Homebody Talks Dirty – Part Deux

So in the last post I told y'all about how I discovered and became immune to sex. But then an old friend told me how she found out about the facts of life and it was so juicy that I decided it merited a special blog post. I shall now recount the story of sex in my friend’s voice.

“Hai, Beta! What do I tell you. I was so fifteen years old and I heard my grandmother telling my mother to take special care of me. ‘Girl’s need to be protected,’ Nani said, ‘and aaj kal the zamana is so bad that these days all a man has to do is touch a woman and she gets pregnant. Uff!’ Now as I listened to this, I became very nervous around my male cousins – made sure they didn’t touch me. But then one day we were going for Eid shopping to Meena bazaar and what do you know? A man touched my bumpy! I tau almost died! I was touched by a man, and there! Bas I came home and my older cousin Mina was over.

‘Mina Baji,’ I said, ‘Mina Baji, my life is over!’

‘What has happened?’ she asked.

‘Mina Baji, I’m…I’m…’

‘Just phoooto na!’

‘I’m pregnant!’

‘Hai! I will die! No! Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘How did this happen?’

‘Mina Baji, a man in Meena Bazaar touched me on my bumpy.’

‘So?’

‘So Nani says every time a man touches you, you get pregnant!’

‘Arey pagli kaheen kee! That’s not how you get pregnant!’

So I asked how does one get pregnant? And she went home and brought a magazine in which a man was looking constipated and the woman was looking like she was going to die. And she explained what went where. That, beta, is how I found out about sex!’”

…Question to my readers: How did you find out about sex? Care to share?

Homebody Talks Dirty – Part One

Hang respectability. Let’s talk sex brothas and sistas!

So the idea for this blog post originated when I realized that a friend of mine had a little seizure in his head every time the word ‘sex’ was mentioned. Well, that’s not entirely true. Two of my married friends casually threw in a teaser: ‘Oh we were having sex so we didn’t have time to have tea with you,’ and he jerked spasmodically, covered his ears and walked away. When we asked him if he was feeling okay, he said he could handle the idea of sex, but TMI (Too-Much-Information) like that about people he knew gave him a visual image in his mind, which he really could do without.

So my married friends had a blast teasing him and springing random bits of unwarranted information on his blushing little ears while I mused about my experience with sex. Or the visualization of it. I realized that part of the reason I was a prude was because of the manner in which I found out about what sex was in the first place.

Flashback to sixth grade. Future homebody, the epitome of innocence, was merrily day dreaming in the school bus when her YOUNGER friends started talking about sex. Taboo topic. Ears perked up. Looked behind.

‘Sex is so disgusting isn’t it,’ J, a little fifth-grade midget says.

‘Totally,’ homebody agrees.

‘Too bad our parents had to have sex.’

Homebody freaks out. She jumps out of her seat, bangs head on school of the bus and blacks out. Wakes up and sees friend’s concerned face hovering above her. Springs up and says, ‘YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”

‘Huh? Take what back?’

‘MY PARENTS DID NOT HAVE SEX. THEY ARE PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE PEOPLE.’

‘Um, Shazaf…..’

‘HOW CAN YOU BE SO DISGUSTING? SO GROSS! SO TERRIBLE AS TO MALIGN MY POOR PARENTS! THEY ARE NOT LOOSE!’

‘Dude, you do know that sex is necessary for people if they want to have children.’

‘NO IT IS NOT!’

‘Oh I get it! You’re joking with me!’

‘NO I AM NOT!’

‘Listen, I’m not lying. People have to do ‘it’ to have kids. Why else do you think all married people have children? Do you actually think we came with a stork?’

‘NO WE CAME IN A BASKET FROM HEAVEN FROM GOD!’

Meanwhile, all my seniors and juniors have collapsed into hysterical fits of laughter. I turn red in the face, thank God that my stop has come and get off. I march inside and tell my puzzled mother that I am disappointed with her behavior and that I need my space right now. I go to the study, take out the encyclopedia where diagrams tell me that reproduction requires the disgusting merging of unmentionables we call sex. And then I get the image of my parents. Together. Like that. And I start crying. I go on a three-day fast and have nightmares. I stop talking to everyone until my friend sits me down and tells me it’s quite okay for married people to have sex. After a month, I have accepted the facts of life.

And then I did what every new student of sexual education does: I write a dirty story to explore sex in writing (because homebody had no other avenues to take advantage of) I write a story about an illicit encounter with a thin woman and a fat man, Homebody is embarrassed for two days. But then realization dawns – the trauma of hearing ‘parents’ and ‘sex’ in the same sentence has made my brain lock down all images. Even today I can’t visualize people having sex. Never. Nada. I think it’s a survival technique my brain created, with the result that I am now totally cool with the topic of sex. Because it has now become completely intellectual in my mind. I’m woman-of-steel-sexual-nerves.

