What's Feminism Really About?

While I was smoking up with a new [and amazing] friend on her serene terrace at almost midnight, she said, in between of taking rapid drags, "Feminism isn’t about posting half-naked pictures and saying I can do whatever with my body. I’m free. Feminism is about equality not the freedom to take your shirt off in public." This she said in reference to one of her friends who posts semi-nudes of self & proclaims to be a feminist. My friend says her friend – the exhibitionist – is an immature ignorant wannabe who doesn't know squat about feminism. I take her word for it.

But with all due respect to my perceptive friend, I’ve to say feminism is as much about taking your shirt off in public as it’s about equality. And what’s equality if it doesn’t cover the right to uncover.

There will be no equality till women are judged on — what they wear, where their tattoos are inked, entering the kitchen/temples while menstruating, wearing push-up bras, navel piercings, travelling to awesome places overnight, how intensely they listen to & love their family, loving love-making & orgasms, deep necklines, buying their own weed from the ghettos of govind puri, whom they sleep with & why & when, smoking, smoking-up, chugging beer, what time they come home or not come at all, giving birth to kids with or without a husband… I can write a fucking novel on the don’ts

When the absolute sexual freedom is achieved, all other real freedoms will emanate from that sexual liberation.

Under the ruse of safety, women are stopped from studying beyond school & married off instead of being sent to ‘Outstation College’ even if their place of residence is — Haryana, where the parcel containing women's human rights never arrived. Under the guise of financial security, women are sold [married] off to big time sleazebags who will bang anyone who’s ready to spread her legs. Under the facade of family’s izzat that sits precariously on a woman’s hymen, a woman is told not to — wear mini shirt, show bra straps, sleep with boys they like, stay out late, stay virgin for the arranged marriage husband who's already banging [and will continue to bang] two girls he doesn't love or respect.

And all us city monkeys who believe women now have rights in India must take their heads out of the overpriced garbage champagne they’re perpetually drunk on & instantaneously [and preferably with ‘raw panache’] re-divert their bedazzled eyes from Instagram to InstaNews for seven seconds to let the statistics blast them out their sapphire-encrusted reverie. Wait for it. Here — In Modindia, mere 5% of the women have partial-to-complete right to choose their husband. In simple math numbers, about 500 million women in India are banging a bloke they don’t want to for the rest of their lives. Jackpot.

95% of the women in this God-rich cuntry don’t have the fundamental rights & have to pee in open with some creep masturbating while looking at them. You – Calvin Klein jeans / Birkin handbag flaunter – you the reader aren't one of them. When will you realize that you weren't born in a liberated family where you got Grade A education & air-conditioned bathrooms, where your moms & pops talked of & implemented equal rights and got you everything you placed your finely manicured fingers on to score & get nailed day-in day-out by a monthly goldeggshitting job so you can buy yourself a Luxembourgish future & have penthouse ownership. You learned polished Buckingham Palace English & got to witness the best of life while growing up to fucking come alive. 

Here - This is what God [another irresistible fictional superhero] asked me to say to you on his/her/gender-neutral behalf - "Hey Dumbfucks, now that you got everything, it's about time you unshut your eyes & start seeing those who don't even get half a bread & sleep - without food & with rape fears - every day.

The only way I know to come alive is to – Contribute.

If all you care about is your mother’s wellbeing, if all that burns your heart is your bae’s heart troubles, if all that makes you feel the pain is your child’s broken leg, if all that melts your heart is your boyfriend/girlfriend’s touch, if all that gives you joy is the salary on 31^st / new season of GameOfThrones, if every day you live for everyone you love & those who love you, your life is a bigger pile of garbage than the garbage champagne you’ve been chugging senselessly.

If people only cared for those who mattered for them & loved them back intensely, the world will end up becoming – oh wait, hold on, it already has become – that world is Inconsiderate India.

Question is what about all those who don’t have anyone who loves them. What about all those who were born orphan, to an abusive father, to Eminem’s mother, born with disabilities, born to a poor as fuck rural family where children die because of lack of food, and those 500 million girls who never realized that they’ve a right to a toilet & shouldn’t have been sold in the bottomless bazaar of arranged marriage.

I'm certain my friend has a solid reason to believe her friend is a juvenile dimwit looking for her 15 minutes of fame, but if her risqué selfies of bare breasts on Instagram/Pinterest travel the distance via the real god - Internet - hits the phones of desperate gentlemen, gets her thousands of followers who jerked off to her pictures and then percolates through to the general internet and enters the lives of one or a thousand or a million or millions of girls in rural India, who never had the audacity to utter the word - 'rights', and makes them 'rethink' & 'reassess' their life and say if this phony bitch can show her silicon boobs then we can also 'attempt' to step out of the rigid laxman rekhas - and have the audacity to 'ask' to be sent to secondary school, step out of the house to watch the sunset, refuse to marry the moment we hit puberty [Fact: 8 million girls [Switzerland's population: 8 million] get married before age 10 in India], drop the ghoonghat, refuse sex to our drunk husbands, raise voice against the take permission culture, participate in decisions, take up positions of authority, and have a fucking dream.

You don't have to expose your body to 'contribute.' You can contribute by exposing your heart & giving a few minutes of your busy life to someone who never had a life to start with. I’ve started by writing this rude letter to you – I don’t care if you don’t like me. I’m a privileged fuck. I’m not important. Important are the people who clean our washrooms — Important are the people who build our houses brick-by-brick & never have a house of their own. How about we start to build their house – one brick at a time – one dream at a time.