Things That Bang

Women in Nepal can finally breathe in the sweet smell of gradual emancipation.

Last year, on the 15th of September the Nepal Supreme Court demanded that the custom of shunting women to the cow sheds during their menstrual period as practiced in Western Nepal be done away with.

Recently they ruled that the law where men were given legitimate grounds to seek divorce on the grounds of Infertility be scrapped

While the laws of the land may be slowly working in favor of granting women equal rights, what is of equal importance is bringing awareness amongst the poor villages in Nepal where women are treated as second class citizens.

At the same time, the concept of women being dirty during their periods is a myth that continues to prevail not only in Nepal but also in India too. Women are not supposed to visit their puja rooms, temples, some continue to be barred from entering their kitchens and others while allowed to do all the above (except visiting the temples) continue to believe that they should not touch pickle jars when they are chuming.

These seemingly innocuous myths continue to thrive even amongst the educated urban Indians.

It is to our disadvantage that we, as women buy into these archaic myths of impurity whereas menstrual days are signs of womanhood and should be celebrated with gusto as is done in certain matriarchal cultures where celebrations are held when a young girl starts menstruating.

What is ironical here is that women are shunted for the very mechanism that carries the name of the family forward and despite advances in science many face the wrath for being ‘infertile’ or for producing girls.

And in these two countries where the worship of female deities is popular to treat their human reflection smells of mendacity and cowardice. These shackles of obsolete traditions can only be broken by women themselves, after all there is much truth to the saying – A woman’s is another’s biggest enemy.’

Many women buy into these fallacies and are more strict in the enforcement of these customs and laws than men or conspire along with them.

We need to empower our weaker sisters to say No and to help those in places of power like mothers and mother- in laws empower and support their daughters and daughter in laws.

Whether it be a bold action of visiting the temple while menstruating or not letting the male members switch channels when a sanitary napkin or tampon ad comes we all can bring about a change in thinking bit by bit by being more vocal within our own homes and communities.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 10:53 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Recently I did a post on wanting some me time and left a few 'me time' comments on a blogpost on Blogcritics.org by Dawn Olsen which I will talk about tomorrow since its middle of the night and I really should not be up after travelling in a smelly van for over six hours...okay I just lost my own thought!

Not really...to get back to the initial point I was making -my whining about 'me time' didnt make me feel better...I still felt that I was missing something....its wasnt 'me time' that I wanted but something else...what the hell was it?

And then at exaclty midnight my RSS feed gave me a quote that said it all:

"Idleness is not doing nothing. Idleness is being free to do anything."

- Floyd Dell

I didnt want time to do something for myself I wanted time to stare at the ceiling and let wheels of my mind rust, my body become lathargic and just be still for a while. I would have the choice to make use of the time but I would just let those hours tick by ever so silently

Yeah I know I can be still when I die. Parita is due for her shots tomorrow and my asstr readers are clamouring for the next Chapter of Cupid's Kiss and another lot of characters have taken over my mind and want to be penned.

Yup, sweet relief will only descend when I am lying stone cold in a pyre of sandle wood (I know...not envirornmentally conscious of me but dont take me to literally just playing with words to hold your attention as James Frey would say)

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 05:08 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The repercussions of stepping out the closet are immense but more so if you are a prince from a small principality in India. Nitin Karani talked about Manavendra Singh Gohil who braved the wrath of his entire clan, went beyond the threat of disinheritence and decided to be true to himself.

Nitin continues to give us useful information on the pioneering efforts of the gay community of India, their fight for equal rights, social acceptence, awareness about HIVand community support for those living under pressure.

While the efforts of these individuals may seem small and insignificant to majority of conservative Indians yet these are exciting times for most of us who are seeing history in making where modern Indian gays and lesbians are demanding their birth right- to be accepted by their families, society and state.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 03:01 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I am a nasty woman. My husband was talking in his sleep and I held a good two minute conversation with him. Since it was work related I couldnt make much sense of it but I thoroughly enjoyed engaging his sleeping talking self.

I did this once to a friend of mine at a sleep over. After we talked about the things she was dreaming about I gently asked her to move and she moved. I was surprised and asked her to move a little more. In her sleep she shifted closer to the edge and when I asked her to move again she tumbled off the bed and landed on her rump.

I know I will suffer in hell for this but who can resist a sleep talker?

