gender-pages-blog

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN:

Rebellion is the prettiest colour,

I wear it each time they tell me to dress like a girl 

To cross my ankles and shave my legs

And to rip the fuzz off my upper lip 

Until my skin turns an angry red.

They'd rather bleed me dry than have a woman with body hair, you see

  Lately I've been wearing too much eyeliner

And they tell me I look like a rogue robber

And why not? I am a thief. I steal their glory 

When I use words like weapons

To fight my own fight instead of letting them 

Protect their fragile manhood by rescuing me

  Rebellion is the prettiest colour,

And lately I've been screaming out 

Orgasms by the dozen 

And speaking my mind without reins on my tongue 

Instead of what they expect of me

  Because you see, when they ask me to talk like a woman

They mean that they like the sound of my silence 

Far better than the sound of my voice.

  Submitted by: Tanvi Mona Deshmukh

Tanvi Mona Deshmukh is a writer and poetess from Pune, India. She is a columnist for Berlin Art-Parasites and Thought Catalog. She has been previously published by pages like The Artelier and is also a part-time journalist with the Pune Mirror. You will usually find her surrounded by flowers, cats, dogs, and green tea. Link to page - https://www.facebook.com/tanvimonadeshmukh/

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. 

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN:

tell the world i am gay

tell my best friend i am lesbian

tell my mother i am queer

tell tell tell

  smash patriarchy

smash patronising judgement

smash self flagellation

smash smash smash

  love me, bruise me, hold me

love me, a melody on skin

love me, wild cymbals and moonlight

love love love love

  liberate my indian-ness

liberate my class-ness

liberate my posh accent

liberate liberate

  flaunt my hips

flaunt my tummy

flaunt own possess

flaunt flaunt flaunt

  stand with my legs apart

stand and squat like i mean it

stand astride, feel earth's power

stand stand stand

  my voice is getting clearer

so tell, smash, love, 

liberate, flaunt, stand

clear. queer. clear. queer.

  Submitted by: Jhilmil Breckenridge

Jhilmil Breckenridge is a poet, writer and activist who has spent many years being a management consultant, chef and nappy changer. She is Fiction Editor for Open Road Review, Editor for The Woman Inc, and Founder and Managing Trustee of Bhor Foundation. When not writing, she is chasing clouds and unicorns. Jhilmil is currently living in New Delhi and will be embarking on a PhD in the UK soon. Her newest project is translating and performing the work of Punjabi poet Bulleh Shah into English.

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes.

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN:

1. 