So here’s a tip to my TMI-shy friend: just imagine them at it enough times, you’ll get so sick of passing out, you’ll be immune to it.

What Homebody Did at School

So homebody has found out that she is not alone. In fact, she has found another name for herself: she is a Stickler and she is proud of it. The dictionary definition of a stickler is:

A person who insists on a certain quality or type of behavior

And I am nothing if not a woman of quality, especially when it comes to proper punctuation. I was lent a copy of Lyn Truss’s ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves’ and Truss is, I have found, a kindred stickler spirit who was so devastated by the crimes of punctuation around her that she wrote a book about it, which was lent to homebody by a fellow stickler. In it Truss argues for the cause of the hapless panda who, due to the inopportune placement of a comma, is accused of murder in the sentence: ‘Eats, shoots and leaves” when really, all it wants to do is chomp contentedly on bamboo and leave the crimes to mankind.

Truss and I are both, and I quote, ‘scarlet pimpernels of punctuation’, rescuing hapless commas and apostrophes from the ignominy of incorrect usage, saving creatures from near extinction while we are at it. After a fabulously entertaining book on a subject which would bore the underpants off most readers, Truss does us sticklers a service by providing a series of stickers that we can put on signs, books and other areas prone to mis-punctuation. So now I’m a stickler as well as a ‘STICK-LER’, get it?

And so this scarlet pimpernel – aka homebody – did a little pirouette when she came across these stickers because there has been one instance which she has been twitching to correct. Outside the teachers’ bathroom lies a nefarious and offensive sign that says:

TEACHER’S ONLY

It’s ridiculous. It’s a travesty, I tell you. For one year that apostrophe has mocked me, laughed at me with its illegal existence. But now I, thanks to Truss's panda stickers, can correct it.

And so my friend and I tip-toed to the bathroom door, made sure no one was inside and did this:

WALLAH! And then to admire our handiwork, I took ONE more shot for your viewing pleasure.

There. PANDA.SAYS.NO! Punctuation problem solved.

Onward ho! Chalo chalo, Butlers Chocolate Café chalo!

Homebody meets a Dementor

Have you ever met a dementor? I met a real live one when I went for my visa interview at the American Consulate. She didn’t fly around in a black cloak but she did try to suck out my soul. She sidled up and sat down in front of me.

‘Are you applying for a U.S visa?’ she turned and asked in an adenoidal voice that most women use when they have screamed at people for the vast majority of their lives. After I said I was, she proceeded to ask me what type of passport I had.

‘Um. I’m not really sure.’

‘What if they ask you what type of passport you have? What will you do?’

‘Um. I don’t know.’

‘You should really have done your homework. These Americans will look at the slightest excuse to deny you the visa.’

At this point my eye had started to twitch.  It starts to twitch whenever I begin to panic. The twitching usually transfers, with increased stress, to my upper lip to do an Elvis Presley before it travels down to my arms and legs. I was beginning to panic. My heart beat faster. I tried to read whether there was a ‘type’ section written somewhere but found that everything was becoming blurry. I took a look at the stern-looking American officer who was currently rejecting entry to a very sweet old man who was assuring her that he was a ‘stable persons’. I looked back at the woman in front of me, her sharp eyes registering my panic with a satisfied expression.

‘Don’t worry. They probably won’t ask you. I, on the other hand, have a D-type passport. They don’t bother us,’ she said smugly.

I gave her an admiring look that congratulated her on the excellent sense of possessing a D-type passport, whatever that was. The woman next to me, who had been relaxed before this conversation started, also tensed. If you were to see us, you’d see one long-haired woman with slightly burnt-looking skin straining to look back at two wide-eyed, shaking and twitching women.

‘Where are you going to go?’ the dementor asked the woman next to me.

‘I want to visit my uncle in Texas,’ she replied.

‘Oh. Texas has terrible weather.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. I live in Florida. That’s where Disney World is. The entire world comes where I live. Which is why they give the visa so easily to us. Koi problem nahi hoti. Texas main tau usually people go to disappear. There’s a huge Pakistani community there to sponsor you over there. So Visa officers are a bit wary.’

‘Oh.’

Both of us victims exchanged scared looks. I began to wonder where Pakistanis disappeared in Arizona and New York? Or Arkansas? Perhaps if I said I wanted to visit Alaska, my chances would increase.