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 06:57 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Recently it came to my notice that there are men do not know what IMS is all about. Initially in a bout of ‘now I have got you men’ attitude I rubbed my hands gleefully and decided to make a satire post on the issue. But then after a minute of reflection I realized that I would be no different from those sexist men who tarnish all women with PMS problems and say that men with 'attitude' suffer from IMS.

Just like PMS, IMS or Irritable Male Syndrome is no laughing matter. A grumpy man flipping channels, stone walling his wife or worse snapping at her house keeping might be feeling a shift in his hormones.

What men have hormones? Most men think that shifting levels of hormones is something that only women suffer from but facts show other wise. Men are equally prone to depression, high stress levels and mood swings.

The old traditional approach of ‘being a man’ and holding back ones feelings causes many men to implode where a seemingly regular feeling of blues slides into manic depression sometimes even leading to suicide.

Male menopause according to Jed Diamond is real and could well be reasons for marriages becoming rocky when men have 'midlife crisis' but at the same time it is a process that could hit even at puberty.

Some people might consider this whole analysis of the midlife crisis to be hogwash and tell a man to be a man and deal with his ‘manly’ problems be they work related or general blues but common sense demands that we as human beings find healthy outlets to deal with our mental or emotional issues just as we deal with any sickness that ails the body.

Cracking jokes about IMS as most macho men do for PMS would further make a man suffering from depression or having some sort of testosterone driven problems feel less of a man.

At the end of the day we need to look beyond Gender Wars or the tit for tat attitude and deal with emotional issues with compassion and wisdom. Men are not from Mars and Women from Venus. We all suffer from depression, frustrations and stress. The only difference is that women express their emotions where as men have been taught to suffer in silence and tend to become more lonely.

Could that itself be reason why women tend to lead longer lives than men?

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 05:16 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Today when I stepped out of our hotel room which is in the heart of bustling Chicago I seemed to be the only woman pushing a stroller and dragging a toddler by hand. Lots of smiles came my way, Parita was singing despite the cold and Aayan was talking none stop about the trains, trucks, taxis and pigeons but I felt a little out of place.

I was surrounded by glamourous, working women, some talking into their Black berries, others walking past me in a brisk pace with their Prada purses tucked under their arms. I on the other hand looked like a harried mom without any make up, untidy hair and a shirt that had a big pureed carrot stain on it.

How had things come to this? I wondered as I wistfully stared at my successful sisters. There was a time when I was one of them. I had a career going, surplus money to spend in nightclubs and was very fashion conscious.

Now the only thing that I am conscious about is the smell of the dirty diaper in my bathroom or my three year old going on a food strike.

Sure, I know all about the two income trap, that we as a family are actually saving more by me being the mommy, nanny and maid all round into one but I sure do miss the times when all I thought about was me.

People have told me time and time again that once the kids start going to school I will be able to devote time to myself. But its my present that worries me as I need some breathing space now. The kids are getting on my nerves and there is another impending move around the corner.

Don't know how long I can let myself run ragged and lose bits and pieces of myself. I need time and space to be the old me.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 10:10 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Life is all about choices and living with the ones that we make. Yesterday we went to the Hershey's Chocolate Factory at the Magnificent Mile and brought tons of chocolates. Today, I found myself hogging Hesshey's kisses like a stinkin' hog and now have a uncomfortable belly and a guilt ridden conscious.

Gawd, I'm not used to sweets and now I feel like puking.....this isnt the way I pictured my trip to be. I was supposed to be a hep mom painting the town pink instead I am a mom making bad food choices, dreading the cold and having an upset tummy

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 11:11 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The temperature, here in Chicago is currently a mild 44 degrees Fahrenheit but it’s the wind chill that deters the kids and me from staying out for more than a hour and then its back to being holed up in the hotel room till Aaman returns later in the evening.

We walked a few blocks with Parita in her stroller, cribbing about the wind chill and Aayan and I on foot. First we visited Mc Donald to get Aayan some chicken nuggets, yes, I know he should not eat that crap but we are on a holiday, then we walked around a few more blocks, walked into Borders and walked out of Borders with the eight month old wailing on top of her baby lungs.

Aayan had fun running down pigeons and crossing lights but I became cranky. I didn’t want to go back to my dirty room (I had a gut feeling the maid would not have cleaned the room despite it being late in the afternoon and so it was) and then staring at Dora The Explorer wriggle with her pet monkey.

I continue to remain hungry. Don’t want to eat greasy sandwiches, limp salads or bland noodles. I’m sick of food and yet I am so hungry.