I Want You To Fuck All The Women In Me The female heart carries courage in the chambers that pump blood into lifeless souls, for it has learnt to surreptitiously push itself through tsunamis that dismantled strategically established structures with a mere hair flip. It knows how to put make-up in crowded metros, when all the women wonder why she's so obsessed with the idea of putting up make-up, that she's doing it here in front of everyone, when she could have done it within the confines of her home. Or wait, eyebrows raised, with questions on their otherwise serene morning faces, "why do you need make-up when you're beautiful the way you're?" To the women going to office without wake-up, standing firm amidst unsettling remarks, "your eyes look patchy and droopy", "are you sick or didn't get enough sleep?"Her dark circles are easily ignored evidences,of all the nights she was up convincing her family, to let her go to another town for her undergraduate degree, and from the time she spent breastfeeding her hungry daughter in the middle of the night, or from ensuring that socks don't keep falling off the little feet of her son. To the women who spent 6 hours dressing up, fixing it, re-doing it, deciding it's all been done wrong, so staring over all again, imitating the women on the Internet, finding just a fraction of the perfection she was looking for. We know how years of societal ridicule telling you that you're shorter, darker, heavier, slimmer, taller, than other women or than what men would have liked, has reduced you to a zombie feeding off on other people's shallow validation, and how deprived you're of the goddess that sits in your chest singing victory songs to the gods in heaven, proclaiming how it learnt to fight, from the time when she was a ball of blood and flesh in her mother's womb, hearing carefully drawn strategies to strangle her before she can come into the world only to learn what the world will snatch from her, from the time when genital mutilation was the only way out to keep her from letting things in, from the time when marriage stumbled like an unprecedented warning call over her ears when the only thing she wanted to hear was, "well done, you're meant for great things!", but she forced herself to learn each word of the "Guide To A Happy Married Life", learning how to find happiness in her husband's happiness, and her so-called "conflict of duties" didn't permit her to utter a word to her parents, because daughters can be scarred and sacred and scared, but no matter what, they don't come back home once married because they were never yours to begin with, from the time when she could claim the streets and dance naked celebrating her glory, being unrestrained and beautiful and ugly and melodramatic without giving a fuck to any tag that tried to push itself down her throat slowly choking her and claiming everything she could have been, from the time when liking pink and hugs and romantic movies were blurred lines segregating the dumb whores from the intellectual bitches, from the time when Holi (the festival of colours) was an excuse of a festival for men to feed off her in socially approved ways, leaving marks of their convenient pride over the skin that she proudly wore, over the skin that just wanted to see the colours of life, they showed her the colours of their souls when she was just 7, from the time when they told her she would never be able to walk or dance because she is too fat to move like that and has flat feet that will stifle her aspirations to keep pace, from the time when being beautiful was a warning bell that would never stop ringing and being ugly was "desperation dressed subtle", from the time when standing up for yourself was being a feminazi-sick-hysterical-neurotic-abused-crazy woman, and being silent was ignorant-dumb-weak-powerless-submissive, from the time when glancing through books under bed covers were plans to destroy established civilisations and control systems meant to maintain exploitative structures, from the time when letting a man touch you wherever he wants however he wants defined how much you loved him by surrendering your body-mind-soul at his feet even though he refuses to let you stroke his hair when he "doesn't feel like it", from the time when biting my lip was sexual and uncovering my breasts could wreck havoc  over the most dead faces in the room, from the time when you divorced me and left me stranded in the middle of the road with your child in my womb and I still tried my best to ensure that our daughter could have a relationship with her father despite the abuse that became my everyday life, to the time when social media where I find the illusion of being able to say what I feel, is a careful traitor trading my messenger (a place to initiate communication) in the hands of men, who can't resist telling a woman they don't even know, how much they wanna be frandz with her, and fuck her under the streetlight in a car that stinks of their unfriendly odour, but they say that the hostile smell is of her unclean and hairy vagina, wait but try naming the patriarchal instruction manual that told you to equate a woman's genitals with roses and lemons and peach, so I can have that shit banned, from the time when travelling alone meant being a money bank deliberately putting itself on sale, to the time when a simple activity like travelling alone was enough to get me called "rebellious",when it was nothing more than a statement of my power, defying your suffocating nerve-cracking fear-installing soul-wrenching systems, from the time when leaving my hair open meant a rude declaration of my recklessness on an otherwise warm winter day, and how sitting with my legs spread wide grants you commodious certification to get right between them no matter how much I scream, from the time when sex meant your entire being reducing me to pieces with the blink of an eye, without taking the time to understand what my body wants and how it responds, when it meant letting hormones dictate the anxieties of my confused head and shivering soul, I think today is your day to fuck me, show me how you will fuck all the women in me, because I swear that though the women in me are tired, they will fuck the fuck out of your fragile ego rusting at their fingertips, if you take a close look at us,you will see how we are so tired our bones would've given up on us if we didn't have this perpetual sadness keeping them together,our wombs would have refused to nurture lives if we didn't push hard enough to expel out lives that could live by everything you wanted to kill,our blood would refuse to flow if you weren't following our unchaste moves with the vigilance of a midnight cop, look at us, my dear, we're about to change the world, the tables are turning, the lights are getting dim, keep your shoulders down, don't grin like that in front of me, stop your suggestive wink emojis, step down from that convenient biased system-granted CEO chair that your ass is so accustomed to, your time's up boy, your time's up my boy.

2.

