Emasculation

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I am not a masculine man.

I deny to fit into that notion of a man.

I recoil from what I must become

To prove that I am enough of a man.

 

Many tried to make a man

Of what they found in me of a man!

Between my legs lay, for some,

Proof enough to define me as a man.

 

Once I was told by a proud macho man,

“Either you grow into a manly man

Or you must a man’s victim become!”

I wilted and curled into a wimpy man.

 

Teased for being the sissy man,

Bullied for not being a tough man,

I grew up to remain, for some,

A complete disgrace to the name of man.

 

I don’t care to be accepted as a man

Because that which confines every man,

I defied; to breathe my freedom,

I embody the fear of emasculation in each man.

Mohini

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I dress up for the night. I have washed myself in a bucket of water. A necessity that feels more like a luxury as water is precious. The municipal tap flows for two hours every day. We are a home of eight. That bucket of water was the ocean to me. I rose from it to become Mohini from Mohan.

I put on my makeup. The face powder, I bought with my money. A gift to myself for my last birthday. The kajal pencil, now a 2 inch stub, was generously donated by Padma. The red lipstick I stole from a shop that has pretty ladies working as sales girls. I wish I could get a job like that. Yes, I do earn a living, being a bride for one night to strange lovers, but the money is barely enough for rent, clothes and food.

I look at myself in the mirror. I admire the illusion of beauty I see there. The light from one naked bulb bathes my form in bright light and deep shadows. Like a solar eclipse when Raahu tries to devour the sun. I pluck a stray hair on my upper lip and a wayward eyelash with a pair of tweezers. I place a black dot on the left, over my upper lip, mid-way between the corner of my lip and nostril. Perfect.

I take a band of long soft cloth, cut from an old cotton saree and wrap it around the lower part of my chest. A little tightly, not tight enough to cause trouble breathing. Then I push the soft fleshy upper part of my chest from both sides near the armpits, upwards and inwards towards the centre of my chest. I feel a shiver as I see my cleavage take shape where my chest hair used to be. I adjust the tightness of the band of cloth to keep the cleavage in position.

I wear a sleeveless white blouse with a deep neckline. Deep enough to reveal the cleavage I created but not the means holding it in place. I have a pair of balloons filled with water, something Bobby had taught me. I insert them each in the two empty tents in my blouse which were meant to house soft breasts. The water filled balloons create a bounce that mimics real breasts better than sponge pads. It has its risk too if the balloons burst, but I still prefer it. I roll my shoulder and adjust the strap of the blouse checking the bounce.  

I drape a pearly white chiffon saree with conch shell design embroidered with sequins, the latest fashion popularized by the actress Bhanumati, over my bleached white petticoat. Bleach to keep the spots and germs away. I wish I could bleach away the germs inside me too but that is another story. I look at my reflection in the mirror again. I put on my beaded dangler earrings and a matching bead necklace, stolen from my elder sister, many years ago. The only heirloom I possess to remind me of the family I was born to. I begin to recognize myself now. “Me Mohini!” I whisper.

Now, to complete the transformation I pick up the wig Lakshmi lent me yesterday. She is not going out to meet clients for the next few days. She is not well. High fever with a nasty cough. So, I borrowed her wig; silky and shiny black hair styled in waves like the dark ocean raging inside me. I put it on and flip my head back to feel the hair cascade around my neck. I tilt my head, my eyes half closed as if I am drunk on the nectar of life and I blow a kiss at my reflection.

I pick up my handbag and check if I have the condoms and sachets of lube. A social worker keeps giving us these things for free. Keeps us safe from diseases, she says. There are many dangers other than diseases that come with the territory in the line of my work. I feel far from safe but at least she is trying to keep me safe from one villain. I throw in my comb, lipstick and an antiseptic ointment. I wear my flat slip-on sandals. No heels for me. You never know when you need to run. I switch off the light and I shout “I am going out!” and I step out into the night humming a song to myself.

“I am a bride for a night, every night!

A flickering flame for willing lovers

Who drink from my pot of eternal life,

Turning to dust on the bed covers

At the end of every night, every night!”

Propaganda

 

28.5x20.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on coloured drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I look perfectly charismatic
While my innards are swarming with worms
Festering from corruption and bile,
An immaculate Dorian Gray in the vilest norms!

I can conjure up godly avatars
While orchestrating the most demonic of deeds
Knowing, you shall find me innocent
Disregarding what your faculty of reason heeds!