But I’m still glad to be out of the little hick town called Miamisburg, Ohio. Chicago with its high rises, billions of restaurants and thriving, bustling humanity happens to be my favorite city.

Food may cheer me up along with a clean room.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 06:30 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I am currently staying in one of the best hotels of Chicago courtsey Aaman being here at work but they don't have HBO or Fox. I'm feeling all flabbergasted. Its as if I have been given a chocolate shake without the whipped cream and straw or a great chinese cruisine with limp chow mien.

Its Sunday night and I will not get to watch Tony Soprano lying in a coma or Jack Bauer running around in 24. What kind of a hotel is this? Its got the fluffy robes, little shampoos, jet showers, marbled sunken tubs with those brass taps but no HBO!

My weekend is ruined!

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 02:40 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm all for cute tushes and all but stupidty sure is a turn off- soapy water, naked body standing on a chair...recipe for disaster.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 12:33 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Having been around nuns most of my life one thing I can vouch for is their sense of humor.

Sister Juila cracked this joke when we had hymn rehearsels for Xmas

The hymn sheets were passed around and teachers began to titter and giggle.

I stared at the paper - words swam before my eyes and i could see nothing wrong.

I whispered to Sister Julia "Whats everyone laughing about?"

She raised an old eyebrow "Can't you see it?"

"I'm too tired. End of the day and all..."

She patted my shoulder and responded by pointing at a word on the sheet and said loudly "Now that is something you would put to better use than me."

I grinned - The word was Hymen

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 04:12 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Parita is sick. She seems to have caught the flu I was suffering from last week. Low grade temperature, body ache, cough, cold and keeps throwing up. Between Pedealite and tears I have gone mad. Having gone through the whole lousy flu I know how bad it must be for an eight month old baby but she has been crying and throwing up on me since morning.

I smell of sour milk and puke. I'm hoping she would be feeling better by tomorrow or day after. Sunday we are supposed to be driving to Chicago but it all depends on Parita's health.

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Do not feed the community birds- now that is a sign that our apartment people should put up. Today a pair of ducks waddled into our front porch and I did the stupid thing that one shouldnt do- I fed them.

They liked the bread, Aayan liked the company of our new feathered friends and I got to take some cute pictures of duck-ies in the snow. But now at six in the evening the ducks are still parked on our porch. They are standing close to the glass door, peering in hungrily and getting on my nerves with all the duck-ie yellow pooh spoiling my clean porch.

Maybe, I should let Aayan out to shoo them but its cold and snowing and the duckies might still be hungry....heh....I know, stop feeding them, stupid!

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 10:39 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Necrophila has been a topic that I could never bring myself to write about. Can't imagine a voluptous beauty banging a bag of bones.

Something darn sinister and yet compelling about this painting.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 06:14 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

"At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies."
- PG Wodehouse

Another way of interpreting it could be - At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and ability to manipulate difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.

Just a survival gene passed down thanks to centuries of subjugation. Just may bite humanity in the arse....the rise of mean, sexy amazons....sinewy beauties ruling the corporate world, making men their sex bitches, tied to bed, trippin' on torrid sex, viagra and in moments of lucid cosciousness have them bemoaning the era passed when they were the rulers and we their hoes....

Gonna fuck with you good, turn the wheel of yin and yang all topsy turvy......suck your cock no longer, no more sweet talk, no more insidious games to be played to rule the roost with a hand in the glove attitude. Its going to world domination. We will bend you, cow you down, break you and build you in our image. A mother, a daughter, a sister, a mutant evil gene striving to make humanity survive in its own image of suppression.

Men, what have you reduced us to? We are you but even more evil in our intent.

Lol.....don't take me seriously ...just groovin on a chilled out evening with my man on a Friday night.

At the end of the day we all are the same ....flesh and bones....no more no less

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 02:52 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I have weird neighbors. An old foggy fellow offered me a ‘welcome to the community candle’ then proceeded to barge into my apartment to light the candle and the other was an Indian woman landing unannounced on my porch wearing a kaftan and oodles of flashy gold jewelry.

They both seemed a tad loco to me. One was a hulking brute who put the fear of god in me by his rambling words and made me feel uneasy in my pajamas and the other had me embarrassed with her typical Indian attitude of parading around in her night clothes.

I’m not used to strangers landing up on my doorstep and expecting me to let them in.