Thing I learnt after being in an all girls college:

1) It could be extremely uncomfortable to sit with your legs close to each other, as the touching/rubbing of thighs causes sweat and irritation. And contrary to popular belief, women feel absolutely comfortable keeping their legs apart and airy, when they aren't being monitored by sperm-possessors under the gender-conforming systematic apparatus that sexualises vaginas, hence reinforcing the idea that the vagina should be carefully hidden at all times, as sitting with your legs open grants legitimate authority to the privileged sex to get right between them or puts the sex in their eyes. DAYUM GIRL SPREAD THEM LEGS WHENEVER YOU WANT HOWEVER YOU WANT 2) Women tend to love each other without any inherent impulse to harbour hate or jealously over how the other woman looks/what the other woman possesses. In-fact, when they're allowed to express themselves in a free setting (without being headed by men in lines and classrooms), they recognise their power to RESIST/MANIPULATE systems that strategically reproduce similar societies while subtly accommodating the idea of a progressive flux. 3) In an environment where you don't have the  consistent fear of being groped/harassed/raped shoved down your throat with every breath you take, women LEARN TO UNLEARN pre-conceived ideas of living in bodies, that are pre-determined crime spots, with socially approved criminals, who are just doing what nature has conveniently assigned them to do, and since women are the ones defying the law by resisting the order of nature, anything happening or the mere lack of it is caused either by the inability/ability of women to have caused otherwise. Reading, discussing, sharing (without the fear of threatening traditionally empowered groups), often enables women to work their way through contexts and scenarios while reclaiming their power to bargain with patriarchy and challenge discourses. 4) Timely acceptance of your sexual impulses is the key to recognition of manufactured consent. Only you own your the body you inhabit, and if anyone tries to alter your state of consciousness, refusing to take the time to understand how your body functions and what it really needs, you can show them the unapologetic exit gate from your phenomenal life. I think what I'm trying to say is that I didn't know how the fear of being physically weaker, the fear of being groped/raped/beaten, altered my mind and body so much on an everyday basis, until I stepped into a world where I was allowed to run free without anyone discussing the weird shape of my ass when it moves too fast, or without anyone commenting on my nipples being visible because I didn't wear a bra, or my dark lipstick shade being a subtle invitation to invade everything familiar. I slowly learnt to voice my opinion without a louder (ignorant) voice suppressing mine. I learnt to wear crop-tops without the fear of my waist-line being a mid-day party for hungry hands. I learnt everything by unlearning what FEAR, had almost gradually, with the abruptness and the consistency of a moving fan, injected into my craving nerves. And for the first time, the grass was greener on my side. For the first time, the grass on my side wasn't short"er" or weak"er" or less"er". For the first time, the grass on my side was all that there was, and I was told to run on it freely for as long as I wanted to, without the other side calling the act of running, sexual or rebellious or inappropriate. Of-course, my hair flew and my boobs shook, but it was all okay. For the first time, I was complete. I was whole. I was enough. For the first time, sentences began with, "if she does this/does that, then..." You'll probably tell me I shouldn't have gone to an all girls' college because it alienates the viewpoint of the other gender, and I would look at you with puppy eyes amused at the spontaneity of the moment, where you never realised how the OTHER viewpoint is all that has existed since the beginning of time.  When male viewpoint is all you've known all your life, a certain distance is needed to give you the permission (as it's said) to have your own. To let you have your own as an independent entity, without existing in relation to a fear-installing, soul-wrenching, gender-reinforcing, system. And unless you have your OWN, can you fully accept the OTHER?

Artist: Avnika Gupta Sociology Honours; Lady Shri Ram College For Women, Columnist; Berlin ArtParasites & Thought Catalog

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. 

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN:

I've been an occasional crossdresser. Living with my family doesn't give me freedom to dress up whenever I want. It's my little secret and I love dressing up as a woman some times. I like to call myself Rebecca when I'm dressed. After many months of hibernation, I recently bought myself new dresses and wigs. A really sweet friend of mine from Bandra invited me to her place to get dressed as a girl. This picture is clicked by her. It felt so great and at peace. I still smile when I think of that day. I've also been thinking now to get out in public dressed as a girl. Some day, I will. 

Submitted by: Rebecca Watson Find out more about Rebecca at  www.straightcrossdresser.wordpress.com

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. 

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN: 

We have hair on our legs, our hands our underarms, our pubic, our face and even our toes. 

You don't like it? Find it ugly? Feel repulsed?

If it is ugly, then let it be so, because we want to throw that much ugly on you. 

We want to make you feel as repulsed as you have made us feel with all your policing, your patronizing, your brahaminism and patriarchy and your systematic denial of our existence and our suffering.

There is a bad bad metallic taste in our mouth and we want to spit it out. 

Spit it out on you and your hunky - dory beautiful world which needs to be stripped out if it's beauty. 

