Tag Archives: death

Lousy Women

Young Women's Republican Club of Milford, Connecticut in 1941One afternoon, when I went out for “lunch”, I saw lots of fat women playing cards in the restaurant. I was not in a good mood. I felt giddy after Mr. Old Fashioned’s meeting in which people ordered many rounds of tea and snacks, while he repeated, “The problem with India is that the debates are not based on facts. [Emphasis his.]” A girl sneered, “But, we know how good he is on the facts.”

I heard that Mr. Old Fashioned once tried to prove that Gujarat’s economic performance is not so good. Like a shrewd sleuth who untangles a mystery, he listed the facts and figures to prove his assumption. Soon, someone on Twitter pointed out that he had mixed up the figures of Gujarat and Jharkhand. Mr. Old Fashioned swallowed the mortification, and yelled at the young reporter who did the “leg work” for him.

I tried to read in the restaurant while I waited, but these women were too noisy. They played cards in the restaurant in the afternoons, perhaps while their husbands worked themselves to death somewhere in the same lane.

I can’t read when women are shrilling into my ears.

They shrill into my ears when I write about them. A year ago, an ex-colleague called me and screamed, “You called me a grim, joyless lady who wouldn’t crack a smile?” I said, “Ummm, well, Yeah.” trembling. She gave me a stern lecture on the consequences of violating the modesty of women. She said that I have so much angst against the “society”, but do not know the laws of the land, and how they are tilted in favor of the female race.

I have so much angst but know so pitifully little.

She said, “Many women might have done things to you. But, that is your problem. That is not my problem. You may write about any woman you want to write about, but you shouldn’t write about me. To write about me, you need my permission.” After she made me cow down, there was a note of triumph in her voice. She then mellowed, and began to list the specific laws that might be used against me.

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At times, it is their husbands. A few years ago, I used to talk to a middle-aged journalist on Facebook. I gathered that she stalked me when I noticed her “moon face” on my profile page every day. When I asked whether this is true, she removed me, saying, “You seem to be one of those stalker kinds my 16 year old daughter asks me to politely ignore. I know that you are otherwise a wonderful fellow.” I see the world through my pure, uncorrupted eyes. It took me many months to understand what she meant.

She seemed not to mind when we talked on Twitter much later. But, one day, her husband, a low IQ Malayali idiot messaged me on Facebook: “Stop stalking my wife or I will !@#$%%%.” WTF. What could have happened? When she noticed that her hair was graying and that she no longer has quite the same effect on this moron, she might have hinted that she has a secret admirer on Facebook. These stupid men believe anything their women folk tell them.

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Once when I saw two South Indian women “writers” telling each other that their men think of them as Idli-making morons, I said, “But, you people make beautiful Idlis. :* ” One among them, a plump young woman lashed out at me saying, “Spare us those “kissies”. You don’t know what I am getting into.” She was hinting that the law was skewed in her favor. The other woman, Kavitha, sounded calm and serene. I thought, “This is a nice auntie.” But, then she started selling her “yet-to-be-published” book to me. A few months later, when I walked into a book store, I saw her book. 

Everything You Wanted to Write About Freelance Journalism (but didn’t know whom to ask)”

By Kavitha and Charu.

That evening, I was ROTFL:

“If you aren’t sure of what you want your article to achieve, you’re going to have a hell of a time convincing an editor.”

“The key to a good interview is to understand exactly what you need with the person you’re interviewing.”

“You don’t want to plagiarize. None of us do. Do you cut and paste information from the internet? Do you use several sources, including wire services, books and research? We all do, but there’s price to be paid for this quick access to information. It means that it is easier than ever to plagiarize without even knowing it. It also means that if you do plagiarize, intentionally or not, anyone, with a bit of digging, can find you out.”

A few weeks ago, when everyone was whipping Pankaj Mishra on Twitter, I noticed Kavitha tweeting, “You can write for the foreign media, even if you are not establishment elite, like Pankaj Mishra. Buy my book.”  😛 

The Dead House

Much of the ideological debates in India remind me of this:

“The two children of the family were divided on the question. June Sanborn, aged nineteen, had always thought that all architects were romantic, and she had been delighted to learn that they would have a very young architect; but she did not like Roark’s appearance and his indifference to her hints, so she declared that the house was hideous and she, for one, would refuse to live in it. Richard Sanborn, aged twenty-four, who had been a brilliant student in college and was now slowly drinking himself to death, startled his family by emerging from his usual lethargy and declaring that the house was magnificent. No one could tell whether it was esthetic appreciation or hatred of his mother or both.

When the house was completed, Mrs. Sanborn refused to live in it. Mr. Sanborn looked at it wistfully, too tired to admit that he loved it, that he had always wanted a house just like it. He surrendered. The house was not furnished. Mrs. Sanborn took herself, her husband and her daughter off to Florida for the winter, “where,” she said, “we have a house that’s a decent Spanish, thank God!–because we bought it ready-made. This is what happens when you venture to build for yourself, with some half-baked idiot of an architect!” Her son, to everybody’s amazement, exhibited a sudden burst of savage will power: he refused to go to Florida; he liked the new house, he would live nowhere else. So three of the rooms were furnished for him. The family left and he moved alone into the house on the Hudson. At night, one could see from the river a single rectangle of yellow, small and lost, among the windows of the huge, dead house.”

