Photo of the day, March 31st, '09

Photo of the Day

Had a lovely interview with the oh so kind and sassy Andi who organized the VMs in the Social Sciences University here last year. I am doing 'after the fact' interviews with them. This is her photo, but I edited it and enjoy the blurry quality yet obvious connection between the women. I can't wait to meet them after hearing so much from her!

Photo a day?

Today's photo





Last few days


~I found someone who blogs a photo of mumbai a day, and I thought, what a great idea. Will inspire me to take more photos and always fun to share? Would that be interesting for you? Sometimes it seems a big commitment to write a blog, but a photo I can definitely do. If you'd like that, if anyone looks at this, let me know :)

Quantity of quality

The sheer quantity of quality- details and MOMENTS I want to share and remember are backing up in my mind, till I don’t know where to start or how to capture it. I feel I’m trying to collect water in a sieve. I make lists in my mind to try and remember the daily vibrancies, and then come more, and I am swamped. So I guess it’s fitting to similarly bombard you with details, in an illogical swarm perhaps reminisent of the city’s vibrant chaos and constant efforts to overwhelm- so far unsuccessfully, I am hooked.

~I spent a sleepy Sunday afternoon recovering from epic night (sweaty Bollywood style dancing and the kind of quirks that keep you out till dawn) out and crashing Preeya’s lunch with her Indian family. They were warmly amused by my adoration of the food. We go to the ‘salon’ on the third floor of their building, which is a fascinating cultural experience in itself. I do some ‘research’ with hair removal and try out waxing- kind of super satisfying. Armpits hurt the worst, and I felt so sorry for my tiny bleeding hair follicles, no way would I try waxing my poor pubis, fuck that shit! It’s all about invasive beauty procedures here- eyebrows are twisted off with string, entire bodies waxed- why wax your back, why? Faces bleached… I meet Abi, who gets excited about the VMs and invites me to her after knowing me ten minutes and 1.5 legs worth of hair removed.



~Banipurri is the epitome of fast food. It’s the kind of street food you eat just because you crave it. People mob the stand and wait their turn, holding tiny tin cups. The man is like a conductor, grabbing the tiny crispy spheres, punching a hole in them then, swoosh, swoosh, filling them with some sort of minty spicy fresh juice and garbanzo beans (I think) then plunking them in people’s cups. It’s like feeding all these greedy baby birds. You pop it whole into your mouth and it explodes in the strangest tangy rush. Then you hold out your cup for the next one. So you have this crowd of people all holding out their cups waiting for the next 2 seconds of bliss. Maybe it resonates particularly because you see so much of this begging posture constantly, and it’s a joy to see people so easily satisfied.




~I take the wrong train and end up in Andheri. I watch the deep indigo urban grit sliding by with refreshing wind mixing up my breath and hair. I’m listening to NW hip-hop, and the handles of the Ladies Only Car are swaying in-time with Track 5. I am exhausted and pleased.

~It can be so exhausting having the same conversations nearly constantly, How long have you been here? What are you doing? Wait, what?! Vagina-what?! So finding those people who you can skip to the soul of the thing with is a real gift. My new friend Anneke is like that. Chatting over masala chai with the ever-present eardrum-blasting honking in the background, she went on this beautiful tangent that caught my imagination. I think I was going off on the sense of needing to focus or specialize, and how I wish I had some true vocation or passion like Andrew, Emily, Anne, Ellie, Elliot, etc. etc. How I see Joyce be so deeply focused and “on” all the time, but how that’s not me, and she just sort of stopped me, and said it’s the nature of our age and our personalities, that we’re ‘not ready to let things go’ yet and that’s okay. This is basic, but I felt she gave me permission to remain open. I love the image it conjures of all these possible paths stretched ahead, and letting ourselves still love them for a bit more instead of placing roadblocks. When we’re young we have these gazillion paths we fancy taking, and bit by bit we narrow and focus, and though we gain so much it’s through a process of elimination. Each decision holds within it so much possibility, but also a loss. Yet with this year I’m sensing a possible synthesis that makes me thrill with possibility.



~ While in the back of a rick navigating the cramped streets I see this single cow. She is slowly ambling through a 6 street intersection. It’s as though she is in slow motion, completely unperturbed by the mad human scramble as rickshaws, motorbikes, buses and taxis swerve around her. I can’t describe this one adequately, it was just this strange contrast of humanity’s chaos… This other animal, the one other natural thing in this landscape of cement and metal and exhaust, had grown immune to the unnaturalness of us, and was herself the out-of place-element in this fabrication. This is how far we have come. She could have been the last cow in the world, she could have been a dinosaur going extinct.