Let this ugliness then remind you of the constant ugliness inflicted upon us. We want to offend your sight. 

We want to offend your Gender Binary. 

We want to offend you and your everything.

Submitted by: Devika 

Photographed by: Vanika Sharma

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. 

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN:

I wore this attire as a part of a mime show in college, back in 2012. The show was a success and I was appreciated for this role. I was happy about the praises and the performance as a whole, but I recall that I was quite hesitant to take this up initially that time and tried to avoid it in many ways. I guess I felt very weird and secretly afraid about how people around me would view myself in a conventionally “feminine” attire. Then I realized that even I was in the forefront to poke fun at the guy in the team who was expected by default, to dawn exaggerated feminine roles in every performance, as and when they came, to add the humor element to it. It must have been that feeling of seeing myself in that position that inhibited me from picking the role up initially. All this gets me thinking now. If I had to go through so much thought, care and fear secretly in my mind to wear a conventionally feminine attire on stage for a performance that lasted maybe a minute, what would a guy who feels close to such attire as a way of life have to go through? I emphasize “secretly” here. I couldn’t put this to words and talk to anyone then. I didn’t have it in me then. Now, I may have people to share my concerns with but I would still not be entirely comfortable doing the same. It would require time and trust. But someone who feels close to it would have to live with all this stuffed inside the mind all his life? Even if you reverse the gender, this is still applicable. Granted that everyone may not have this much inhibition. Also granted that everyone may not be so shallow to poke fun at or alienate someone who wears what is conventionally meant for the other gender. But as long as there is at least one person who feels inhibited to talk about this freely, and as long as there is at least one person who thinks people who break convention are weird and have a problem, we have a wall that has to be broken down. We know for sure that neither side is restricted to one person, but a whole multitude of people in the real world. Live and let live. As long as someone does not hurt anyone, let them live their life the way they want. In this universe of practically infinite possibilities, you cannot have a uniform population. Every single human being is different from every other human being in a number of ways we may not even be able to comprehend. Just because a majority conforms to a convention and a minority doesn’t and no one is being hurt in the process, you can never say which side is right and which is wrong. Only when you respect others can you respect yourself.

Artist: Abhijith Asok 

Photo Credits: Department of Photography, BITS, Pilani-KK Birla Goa Campus

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. 

[gender-pages-blog]

CAMPAIGN: 

1.

Hidden Identity What you see is nothing but a hidden identity, for the reality of me I don't believe you could grasp. I've molded this mask to suit all of your needs, I smile to please you, while inside my heart bleeds. I give you the laughter, and I give you the cries. You wouldn't accept the truth, so I give you the lies. I don't fit the conformities of "normal" society life, And I bet you didn't know that my future includes a strange life. But what you want is what you see, and what stands before you is not at all ME.

2.

Tenacious Will

It was colored red, a deathly shade A flower blossomed in the forest, As winter approached other flowers wilted But this red one didn't fade. As the bitter weather progressed The flower graciously stood in the field, Not letting anything near it It puts up a protective shield. As the days started to grow colder The red flower stood up tall, Pounded by the ice and snow Too strong to ever fall. His heart had turned so cold That the snow didn't stand a chance, His body, the reason behind all humiliation Strong like a stone, helped him to keep his stance. The years keep passing by The red flower roams the field, Waiting to achieve something To take down his protective shield. Each year that passes by The flowers strength has grown, With his heart so cold, he wanders the field alone With his eyes open so strong.

Artist: Hiten Noonwal

The Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is running a campaign on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes.

[gender-pages-blog]

START OF A QUEER REVOLUTION:

1.

Letter from Ammi Jaan:

35 years back when I entered puberty, what I used to face made me feel so horrible that I sometimes used to think about ending my life. Heavy bleeding and facial hair and hence awkward looks made my life hell.

When I was blessed with a daughter, I considered it as an opportunity and challenge that I don’t have to let my daughter go through all this.

So, when Suvrita entered puberty, I made every effort to give her correct information about the functions of a female’s body parts and the factors that we can control and cannot control. I never raised issues such as not allowing her to go to the temple when she was on her period. In fact, the functions of a male’s body parts were also discussed. So, there was a comfort level. On that front I succeeded.

