WeCite

The Ezine Story --- by Madeeha Syed

2006-07-03T11:19:00.000+05:00

From the first ezine to the current, this article seeks to solve the following questions: what is an ezine? Where did it come from? And where is it headed?

Ezine, how many internet users can actually relate to that word? More so, what exactly is an ezine? According to Wikipedia ‘an ezine is a periodic publication distributed by email or posted on a website’. So technically, an ezine is a publication posted periodically on a website and is also part of the spam emails that one is constantly receiving from various organisations promising all sorts of miracles in return for a seemingly small amount they would periodically charge on one's credit card.

What really constitutes an ezine then? Further investigation needed to be done since the definition provided by Wikipedia did not have much to offer. Most ezines have an option through which readers can post their comments on an article or to reply to the comments posted by other readers. All this leads to what is known as ‘online interaction’. This naturally leads to the following question: what is then the difference between an ezine and an online forum?

An ezine is an electronic publication which is periodically updated and is either sent via email or is uploaded onto a website. An online forum on the other hand invites members to engage in discussions regarding a certain topic or subject of interest. Since most ezines have the ‘comment-on-the-article-posted’ option, an online forum could also be part of an ezine. Therefore, part of an ezine could also act as somewhat of an online forum. But an online forum is not an ezine. Make sense?

The next question that pops up is whether ezines are a recent phenomenon? Are they a product of the internet boom? Or have they been around for a lot longer than most people think? Online sources claim that the first ever ezine was a result of a Do-It-Yourself (DIY) media and the computer hacker network called Cult of the Dead Cow (cDc) which was formed in 1984. The name was derived from the Hexadecimal value DE AD BE EF (read dead beef), the value depicting the debugging method used for initialising unused memory. The cult's goal was “Global Domination through Media Saturation” and were the pioneers not only in developing the first ever ezine, but had also begun to exchange audio files in MP3 format in 1997, long before it became common. They were the first hacker group to have their own Usenet newsgroup (alt.dan.cult-dead-cow) and also developed and released different software for system administration. They invited journalists and hackers to most of their conferences, stayed in touch via underground ezines and now maintain their own web-log on their website. In fact, cDc gained media attention and credibility after one of their members briefed President Clinton on internet security and they were the first ever hacker group to receive official approval by the United States government to “export strong encryption in their 6/4 System application”. In summary, cDc was the first ever ezine, created in 1984 by an underground hacker group and steadily gained popularity with time reaching the height of their notoriety when the United States government sought their guidance concerning internet security and granted them permission to export strong encryption in one of their application programs.

Moving over to the subcontinent, more specifically towards Pakistan, it can be safely said that the first ever ezine is Chowk.com. Launched and maintained by a group of Pakistanis and Indians, Chowk.com was formed in 1997 and was created as a “platform to publish, discuss and debate writings on a variety of issues that are important to the people of India, Pakistan and other South Asian countries and a place to express and exchange ideas, discover eclectic thoughts, get useful information, meet new people, engage in social change” and for the enjoyment and education of the reader. With time, Chowk.com has managed to amass over 20,000 registered members and contains 3,500 published articles. The articles are not confined to a specific genre or subject. The writer or a reader can talk about and comment on practically anything as long as they conform to the guidelines which mainly has to do with refraining from using abusive language or causing another member undue discomfort. Pushing the technicalities aside, Chowk.com provides for a good read with well-rounded articles and interesting discussions taking place amongst the writers and the readers. The privileged few who get to keep their own columns (rightfully so) have their work arranged in a chronological order which makes it easy to access the articles by a specific writer. Chowk.com also offers the option of a reader emailing an article to a friend or ‘monitoring’ an article and the comments made on it by other readers.

With time, Chowk.com has managed to attract a variety of readers from diverse backgrounds and varied age groups. It would be difficult to profile the Chowk.com reader because of the way they have categorised articles on their websites. There is a section for those who like to discuss current affairs, a section dealing purely with fictional literature, one section about the issues pertaining to the society, another on anything related to a person's academic life and so on. The Chowk.com reader could be anyone or of any age and gender.

Another ezine, now dead, is Bandbaja.org. The brain-child of Safwat Saleem and under the patronage of Nadeem Farooq Paracha, Bandbaja.org was created in 2003 by several college students to promote quality entertainment journalism. It rounded off a healthy and loyal following soon after its launch. According a Wikipedia, it was known for its “blunt views and the promotion of modern popular music as a social and even political tool.” To the disappointment of many regular readers, the website went offline in 2005. Although rumours are being circulated of Bandbaja.org making a come-back soon, there have been no valid claims in support of that.

For those who knew about Bandbaja.org, it provided endless hours of good reading and a medium through which they could feel ‘connected’ to others who share their point of view on the musicians within the industry. Mainly composed of individuals with an active interest in the comings and goings of the entertainment industry, the typical Bandbaja.org reader would have to be someone between the ages of 14 and 32. Their reviews and interviews mainly covered current musicians which is why it is assumed they did not have much of an older audience.

The success of Bandbaja.org propelled a rapid growth of desi entertainment ezines all over the internet. Some of them include TheSaturdayPost.com, Revaj.com, and Raw.com.pk. Sadly, none of them measure up to the quality of work that made the Bandbaja.org articles stand out. Chowk.com on the other hand has managed to do amazingly well for itself, improving quality of content with time. Ezines can prove to be a valuable source of information for many with people already using it them as references. Realising the potential that ezines hold, many newspaper and television channels have ‘internet editions’ of their publications and programmes. Ezines are relatively easy to create as all a person needs to do is register a domain name and get contributors. The only drawback is that there is no way a certain piece of information can be validated and information may at times prove to be unreliable. Also, when it comes to ezines, one is led to conclude that Pakistani ezines have yet to explore areas other than just entertainment and literature.

Author's Blog :: madeeha syed [dot] com

First Published :: Spider // July 2006

WeCite! The e-mag LAUNCHED!!!!

2006-04-02T13:19:00.000+05:00

The first issue is up and alive!
Check it out today at http://www.wecite.net
enjoy!

WeCite -- Team Players Needed

2006-02-23T13:31:00.000+05:00

Q. What is WeCite?
WeCite is the name of an E-Zine that is in the making right now. Unlike so many websites popping all around focusing on music alone, WeCite is an attempt to present a full fledge, diverse, and global perspective on issues ranging from political, religious, social, geographical, and entertainment. We are looking for YOU if you have a passion for writing and are bold enough to call a spade a spade! WeCite is about 'Opinions on Opinions' so the essence of this E-Mag is to present a blunt and honest opinion on things and issues as they happen and as they are seen, read or heard.

Q. Why WeCite? Why not any other name like 'Generation X' or blah blah?
Firstly, the domain name 'Generation X' was taken!
We Cite has been derived from 'We Quote' ... as stated earlier, its main focus will be on stating our opinion on opinions ... our writers/authors give their views on the news and happenings as it happens in their respective columns... along with monthly features, and respective blogs that would be maintained by the team members.