~Two hyper masculine men decked out in military gear, shined shoes and guns are ambling along the shady side of the street. They are the same height and build, and the one is lightly clasping the extended pinky of the other. I walk behind them for blocks and blocks, and they keep strolling, just holding one another. The truth is the society’s so homophobic it’s assumed that they’re not gay, so it’s more permissible for men to be affectionate with one another- this is such a bittersweet idiosyncrasy. But I enjoy seeing men being so sweet with one another in-spite of this.




~I make my first clothes-washing attempt, and the incredible nastiness of my clothes completely stain this white I <3 BKK t-shirt a nasy rotten egg color. And in the process I use up the whole house’s water supply. Oh, idiot.


~Leaving an interview with the most gorgeous older lady I have ever met, the ever-charming Vagina pioneer Dolly Thakore, the cab was (of course) stuck in a sweat-inducing traffic jam. Then, a man on a bycicle breezed past. His two foot high daughter calmly had her shiny black shoes and knees socked feet on the back of his seat and her tiny paws on his shoulders. They were this little bubble of calm, as he cycled and she balanced, as though they were floating through the country-side and not a street that seemed to be full of all 14 million of Mumbais’ inhabitants.

VMs in Marathi

http://www.hindustantimes.com/StoryPage/StoryPage.aspx?id=d26675f5-1f3b-44d0-acb6-6923dd8287f9

EEee!! The other Vagina Monologues efforts I am documenting here- Mumabi is vagina-crazy! :) This is so so exciting. The city is seriously multilingual, and it's exciting to see the VMs being used to tap into this:

Breaking stereotypes, now in Marathi


The Vagina Monologues, Eve Ensler’s bible for a new generation of women, has been translated in 45 languages, the website boasts.
Make that 46. On April 4, Vandana Khare’s impassioned Marathi translation will secure a spot in that extended list.

Impelled by the boldness and relevance of the book that celebrates female sexuality, Khare, director of the youth fellowship programme at Pukar, an organisation aimed at generating global debate about urbanisation and globalisation, took on scripting a theatrical adaptation in Marathi.

“Translation was easy, but a cultural adaptation was the tricky part. I had to maintain the boldness but restrain it from bordering on vulgarity, given the constraints of Marathi culture,” said Khare.

The feminist author is anxious about the response her adaptation will elicit. A prior reading for a select group of literary and theatre folk earned her praise and encouragement to stage her version.

“It’s a bold move on Khare’s part. The language is most likely to elicit reactions. Literature of protest in Marathi isn’t a novel concept but women speaking that language is new,” said Chaya Datta, professor of women’s studies at the Tata Institute of Social Sciences.

Abundant references to the vagina, sex, love, masturbation and orgasms required Khare to expand her research to different parts of Maharashtra, such as Vidarbha and Pune. “I had a vague idea of the equivalent for vagina from graffiti in local trains. My research threw up words like yoni, fundi and bhundi, as synonyms. Sheeshtikka is the term for clitoris, but no one uses that so I've referred to it as sukhacha (pleasure) button. The book was intended to demystify and reclaim the word c**t,” said the 45-year-old.

Rehearsals for Yoneechya Maneechya Gujgoshtee (sweet secrets of the mind of the vagina) have been stalled because of the
reluctant cast.

“The play is simultaneously personal, universal and unique. It's a part of my personhood, but a lot of actresses have refused to act in the play. The current cast members are hesitant about the content and aesthetics. But it’s an important piece and merits a wide audience, especially the middle classes,” said Khare who is in talks with the BMC to host the performance for various communities in slums.

“With the elections round the bend, I am both curious and afraid of the reactions. I have known Maharashtrians to be progressive as far as theatre is concerned, but let’s see,” Khare said.

(For tickets, contact Vandana Khare on 9821520724. The play will be staged at the PL Deshpande Academy, Prabhadevi, on April 4)

Freaking awesome!

http://www.twine.com/item/1211hhyqm-vvl/loose-women-launch-pink-panty-protest-south-and-central-asia-msnbc-com

Also cool:
http://www.vaginalady.com/words/words.htm

Going to the 200th performance of Poor Box Production's Vagina Monologues tonight- will let you know all about it! They are including a dance perf. poetry, new Monologue, and Bollywood MALE hottie, so will be interesting... Work has suddenly taken off at a gallup. Gallop? Anyway, be well and be in touch!

Sitting at a table ‘helping’ Vandana draft letters soliciting sponsors for the first ever Vagina Monololgues in Marahti (local language in this state), I couldn’t remember the last time I drafted something with a pen and paper. The local tea stand delivered chai in tiny burning glasses, and we pondered how to make it ‘peppy’ and how to emphasize ‘that IT’S A BIG DEAL!’