After puberty, she also developed a lot of body hair. I used to think that by guiding her to get her body waxed and paying for it I have completed my duty.

But one fine day, she stopped getting herself waxed. She raised her voice that why should she not try to get comfortable with her body. Why should she go through unnecessary pain, just because she is a girl.

She did not get herself waxed for many months. Now I had started feeling that I was unable to keep my promise to myself. I did not have any problem with hair but she used to step out like that and I used to fear that she will have to face a lot of awkward reactions, especially blunt ones. This thought started depressing me. In the process I started pressurising her for getting waxed and my resolution to stand by her failed.

When Suvrita started working with certain NGO’s and every now and then she would come back excited raising her voice about feminism, LGBT society, Pride Parades etc, I used to panic. Every sentence of hers used to end with the words gender and sexuality. I used to get irritated. I feared that her impressionable mind is getting brainwashed by one sided impractical stories. Over time, I understood the truths and her concerns. But the mother in me always feared and wanted social acceptance and happiness for my daughter.

In the last two years, I have grown with her mind set. I started understanding her ways, her small protests by wearing something unusual, going to places where women generally don’t go, loitering and following manly ways just to mark her protest against society’s norms.

I think now I understand her beautiful thought process. I respect her and salute her for being vocal which is something that I could never do. Due to all this, she has to face a lot of rejection and gets made fun of by the people around.

She is a wonderful woman and a human being. But, every now and then I make my daughter’s life miserable with my fears of society and especially my relatives. I keep on emotionally blackmailing her through one way or the other to stop her ways.

But salute to her.

I wish at least few could see her SOUL and NOT BODY.

2.

We aim to create acceptance and normalisation just like Suvrita’s mom did for her. Acceptance should come from not just those around you, but also from within yourself. This is why the Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished project is releasing a campaign on social media, for the month of january, where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. Step out today in that piece of clothing that you have been told you cannot wear or with which shame has become associated. Visit that space that you have been told you’re not supposed to occupy because of your gender. Sit, stand, run and hop in ways that you have been told are inappropriate. Click photos. Send them to us along with write ups/ descriptions of your personal experiences when you queered a space with your body and help us smash the patriarchy with style! Or simply send us a photo of that piece of clothing that you have been wishing you could wear but haven’t been able to due to societal constraints, preferably with you in them. We understand that wearing certain clothes in a certain space may come with physical or emotional risks. In such a scenario, even a photo of you adorning that clothing in a space where you feel safe along with your story is capable of making a powerful statement. We can blur out your faces and keep your identities anonymous if you so wish. These photos that we receive will be published on the blog during January. You can send in your submissions to: genderpages@gmail.com 

If you have any queries, you can reach us on facebook at Gender Pages Project

[gender-pages-blog]

SUNDAY:

1.

Parties in my family

All the men, drinking

All the women, cooking, looking after the children

Parties in my family

When you dress up for a party

You're supposed to carry yourself a certain way

With elegance

Can't let lose for even a second

Can't breathe

And at a family gathering

You stay away from alcohol

So we organise our own parties

Where we jump, hop, skip and bounce

Till we are so tired

That we pass out

Where we are

Where we drink

Rum, whiskey, gin and beer

To our heart's content.

2.

Sleepover at female friend’s place

I have never questioned your relationship with her, mother says

Why if her and I did something more than just talking, watching movies and sleeping

sleeping far apart on different sides of the bed

would it be a problem?

What if we were doing more than just this?

What if we were sleeping, kissing each other

on the mouth

What if our tongues were running over

each other’s flesh

What if we were sleeping naked

with our bodies wrapped around each other.

She sees the argument as another rebellion

As if I am arguing for the sake of arguing

But mother, this is not just a hypothetical situation

This is not a what if

This is about desire that exists somewhere inside me

[gender-pages-blog]

SATURDAY:

1.

Today,

I borrowed my father’s pants

And I discovered

POCKETS!

Pockets with an Undetectable Extension Charm

That could fit everything I needed

What were the designers thinking?

She doesn’t need a pocket

Can keep it in her purse, ladies love handbags after all!

She doesn’t need a pocket

Can keep it in her boyfriend’s or husband’s pockets, this independent woman discourse is crap, they don’t exist; nor do lesbians except maybe in pornography

She doesn’t need a pocket

A pocket filled with things making her look huge, what blasphemy!