‘Yes. By the way,’ she was looking at me again, ‘what time was your interview supposed to be?’

‘At seven forty five.’

‘Oh ho. It’s eight fifteen now.’

‘Yes. It is.’

‘Your time has passed. Perhaps they’ve skipped you.’

The room began to whirl around. I could barely sit up.

‘My time was nine, so they will interview me then. Perhaps you should ask them when your interview is going to be. Perhaps they will reschedule you?’

I frantically considered my options. If I got up I’d be told to sit down by the security guard with the fearsome curled-up moustache. If I kept sitting perhaps they would skip me over. I just looked down and tried to still my quivering fingers. I was so nervous that my behind started twitching as well. That had never happened. It was a most unpleasant sensation.

Suddenly, a voice boomed. ‘Token number 67!’

I was token number 67! I got up and dropped all my papers and heard the dementor say, ‘Don’t show you’re nervous, they’ll think you’ll have something to hide! ’

Too late! I thought as I warily approached the visa officer. I handed in my passport. I knew the dementor was taking a keen interest in my proceedings. I could feel her eyes boring through the back of my head.

The visa officer asked about my marital status. I said I was divorced. Since there was no privacy in the hall, the entire hall heard this. I heard the dementor say, ‘Tsk, tsk, so young. Looks a bit headstrong if you ask me.”

The visa officer took a look at my pale face and then at my photograph. She typed something on her computer. Behind me, I could hear the dementor say, ‘Did you know they’ve rejected three people before her?’

I tried to stem my twitching by concentrating long and hard on the diamond ring that the visa officer was wearing. It moved with her typing fingers. After a few moments, she looked up and said, ‘Well, Ma’am, congratulations. I don’t think there’s any problem with your application. Please wait for a call from American Express to receive your passport with the stamped visa!”

I blinked thrice and then said a shocked ‘Thank You’. I walked down the hall, crossing the dementor who was now working her magic on a young medical student who, it seemed, had forgotten to breathe.

As I came out in the fresh air, I felt the black-hole effect of the woman die down. As I drove home, I wondered what made people like her tick? What joy did she get in making the entire room so nervous, so terrified, so panicked that the fear and despair were almost palpable? What twisted place did dementors come from? Does Azkaban exist? Is it a metaphor of evil – the kind that is so malicious that it will rejoice at the sight of you lying curled up on the boulevard of broken dreams?

Perhaps it does. The only thing to be done with such people is to not let them play on your fears and insecurities. To believe that your fears are false illusions – that the universe is basically gentle and that such people, who play on your fears, are actually the most scared of all. They must be in a lot of pain to give so much pain to other people, no?

Oh well. I’ve left this particular dementor far behind. And I’s gots the Visa! Chalo Chalo Alaska Chalo!

Homebody Feels Insecure

There are days like today which come as a big, giant, red light at the cross road of your life and make you stop in your tracks and reassess exactly where your life is going. In my case, I found it was going down. Deep deep down.

I woke up, stretched and immediately pulled a muscle in my back. I coughed and spluttered and spewed and muttered and limped to the bathroom with a hand on my back, willing it to straighten so I could resume the day a respectable, posture appropriate to my home-sapien-ness. I tripped on the bathroom mat (again) and took a short, hot shower which helped soothe the pain. As I brushed my teeth, I remembered that I had dreamt about people laughing at me and my biology teacher telling me my feet were too dirty and offering to clean them for me.

I then remembered dreaming about falling down a hole. Of course, any eager-beaver who’s read a psychology book will tell you that this is a symptom of insecurity. It’s happened many a times that I have reported a dream to have someone tell me: “Oh, that just shows you lack confidence” and smile at me sweetly as I sink deeper into my seat, becoming just a tad bit more unsure of myself because I’ve unwittingly let them inside my head.

But this dream was different. I was blonde and wearing a blue frock and falling in with my little finger daintily curled against the dark walls, which, as one looked carefully, were spewing digits. I was inside a computer. 

Oh well. Weird, weird. Let’s not over analyze anything.

And then it happened. I was rummaging through my teaching materials and I dropped my ‘passport’ or external hard drive on the floor. I didn’t think much of it until ten minutes later when it refused to load any information on to my laptop. I was frantic. I rushed to school and asked the computer technician what had happened. 

He said it was damaged and needed to be fixed.

Yes, yes, but what about ALL my information?

Oh. It was gone.

WHAT THE FREAKING HELL WAS HE TALKING ABOUT?

Madam, please. We are a civilized educational establishment.

Madam starts hyperventilating, twitching and pulsating like Manimal before he turns into a jaguar.

