Thursday, September 15, 2011

good heavens


Mary and Joseph would have sued the hospital if there were a hospital to sue. If there were a hospital, there would have been an explanation for this. But again, there was no hospital. And yet, here it was. Right in front of their eyes. No explanation in sight. What were they going to tell the shepherds and the angels in execlsis deo and the three kings from orient soon-to-be-disoriented? They were expecting a saviour. Herod wouldn't lift a finger about this, either. He'd just laugh. It was all too embarrassing. Where was the drama? This couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't do. Every body was expecting a hue and cry. This was just a "Meh". Mary had delivered a baby girl. And there wasn't a nurse for miles around to pin the blame on. No baby exchanged at the crib here. This was definitely the immaculate conception. The Holy Spirit was a tad inebriated that day. This was the only explanation. 

They called her Jis. Jis Joseph. A girl had to have her father's name. No fancy second name and all. She grew up tall. She grew up fair. She grew up strong. She grew up smart. But most of all, she grew up proud. When they slapped her once, she showed the other cheek. When they slapped that as well, she turned their women wombs into barren weights. No progenies for women-beaters. When they tried stoning ol' Maggie, she said "Let the one who's not solicited the services of this worthy woman till date, cast the first stone. And if you lie, your nuts will fall faster and harder than the Rapture hailstones themselves." No stone throwing happened that day. Maggie was very, very hot, you see. Then the Devil tried to tempt her. That didn't go so well, as well. For the devil. She did as good as her male counterpart or should I say, alter ego. The female messiah rocked the gospels just as good as the male did. Maybe even better, cause she had to try twice as hard as the Jewish boy-next-door would have had to. When was the last time the Jewish-girl-next-door have anything to her advantage other than her inheritance. And this is before it become fashionable for Jewish girls to inherit bigass corporations. When she preached in temples, the elders patronized her or her assets or both. When she healed the sick, they asked her if she considered a career in nursing. When the children came to her and she told everyone that the kingdom of the Lord belonged to the young innocents, they smiled indulgently, said "oh, you should have one of your own" and marveled at maternal instinct working in not-so-mysterious ways. And then, they tried to get her married. 

At the wedding of Canna, they thought Mary had brought her super daughter to show her off. Then she went and turned water to wine. Bad move. They got drunk on her wine and accused her of ulterior motives and loose morals. Then on, healing the sick became the work of the devil. When she touched lepers and hung out with tax collectors, the busybodies in the neighborhood told Mary that this was no conduct for a Jewish girl with good upbringing and no decent jewish boy would marry her. When she fed 5000 people with two fish and five loaves of bread, they said she might be a show-off but with economizing like that, would make some worthy man very happy someday. "If only she didn't think she was too good for anyone! Poor Mary, you have no idea what she's going through!" When she crossed her twenty fifth birthday, Mary began to worry about her prospects, messiah or no messiah. Who would marry a messiah? Now, you do realize that a messiah is ten thousand times more intimidating than a quintuple Ph.D holding, drop-dead gorgeous, Beyonce. But like we said, she did good in spite of it all. When they told her, she's got to die for the world's sins, she said "Hell, no!" Of course, she got crucified in the end. That's just the way of the world works. BUt she let them know in no uncertain terms, "I'm NOT dying for you. You're going to get what's coming to you cause you just won't listen." Hitler came along and proved her right. But that's just her death. Let's talk about her life. 

She addressed the original lobbyists and the opinion leaders of the world - the mothers. That revered race in whose wombs grew prejudice, envy, wisdom, love, hate, wickedness, lust, insecurity, need, sacrifice and just about every high and low of the human psyche. Her male counterpart forgot to do that. Her unlike Mary-fame "good news" was terrible news to the heavy matriarchal ego. She let them know that they were in for eternal damnation if they failed to teach their sons to respect women. Not only would they be damned, but they'd be responsible for the damnation of the entire world. Cause let's face it, the world is pretty screwed up a place, mostly because mothers everywhere refuse to let their boys know that they're at best, seed generators in the grand scheme of things and instead, make their precious, precocious little twerps feel like they're god's gift to the rest of the world.

So mothers everywhere, beat the holy crap out of their sons at the slightest hint of disrespect.Sons grew up to be dutiful brothers, loving fathers and respectful husbands. They minded their pleases and thanks yous and their i love yous. And the world was a better place because the women were safe. And they stayed that way, because the men knew that the God of women was one that would take no shit from them. 


There just has to be a god for women. The good ones, the virtuous ones, the disreputable ones, the ones who worked their hands to the bone to bring food to the table, the ones who filed their nails all day, the beautiful ones, the ugly ones, the talented ones, the plain ones, the wallflowers, the single ones, the married ones, the smug ones, the divorced ones, the old maid ones, the stupid ones, the smart ones, the enigmatic ones, the vanilla ones, the blessed ones, the damned ones, the good ones, the bad ones, the frigid ones, the loose ones, the generous ones, the mean ones, the sweet ones, the nasty ones, the venerated ones, the victimized ones. There seemed to be a god for every kind of man. One that watched out for him and proved whatever he did to be the right thing. One that makes him my superior. When will I get my god? 




Thursday, September 1, 2011

stereotypes


They were at it again. The full-bodied Pear, the svelte Banana, the buxom Apple and the smug Hourglass. Discussing the weather, loves, children, music, books, governments and figures over pink martinis. Dissatisfaction was their waiter for the evening and he loomed, servile yet efficient, waiting to refill their glasses at the raise of a shapely eyebrow or a manicured finger whichever the case might have been.
 "So you're on another diet? It working for you?" Banana smiled over the rim of her glass, knowing very well that it applied to them all except her. She could afford to and was rather satisfied with herself for being the only one who didn't have to constantly keep track of the calories. The trifle puddings and the death by chocolates and the yellow jilaebis slid off her.  A cloud passed over Apple's sweet face. But ever so quickly did it pass, that only the observant really would have noticed it. And none of them quite made the cut. Besides they were much too busy thinking of their very own generous curves camouflaged in chiffon, denim, tussar and attitude.
 "Well you know it's no contest really between carbs and calorie watching." Apple giggled like a five-year-old into her martini, making it bubble unsophisticatedly "Besides, pasta makes you a more generous person." "Hmmm..generous from the inside, till it spills right out of your seams, if you know what i mean. I guess some people could live with being fat. I'm certainly not one of those lucky types!", Banana shrugged while reaching out for more low-fat meanness. "Umm yeah, you WOULD look like a great big oak tree ifyou did put on weight!" laughed Apple her light voice sparkling with mirth and tease. Hourglass held up her martini glass and her purple velvet voice turned into silk as she observed, "This glass looks like Apple, no? If she grew edges instead of curves?" "Nasty woman!" Apple giggled throwing her apple seeds at Hourglass.
 Pear hadn't said much ever since she walked in. She smiled abstractedly at the banter, but her mind was clogged halfway in the kitchen sink back home, along with bits of onion peel, orange juice, soap suds, hair, salmonella, cereal and tears. Even her martini tasted of heartache. A break. A nice long hot bubble bath of a break. Would be good. Should do it, must do it. She was always postponing things. Never really getting down to it.
Banana was having a particularly great hair day and she kept turning around to catch her reflection in the glass window blowing kisses at herself while doing the same. "What are you doing?" Pear asked with a voice filled with broken glass. Sharp. Cutting. Bruising. Scattered. Piercing.  "Loving myself," Banana shot back, in a smoothie voice, "You ought to try it. Bread-n-butter. It's good." There was no need to 'figure' things out to love oneself, right?