Hello again

Back, hopefully for a while. Things have changed, things need to change… among others, the layout here. I’ve also chopped off my hair in the flesh, so a drastic new style here seems entirely appropriate. Catching up, meanwhile, where I can.

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Doctor on the Boil

This isn’t the post I’ve been planning to write, the one about the amazing Pride march in Delhi. It’s not even the alternative post about queer community that’s been percolating in my mind the last couple of weeks. I will write those too, but first I have to get this one off my chest.

I went to get a general health check-up, which turned, rather unexpectedly, into a session with a gynaecologist. This is one area where I hate not to be in charge, hate not knowing what is being said, hate feeling like I have no control over my own body and that someone else has the right to poke around in it and pronounce judgement. Generally I approach these things with fear, and so I deal with it by doing a lot of research beforehand — how to find a doctor who will be queer-friendly, what sort of experience does (s)he have, does (s)he specialise in something specific, what are my questions for this visit, why am I going here at all, where are the copies of my previous visits’ reports, do I still remember the difference between amenorrhea and dysmenorrhea from the last time I mugged it up?  Usually after all that, the visit isn’t bad — maybe because I’ve done all this homework beforehand and have everything prepared, almost all the gynaecologists listen to my explanations, and, if asked, explain what they are doing and why (they look surprised at being asked, but then so do optometrists, and dentists, and car mechanics…); and if they prescribe anything,  tell me exactly what it is, what it does, what the side effects may be, and that it’s my choice to take it at all. Not too much to expect from a doctor, right? Apparently not.

This time I found myself face to face with a woman I knew nothing about, who decided sometime in the first 5 minutes, while I was still sitting in front of her with all my clothes on, that she knew what was wrong with me, and that was it, she wasn’t going to listen to anything that might contradict her ideas. As it happens, her idea was something I’ve been misdiagnosed with before, and it was proved wrong, and I said so, but I didn’t have any of the paperwork with me, and she clearly didn’t care about a word I said. She was so sure that she was right that she began dictating a prescription without doing a proper exam — she didn’t even bother to weigh me! Then she asked me to take off my shirt and after looking at me like I was some sort of loathsome slug, became fixated on medicines for hair and weight loss.

Now, I know that I have more hair than the average woman on most of my body. I’ve had it ever since I hit puberty, and I used to be terribly ashamed about it, and secretly wonder what I’d done to be cursed with it, and try to make bargains with the universe about it — I’ll find a cure for cancer/become a nun/never eat ice cream again if I can only be normal now…. But over time, and after seeing other real women’s bodies, instead of only whatever fantasies you get on TV, I’ve realised that 1) it’s not that much — most men are still a lot hairier than I am, 2) it’s not that unusual — about 50% of my female friends, gay, straight, Indian, Caucasian, whatever, have some amount of body hair somewhere that the ideal woman doesn’t, 3) it doesn’t hurt me — I’m still very much a healthy, sometimes attractive woman, in spite of it, and 4) I don’t really care. Seriously. It stopped being an unexploded bomb after the first time I let someone else see me naked and realised that she still thought I was beautiful, and after that, it’s steadily lost any power it had over me to become a harmless shadow of the fear I used to live with. For the last year particularly, I’ve treated it in the same way that most women treat their arm hair — most of the time I don’t bother to do anything about it, since it’s perfectly acceptable anyway, and if sometimes there’s a special reason to care about my appearance, I’ll put in the extra time to get rid of it temporarily, for my own sense of occasion. I guess I’ve been lucky to live with people who also don’t care about it.

So, at first I was honestly puzzled, lying there in that clinic, wondering why the doctor was looking so disgustedly at me. When she began speaking, she started with a weight loss medicine, and I still had no clue what was going on — I’m not skinny, but it’s a far cry from needing diet pills! When she’d listed three more medicines, I finally asked her what they were for, and realised that she was prescribing hormones aimed at hair loss. Even then, I thought she’d just misunderstood, and I kept trying to tell her that no, really, I don’t care about the hair, can you just deal with the real gynaecological problem here, please? I kept saying It doesn’t bother me, mujhe usse koi dikkat nahi parti and she kept writing down more and more blood tests and possible combinations of hormones, and starting unfinished sentences about you’ll want to get married soon and it doesn’t look nice and abhi tumne socha nahi hai and I finally shut up, took the paper from her, and walked out, vowing never to return.