Q. So whats the content like?
In one word... DIVERSE!

While we aim to gradually evolve WeCite in to an 'every thing basic under one roof' portal, the e-mag (to begin with) would cover entertainment, music, sports, politics, features, fashion, trends, advice columns, and interviews etc. Basically, think of it as a generic and multi-purpose mag that reaches out to several and most common areas of interest. The target audience is of course the majority of young lot. This site is gonna be bold, hip, and trendy and we're not afraid to be heard for what opinions we hold.

Q. And what kinda people do you need?
Bold... Curious... Updated... Creative... Literate... Self Aware... Motivated... and Team Players.
We need you if you...
--- are bold and confident,
--- have good writing skills,
--- are good with web designing and can work with templates to modify them and add java scripts etc,
--- specialize in Quality Control and management,
--- have a creative mind,
--- can do wonders with graphical packages,
--- were literally born with a digital camera,
--- feel a need to be heard,
--- interested in journalism and reporting on events and parties,
--- want to interview people/celebrities,
--- want to moderate our forums,
--- have a passion for marketing a venture and spreading the word,
...
i guess u get the idea dont you ? ;-)

We don't care where you are... The cyber world knows not boundries and neither will WeCite!

Q. Suppose I am interested... whats the next step?
Mail us at: fauzan.sohail@gmail.com along with a sample of or a link to your work if it is published any where. Please give a short introduction about yourself, why you are interested and what exactly are you good at in particular.

We hope to hear from many of you talented people soon !
Regards,
/WeCite MgMt - 2006+

RULES FOR LIFE!!

2006-02-18T14:09:00.000+05:00

-Do not walk behind me, for I may not lead. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me, either. Just leave me alone.

-The journey of a thousand miles begins with a broken fan belt and a leaky tyre.

-There are two theories to arguing with women. Neither one works.

-Sex is like air. It's not important unless you aren't getting any.

-Don't be irreplaceable. If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.

-No one is listening until you fart.

-Always remember you're unique. Just like everyone else.

-Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

-It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.

-It is far more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help.

-If you think nobody cares if you're alive, try missing a couple of car payments.

-Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

-If at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you.

-Experience is something you don't get until just after you need it.

-If you lend someone $20, and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

-Don't squat with your spurs on.

-If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.

-If you drink, don't park; accidents cause people.

-Some days you are the bug, some days you are the windshield.

-Don't worry, it only seems kinky the first time.

-Good judgment comes from bad experience, and a lot of that comes of bad judgment.

-Never miss a good chance to shut up.

-Timing has an awful lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.

-A closed mouth gathers no foot.

-We are born naked, wet, and hungry. Then things get worse.

A Culture of Contradictions --- by Reem Khan

2006-02-15T08:46:00.000+05:00

Whether it was the bloody crusades, continual suicide bombings aimed at obliterating enemies of God’s last religion or the war-bent aftermath of 9/11, nothing has made the ongoing clash of civilizations more apparent than a puny little cartoon, one that has brought to light the ugly face of western contempt. The debacle of a barbaric portrait of a man Muslims hold dearer than any ideal fathomable has proved to be nothing but a resounding slap on the face after all our years of ass kissing and nauseating yelps of enthusiasm when asked to ‘sit’, ‘stand’, ‘roll over’ and ‘play dead’.

Depicting Hazrat Mohommad (PBUH) as a terrorist encapsulating a bomb for a turban seems to be the tip of an iceberg that has its vice-like grips of intolerance deeply rooted within a hotbed of social deconstruction. The west manages to give away time and again just how trigger-happy it can be when it comes to provoking the sentiments of the third world. Falling back on the crappiest excuse in the book, one that entails ‘freedom of the press’, they have demonstrated a culture of contradictions all of their very own. Is it not these very same Europeans who banned the head-scarf in France, who frisk search every man with a beard and suspicious name (read Muhammad) at almost every airport in the world and seek to root out all immigrants on the basis of their ties with suspected militants who have no more affiliation with them than Osama has with Heidi Klum? Freedom of art, craft and movement, my foot.The stance of the Danish government is to vindicate the cartoons’ right to be published under the banner of unrestraint but, instead, they should really ask themselves one question: does freedom of speech really have to come at the cost of having to tolerate speech one finds abhorrent? Ever find yourself asking just when and where the ‘liberalist’ west will draw the last straw? I know I do.

We Muslims may be called fanatics (and I do not, for a single second, doubt that we’d be much better off without a few radical elements), anarchists against the idea of pacifism and a far cry from tolerant in pursuits such as gender equality and the like, but one thing we are not and never have been are defilers of the prophets of any God sent creed, be it Jesus, Moses or any other messiah in a list that runs into the thousands.

It’s not our problem that fractions in the west have made Jesus Christ ‘superstar’ the butt of many perverse jokes, that they make dashboard tributes of him winking and flashing the thumbs up sign while personifying his new-found and revamped image of being an all round ‘nice guy’ and making movies such as The Last Temptation Of Christ in which he is shown giving in to the allure of a life less extraordinary. It’s not our problem that throughout the ages, Christians the world over are beginning to lose their faith for a new world order, one in which ‘sensibilities’ may be aversely affected if prayers are offered in schools, the word ‘God’ is not to be mentioned in front of impressionable young kids and the advent of a Muslim uprising is seen as a threat to life as they know it. It’s not our problem when radical Christian elements blow up abortion clinics to protect their Catholic faith and it sure as hell isn’t our problem when priests and other clerics of the holy order fondle young alter and choir boys due to their pent-up homosexual tendencies. But it is our problem if they jump onto the bandwagon of religious regurgitation by repulsively illustrating the entire enormity of our 1500 year-old faith within a few strokes of the hand that holds the pen of blasphemy in a comic strip of degradation.

What the west wanted, the west got: a backlash of violence and hatred that has the unguided potential to spew forth a tsunami of vengeance and brute force which is exactly the kind of reaction we have going against us. It’s pretty obvious that this is going to be played down as an ‘extreme’ answer by ‘barbaric’ religious fundamentalists, exactly the kind of image we’re trying to throw out the blood splattered window. Whether sufi, progressive or extremist, we all feel pretty passionate about the Prophet’s depiction and aren’t afraid to show it.

However, this is where our own common sense should come into play. Do we really want to give those Danish and European flag bearers of emancipation the response they’re crossing fingers for by picking up our guns, torching the councils of their representation and chanting hate slogans or do we opt for the more cool and calculated approach by waging a quieter, smarter war on liberal ignorance. The boycott of Danish goods is cute, but it can get a whole lot cuter with a 1.3 billion Muslim strong campaign against the documentations of degradation through a thought process that does not entail violence. Whatever the answer is, it does not lie in mayhem and disorder.

This fiasco is not about Christians vs. Muslims or the West vs. Islam, it is about the incapacity of a nation of focused fools to understand that they cannot, under any circumstances, play around with the divine sentiments of those who in many a case put their faith before their lives. That’s playing with fire territory so don’t go crying to mommy when your pants get burnt.

This was solely a premeditated act of disconcertation and malicious provocation, one that requires an immediate apology and rebuking of any further efforts to reprint this joke of expressional freedom.