"Madam, Take it to your computer-wala. I’m sure the problem lies with the motor. Your data must be safe."

Madam has turned as red as the jaguar in the eye of the night. Or whatever. She has lost all coherence and is ready to kill someone.

Small little computer technician cowers in his chair and is about to ring for security.

To cut long story short – I didn’t kill him but berated myself for my stupidity for not creating a back up of the information on some laptop.

And then I remembered my dream. I was falling and failing in a digital universe. Two years of work, writing, presentations, lesson plans, reports and papers were all locked in on that little black box of doom. And it was letting me down. I was no longer homebody. I was digi-body. My entire LIFE was on one chip that refused to cooperate. No WONDER I was anxious and fearful all the time. I was unknowingly hanging by a thread which had just snapped.

I am digi-body whose life is centered on the laptop. The problem is, my laptop, like my sister’s pet dog, succumbs to a virus once a year. I back up with USB. USB falls ill every two years. I back up with external hard-drive, which dies if you drop it. Now I’m being told to email stuff to myself. And then gmail asks me, one day, what I will do if my gmail account is corrupted? Now we have a new solution. Drop-box. DROP box. I’m falling into the cyber-universe and the only option I have left is to fall further and further down.

No wonder I dream of falling down a deep dark rabbit hole and getting stuck in a perplexing world. The universe, on days like today, seems as bloodthirsty as the queen of hearts. The only thing to do, really, is to go to bed and have a good cry. And hope to God my data comes back, by some miracle or the other.

Homebody Writes a Guest Blog

I feel so honored at writing a guest blog for a friend of mine! She's a tarot reader, meditater, reiki practitioner and singing bowl therapist. In short, she's one lean, mean spiritual machine.
Do check it out! Click on blog.

The January Mindfulness Writing Challenge

Pay more attention and fall in love with the world. Join our mindful writing challenge, 'a river of stones', in January '12. FREE to join. Here's how:
1. Notice something properly every day during January.
2. Write it down.

The new year started for me with a fight with my mum. When facebook reminded me I’d joined this challenge, I decided to ignore it. Mindfulness was not going to work for me, I wanted to sulk, watch Thor, sulk some more at false promos of bad movies.

But there are many, many different things that happened that day also, which deserve attention because where thought flows, energy grows and that becomes your reality.

Here’s what was beautiful about January 1^st, 2012

Birds. Not colorful little magpies or sparrows or parrots. Big, cawing crows and yellow beaked maina birds – one for happiness, two for joy. I had four on my window sill – the new year started with them pecking at the glass, asking to be let in. The brilliant thing is they didn’t fly away when I drew the curtains. They just cocked their heads and said, “Oh hello? You live here do you? Let us in. Peck. Peck. Peck.”

I had various reactions to this. Death was at my window. Then perhaps it was luck. Was it an ill omen? What did it mean? Then I realized that the grill outside my window was the perfect perch. The birds were actually pecking their reflection in the window. And they felt safe enough to stay perched even when I appeared. Maybe I am the sort of person who makes animals comfortable. They gravitate towards safety. I make birds feel safe. Even though they were big, dark, a little ugly and annoyingly inquisitive, their presence made me fall a little more in love with them.  


January 2nd
An evening walk with an old friend;
Discussing hopes and dreams, 
Stepping on gravelly fears,
Dislodging them from our heels,
So that we could fly into the night sky
And tread upon the stars.


January 3rd
The sun rays through my window
Are not gold nor gleaming.
They waft in like buttercups in the breeze.
Through black bars
The world awaits.


January 4th
The trees are green.
And the flowers are yellow.
God couldn't have come up with a more beautiful cliche.


January 5th
The sun peeps through the wet clouds,
and the leaves of the sycamore glow
with an ethereal halo


January 6th
No poems today. A person who was prone to depression told me that my blog made them feel better. And their telling me this made me jump over the moon! Yes, like the metaphorical cow.


January 7th

Walking along the beach, looking at the patterns left behind by the water. They looked like heartbeats of the ocean; or trees in autumn, etched white on the brown sand. 


January 8th
Homebody went bowling. This in itself is achievement. Don't ask for my score. If I tell you I'd have to kill you. 


January 9th
Today I am successful: I managed to relinquish control.
Something happened and I wanted something very very badly. So badly that I had a stomach and chest ache. I craved something with all my being. But I also knew that whenever I've wanted something this badly, I've lived to get and regret it. So I meditated and gave this wish, visualized in all it's specific and detailed glory, to God. He can do what he wants with it, give it to me if it's good for me; or take it away from me. The miracle is that i was able to do this. I didn't have any wistful dreams and no longer do I dwell on what is not in my control. This has never happened before. Hallelujah.