I will stalk you like a predator
While promising you the world of your dream,
Bending the rules to trap the prey
Leaving you crumbs and stealing all the cream!

I can gradually poison your being
While you thank me for being the saintly messiah!
You will imagine you have free will
As I turn you into slavish mobs taming the pariah!

I will rape and plunder with my power
While you stay drugged with hatred and deceit,
No victim shall receive justice or closure
But in turn will be deemed guilty by moral conceit!

I am quite a scoundrel, I know
While you remain confident of my holy character!
Why else try to control public opinion
If not to lead, unchecked, my fattened lambs to slaughter?

Salvation

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink over graphite pencil on textured drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

You peddle salvation

As if, you own an infinite source

To supply the instant high!

Have you inherited it as an heirloom?

Always promising a recourse

To the lost soul in distress,

As if, you have the precious road map

With the only route clearly marked

To lead them out of this mess.

What gives you such confidence?

Who appointed you the guide?

I wonder…

Does a particle of dust find salvation

Just by clinging to your hide?

Yes, I know,

We are gullible

Marinating in our sins,

Fermenting with guilt

We are fallible,

Easily herded like sheep

Seeking safety from imagined wolves,

Settling down meekly

For a life of servitude.

No, you are beyond reproach

For we are to blame!

We put you on a pedestal

With our fears and our faith,

To avoid being responsible for

Our own lives and deeds,

To find shortcuts to repentance

And forgiveness for being bad seeds.

If a dip in the Ganges

Can wash away my sin,

Why bother mending my ways?

Let the waters bear the poison

While I remain conveniently pure and clean!

Otherwise Straight Acting...

 

20.5x28.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Desires cannot be regulated by external forces through enforced conditioning of gender performance and expectation. If the gay dating apps were to hold up a mirror to the society, this failure would be more than apparent. Many gay men describe themselves or is described by others as ‘Straight Acting’ which simply means that this person is ‘Manly’ enough or doesn’t have the tell-tale behavioural markers of being gay. He is not a limp wristed, lisping, willowy, and flamboyantly effeminate homosexual! But it is acting, nevertheless! It is a performance put up to pass as a ‘heterosexual’ man in the cock-eyed surveillance of our society’s stereotypes and standards of judgement! A performance to remain undetectable as gay in the public eye. How they perform in the privacy of a more enabling space can be otherwise. A space where inhibitions and judgements are rare, many of these men can drop the act and be more attuned to their desires and behave accordingly. This constant performance of suppressing desire in the public eye has to be acknowledged and applauded with the cautionary tale of how this affects the psyche of the gay men constantly living in fear of being ‘found out’. 

Tthikri

 

28.5x20.5 inches; Pen and ink, acrylic paint over graphite pencil on drawing paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Clap! It is no ordinary clap but an entire performance all in itself. The action of bringing the palms of the two hands together to spark off that distinctly identifiable sound reverberating through the surroundings is not easy and clearly needs practice. The clap of a Hijra is called a ‘Tthikri’ by the Hijra community, in their own lingo. This clap announces their existence, their entry into a space. They perform their ritualistic routines accompanied by the beat of these claps. The clap resounds with the history of their lineage, heavy with cultural baggage. It is the music they sing and dance to. It can symbolize a spectrum of emotions from anger to mirth. It can be used as a punctuation or lend extra weight to a curse. It can be decisive or flirtatious. It can be friendly or a nonviolent attack on prejudice. What it is not, is frivolous! It won’t be ignored. The symbolic strength of the ‘Tthikri’ has been adopted by many within the LGBTQ+ community to break down the oppressive societal bindings of class/caste hierarchies and unsanctioned desires. The ‘Tthikri’ denies to be shamed into silence. 

The Couch

 

16x12 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on textured acid free paper (Click on image to enlarge)

The couch, like my mind, is a seat for many encounters; conversations, debates, drama, lazy afternoon siestas, teasing, loving, hating, staining, excitement, boredom, rejection and seduction.  The couch touches strangers and loved ones with the same intimate caress. It is a symbol of privilege and comfort. It is the halt between the entrance door and the bed. It is private and not so private at the same time. It allows us to just exist without being productive, becoming a couch potato. It also is the seat of power and power games as in the casting couch. But beyond all this, the couch is a receptacle for idle thoughts, day dreams, pleasure, pampering, relaxation, entertainment, eroticism, pain and sorrow. Couches are soft with memories without the lumps of judgement. They are cushioned for the depressed, plush with first kisses and frayed with troubled tears.  The couch takes the place of lost comforting embraces and companionship in solitary existence.

