my social life will improve for a couple of days…hell I might even get a vacation without my bosses raising an eyebrow…but then it will all be back to the same old story. Then in a few months more, if I do this again, I will be referred to some doctor or new age holistic healer.

In the meanwhile I will desperately wait for some stupid made up sign, trying to figure out some pattern between a loved one and the most terrible phase of self loathing to draw some connection of hope, of a reason to endure on, of a meaning to this extremely mundane thing called life. A point will reach when even these little mind games with self wont matter. The phase of filling up the void with material things, religion, sex, philosophy, new experiences are long gone.

The thought of drawing inspiration from other people, events just seems so flaky… why can’t anyone accept that the shelf life is over...in this supermarket… I have no problems in moving to a new market… a new space… a new environment.

It is like this cruel game of UNO where there are just 2 players who have swapped their cards so that each of them knows the others hand but the game still doesn’t end. But by some irrational code of conduct, you just can’t fling your cards and move on to a new set or even a new game. You have to play till the end. Why?

Well, if you really want to you can… who is stopping you? Maybe you are greedy…maybe you want to have a last laugh… maybe you want some sadistic pleasure in seeing the person who finds it unable to react in the ‘appropriate way’. There is no appropriate way I guess…what would I do if I get this kind of a note… I don’t know… maybe I will rush to the person… and promise to be there throughout and slowly forget it and get caught up in my own life.

Because, the nature of this life is selfishness… you enjoy all the great things and worst things alone. Each person has a purpose to be here, exist, go through some fixed notions and then move on. Why is moving on such a big deal then? Why can’t I move on? What is holding me back? Haven’t I served my purpose… what was it anyways? If I can’t remember, it can’t be that important and if the purpose hasn’t been fulfilled yet, then sorry it won’t be ever.

No do not argue, that the purpose will be revealed once you are ready and till then one must have patience… one must have maturity… blah blah…exactly. I do not give two hoots to your goddamn purpose or patience or maturity… I will take matters into my own hands now. I will force your hand now… do your best… as from now onwards I will do my worse. 

The Dark Passenger

It lies passive, waiting for opportunities when none existed...to rear its head not unlike a baby sparrow. If only it was cute like the sparrow. The exact residential place is not known... nor is its destination. It is fascinating to observe the speed at which it grows though. Like all things resilient it strikes when you least expect it. Unlike all striking things it aim is directed at itself, somehow it musters this great rage but somehow gets too engrossed within itself and self destructs. 


The more you try and control it, the more you distract it, the more you ignore it, the stronger it grows. What does it feed on? Why does it exist? What does it want? 


Give it that small ray of light and the tendrils uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and uncurl and multiply and you lose track of which was the offending one. Somehow it has also grown stronger with thicker roots and stems which cut deeply and leave a scar. 


Will it bind its vines so deep that escape is impossible, will one have to find ingenious ways to channel it, will anyone be bothered enough to pull out its roots? 


Dexter Morgan, thanks for giving the name, at least one doesnt have to call it by some clinical name. 

Special Superhero!

I always knew I was special… God must have made me special… what other reason was there for me to exist if I wasn’t God’s favorite child.

I can’t fly airplanes or invent things that need inventing, even though I can doodle I really cant paint or write, create fancy online applications which earn me millions, be a sports star and win medals for the country while endorsing various products, sing or even dance without jabbing my elbow into someone…. How am I helping this world? I guess there is a secret plan by the cosmos (not the magazine dodos but the supreme one with halo and lightning as a weapon) and I am like a sleeper agent who will be activated when the time is ripe.

Of course, half of my life is over waiting for this super secret plan to work out…maybe its so super secret that I am doing it without realizing it…like the other day when I crossed a traffic signal and almost made that speeding car crush me ….saved that driver from being penalized by the traffic cops!

I continue to hone my skills while I wait for my cue to save the world…unlike the other established superheroes I don’t have a revenge drama to take care of while waiting to save the world…nor do I have to win over somebody’s love or sew my own tights… I have to continue with my everyday existence in the same mundane way without letting anyone know that I am a superhero… a special superhero for that matter.

Why am I special? Coz I actually do not have any superpowers…so I guess I have to be!

When Enough is Enough!

Overloaded bag, that last piece of curly fries, that ample swig of rum, the over adequate sounds of pity, the myriad questions, the copious amounts of tobacco, the abundance of nonsense...when is it ever enough?

How do you know its enough?

How many times will you scream your guts out that its the last time but go back to the same thing again and again, like some unstoppable force was pulling you... like you were on auto mode, a helpless puppet of your own desires, insecurities, fears, the reservations about your self, reaching that pinnacle from where there is no return... longing for a finality that should come, has to come, but somehow always gets delayed, gets ripped in one single corner, tucked far away from consciousness. A part which hardly matters at the moment but exists for all purposes to remind you that, a little sliver of it has seeped back to where it was... where it always will be...a memory of that initial theorem.

The basis of choice, made in haste, frustration, despair but always weaker than that eternal damnation...'Hope'. How does it manage to sneak back in is beyond comprehension but once in, it grows like cancer, becoming bigger and bigger until you scream out again "Enough is Enough" hoping that this time its the last.

Deep down, I know the answer is 'Never' but still the heart hopes. Sigh!

Fake Smruti :Fake Speech : Free Thought

I have no ideas...I have no passion... I have no inspiration....otherwise how do you explain my cyber silence? Is social media eating into my expressions? Am I slowly losing my voice by voicing my thoughts in 140 characters?

I would like to believe that I am so hard pressed for time what with work, old monk, the occasional socializing that I have no energy to scribble something here... but the real story is much more disturbing.

I have become a 'pleaser' from a 'dont care'er and I am always trying to please somebody or the other...so if I write about the romantic illusions of somebody I know I realize that the person is going to get offended or if I write about a book on a nice Wednesday afternoon, another friendly soul

would not take it lightly...so how would I please anyone?

Maybe I could use an alias and draw parallels that are so complicated that nobody gets it....but then what is the point if nobody gets it? Why is free speech so difficult? Isnt it supposed to be freely available?

Not in Mr Rushdie's world....and neither in mine. Sigh.

Maybe I will be tweet under a different handle "fakesmruti" and say what I really want to say...but there is another problem there...will 'fakesmruti' be like the real Smruti? Then she should have the same issues? so 'fakesmruti' will have to create another handle 'fakefakesmruti' ...but then the problem would get compounded... imagine a world of fakesmruti's!! As if one Smruti wasnt enough....maybe its easier to bottle up all the thoughts and pass them through some thoughtcast to a universe its stored for eternity. Where can I find such an universe? Is it google/youtube?