No longer need to ask accompanying males to keep my things in their pockets

Don’t need males to accompany anyway

No longer need to carry unwieldly bags that keep falling off my shoulder

For now I have pockets of my own

And I don’t care about looking thin and small and petite

Hayye, what blasphemy!

2.

18 months.

I spent lusting after a piercing.

Snake bites.

Maybe when I am in college.

I am in college.

Another 27 months are spent lusting.

How would mother react?

How would grandparents react?

How would uncles and aunts react?

What would it do to mother’s health? Mental, physical.

Dinner.

Mother and I are watching TV.

Maa, what if I get my lip pierced like that girl?

Insert disapproval.

What about my eyebrows?

Insert more disapproval and being given up on.

18 plus 27 months later,

I come back home with my nose pierced.

Gavaar lag rahi hai, my mother tells me.

3 days of silence.

A week later, I show maa this photo.

We talk about it.

She tells me that I am always rebelling, going against everything that she says, just for the sake of it.

She tells me that the reason she was upset was because I got a piercing without consulting her even once.

And that when she saw a piercing in my nose, in her head, she imagined a piercing in my lips and my eyebrows. And that image was ugly.

Why, I ask her.

She does not know, it just was.

“I give you so much freedom and go out of my comfort zone, why can’t you then agree to little requests of mine.”

An argument I was a bit too familiar with.

Why can’t I?

‘tis true I get much more freedom than my peers ever would.

I worry about her health.

Some days, I comply. I save the snake bites for later.

Other days I don’t. I feel guilty. The guilt weighs me down.

Why can’t I comply?

Why does it feel like compliance is like an enormous weight crushing my very existence? Making it hard to breathe. Making existence seem futile.

I feel guilty.

I feel selfish.

Why do I demand so much freedom?

Why do I need to be myself?

What if being myself kills her.

I feel guilty.

I feel selfish.

I feel like an asshole.

Maybe I am an asshole.

I come back home with my nose pierced.

She sees it as a rebellion.

Maybe my existence is a rebellion.

[gender-pages-blog]

FRIDAY:

1.

Chudeil.

Is what I look like, I am told

Look soft, cute

Look like a girl

Like the girls in those magazines I grew up reading

Like the girls in those movies I grew up watching

Like the girls I spent my teenage years wishing I looked like

My teenage years

The anguish, confusion

The tears

Can’t look like them, can’t talk like them, can’t walk like them

I look down at my hands

My chubby hands

On which sleek rings don’t fit

Which no matter how hard I try, how much I practice

Never look like that model’s when she poses.

Past teenage now

And I give up

Trying to look like someone else’s idea of a “girl”

And find my own.

2.

The sanitary napkins hidden in black packets

The blood stains hidden with white chalk on white school uniforms

The uterus cramps hidden behind stomach ache

The mood swings rarely talked about

Hidden hidden hidden

I mean,

Shame shame shame.

3.

When I was 8 years old, entering the opposite sex’s washroom was considered an extremely shameful act. One that would lead to rumours flying around the school for days at end. This became part of one of my early violent encounters with the gender binary. One that reinforced that there are only two boxes for gender, I actually belong to one of them and am expected to follow its rules and that the other gender’s box was completely out of bounds.

The argument for segregation of washrooms for “males” and “females” is that of safety, wellbeing. However, the very segregation of washrooms into two has violence inherent in it. It refuses to acknowledge to existence of several people- people who do not conform to the binary, people with intersex variations. And this brutal erasure of lives is violence.

4.

Women’s Development Cell.

All women colleges.

UN Women.

Who are the “women” with access to these spaces, availing their benefits?

Is it the cis gender women?

The gender queer person who was assigned female at birth?

What about intersex persons who may/may not identify as woman?

And trans women?

What does it mean to be nonbinary in this space?

To have everyone in that space assume that you are a woman.

To be telling people that you study in an all “women’s” college.

To have them then assume that you are a woman.

To be “coming out” as non binary in a space you have access to by virtue of your femaleness.

To be attending a farewell where you are expected to wear a saree and play the part of a women.

To have the teachers regularly begin addressing the students with “Girls”.

To be wiped out.

[gender-pages-blog]

THURSDAY:

1.

