a night in a village home...

oh, how romantic is our concept of a village home.
people living peacefully
rice fields around
cattle, cats.. :)
fresh air.

i knew it was a wrong and a stupid concept of city-ites..
but had no clue how wrong.

i'm staying at a friend's place,
in a so-called village,
wanting to write, wanting to be silent.

where i'm staying, a woman alone of fourty stays..
when i got up in the mid of the night,
i saw her lying in the kitchen on the floor.
i thought it was quite unsual..
she said she dint like the fan int the room or soemething..
which i dint quite believe..

morning and she says ...
she couldnt sleep ..
after a lot of questions, she tells us,
for nights, there's been some neighbor
who loves her more than himself
comes to the house at around 2 o clock..
he tried to touch her when she sleeps..
when she makes herself far away,
he tries to use a stick to reach her..!
and when she tells a man at the neighborhood,
he, the sweetheart says
"its not me"
not to talk of compassion!

how strangely lust works
in a beautiful village of this gods own country!

The music workshop: a collage.

Vagina experience sharing:

What does this word mean?
And in kerala?
Is there a word for vagina in Malayalam?
And what does this part of the body mean to you and me.

As we talk of it,

Someone tells us
How she does not believe
She exists below her face.

Someone shares her childhood concept of childbirth
Penis like a lizard’s tail
That goes into vagina
And turns to a child!

Someone lets us know
How she learned to masturbate at a very small age
And how she hated men
When she got to know their intention of touching her
Was purely sexual.

And periods.
Ooh. Bloody.
Still/ and hence pleasurable.

Sexuality, gender,…….and music/songs:

We know how the male song-writer has always stereotyped women
And to some extend men.

Its been so so dangerous for her…
As we walk down, we find.
Shy, well mannered, beautiful, white-skinned, ….
All she’s supposed to be.
And more, a slave to “her” man.

When we analyse and try writing differently,
We understand how successful they are
In making these images
“normal”
and how this normality penetrates even when we understand.
And when we write songs like
“Ella uduppum azhichittu..”
(I drop all that I wear
and I walk into the rain..)
we know this song is not acceptable for our own moralistic ears.

Have we made our space yet?
Have we created the audience just to HEAR what we are speaking of?

But then.
This is all we can do. Today.
Try creeping..
On to this tree and suck it dry…..

And so.
We make songs, on clitoris, on breasts,
On love and what not.
About 5 songs.

Lastly, Love…:

Love happened..
And so much………

My name is clitoris.. the song we made at the workshop

(as we thought of her, a girl who is named clitoris,
we tell each other, oh, clitoris makes such a nice name..)

When they hear my name,
They smile, they laugh
Sometimes they don’t understand.

I hadn’t seen it
When I knew what it was,
I had to hide it
It is my body part.

Oh my name is clitoris,
Yes, my name.

Then I saw it, I was told not to.
They I touched it, I was asked not to.
Don’t see it, don’t touch it,
Don’t see it, don’t touch it..
And that’s why I had to.

Oh my name is clitoris. Yeah I like my name.

Oh what joy came from that day.
I looked, I touched,
I laughed, I cried..
I became completely me, that day.
What joy came from that day
What joy came from that day
What joy came from that day…………

Oh my name is clitoris.
How I love my name.