January 10th


An early morning email from a new friend - who's equally delighted with your existence. Sigh.


January 11th
Succulent turkey bathed in honey-thick, salty gravy. Buttered peas and red cabbage. Beef with moist mushrooms glistening in candle light. A sister's welcoming smile, telling you to feast away. Sigh. Burp.


January 12th
So I'm a judgy little thing and thought all rappers talked about rape (yes, because the two words look alike) and guns and sex and violence. But then a friend introduced me to Tupac and I heard a song which touched me to the core. The lyrics, coming from this angry looking man, went like this:


"And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman and our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women, do we hate our women?"


All questions I have asked myself.


And then the touching tribute to his mother where he says that though he can't make up for all the difficult times he gave her, he can still give her appreciation. That moved me - I can complain about my mother and hurt her but I need to tell her more often that I love her. The songs and the realization, are the stepping stones of today.


January 13th
O MY GOD I GOT TO TEACH MY FIRST LITERATURE CLASS! I am almost -A level Literature Teacher. Good ol' Emily Dickinson, picked up for an eternal, orgasmic tryst by death. YIPEEEEEEEEEEE!!


January 14th
Went to an engagement party, where I saw a couple in love. They smiled and joked and laughed and I, after the longest time, was able to rejoice in their happiness. May they be eternally blessed - the ceremony warmed my heart. 


January 15th
A movie in bed, nieces next to me, giggles and hoots. 


January 16th
This might be perverse, but is it okay to celebrate NOT having dinner at night? I feel so thin and proud of me!


January 17th
Had LOVELY Thai food. Papaya salad was divine. And I had rice with CHOPSTICKS! Achievement in life!


January 18th
Oh the anticipation, the excitement of waiting for a loved one to arrive. Chalo chalo, Jinnah airport chalo!


January 19th
Today I found out that I had two ovaries. That all women had two ovaries. I was laughed at and told that I need to be aware of my body so that I could take care of it. But my argument is: my ovaries were fine without me knowing there were two of them, right? And HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW? They didn't teach this stuff unless you chose biology for your O levels, which I didn't. SO, stepping stone of today - I'm a little more educated today.


January 20th
The realization that I am to my mum what Christmas is to a child. To be loved like that by anyone is the deepest of blessings. 


January 21st
The beating of the heart, the excitement of daydreams, the wistful smile when an image pops up in your mind. Blush, smile, laugh and then shake it off. Repeat process. 


January 22nd
The smoothness of skin after a warm, luxurious bath, as you slip into a red, fuzzy robe and feel the languor of sleep slowly seduce you.


January 23rd
A smile on a face after the longest time. Welcome back, spirit and courage.


January 24th
Once in a while you read something and it makes you smile. This is what made me smile today: 
"That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you're not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong."


January 25th
HURRAH FOR 49! When my eldest sister, in her early forties, was diagnosed with breast and brain cancer, I didn't think she'd be around to see her 49th birthday. But she IS! And she's whole and healthy and a walking, talking miracle. This isn't a stone. It's a boulder. Praise the Lord!


January 26th
I wore a smart black jacket today and felt totally sexy, despite expanding waist-line. Fat homebody is contented today.


January 27th
A blessing to have sisters. Even annoying ones who poke you when you're almost asleep. 


January 28th
Managed to meditate today. It feels so good, I wonder why I don't do it more regularly. There's some kind of block that needs to removed from my psyche ... I miss the gentle rush of energy too much to go without it for so long. 


January 29th
The fire spoke to me. It hissed and crackled and ruby flames danced and smoldering wood offered comfort. I think it was trying to seduce me. It was almost successful. 

January 30th
Good friends. Nothing more precious than this stepping stone for today. 


January 31st
There's something to be said for turning thirty - which I will in a few months. My body has been distressing me by changing, my mum tells me this is God's way of telling me that I should have children. I told mum that God should have arranged for a husband first. I'm growing rounder all over, voluptuousness is no longer a virtue. 
But, in the middle of this, I went to school today with a headache and the new school nurse asked me if I was a student or a teacher. SHE COULDN'T TELL IF I WAS 17 OR 29! I feel young, I feel fresh and I feel like strutting me-self all over the place.
And what a way to end January with a bang - time has passed but if there are still people who think you're twenty years younger than your age, then it doesn't matter. Not a very profound stepping stone to end the month with. BUT then, homebody believes in celebrating the smaller pleasures of life!