Fat girls can't wear crop tops

Fat girls can't show off their fat legs

Or their hairy stomach

Fat girls can't

Hairy girls can't

Men can't

People can't

Can't

Can't

Can't

Can

Fat girls can

Hairy girls can

Men can

Can

Can

People, can wear

And do

Whatever the fuck

They like.

2.

14 years of school

Dress code- skirt

Dress code- join your legs

Dress code- shorts underneath

Underwear? Shame. Shame. Shame.

Join your legs they said

Is it just the shame in my underwear I wonder

Or is it also how you say ‘No’

Through body language

For if I don’t

It will be my fault

Because boys will be boys

And men will be men

And fathers, brothers and uncles will also be men

And every single moment of my existence

Has to be an embodiment of the ‘no’

Cannot falter for even a second

Cannot breathe for even a second

Lose your focus and it is your fault

Stop.

No shame in my underwear

No consent in my open legs

And if every single moment of my existence has to be anything

It will be a protest

And my body in a public space

Is how I choose to

Protest.

[gender-pages-blog]

WEDNESDAY:

1.

Gavaar ki tarah baithi hai

Sit like a girl

Nazaakat, elegance

Can’t.

2.

Family gathering.

I ask if I could borrow a pair of kurta and pajama from either of my uncles.

Receive innumerable option to choose from.

No questions asked.  Not even a slight curiosity as to why I need them.

Phone call.

My brother expresses his desire to buy a skirt for himself.

Family gathering.

What if brother asked for a skirt?

3. 

A Letter from Bade Bhaisahab:

I’ve always enjoyed shopping. There was never a time when while shopping with a female, I lost my patience before she did. Plus, I have a weird fetish for the color Pink. And not the subtle one, mind you. Bright, pretty, girly pink.

That says 2 things about me. I think it is feminine to like shopping & wear bright pink, which means that I too have a strong idea of the gender binary embedded in my memory. It also says that I am  seen by others, as being a tad too girlish, & often have my masculinity judged. Perhaps, I’m a bit of a hypocrite.

But my own hypocrisy makes me realise how much intertwined this concept of the gender binary is in our society and those who are a part of it (me). That even after having been judged for being girlish for certain fetishes & hobbies, I still think of the same as being ‘feminine’. I can’t seem to detach myself from the binary understanding of gender.

Hence, there have been many times when I myself have questioned myself. Am I not ‘man’ enough?

I think I’m weird. I think like that because then I find a place to fit myself in, in this society. I’m one of the weird ones.

But why should I think of myself like that? Why should I blame myself? Why should I have to think that something’s wrong with me?

I’m sensitive. I connect emotionally more with the ladies than with the men. I love pink. My umbrella is the most ���pink’ pink you’ll ever come across. It was handpicked from a corner shop. And shopping. In fact, I love women’s clothes. As ‘men’, we are supposed to be dressed sharply, and wear thick, durable clothes. I don’t like them. I like the fabrics and prints women wear. They are light on your skin, and they are pleasing to look at. And I like the idea of skirts. A little air around my ‘man’ parts feels good. Pants feel so suffocating, and dont even get me started on skin fit jeans.

Man, what would my girlfriend think if she got to know about all this?

I’m 25, and I’m still battling with my own sense of identity, still not comfortable in my own skin. But when I see my younger sister challenge the gender binary through her own terms, I see her evolving back into the person that she was born as, from the person she is expected to be by the society that she was born in. Perhaps, when she is 25, she wouldn't have to think that she is weird to find a place in this world.

[gender-pages-blog]

TUESDAY:

1.

Let me tell you a story.

Of a “girl” who went to buy a dress. Or two.

And later, over dinner, had a discussion about the many non-vegetarian dishes and the good they did to her taste buds.

This was who she was.

And she was content.

But Alas!

Then arrived the gender binary.

And the patriarchy, the maintenance of whose oppressive structures necessitated that she hush and blush and be polite and submissive and weak and weak and weak.

For girls in dresses must cross their legs and walk slowly and speak softly.

For girls in dresses do not talk loudly about the different animals that they would like to kill, garnish and eat.

2.

8:30 pm.

Shoot tomorrow morning.

Need clothes.

Clothes that will make it seem like I do not possess the huge breasts that I do.