As her coworkers drifted into the community center she introduced me as her friend, which was more warming than the tea and climate combined. It was such a relief to have her explain my project- and to realize how well she understood it and believed in it's importance.

People keep asking if I’m sick of the Monologues, and the answer is not at all. I am usually the loudest laughter in the theatre. What I AM exhausted by is explaining why it is important, why people should care, and what I’m doing. Her friends kept calling excitedly, because the production was in the Marahti newspaper today, enclosed in a pink box and glowingly appreciative of her courage in the face of challenges and taboos.

She is this awesome woman, organizing the Monologues on her 'holiday' from very exciting community organizing NGO work. She is a single mom, and incredibly awesome and strong like my mom. I asked what her 14 year old daughter thought of her work, and she said she knew all about it. And wanted to act in it. How cool is that?? And also that although she wasn't letting her act, she volunteered to make her mom's bed till the show. I just love that.

India in images

Memory lists

‘But isn’t it overwhelming?’… I think much of the magic lies in this sensory overload. And though I admit Bombay has treated me to some WICKED luck: I found this quirky lovely attic in a 150 year old cottage in the most bohemian charming neighborhood right near the beach, happened upon holi, am meeting people left and right, and have two productions of VMs to research here- been here under a week and already seen a Hindi and English version. I am in a state of near-constant appreciation. Re-reading that, it sounds braggy- it's not all perfect, I am dehydrated and sweaty all the time.

Maybe it’s where I’m at in my life, but this surreal wash of stimulation is so vital, I’m relishing it. Tastes, spices in the air stinging my eyes, rose milk, smoke, dust... I daily make these bizarre lists to try and remember the details, and they wind up sounding like some frantic fevered litany. I found a scrap of paper from the other day that read: nostalgic smell, all women, albino toes, glee pets, alien beauty, forget what look like.

I myself can’t even decipher some of my scratches, and over coffee a few days later these attempts to immortalize the details that compose my life feel so desperate and ephemeral. I know that leaning out the rickety train while pushed against the crush of humanity I get these powerful hits of nostalgia- it has to do with trash, sweet hot air, I don’t know what, but it overwhelms me and makes me feel 17 again, so jaded about somethings and painfullysweetly innocent about others.

I remember watching these two ancient uncles sitting at the station as we thundered through, and through the frenetic crowds they were a pocket of quiet, stroking this gleeful writhing kitten and I couldn’t tell who was happier.

I remember pondering how the lack of mirrors in my life, and always being behind the camera lens instead of in front, leads me to slightly forget what I look like. I asked a friend about this, ‘does this happen to you?’ and he had no idea what I was talking about. It’s disorienting, seeing yourself- maybe because we are always changing. If I was handed charcoal and told to draw myself, I would have no idea where to begin; the girl who emerged would be uglier, or prettier, either way completely unrelated to me. It’s not that this woman is a stranger, but her lines are fuzzy even in my short term memory.

Mumbai, I am feeling you.

I have exhaustion in my eyes, curry licorice in my teeth, and Mumbai in my lungs. The end of the Bangkok chapter was a whirl of friends, fun, booze, and NORMALITY that broke my heart to leave. The city snuck into me, and instead of traveling manically around Thailand as I am normally apt to squeeze in, I opted to stick around and hedonistically relish the rare slice of community. Time there was weirdly cyclical with people and places popping up in mysterious ways. The last night had drinks on rooftop bar, got to ride through BKK in Sunanda's car bumping local hip hop and feeling cool, then perfectly nasty 'Volcano' club with the vaginas, buckets, and tea in the all night diner with my dear Elaheh before hailing a taxi around 5 am and heading to the airport; on the way there the DJ did a 'happy Women's Day' section, and it was so right to be pulling out of BKK into a new chapter on March 8th.

It's only a handful of hours later, not many of them containing sleep, and my imagination is already awash with vibrant and challenging images. There is this overstimulation combined with sleep deprivation that gives everything a tinge of magical surrealism: dozens of crows clinging to a bright red bus as it hurtles down the street; going to be an extra in a Bollywood movie tomorrow; Indians hesitating to rent me rooms because they think I am a whore; mango lassi was, appropriately, my first taste of India; blurry rainbow chalk explosions around the city feel like glimmers of a story I'll never understand...

I was driving around town on the back of a moto to look at a 'flat' of friend of friend of, etc. etc. suffice to say it didn't happen, but was a trip and a half- as we were zooming through the city, we passed this movie being filmed- super man was literally drifting down a few stories with the damsel in his arm in the middle of Mumbai, suspended by a crane but so so graceful none-the-less. I have so much more to say, but need to go sleep in the only (mangy) 3'X5' hotel room I could find.