Source: Daily Times Sunday

A Bohemian Dawg --- by Bassam Qureshi

2006-02-14T09:34:00.000+05:00

Sure we might be more Westernized now, seemingly moving in new directions not seen before, but ideas, people and movements that challenged the status quo were unfortunately a thing of the past. Gone are the years of Sadeqain, Nazia and Zoheb, Alpha Bravo & Charlie, where one was not afraid to create. It was the era of revolutionaries. Instead, now we have a generation of capitalists wearing mundane ties, the mark of well accepted new age slavery. They will refurbish and they will repackage, but creation longs to be cited as a form of differentiation.

For years Pakistan's elite and middle class were comatose with a cultural stagnancy unparalleled in the years of yonder. This stagnancy is now being traded in as Pakistan's middle to upper income bracket mirrors a drink being stirred into a whirlpool, coming perilously close to spilling over. With a widening gap between the rich and the poor, two parallel societies are developing with distinct societal, spending and buying patterns.

Ostentatious by nature, the rich are beginning to become more brazen in terms of flaunting their wealth: houses are becoming larger, television screens thinner, NAB sightings rising and cars more luxurious. A new culture reflecting the West emerges, where being called an ABCD (American Born Confused Desi) or a 'burgerrr' does not carry the negative connotations it previously held. "Hell I'm confused, and proud of it!" is a common thought permeating mindsets all over.

As this parallel society develops, cultural norms are becoming the primary battlefront of differentiation. Cultural mainstays such as "jigger," "pundi," and "soot" (among many others) that used to cut across economic divides are now being traded in by the more fortunate. Instead we've got an elite of "dawgs" who "chill" and scope out the fine booty (chiquitas, fit birds or senoritas) at the many "hangouts" blossoming in every city. Nevertheless the above is no revelation. This phenomenon has been observed by anybody and everybody, so let me talk of the dawgs no more. Instead let's talk of those with karma; let's explore the new niche.

Due to an emerging middle class which happens to be quite sizable, the elite have lost their form of differentiation. We're all dawgs aren't we, and we all go to the Hotspots, the Zouks and the Café Alantos, so what is so special about that. Exclusivity is truly a thing of the past. Or so one is led to believe. Hmmm. Since elitism is dated, the uber elite are reverting to the basics, albeit in a form distinctively desi. Sure they still have their Pajeros and their Mercs but no longer do we need to listen to Eminem or Radiohead to be "in."

Instead we witness the rise of fusion, as well its foremost practitioners. Buddha-Bar, Talvin Singh, Rishi Rich, Imran Khan, ABCD (the clothes lines), Fazal-e-haq (Phajja), etc., ensure that our elite no longer have to be ashamed to be who they are. They flaunt their ethnicity to those who know it best and assume that they've figured it out. Maybe one is putting too much emphasis on categorization and the concept of being 'in,' but alas, it oddly still seems to ring true.

Somehow a larger percentage of the elite seem to be reverting to their bohemian state, drinking special herbal teas, practicing yoga and viewing movies that bring the problems of globalization to the forefront (Monsoon Wedding, Bollywood, Hollywood, etc.). Hell who cares, I'm a bohemian dawg, here there and nowhere. Stuck in the middle of everywhere with a smoke in one hand and my guide to rediscovering Pakistan in the other.

So where do we go now and where are we coming from? It's difficult to answer a question still formulating, for such is the rate of societal development. The only answer that I could possibly conjure is … real time commentary.

Source: Orkut Media

Reflections of Shame --- by F. R. Khan

2006-02-13T10:29:00.000+05:00

I will have to justify myself to the demons of my conscience, which still haunt my thoughts.

Something interesting happened on the way to lunch a few weeks ago. I had meant to write about it, but as with so many other things in life, I was distracted. Things kept piling up and the world had taken a turn for the surreal. Clinton had appeared on the idiot box to clarify his personal relationship with Monica Lewinsky. I had listened to that broadcast and I still was not sure what Clinton had in fact clarified. Then there were the American cruise missile strikes against Sudan and Afghanistan. It had been an insane week. The next sixty or so odd days were not going to get any better. Well, that is roughly how many days are left till the November elections (1998). The question that is on most political pundits’ minds is what happens after Ken Starr turns in his investigative report to the Congress.

Which brings me to the subject of this article. I am, to be honest with you, not sure how to approach this subject matter. The event, or rather my recollections of it, happened some six years ago. Much has changed since then. I still have strong emotions about what happened and how I dealt with that whole situation. Even though I would like to use the names of the people who acted out this sordid drama, I will not for the obvious reasons. The event, which I will try to describe as accurately and honestly as I can, is perhaps one of the more reprehensible ones. It is, and can be, considered as a hate crime. I am talking about the guilty act of a date rape. The alleged rape, because there was only circumstantial evidence to support the accusation, occurred in a fraternity house. At that time, I was a member of that house and I was living in the house.

What caused me to remember those weeks was an accidental trip to see an old friend. I had always wanted to have lunch with her, but our work schedules would not allow it. The last time I saw her was almost a year ago and she had just married someone then. By some unseen luck, I found her at work and was able to see her without an appointment. We started to talk and were discussing the latest gossip about common friends when she mentioned the alleged rapist’s name. She was attending the graduation ceremonies when she had spotted him with other graduates. She also mentioned that he had gotten some girl pregnant. Ignoring that fact, we both laughed at the idea that he had finally graduated. Soon the conversation turned to other topics and presently, someone paged for her and before I left, we promised each other that we should have lunch sometime.

I did not think much of the fact till much later. It was an ordinary Saturday afternoon and I was sitting in the shadow of suburbia listening to the neighbors’ lawn mowers. I was merely sitting in my backyard and smoking a cigar when a sense of uneasiness overcame me. It was an instinctive awareness that something was wrong. One of those feelings, which trigger a realization that something, is not right. I have no idea what triggered it, but I was thinking about what my friend had said. At the time, I was wondering if my actions had been wrong and then all of a sudden, I knew that in those two or three weeks, there was an act of betrayal. Who betrayed whom still remains debatable to this day.

This is my recollection of what happened. The rape occurred during a fraternity party held, sometime in spring, to celebrate the end of the midterm exams. The theme of the party was reggae. Most fraternity parties were closed to the general student body, as per instructions from the university and the fraternity’s national headquarters, and this was no exception. This was an invitation only party. However, this was a biased policy and it was never strictly enforced. This policy was never applicable towards the women, especially if they were attractive. All women were welcome, because our rationale was that even plain looking girls had cute friends. We always allowed women to enter our parties, but prevented males so as to create a favorable male to female ratio, which we had every intention of “exploiting” later in the night. This policy was further relaxed in the case of sorority girls. The sorority women always had a carté blanché to enter our parties, because of a practice called the “freshman buffet”. What this meant was that we, fraternity men, would have the first pick of the new sorority pledges and the same was true for them too.