And make me pass for a man.

Hurriedly message HM.

See you in 5.

Grab keys. Wallet.

Rush down the stairs.

Get in the car.

Start.

Attempt one.

Attempt two.

Attempt three.

Frustration.

Getting late.

Attempt four.

Attempt five.

I decide to chuck the car.

Look for auto.

Friend calls. Do you want to meet?

Walking to HM’s, pick me up on the way.

I start walking.

As I walk, I relax.

No more rush.

No more anxiety.

No more frustration.

My head clears.

Enter image of me in those clothes.

Exit a tear from the corner of my eye.

Anguish of

One half of a gender performance denied.

Anguish of

An entire identity lost

[gender-pages-blog]

MONDAY

1.

Thighs.

That is where the first waxing strip was placed on my body at the age of 13.

It hurt like hell.

And I was extremely happy, for now, the boys in my class would not get a chance to make fun of my body hair anymore.

Fast forward to this shoot.

For the first time in 7 years, I did not get waxed for over two months. I did not get my eyebrows or my upper lip done. I lived these photographs for those two months. Everyday, I would think twice before putting on make up because I would feel that it didn’t look good with my “shabby” hairy look. And then I would put on make up anyway.

2.

This chai stall is located outside the all women’s college I go to. From college till here, our body language changes. From an all women’s space to a space which is often shared with men, our body language changes.

Today, my body language did not change.

3.

I call up Vanika to check exactly how long it will take her to reach. Once she confirms that she will be here in another 15 minutes, I enter the washroom to change from my jeans into this dress. I put on a shrug and desperately ask a friend to give me company till the chaai stall.

We bump into some classmates. I quickly crack a joke about my hairy legs before they notice it and feel disgusted. I hide behind the excuse of a photo shoot for a project.

At the chai waala, we bump into more classmates. I try to hide my legs behind the bench.

Vanika comes.

I open my legs wide. I can feel the men staring at me. I ask Vanika to hurry.

After the shoot, we walk back to the college. I do not put on the shrug. But I chang back into my jeans and T shirt.

Few weeks later, I stepped out of the house in shorts. And body hair. Not for a shoot. Just. To be.

[gender-pages-blog]

Redesigned, Renovated and Refurbished:

From the moment we’re born, each one of us is assigned to any one of the two boxes comprising the gender binary – male and female – depending, solely on what’s between our legs. Every time one attempts to break out of this binary, we are pushed right back in by incidences of violence. We are all continuously chasing the ideal body type – that which is defined by mainstream media. Furthermore, the unconscious internalization of these unrealistic standards lead us to chastising and punishing ourselves and others around us, when these ideals seems unachievable.

Gender is a performance that changes based on the spaces we occupy and the people we’re surrounded by. Very rarely do we truly perform our identity in a manner that is congruent to how we feel in a particular place at any given point of time. In the indian context most people are without a safe environment to truly explore their identity and performances.

The project is essentially a photo series depicting one person’s journey of making a drastic change from conforming to the gender binary to transgressing gender boundaries and performing their gender as they truly wish to, without societal regulations getting in the way. Our project aims to dive head first into expressions and identities that truly define us regardless of what gender society thinks these performances belong to and to be able to unabashedly perform our identities all the while smashing patriarchal ideas of right and wrong. The aim is also to challenge the discourse of shame that is very often used to regulate the bodies and gender performances of persons belonging to all genders.

It is an attempt to put a body that makes people uncomfortable out there in order to warm up the recipients/audience to the diversity and subsequently make them comfortable with the multiple ways of existing and performing one’s gender. It is also creating a space for people to comfortably and without threats of violence, be able to express their “queerness”.  

We hope you join us on our journey as we redefine gendered spaces and reclaim our bodies in seven days!

 Campaign:

We are running a campaign alongside on social media where we invite all of you to transgress, embrace and showcase your true gender performance by wearing whatever you would have/ already do, had their been no regulation and the different spaces you would occupy in those clothes. Send us photos of your transgression along with write ups/ descriptions of your personal experiences when you queered a space with your body and help us smash the patriarchy with style. For more details check out the event page of our campaign: https://www.facebook.com/events/337633679949850/

[gender-pages-blog]

As published in issue 1.

#art #gender #zine #nonbinary