I can’t stop fuming about this. I know that even a year ago, if this had happened to me, I’d want to just curl up in a ball of shame and self-loathing and die, and all my anger would have been turned into whininess about life being unfair. Now, I’m just furious at the doctor for being so bloody-minded that she ignored a legitimate medical complaint to concentrate on this purely cosmetic, unimportant thing. Is the beauty myth really that overt now, that the idea of my attractiveness to society is more important than my health?

Pride video

Still no time for a real update, but this video captures some of the exhilaration and enthusiasm in Delhi on Sunday. Article 377, by the way, is India’s infamous “sodomy law.” Sign the Open Letter against it:

Section 377 of the Indian Penal Code, a colonial-era law dating to 1861, which punitively criminalizes romantic love and private, consensual sexual acts between adults of the same sex.

In independent India, as earlier, this archaic and brutal law has served no good purpose. It has been used to systematically persecute, blackmail, arrest and terrorize sexual minorities. It has spawned public intolerance and abuse, forcing tens of millions of gay and bisexual men and women to live in fear and secrecy, at tragic cost to themselves and their families. It is especially disgraceful that Section 377 has on several recent occasions been used by homophobic officials to suppress the work of legitimate HIV-prevention groups, leaving gay and bisexual men in India even more defenceless against HIV infection.

Delhi be Proud

The first ever Delhi Queer Pride happened, the turnout was overwhelmingly more than expected, no violence, no heckling, good media coverage so far, and hundreds of deliriously happy  we’re-here-we’re-queer and hetero-homo-bhai-bhais later, I’m too excited and on too much of a high to actually write, so I’ll leave you with some pics:

Aapki tarif?

Please see the CHANGE OF ROUTE posted in the Delhi Queer Pride announcement BELOW!

Wow, there’s been a sudden upsurge of traffic since I posted the Delhi Queer Pride announcement; I’m guessing that this blog is showing up near the top in any searches for Pride info. I’m glad there’s so much interest in the event, and I’d love to know who y’all are. Please come in, look around, say hi, introduce yourselves in a comment — and maybe I’ll see you on Sunday!

Delhi Queer Pride 2008

This June 29th, for the first time, Queer Pride celebrations will erupt on the streets of Delhi, alongside simultaneous marches in Kolkata and Bangalore!

Queer Pride is a celebration. It is about loving who we are, whether lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, hijra or straight, and affirming everyone’s right to be respected for their own sexual choices.

This year, queer people, friends, and allies take this message to the streets!

CHANGE OF ROUTE:

After day long negotiations with the police, we have to make changes to our route for Delhi Queer Pride ‘08 since Sec 144 [which prohibits gatherings in large parts of Central Delhi, including CP] prevents us from marching from Regal through Central Park as planned. We now have a new route and a new meeting point with full police permission and support!

NEW MEETING POINT: The corner of Barakhamba Road and Tolstoy Marg, just south of the Metro station on Barakhamba Road, and in front of the Intercontinental Hotel on Tolstoy Marg

NEW ROUTE: We get a much longer walk! We walk to a clear road blocked of traffic by the police [thank you!] down Tolstoy Marg, past the intersection with Janpath, and then to Jantar Mantar as originally planned, where we will have celebrating, singing, speeches and a candlelight vigil.

SAME MEETING TIME: 5:30pm on 29th June!

********Forward this message widely to your queer friends and straight allies — lets get everyone out on Sunday! Please post on all blogs or messageboards where you think there might be any interest this!**********

**If you want to be out on the street and yet under cover, we will provide masks to cover your face, or bring something along yourself. Nevertheless, please remember this is a public event.**

Delhi Queer Pride Commitee is an open forum of city residents. Anyone can join – please email delhiqueerpride@gmail.com to be part of organising Delhi Queer Pride ‘08. We are also fundraising for the Pride, so email if you want to contribute or volunteer!