I am not exactly sure when the rape occurred, but already the signs were visible to those who cared to see. The girl involved belonged to one of the sororities and was known to all present as a “blueballs” and as a “tease”. I am not casting doubts on her character, but she had her share of Kodak moments. That night she was dressed in a suggestive outfit and was heard to have occasionally uttered, what we called the mating call of a sorority girl, “I am drunk”. For most of that night, I was circulating between groups of conversations. Sometime, towards one or two in the morning, as a few friends and I were standing in the living room and speculating who would end with whom, we saw this girl stagger into the room and lie down on one of the couches. We could all see that she was drunk to the point of almost passing out. One of the guys there called out for her sorority sisters to take her home, because we did not want the liability if she should hurt herself or if someone should take advantage of her. Before she could be helped, she had managed to piss on the couch and had puked on the carpet, because she obliviously had exceeded her tolerance of “jungle juice”, a melody fruit juices, vodka, Jagermesiter, rum, Jack Daniel and bourbon. The last I saw of her, she was being carried out by her sorority sisters, reeling back and forth and unable to walk.

Next day, life went on. This being my senior year, I was well embroiled in taking care of the university’s bureaucratic requirements for graduation and finishing the senior thesis that was required of all political science students. My mind was on graduating, in four weeks, and wondering if I would ever end up marrying my girlfriend, whom I had dated for about four years. In all respects, we were a common law couple and even acted and thought as a married couple. It was during this time period that I was approached by one of my fraternity brothers and questioned about that particular night. I was asked what I remembered and what I had seen that night. Slightly interested, I asked him why the questions and what did it have to do with me. The answer shocked me. I was told that young lady in question had alleged that she was raped by one of our members that night.

After blurting out a symphony of expletives, I calmed down and asked if anyone else knew about this. No, was the answer. As my fraternity brother told me, this incident was being kept quite for legal reasons. Legal lawsuits against a fraternity are a lawyer’s wet dream, because in the eyes of the society, we are the bad boys. An image from the days of Animal House that we have instead of refuting only have lend credence to by our deeds of hedonistic frivolities. Also, if there is a lawsuit filed against the fraternity, for whatever reasons, the officers of the fraternity are named as a party to the suit and they bear the sole responsibility for the consequences of another person’s actions. Another thing that terrified us about date rape charges was that it could crucify us on the cross of political correctness which then was sweeping the country. After a little more questioning, I learned that the matter was not referred to national headquarters, but was to be taken care of by the fraternity itself. A group of seniors from the fraternity went go over to the girl’s sorority house and discussed the matter with her. I was asked if I would be interested and my answer was a resounding no. Since I was one of the seniors in the fraternity, I knew that I would in the midst of this mess. I did not want to see that girl, because I was afraid that meeting her and seeing her personally might change my perceptions of what had happened. Later that night, during a special executive council meeting we discussed the allegations and finally decided that it was all purely circumstantial. The victim had waited a week before she had told the president of her sorority about the incident. During that time, no doubt, she had showered and thus, there could be no physical evidence that could point to the crime. We were not certain how long could traces of male semen could last in the vagina, before it became a moot point as far as physical evidence was concerned. Though we had not questioned the alleged rapist, we were certain that he would have washed the sheets by now and destroyed whatever evidence there might have been.

The consensus that was reached that night was to contain the damage and see if this thing could be settled without resorting to a legal nightmare. We, as officers, did not want this matter to be brought to trail, because we were not confident of prevailing in such a case. Secondly, we did not want the humiliation of a public trail and nor did we relish the details that would have been played out in the newspapers. On top of this, we had to think of our potential careers and if this thing had ever leaked out, all the money we had poured into our college education would have been wasted and all our hopes for the future would have been still born. It was decided that a group from our house would go over to the sorority house and hear the allegations. I still opted not to go. However, I did promise that I would continue to take part in the future discussions.

The executive council meet again, a few days later, to hear what the alleged victim had said. According to her, she had left the party and that her sisters had tried to walk her home, but she was too drunk to walk. As there were cops around waiting to give DUIs and the fact that she was a minor, her sisters had merely taken back inside through the door at the back of the house. This immediately raised the question that who had let her in since that back door was not meant be open. The door was supposed to be locked, in violation of fire codes, to prevent people from crashing the parties. Since it opened to the patio, which was also used as a basketball court, people would go out there to smoke and did not always remember to lock the door on the way back. We merely looked at each other and shock our heads. This nightmare was turning out to be too real. We had security to check this sort of thing, but they were helpless to prevent such incidences when fraternity members would tell them to let in the girls, because they were drunk and there was always a chance of having sex with them.

According to her story, confirmed by her sisters, one of our brothers supposedly approached her sisters and told them that he would be willing to watch over her for a few minutes. In the meantime, he suggested that her sisters look for a sober person to drive her home, a mere half a block away, and this way the cops would not be able tell if there was drunk minor in the car. When her sisters managed to find a sober driver and came to collect her, she was nowhere to be found. They looked for her, but apparently gave up when they could not find her and no one remembered seeing her either. The party, it seems, was too much fun to be wasted looking for a drunk. During this time, according to her own admission, she had agreed to go to his, the alleged rapist’s, room and lie down for a few minutes. By this time she had sobered up a little bit as she told us. As she went on to say, she does not remember if she encouraged him or not, but they started to kiss and engaged in some foreplay. Before she knew it, he had pushed up her shirt and was on top of her. As she said, since she was wearing a mini skirt, he had no difficulty pushing aside her panties and entering her sexually.

Next day, that person was brought before the executive council and told of the charges against him. Just as we expected he denied the charges. As he put it, the sex was consensual and she did not seem to mind it. We asked him again if he wanted to amend his earlier statement since her sisters were confirming his offer of taking care of her while they searched for a driver. He denied it again and still maintained his earlier assertions. We could see that this meeting was turning argumentative and we wanted to prevent that. To impress the seriousness of the situation, we told that him even if the sex was consensual, as he said, it did not matter if she recanted and changed her story. The allegation was still out there and it had to be addressed. The problem was that we did not know her state of mind during the alleged intercourse and the subsequent rape. We did not know, in fact, if she had tried to say no, or in anyway tried to stop the sex. For whatever reasons she had alleged rape, the reality was that something wrong had happened. We did not want a he said-she said situation. We needed to resolve this situation before the national headquarters found out and verbally kicked the crap out of us.

Since he was a fraternal brother, we could see his point of view too. We could feel sympathy for him, because we knew a lot guys who had been burned by such allegations. Another fraternity house on campus was forced to close when its members were alleged of a gang rape of a female student. We did not wish the same thing happening to our house and thus, over the next few days, we encouraged him to seek transfer to another college. We hoped that if he moved to another college the matter would be settled, but some how the word leaked out and the girl in question found out. I do not know what her reaction was, but she called our national headquarters and told them of our feet dragging on the matter. She told the national headquarters that if we expelled him, she would drop the charges, but if we did not then she would file a formal lawsuit against the fraternity.