The Closet

 

16x12 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on textured acid free paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Do you have a skeleton in the closet? Or are there more than one? Are you in the closet yourself? Did you hide in the closet when you were young and scared? Did you have a Narnia of escape at the other end of the closet? Do you have a closet for your personal belongings and that of others you claim to be your own? Does your closet have a mirror? Is there a closet in your head like mine? A closet full of knickknacks, memorabilia, songs that are playback score of your life, places, whiffs of scents, sights and visions, feelings, traces of a touch, erotica, embarrassments, pain and anger, guilt and guilty pleasures; A closet that opens up like a puzzle and holds a mirror to myself.  I feel at home searching that closet, sniffing the lingering scent of moth balls, looking in the secret compartments, some so deep that they were almost forgotten! It feels like a labyrinth. It is a closet I do not have to come out of, because no one cares for what it hides, though everything it holds makes me who I am today and who I will be tomorrow.

Criminal Culture (4) - 'Sala Chhakka'

 

13.5x20.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

I walk down the road

Stepping to the beat

Of your insults and gibes.

The side long glances,

Disgust rising with bile,

A lingering threat of

Courting harm for my

Denial of nonexistence!

“Sala Chhakka...”spat out

Your failure to define me!

It falls flat, I turn the corner

Resuming my well-rehearsed moves!

I have lost enough life practicing

Not to justify your limitations!

Dhatura / Datura

 

29.0 x 9.5 inches; Watercolour, pen and ink over graphite pencil on handmade paper (Click on image to enlarge)

Your face caught in the moonlight

Becomes a moon to the moon,

Two starry eyes glint,

Like pieces of flint

Striking up a fire.

 

The beauty of heat burns my night

My Moonflower trumpets croon.

Your hypnotic gaze

Drags me in the maze,

Fanning my desire.

 

Shadows fold us into earthy delight

Of bodies finding touch, we swoon

Drugged by the nectar,

In each-other’s spectre

Of sensory mire.

 

Psychedelic dreams burn bright

Stinging like thorns of a boon.

Urgency of our need

Scatters the seed

Dousing the pyre.

 

In parting you retreat from sight

No promises of “see you soon”,

Just a lingering heat

Of a shared heartbeat,

Fading strains of a siren’s lyre!

Aadi Parashakti (3) - Bagalamukhi / Valgamukhi

 

 12x16 inches; Watercolour, Pen and ink over graphite pencil on acid free textured paper (Click on image to enlarge)

 

The power of speech (Vak), the intent and effect of the spoken word, the ability to communicate and the evolution of language has been one of the pillars of civilization. Words are used to both express and conceal our thoughts, feelings and emotions, our needs and desires. Words are used to lead as well as mislead others. Words convey kindness, compassion, solidarity and empathy but can also hurt and cause immense pain and misery. Words can reveal the truth or conceal it in a cloud of untruths and half truths. Lies repeated over time can be made to appear as the truth through the spoken word. Words can enlighten through sharing of knowledge or it can drown us in ignorance through circulating misinformation and superstitions. Words can be reassuring and kind or threatening and violently abusive. Words can cause a revolution or oppress us through continued denigration. Words ultimately are motivated by our intent. It is our mind motivating the ‘tongue’, and that is where Bagalamukhi finds her reasons to manifest.   

To understand the manifestation of this dynamic feminine energy, as one of the Dasa Mahavidya (10 cosmic wisdom), we need to delve into the mythology of her origins. Other than her appearance during the time when an enraged Sati (First wife of Shiva) brought forward the Mahavidyas to encircle Shiva, Bagalamukhi has two other stories of manifestation.

·         - According to the Swatantra Tantra - A huge storm erupted over the universe in Satya Yuga. It threatened to destroy creation. Lord Vishnu became anxious and called on the supreme power of Aadi Parashakti (Eternal feminine) to protect the universe from destroying itself. Goddess Bagalamukhi emerged from the ‘Haridra Sarovara’ (A yellow lake. She is always associated with the colour yellow) and calmed down the storm.

