“I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?”
I am proud of being an Indian. I am proud that I spent substantial time of life in Bihar. When I was in Delhi it made me proud that my country has a capital with superb metro service and superb eateries. I am proud that NCR boasts of three women being molested or raped everyday in NCR source. And funny thing is, I write the definition of feminism in my GSB (aptly named Government, Society and Business) examination for marks. In this blog you will find a lot of hate posts about women. Now that makes me a true Indian. A guy growing up in booming India, in his mid twenties, having a distorted image of women. Aah I am so proud to be in that category.
Last time when I wrote a about the Kolkata rape case, it was not out of anger. It was out of shame. Now I am so apathetic about it that I don’t feel even shame. Rather I feel pride. Rambling on Facebook, Twitter and Blog is my best way of feeling proud. My pathetic attention deficit syndrome has finally compelled me to change my DP on FB and I have updated it with a pic that clearly depicts that I am not one of ‘them’. I am cool. I am different. I am thinking that I am going to buy a T-shirt that says “Real men don’t rape’. They blog – I muttered. I know I am writing this to show off to get more likes from girls than boys. I am one of those middle class boys who grew up in a society of suppressed sexuality. That is why I gawk at girls as a piece of meat with my fellow friends. But let me forget the blame game here and feel the pride. I am a true Indian who sitting in a cozy room in Chennai with constant internet connection, is writing shit on his pirated MS Word. After this I will lit a cigarette, post the blog and go on discussing girls of my college and how they looked today. That is not pathetic. That is true Indian pride talking.
I LOL-ed on the fact that people are writing sorry to Damini. Why say sorry? She deserved it. That’s a gift from an Indian to a fellow Indian. She was barely called by her name in media. She is always objectified as the victim. Now that portrayal will surely evoke emotions within us. She was just news and will fade away easily. Busy life, busy people. Busy in raising children, rapists. Few hours ago somebody posted that the ‘victim’ died. Aah that’s a relief. Now I can go back to my hilarious posts on ‘December Fool’s day’ and all Mayan Calendar shit. We make jokes on ‘end of the world’. No one realises that India is already dead.
-Fellow proud self-loathing Indian
[Thinking about the next doomsday joke – the ‘in’ thing]
P.S. Vande Mataram means I salute to (my) mother. Did you note that India is also a woman?
Few readings for reflection :