The Society Kills The Joyous

530325_10150969382958986_1688000157_nMarilyn Monroe on the screen was an image of pure, innocent, childlike joy in living. She projected the sense of a person born and reared in some radiant utopia untouched by suffering, unable to conceive of ugliness or evil, facing life with the confidence, the benevolence, and the joyous self-flaunting of a child or a kitten who is happy to display its own attractiveness as the best gift it can offer the world, and who expects to be admired for it, not hurt.

In real life, Marilyn Monroe’s probable suicide–or worse: a death that might have been an accident, suggesting that, to her, the difference did not matter–was a declaration that we live in a world which made it impossible for her kind of spirit, and for the things she represented, to survive.

If there ever was a victim of society, Marilyn Monroe was that victim–of a society that professes dedication to the relief of the suffering, but kills the joyous.

None of the objects of the humanitarians’ tender solicitude, the juvenile delinquents, could have had so sordid and horrifying a childhood as did Marilyn Monroe.

To survive it and to preserve the kind of spirit she projected on the screen–the radiantly benevolent sense of life, which cannot be faked–was an almost inconceivable psychological achievement that required a heroism of the highest order. Whatever scars her past had left were insignificant by comparison.”—Ayn Rand On Marilyn Monroe

The Niche That She Found

tumblr_me72yeT3W81rlif9vo1_500If Howard Roark were an architect in India, he would have been lynched by the mob. In The Fountainhead, Howard Roark is a kind, gentle man with strong values and principles. But, in a country where humility is considered the fundamental moral virtue, they would have sent this arrogant young man to a lunatic asylum, to see to it that he is salted away for a very long time. He could not have reached them through rational arguments. It is not surprising that the “mystic muck of India” evoked nothing but contempt in Ayn Rand. I do not blame her.

But, for many young Indian men and women, Howard Roark epitomizes individualism and character strength. There are ardent socialists who consider Ayn Rand the greatest novelist in history. Much to the chagrin of their boyfriends, many women want their men to be like Howard Roark. A collegemate once told me, “Women do not know that it is not possible for a man to be Howard Roark. He can only pretend to be Howard Roark. Hell, he can’t even pretend to be Howard Roark.”

As a teenager, whenever I felt depressed, I turned to Gail Wynand for inspiration. Once when I met a girl who has the same cognitive and personality traits of that of mine, she told me that her favorite novelist is Ayn Rand, her favorite novel,The Fountainhead, and her favorite fictional character, Gail Wynand. It is strange. For nearly four decades after the Indian Independence, every aspect of the Indian economy was “planned” and “regulated” by the socialistic state. The economy has become far more liberalized in the past two decades, but India’s is still one of the most controlled economies in the world. Virtually every literate Indian has heard of Karl Marx. Karl Marx’s political views are much closer to the typical Indian’s than Rand’s. Outside the market niche she has found, Ayn Rand is virtually unheard of. Yet, Ayn Rand outsells Karl Marx by sixteen-fold in India. This is in all likelihood an understatement because I first noticed her works when I was a teenager, in a rickety street stall in a small town. Those were pirated copies.  Continue reading

Darlie Routier And The Aarushi Talwar Murder Case

DarlieDevonDamonDrake

“Costly DNA tests might prove otherwise — but even if she could afford it, the state might not allow it.”

Darlie Lynn Routier was accused of murdering two of her children in 1996. Even now, she is on the death row. The case is very similar to that of the Aarushi Talwar murder case:

From Hood County News:

“A well-funded state machine claimed Darlie Routier murdered her two little boys and slit her own throat. Costly DNA tests might prove otherwise — but even if she could afford it, the state might not allow it.”

List Verse has a good summary:

In the early morning hours of June 6, 1996, a Rowlett, Texas, woman named Darlie Routier frantically called 911. She claimed that while she was sleeping downstairs with her two sons, Damon and Devon, she awoke to find an unknown male intruder attacking her. After chasing the intruder out of the house, Darlie then discovered that she had been stabbed and that Damon and Devon had been brutally murdered. Her husband and youngest son were sleeping upstairs, and missed the attack. But the authorities did not believe Routier’s story, and they charged her with the murders four days later.

It is believed that after murdering her sons, Routier inflicted her own stab wounds upon herself and staged the crime scene. It seemed unlikely that she could have remained asleep while this so-called intruder was killing her children—and since there was no blood trail leading away from the scene, the physical evidence did not match Roulier’s story.

It was theorized that since the family was experiencing financial difficulties, Darlie killed her sons to collect on a life insurance policy. When she went to trial, she was sentenced to death via lethal injection. Like the Jeffrey MacDonald case, this remains highly controversial; supporters of Routier’s innocence have pointed to numerous errors in the investigation, and think that certain pieces of evidence support her story. But Routier still remains on death row, seventeen years later.