·         - Another story relates that a demon named Madan performed a very severe ritualistic devotional practice (Sadhana) and received the boon of ‘vak siddhi’, unlimited power of using speech to control and manipulate the world around him. He received the power to turn everything to its opposite with his power of speech. He could make lies become truth and vice versa. He could equivocate with such skill that his opponent was left speechless with self doubt.  He could just express his wish aloud and make those wishes come true. It is not difficult to understand that such powers, if used with evil intentions to harm others, can surely cause widespread suffering! And it is not surprising that Madan abused his powers by using it with malicious intent. Enraged by this complete disrespect and misuse of the power by Madan, the gods invoked Bagalamukhi. Like a harness, she brought the demon under her control by taking hold of his tongue and curtailing his power of speech and in turn stopped him from causing more suffering.

What is apparent in these legends is the power of Bagalamukhi to bring chaos under control. Scholars believe that the word "Bagala" is derived from the Sanskrit word "Valga" which means – constraint, bridle or to rein in. Though there are other opinions about the origin of her name, this is the most popular among them.  She acts as a harness or a restraining power that absorbs the chaos and uses its energy to restore order. The storm is the incarnation of the chaos in our mind caused by opposing turbulent thoughts. She stills our mind with heightened concentration. She illuminates and guides us through contradictions to find peace and inner strength. She also teaches us that the spoken word has the power to do both good and harm. She constantly reminds us that words must be used wisely and our intentions and thoughts behind those words affect the cycle of cause and effect. If we use verbal communication as a tool to always please our ego, those words will only cause pain and suffering to others and in the end such words will lose their power to captivate an audience. In return our ego will suffer and lead us to use more desperate efforts to placate it, if we do not learn when to pull the reins.

Bagalamukhi renders our delusions and misconceptions inert. She stops the toxic cycle created by manufactured misinformation which spreads misery and violence. She paralyses the wagging tongue. She exposes the charade of lies masquerading as truth. She demolishes the notion of invincibility. She is the power that we require the most, in the world we live in now, where the combined greed of the rich and powerful, politicians, law makers, and media keeps injecting us with conceit and deception. No wonder she is not a mass favourite for the civilized society whose foundations are built on pretence, lies and manipulations of the patriarch; where domination is the only form of governance and that domination is achieved through curtailing personal liberty of others, obstructing knowledge, circulating propaganda and instilling fear of violent reprisal if anyone dares to question the imposed norms and dissent.

Over the ages, her worship has become limited to those who crave magical powers or want to keep fatal diseases at bay. Bagalamukhi is praised as the giver of supernatural powers (siddhis) or magical powers (riddhis). She is associated with the colour yellow and is known as ‘Pitambari’ (one who wears yellow). The colour yellow is linked to the sun, gold, ripe grains, fire and all that signifies auspiciousness, bountifulness and purity. Turmeric forms an integral part of her worship. Turmeric is also used as medication and disinfectant in many cultures.

In ‘Bagalamukhi-stotram’, there are hymns in praise of the Devi, which roughly translates into - By the effect of your ‘mantra’ good orators become speechless; the wealthy are reduced to beggars; devastating fires are extinguished. The rage of the angry is calmed; a vicious person becomes virtuous. The agile person becomes immobilized. The conceited become humble. The clever ones become fools. – This denotes that she has the power to turn everything to its opposite. On the face of it, this might mean that worshipping her gives the devotee powers to overcome problematic situations in life and helps to render their enemies useless (which seems to be the most popular motive for her worship). But if we think deeper we understand that she directs our attention to the impermanence of everything we hold dear to us in life, such as wealth, fame, power, success, youth, beauty, ability, pleasure and possession (scary to contemplate for those who are socially conditioned to be obsessed with such achievements to feel accepted) On the other hand adversities, pain, hardship, and everything that causes dissatisfaction will provide us with opportunities to find our true purpose and change ourselves for the better. All that actually matters is our intent. She also makes us aware that everything moves in a cycle and what has begun must end, good fortune will be followed by days of misery, light followed by darkness and virtue followed by vice. Such wisdom is lost on those who aspire to become invincible.

References:

Books -

- Frawley, David (1994). Tantric Yoga and the Wisdom Goddesses: Spiritual Secrets of Ayurveda. Lotus Press. 

- Kinsley, David R. (1997). Tantric Visions of the Divine Feminine: The Ten Mahāvidyās. University of California Press.

- S Shankaranarayanan (2002) [1972]. The Ten Great Cosmic Powers. Samata Books.

Online Sources-

https://vedicgoddess.weebly.com/goddess-vidya-blog/devi-baglamukhi-by-yogi-ananda-saraswathi

https://vedicfeed.com/goddess-bagalamukhi/