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Love is simple

This is part affirmation, part reminder to myself and the rest of the universe. Something, somehow put this song in my head the other day and reminded me to stop moping, stop obsessing, stop treading the same tired paths of self-reproach, recrimination and fear. I’ve been swinging wildly from nostalgia to close to hopelessness, from rage around 180 degrees to desire, blaming them all on the pangs of love, but however intertwined with it they might be, they are not love, and nor are my agonisings about her, about me, about ‘us’ and whether ‘we’ exist at all and what it all means. Love is calm moments when all the insistent inner voices are silenced — waking up to see my dog prancing through the bushes, her tail a question mark of possibilities, scattering petals everywhere; breathing in the cool rain smell from the wet clay pots by the side of the road; losing myself in the easy swing of my own body running in the park; finding the perfect words to fit a feeling… Love is those moments shared, even if only mentally, because I am not just me for that moment, I’m also her because I care so much about her that it eclipses my own reaction, even if she isn’t there. Love is being able to take a breath and tell that moment honestly — I would like to share this beauty with you, you were in my thoughts, you bring me happiness, I love you — and stop there, not go on to do you think of me, when do I hear from you, suppose we never see each other again, have you stopped loving me yet? Love is being able to send that moment winging its way through the universe and accept fully the response the universe sends back. Love is doing this over and over and over again, as fresh and beautiful each time, even if there was no answer, even if a kiss came flying back with its own love, even if you didn’t quite dare to send it at all. Love is simple, but it isn’t easy.

Catching Up

I just realised that I was tagged ages ago by tonguetiedblue for this meme. I’m not sure that much of it applies to me, actually, but I thought I’d take a stab at it anyway:

This is Isabella’s Sex Meme. Anyone is welcome to steal it, but you must post this rules blurb at the beginning of the meme.

1: You must include this link to Sex Talk – Sex Advice for Men.
2. You must answer every question! If you don’t have a good answer, you are strongly encouraged to make up something good; we like to be entertained.
3. You must tag three people: Consider yourselves tagged if you’re interested.

Here goes:

1. Sex in the Morning or Sex at Night?
Either one — I love the intimacy of waking up next to or around someone, being aware, almost before being consciously awake, of the desire between the two of you. I also like the slow build during the whole evening, whether it’s out on a formal date or a workaday night at home, the anticipation of sex flashing between the two of us in between whatever else is going on.

2. Better Sex Music – Sade or Marvin Gaye?
Um. There is music that’s sexy to me, but I don’t really have anything like ’sex music’ in my mind.

3. Naughty Pics or Naughty Home Videos?
Pictures, definitely; movies and videos don’t leave too much room for the imagination.

4. Fabulous Sex With: Dr Doug Ross or Dr Greg House?
No idea who either one is — but since they both seem to be men, the point is probably moot.

5. Vibrator or Dildo?
I like ones that vibrate and are insertable — so both?

6. Bedroom Sex: Lights Off or Lights On?
Either. Both. It honestly doesn’t matter, though I’d avoid either floodlighting or pitch blackness.

7. Word Preference: Pussy or Cunt?
Neither, really — they don’t seem to have much to do with the real thing, somehow. I might have a slight preference for cunt, because pussy just reminds me of learning “The Owl and the Pussy Cat” by heart, but I don’t actually use either, much.

8. Spanking Over the Knee or Spanking Only During Sex?
Well, I enjoy the idea of both, but have only experienced one — clearly, further research is indicated.

9. More Exciting: Sex in an Elevator or Sex in an Aeroplane?
Nothing sexy about an aeroplane at all, but even the most nondescript stranger sparks some curiosity when you’re in an elevator with nothing to do but look at them, so elevator it is.

10. Ron Jeremy or Peter North?
I think ignorance might be bliss here….

11. Word Preference? Cock or dick?
Neither.

12. Linda Lovelace or Jenna Jameson?
I don’t have the faintest idea who they are either.

13. Rope Bondage or Bondage Tape
Rope, definitely; tape is too much like bad memories of waxing

14. Give Rim Job or Receive Anal Sex?
Insufficient data.

15. Get Rich Stripping in a Skanky Bar or Get Rich as a Call Girl for Celebs?
Call girl, definitely; I hate performing in front of a crowd.

16. Which Threesome – Boy/Girl/Girl or Boy/Boy/Girl?
If I absolutely had to choose, then the former, but it’s practically at the bottom of my list of things I’d like to do.

17. Flavoured Oil or Tingling Oil?
Neither. Scented oil is nice enough thank you.

18. Favorite Non-Sexual Object to Make Sexual?
Cloth — watching someone drape the sheets around them, or the feel of a sari swirling around me.

19. Sex While Strangers Watch or Sex With a Stranger?
Have I mentioned I hate performing in front of a lot of people?

20. Tied to the Bed or to a St Andrew’s Cross?
The bed.