Within hours, the president of our house had his ass handed to him and we were told, in no uncertain terms, that before the school year ended, we needed to have charges brought up and person, alleged to have committed the rape, was to be expelled from the fraternity. The national headquarters did not want a trial on this issue. The next person who was verbally chewed out was I. That night, under a pall of despair, we called all the members of the fraternity and told them of the meeting, the next night, to expel the alleged person. Attendance was required and there would be no excuses tolerated. While the officers followed up on the rituals of expulsion, I went to my room and typed up the charges. I still remember those words: conduct unbecoming a gentleman and a lack of moral turpitude.

We started the proceedings at six in the evening. Each member spoke honestly and with passion. The house was pretty much divided between those who favored expulsion and those who tried to convince the others that the charge of rape could not be proved; the evidence was weak and there was some personal culpability on part of the victim herself. While some of the members stood by their embattled brother, the officers, including myself, were under no illusions. The gentleman had to go. What was at stake was the future of the house; our fraternity and we tried to argue that no one member was worth sacrificing entire fraternity for. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the accused was asked to offer his version of the story. He denied the charges and still maintained his innocence. He broke down and started to cry when he told us how much the house meant to him and how sorry he was for the grief his actions were causing. He even agreed to transfer to another college if we would not expel him. Even though our sympathies were with him and we felt his anguish, it was too little too late. The matter was out of our hands. We had to follow the directive from the national headquarters; there would be no compromise. This argument and counter-argument went on for hours and after each round of discussion, we would vote. Around two in the morning, another vote was taken. When the results were counted two thirds of the members, the required majority needed, voted for expelling him.

The fraternity house never recovered from that. The days prior to end of the school year were spent in a muted atmosphere and there was no graduation party as was the tradition. Some members resigned from the fraternity in protest of what they considered to be heavy-handed policies of the national headquarters. I left the campus that summer and though I have occasionally returned to the house, it is not the same house I once remembered. During the time I lived there, I had heard stories of possible rapes and no one discounted those stories given the true nature of fraternity houses, but we did not wish that reality to be visited upon us. Even though the members of the fraternity who were present at that meeting are scattered all over the world now, we are still divided over that issue. Most of us said our final good-byes to each other merely as a routine gesture without any meanings. Though we lived a part of our college experience together, that night still separates us.

My own feelings towards that sad episode are mixed. I did not like the person who was alleged with rape and later expelled. I thought he was shallow and not respectful of the house. He showed an interest in the fraternity when it suited his needs. If ever there was a male whore he was the personification of that ideal. My actions, in drawing up the charges and arguing for his being expelled did not earn me friends, but instead it cost me a few friendships. To this day, I am convinced that the course of action I took was right and I have no regrets over what happened. I have not lost any amount of sleep questioning my motives and deeds during those tiring weeks. I had thought that memories of graduation would be happy, but sadly they were not. I chose not to attend the graduation ceremonies and instead asked to receive my diploma via the mail. I will learn to live with that part of my life and I will put it behind me, someday. I hope.

That still does not prevent a sense of betrayal from creeping into my thoughts and questioning my real reasons behind that decision. I know that in time, I will bury this memory deep within me and may be even forget what happened. Though I do not like to admit it, I know that when we expelled him, he was counting on our fraternal bonds of loyalty and honor to come to his aid. If I were true to my oath, when I joined the fraternity, I would have stood by his side. I joined the chorus of voices asking for his expulsion, because we did not want his conducted to be reflective of what the fraternity stood for; love, truth and honor. Having said, I have to wonder if in order to safe the fraternity’s ideals, I ironically betrayed them by my own actions. These questions will haunt me till the day I die. In time, I will learn to put a mask on my emotions and pretend that what I did was right. I have no idea when that day will arrive, but till it does, I will have to justify myself to the demons of my conscience, which still haunt my thoughts.

Note: This article was written in 1998. The events, or my recollections of them, took place in the summer, May, of 1992. The sense of regret and shame is still fresh today as it was all those years ago. If there is any misrepresentation in this article about the exact facts, I accept the sole responsibility and the fault is entirely mine. I had often thought of about submitting the article to Chowk, but I would always re-consider my decision and once, I almost went through with the submission process only to hit “cancel” while the article was being submitted. The sense of a personal shame still haunts me over the events described above. Am I guilty by association? Yes and there is no justification to argue otherwise.

Source: CHOWK

Temporary Marriage in Islam --- by Mohammad Gill

2006-02-12T19:33:00.000+05:00

There are so many laws in Islam that would turn off any educated person completely. One such law is the Shia custom of Sigeh, or temporary marriage…In a temporary marriage, the man specifies the term of the contract. He asks a woman, or her guardian if she would marry him for any amount of time from ten minutes to an hour, a week, or some months, for a specified amount of money. If her guardian agrees to the terms then they are married and the marriage is annulled when the time has elapsed. (Parvin Darabi)
When (1951-53) I was a student of intermediate Faculty of Science (F.Sc.) at Islamia College, Railway Road, Lahore, our English composition lecturer mentioned one day in his class that Islam allows sexual relationships with a slave girl or slave woman without formal marriage; some of us were stunned to hear this. It seemed absolutely preposterous. Academically the best student in the class (he had stood first in the matriculation examination in the whole province) and generally well-respected, stood up in protest. He proclaimed that if it were true what the lecturer had said, he would readily relinquish his faith in Islam. The lecturer pacified him and suggested he should check independently and verify for himself before he took any drastic action.
Lapse of 1400 years after Islam legitimized free sex with a slave woman had rendered the whole thing so unreal that it was unbelievable. I hadn’t heard of Mutah (temporary marriage) in Islam yet. That shocker would come later.
When it did, curiously I didn’t care much about it because none whom I knew had contracted any temporary marriage. The first time I went to the “Red Light” area with a couple of friends (at their instigation and to prove vaingloriously that I was man enough), it was a mujrah that we watched. I was so much overwhelmed by a sense of shame that for most of the time we were there, I did not raise my eyes to watch the dancing girls. My friends ribbed me later on.
That was water under the bridge and in due time I gained more acquaintance of the people inhabiting the “Heera Mandi.” Then I heard of mutah. I was told that most of the “Heeras” in that market belonged to the Shia Islam because it sanctions a temporary marriage between the consenting men and women. The girls were not Shia because of any fundamental feeling or force of belief; it simply allowed them a sense of “belonging” and some self-esteem (What esteem? They are the dredges of the society.). I filed it in a corner of my memory along with so many other social atrocities of the religion. Last week, I received an e-mail from Mr. Akhtar Sherazi, an Islamic liberal scholar. He together with some other Islamic scholars had presented his views on “Bridging the Sectarian Gap in Islam” in a seminar organized by the Family of the Hearts. In his e-mail, one of the bullets was “Mutah.” Old memories reverberated and I started digging into books and relevant sources striving to comprehend the origination of mutah in sufficient detail. I gathered enough information but did not feel motivated to write on this topic.
A couple of days later, I procured the book “Leaving Islam” by Ibn Warraq. I had read this book selectively before but borrowed it again from the local library to check on a particular biographical profile that I had read earlier but had forgotten some parts of it. Then I read some other profiles. Much of the material was repetitive and largely boring; many of those who had left Islam had done so for almost similar reasons. The title “An Iranian Girlhood and Islamic Barbarism” by Parvin Darabi however drew my attention. The name ‘Darabi’ rang a bell in my mind but I had forgotten all about her. I refreshed my memory by going to the Internet. Her sister, Homa Darabi, had immolated herself protesting against the victimization of women by the Iranian government in the name of religion. After reading Parvin Darabi’s article, I couldn’t resist the urge to write this article.
In addition to mutah, there is another situation of temporary marriage in Islam called “Nikah Halala” which arises when a husband pronounces a triple talaq in quick succession in a fit of rage. The utterance of the triple talaq severs the matrimonial bonds between a husband and his wife and they cannot remarry ‘easily’, if they want to, without help from a third party. The third party comes through halala arrangement. According to Sharia, a divorced woman has to get married with another man after spending the iddah period after her talaq, get divorced from the new husband, wait for iddah, before she can remarry her old husband. I knew of this also before I read Darabi’s article and had filed it away in my memory together with mutah. But Darabi brought it to my attention rather stunningly by quoting a real life story.
She narrated, “Years ago, one of our distant relatives divorced his wife under rage and then was sorry and wanted to get back with her. However, the Mulla would not remarry them unless she married another man, spent a night with the new husband (allowing him to have sex with her), and then was divorced the next day. I recall what a circus this was. The ex-husband was desperate to find a man to pay to marry his ex-wife for one night and then divorce her the next day. Since his ex-wife was a very beautiful woman from a distinguished family, the man needed someone he could trust would divorce his ex-wife the next day. So finally they asked one of my father’s workers to marry the woman. The ex-husband paid this man a substantial sum of money, he slept with the ex-wife for one night, and they were divorced the next day.”
Commenting on this incident, Darabi expressed her disgust as follows: “I found this law barbaric and inhuman for several reasons, First, the woman’s feelings and rights are not considered and she is forced to be raped for one night by a total stranger. Second, the idea of a man paying another man to ravish his wife for an entire night is appalling. And finally, in the cases where the Muhallal does not divorce the woman, she is forced to live a life in misery (unless the Muhallal happens to be kinder than her ex-husband).”
This arrangement might have been suitable in the Muslim culture in Arabia some 1400 years ago; it certainly has outlived its utility now. (It is mutah time now). It is disgusting and humiliating to the women of the 21st century.
Coming back to mutah, while it is sanctioned in Shia Islam, modern Sunnis believe that mutah marriage is not Islamic. They claim that Omar al-Khattab, the second rightly-guided caliph, had forbidden it during his time. He considered it ‘haram.’ So, it existed in his time if he banned it. The justification for this type of marriage is deduced from the Quranic verse 4:24 which reads as follows: “Also (prohibited are) women already married, except those whom your right hand possesses: thus hath Allah ordained (prohibitions) against you, except for these, all others are lawful, provided ye seek (them in marriage) with gifts from your property, desiring chastity, not fornication. Give them their dowry for the enjoyment you have of them as a duty: but if, after a dower is prescribed, ye agree mutually (to vary it), there is no blame on you, and Allah is All-Knowing All-Wise.”
In Maulan Maudoodi’s Tafsir, there is no mention of mutah marriage. He interpreted that the verse basically relates to the women “whom your right hand possesses,” i.e. the women acquired in the war booty. In Shia Islam, mutah is practiced routinely. They (Shias) don’t recognize Omar’s authority; they believe he was usurper of the caliphate which rightly belonged to Ali.
Who says Islam is outdated and decadent? At least for the provision of temporary marriage, it’s not. Live-in partners and live-in arrangements without marriage are only recent in the western culture while it’s an old hat in Islam. One of the benefits of mutah, stated in a matter of fact manner, is to know the partners well and to find out if they are physically and psychologically suitable for each other. Mutah is better than committing fornication (zina). It is sanctified fornication in itself.

Source: CHOWK

Are We The Most Racist Of Them All? --- by Rakesh Mani

2006-02-12T18:58:00.000+05:00

All over the world, desis always seem to be complaining and crying out about the racism that is inherent in the societies they inhabit and the vicious discrimination they face because of their colour and culture. In the West, it`s often about skin colour and in the Middle East, about your nationality and the language you speak. "We`re never treated on equal footing when it comes to applying for jobs," complains an unemployed fellow Indian in Dubai while a Pakistani friend in Belgium claims to be considered by the white population as a, "second-class citizen." A traditional woman clad in a shalwar-kameez or saree walking down the street in Louisville, Kentucky might relate tales of the funny looks and smirks she encountered. All quite possible I say, perhaps even probable.

What about us though - let`s talk about us... Are we innocent of such malicious practices? We`re not at all racist are we, in any way? Simply victims of discrimination based on ethnicity?

Au contraire. In my opinion, it`s us who are among the most racist of them all. If one were to define racism as discrimination against people based on their ascribed race and an assumption that people of different races differ in value, then we should count ourselves guilty as charged and hang our heads in shame. Our culture is the one culture more so than any other that affixes stereotypes for every single ethnic group in the world. We always have something nasty to say about the "goras," or, "kalas," or, "chaptas." It usually isn`t anything remotely flattering but they wouldn`t know now would they - since it`s always muttered in hushed whispers behind their back in languages that they have a 0.1% chance of comprehending. Has anyone ever noticed that we have the most sweeping generalisations and the harshest stereotypes pertaining to every single ethnic group? Pre-conceived notions about everyone else out there - from the Whites to the Blacks right down to the Chinese and the Russians. No one`s spared our wrath.

We`re so racist that we have the heaviest biases within our tiniest microcosms. Even within our own race and our own country, we`re so fond of discriminating based on community or colour of skin. Just take a peek at the matrimonial columns that feature in the Indian newspapers, they`re awash with ads for potential brides being touted as having, "fair complexion." Ever seen any that proclaim dark skin? At best, you`ll see, "pretty girl with wheatish complexion." Wheatish, of course, being the local euphemism for being not too dark, in a country where just being fair-skinned automatically translates into better marriage prospects and where get Consider the much talked about craze for fairness creams: Fair & Lovely, Emami Naturally Fair, Himalaya Herbal Cream.. the list is endless. Seems like the best business to get into in India today, everyone`s jumping on the bandwagon. The fairy-tale promotions for fairness creams on television often show a pretty, dusky girl opting for such-and-such fairness cream because she isn`t happy with her skin colour. Not getting enough attention. Uses the cream then, turns her white as a ghost and ta da! Cut to the girl walking around a college campus armed with a bouquet and blushing around a bunch of swooning guys going ga-ga and banging into lamposts.

Now what is this but pure racism?

In India, we have racial slurs that we use within the borders of our own country. To address our own people. For a long time, any South Indian (regardless of which part of South India he called home) was labelled a, "Kaala Madraasi," meaning black Madrasi. Hailing from Madras myself I`ve heard such abuse hurled at me by Punjabis and Sindhis who revel in their fair-skinned status back home. Racism at its most despicable. Even within our country, we have stereotypes of every single community. And we shamelessly discriminate based on these stereotypes. Each community views itself as inherently superior to the other. Isn`t it pure poetic justice then, I ask, that we get discriminated against when we leave the borders of our country?

According to the desi view of the world and the people that inhabit it, everyone else out there whether they`re just of a different community or a whole different race altogether, is somehow flawed in one way or another. We all seem to think we`re the only perfect ones out there. The truth is that we`re indoctrinated from a very early age with a sense of racial and cultural superiority - being poisoned with the belief that we`re more intelligent or morally upright than everyone else. As the actor Dennis Leary once famously pointed out, "Racism isn`t born folks, it`s taught." Very few of us realise it though. For most of us it`s just a subconscious reaction that`s a natural result of years and years of thinking that way. And being taught to think that way. This is 2006. A vast majority of the educated and cosmopolitan citizens of the world don`t think like that anymore, and aren`t racist at all. People aren`t so interested in your race or the amount of melanin in your skin anymore. It`s out of vogue you see. People are more concerned with your intellect, your personality and yes, your bank balance. People have moved on and they`ve found more interesting things to discriminate based upon. Not us though. No sir, whether Indian or Pakistani, Sri Lankan or Bangladeshi - no matter how educated or how cosmopolitan we become, we still segregate people based on race in a time when the only thing you should be segregating is your laundry. So many of us subconsciously choose our friends based on their ethnicities more than anything else. I`ve known people at university and in the workplace who`ll scout out the other Indians and Pakistanis who are a part of the same establishment. And that`s one of the very first things they do. They don`t feel as though they`ve settled down until they can sniff out someone who looks like them, if not think like them.

I`m one of them.

Even as a community or as a race, we always seem to be trying to compete with other nationalities and ethnicities. As a community, there`s always that weird sense of trying to match ourselves up to the Whites or the Chinese. Just to make sure we aren`t trailing too far behind. Letting out a chortle of glee when reading about the new Indian CEO who`s making waves at the helm of some major American corporation. It seems as though we`re just trying to convince ourselves of what we`ve always believed: "We can be just as good as, if not better than them." We have the disease of constantly having to reaffirm to ourselves that we`re on par with the rest of the world. Keep reminding ourselves and telling our children that C.V. Raman was India`s answer to Einstein; Sania Mirza our answer to Steffi Graf, Aishwarya Rai our answer to all those who think Indians aren`t lookers and Lakshmi Mittal the answer to those who think all Indians are downright poor.

Let`s face it - we`re one of the most clannish, stereotypical and judgmental races in the world when it comes to viewing the fellow inhabitants of our planet. We`re not only racist amongst ourselves but heavily critical of all other races - they`re not deemed to be as perfect as us. Let`s not blame other races for being racist toward us when we haven`t succeeded in putting out the fires in our own backyard as yet!

Source: CHOWK

Laugh a little... [Rated]

2006-02-12T18:45:00.000+05:00

A first-grade teacher, Ms. Brooks, was having trouble with one of her students. The teacher asked, "Harry, what's your problem?" Harry answered, "I'm too smart for the 1st grade. My sister is in the 3rd grade and I'm smarter than she is! I think I should be in the 3rd grade too!" Ms. Brooks had had enough so she took Harry to the principal's office.
While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher explained to the principal what the situation was. The principal told Ms. Brooks he would give the boy a test. If he failed to answer any of his questions he was to go back to the 1st grade and behave. She agreed. Harry was brought in and the conditions were explained to him and he agreed to take the test.
Principal: "What is 3 x 3 ?" Harry: "9" Principal: "What is 6 x 6?" Harry: "36".
And so it went with every question the principal thought a 3rd grader should know. The principal looks at Ms. Brooks and tells her, "I think Harry can go to the 3rd grade." Ms. Brooks says to the principal, "Let me ask him some questions." The principal and Harry both agreed.
Ms. Brooks asks, "What does a cow have four of that I have only two of?" Harry, after a moment: "Legs." Ms. Brooks: "What is in your pants that you have but I do not have?" The principal wondered, why would she ask such a question! Harry replied: "Pockets!"
Ms. Brooks: "What does a dog do that a man steps into?" Harry: "Pants". Ms. Brooks: What's starts with a C and ends with a T, is hairy, oval, delicious and contains thin, whitish liquid?" Harry: "Coconut."
The principal sat forward with his mouth hanging open. Ms. Brooks: "What goes in hard and pink then comes out soft and sticky?" The principal's eyes opened really wide and before he could stop the answer. Harry: "Bubble gum"
Ms. Brooks: "What does a man do standing up, a woman does sitting down and a dog does on three legs?" Harry: "Shake hands." The principal was trembling.
Ms. Brooks: "What word starts with an 'F' and ends in 'UCK' that means a lot of heat and excitement?" Harry: "Fire Truck".
The principal breathed a sigh of relief and told the teacher, "Put Harry in the fifth-grade, I got the last seven questions wrong."
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The phone rings and the lady of the house answers, "Hello". "Mrs. Ward, please." "Speaking." "Mrs. Ward, this is Doctor Jones at the Medical Testing Laboratory. When your doctor sent your husband's biopsy to the lab yesterday, a biopsy from another Mr. Ward arrived as well, and we are now uncertain which one is your husband's. Frankly the results are either bad or terrible."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Ward asks nervously. "Well, one of the specimens tested positive for Alzheimer's and the other one tested positive for AIDS. We can't tell which is your husband's."
"That's dreadful! Can't you do the test again?" questioned Mrs. Ward. "Normally we can, but Medicare will only pay for these expensive tests one time."
"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" "The people at Medicare recommend that you drop your husband off somewhere in the middle of town. If he finds his way home, don't sleep with him."
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The wife comes home early & finds her husband in their master bedroom making love to a beautiful, sexy young lady! "You unfaithful, disrespectful pig! What are you doing? How dare you do this to me the faithful wife, the mother of your children! I'm leaving this house, I want a divorce!"
The husband, replies "Wait, Wait a minute! Before you leave, at least listen to what happened" "Hummmmm, I don't know, well it'll be the last thing I will hear from you.But make it fast, you unfaithful pig you"
The husband begins to tell his story. "While driving home this young lady asks for a ride. I saw her so defenseless that I went ahead and allowed her in my car. I noticed that she was very thin, not well dressed and very dirty. She mentioned that she had not eaten for 3 days. With great compassion and hurt, I brought her home and warmed up the enchiladas that I made for you last night that you wouldn't eat because you're afraid you'll gain weight; the poor thing, practically devours them. Since she was very dirty I asked her to take a shower.
While she was showering, I noticed her clothes were dirty and full of holes so I threw her clothes away. Since she needed clothes, I gave her the pair of jeans that you have had for a few years that you can no longer wear because they are too tight on you, I also gave her the blouse that I gave you on our anniversary and you don't wear because I don't have good taste.
I gave her the pullover that my sister gave you for Christmas that you will not wear just to bother my sister and I also gave her the boots that you bought at the expensive boutique that you never wore again after you saw your co-worker wearing the same pair."
The husband continues his story... "The young woman was very grateful to me and I walked her to the door. When we got to the door she turned around and with tears coming out of her eyes, she asks me: "Sir, do you have anything else that your wife does not use?"
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A mother was walking down the hall when she heard a humming sound coming from her daughter's bedroom. When she opened the door, she found her daughter naked on the bed with a vibrator. "What are you doing?" She exclaimed. The daughter replied, "I'm 35 and still living at home with my parents and this is the closest I'll ever get to a husband."
Later that week the father was in the kitchen and heard a humming sound coming from the basement. When he went downstairs, he found his daughter naked on a sofa with her vibrator. "What are you doing?" He exclaimed. The daughter replied, "I'm 35 and still living at home with my parents and this is the closest I'll ever get to a husband."
A couple of days later the mother heard the humming sound again, this time in the living room. Upon entering the room, she found her husband watching television with the vibrator buzzing away beside him on the couch. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" she asked. He replied, "Watching the cricket with my son-in-law!"
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There was this couple that had been married for 20 years. Every time they made love the husband always insisted on shutting off the light. Well, after 20 years the wife felt this was ridiculous. She figured she would break him out of this crazy habit. So one night, while they were in the middle of a wild, screaming, romantic session, she turned on the lights. She looked down and saw her husband was holding a battery-operated 'pleasure device'... a vibrator! Soft, wonderful and larger than a real one.
She went completely ballistic. "You impotent bastard," She screamed at him, "how could you be lying to me all of these years? You had better explain yourself quick smart!" The husband looks her straight in the eyes and says calmly: "I'll explain the toy... you explain the kids!"
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VIVA LA FLESH! --- by Reem Khan

2006-01-08T18:03:00.000+05:00

Working in a place such as Sunday you’d think I’d have become immune to the pseudo sensibility shockers that are the barrage of party pictures we view on a daily basis. Yep, I’m talking about the fascinating and, at times, very entertaining visuals the first few pages of this magazine and other social rags deluging the magazine racks in almost every book corner in the country are dedicated to. I have to admit, the highlight of my morning is checking out the social shenanigans of those who crack open the pearly whites for a photo-op, oblivious to the fact that no matter how you view it, society views and judges you just because of what you wear, who you stand with and where you are, because society tends to be brutally cruel in that respect; it has absolutely nothing better to do.There have been plenty of times when we at Sunday have received phone calls from many a female shindig hopper, absolutely forbidding us to print her picture because she’s afraid of the repercussions doled out by her in-laws or parents if they ever get to lay their eyes on the image that reveals the fact that her eyes and her cleavage were both battling for a better view of their surroundings, she was huddled up conveniently next to a man not even remotely like her husband (can’t even blame the drinks then) and, of course, that intoxicating glass of bubbly in her hand. Sarcasm and cynicism play a monumental role then in the satirical party in my head: why put yourself in the predicament stated above? If you had the gall to be there in the first place while the cameras were clicking away, be man (or woman) enough to live with it. Guess it all just boils down to a simple case of everyday pretentiousness doused in the damp sweat of inborn hypocrisy and deceit.As a social system that mocks any measly attempt at trying to break out of typecast norms and traditional values that border on the stifling and oppressive, we tend to view such images, visuals and photographs as a slap on the face of our own morality because deep down, we all know two alternative realities exist: the chastity and virtue we’re all so proud of is fast becoming a jaded illusion and we’re scared that if such progressions towards such stylised western concepts is condoned, we may end up losing those late night battles with our innermost demons of anti-dogmatic discernment and hence, lose the ability to flaunt what we have already lost: a moral high ground we never really possessed.‘Evils’ we once normally brandished as part of western civility have now become a very regular and extremely focused upon early morning ritual over tea, coffee and gossip. These pictures are like a silent yet very potent revolution to defeat the rebels of anti-liberation when, at the same time, the protagonists allow themselves to be labeled outcasts by the whole social unit at large because of what they portray: a free society in a world where there is no utopia.The other day, while browsing through the many romp shots, I found myself questioning just what it is to grow up in a society that preaches one thing but blatantly sanctions the complete opposite whilst reprimanding us for not doing as we’re told. This particular GT had all the trappings of just about any other: dance floor, epilepsy inducing strobe lights, booze and willing participants in this lemming dance of the fagged out. Many a hipster endorsing teenybopper was there, oblivious to the world at large because of the vast amounts of alcohol and, seemingly, drugs they had consumed (bloodshot eyes and a very real unawareness of the fact that they were being photographed). One girl was evidently not a slave to her senses as she looked more wasted than trash that’s been left to rot outside in the midday summer sun. Groping her at odd angles and zones best left to sexual therapists was an equally intoxicated youth who looked as though O Levels were still a thing of the future. Even in the west, parents are weary of such issues and they address the situation hands on, not send their children to parties where the world can comment on them with the Sunday morning paper.
It’s not just the drinks, hallucinogenic drugs and loud music that have distorted our warped sense of reality, the amusing art of wearing less for more is now an ever growing notion towards liberation. Blame it on exhibitionism, voyeurism or an inbred need to flaunt; people are baring more, canoodling even more and losing sense of individuality for a few hours of gala induced pleasure. In another picture, one university student became so drunk she actually unzipped her jacket while on the dance floor and started a Paris Hilton booty shake for all and sundry. In no better than a bra, she let loose to the shock (and awe) of everyone present. The fact that she possessed a stomach no flatter than a mound of jello left on a vibrating drier, did nothing to deter her escapades into the land of no holds bars. Needless to say many a male gawker had a field day with that one. Women of no less than mid-life crisis age have been seen to forsake their dignity, elegance and poise to wear outfits best left to Hollywood streetwalkers: feather boas, plunging necklines, fat oozing out like solid pus from sleeveless blouses, cellulite bouncing out of every pore and make-up that would give them a starring role in any of the Living Dead flicks. Such women are recognised in the west as sitting alone, downing one drink after another in an eternal wait for someone to rescue them from their sad, sorry excuse for a life whilst reliving all her troubles to the bartender. They paint a pitiful picture there, yet they paint one of frisky abandon here.Another facet of our slowly crumbling stance on behavioural ethics is the recklessness with which many folk will allow the skeletons to literally fly out of their closets. Obvious homosexuals, bi-sexuals and wife swappers swarm the party circuit looking for slim pickings from a sea of willing fresh meat. Knowing many a person who attends these dos, it comes as no surprise when I hear over the counter babble about whose wife left with whom and whose husband did the deed in the linen closet with which other pretty boy who happened to be there. It’s as though seedy impulsiveness makes up for years of repressed urges once thought to prevail in the dark side of human nature.Wedding parties, divorce parties, birthday parties, birthing parties, rave parties, dance parties, fashion parties, winter parties, summer parties, day parties, night parties, mujra parties, sex parties, booze parties, drug parties; they all fit within the spectrum that is now our acceptably fashionable way of life. Our keepsakes are these images of civility in a mammary crushing dress, sensibility in a Black Label bottle and virtue up for grabs by the highest bidder in an auction of identity confused, ethics overlapped by inclinations that allow us to see only the sleaze of western sociability and integrity desensitised by fetishism of the senses: we’ve seen it all, done it all and by God we’ve shown it all; VIVA LA FLESH!