The old guy seemed a little mentally off and had me standing near the door holding my kids close incase he decided to have his way with me or something. It was scary; he could have grabbed me and that would have been the end of happy sunny Ohio days for Deepti Lamba.

Thankfully, after forty five minutes of disconnected conversation and an apartment smelling of vanilla the old goose left and I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Indian lady like the old man seemed to be hungry for company. I was minding my own business, looking for my kid’s bike and suddenly I heard a heavily accented voice talk about the sunny weather, her kid not having friends and my kid not having friends, play dates, afternoon tea, where was I from etc.

I didn’t want to make polite conversation with her. I didn’t even want to acknowledge her. Needy people carry their excess baggage like unwanted guests; ready to park it on the doors of unsuspecting, soft hearted people.

There is always something wrong in their lives even when things are fine they expect social interaction which a loner like me finds unbearable
.
Some might call me stupid, here I am in a new state with no friends to socialize with and I am bitching about people who forwarded their hands in friendship. Yeah, right - fraternizing with weirdoes isn’t my cup of tea.

I’m neurotically obsessed about my privacy and try to avoid people I generally don’t gel with.

I am all for being good neighbors but that does not include arriving on my doorstep unannounced, barging in or trying to act best of buds just because we belong to the same country.

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 11:05 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Most of us have seen the movie - Walk The Line and got a peek into the life of a legend- Johnny Cash. Gypsyman has done an exceptional review on Johnny Cash.

Johnny Cash's black clad figure has been as much a symbol of rugged American individualism as any other man in the last hundred years. Unlike other figures that have let their image be co-opted for various political movements or philosophies, he was never brought into any fold.

Posted by swingingpuss at 09:02 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

The net is an expansive, overwhelming world that we tend to take for granted. . Many upcoming sites such as asstr.org, blogcritics.org, desicritics.org, etc. become sites most of us habitually visit.

Despite the immense popularity that these sites enjoy most of them have yet to make money. The sites are basically run by people who have day jobs and pay for the sites from their own pockets.

During the earlier dot-com boom people found easy money to fund anything they could dream of. In the Web 2.0 world, a few huge $$$ deals have made other sites believe they could strike it big too. The reality, though is that many struggle to keep the lights on, in the face of growing readership and popularity.

Take for example- Asstr.org, an adult site which is a free, user-supported web-site. There are no banners, AVS, blind-links, pop-ups, or other gimicks designed to pick the reader's pocket. Anyone can submit their erotic stories to the site and people from around the world get to read them.

The site also picks authors who are given space on the asstr serverand the benefit is a vast volume of readership yet to be matched by similar sites; all free of cost.

I had been submitting my erotic stories on Asstr.org sporadically and only recently I was accepted into their coterie of authors and collectors. It was a grand experience and I stood in awe of the vistas the site laid open. My stories were read, bookmarked and I even got feedback.

What more could an aspiring writer want? Well, a little money would be nice but when the site itself is struggling to survive its own popularity on overloaded servers and limited budgets, the authors/writers are generally happy enough with the fact that their stories are reaching the readers and some may even become famous as Kristin.

Last week, however, Asstr.og faced its nemesis. Their servers crashed and the site was down for over a week.The management were quick to inform its authors and collectors of the problems they were facing, which were compounded by limited funds. Here is the mail they sent to all their authors and I'm sure it won't be a problem with them if I share it-

Folks,

At this time we believe our systems have been fixed and everything should be back to normal. If you find anything not working, please let us know.

We are evaluating our options for minimizing this type of problem from reoccurring. The bottom line is the more machines we have, the easier it is to have backup systems in place in the event one of our machines dies. Based
on our experience, periodic system failures are unavoidable, and so by having other computers available that can take over, we can minimize and/or prevent any outages. Of course, whenever one of our systems fails, we work to understand what caused the problem and how we can minimize the chance of a reoccurance.

As funding becomes available to add additional equipment, we will do so.

We encourage our account holders (authors and collectors) to make their site visitors aware that while ASSTR is and will always remain free, unfortunately it takes real money to provide our services (particularly reliable services).
...
We appreciate everyone's patience and support. Please let us know if we
can be of further assistance.

- Rey del Sexo

In the modern always-connected world, it looks like websites are expected to go beyond 99.999% availability and reliability in the service of their readers. We tend to take freebies for granted but can't do without them in this new connected world. Asstr.org happens to be one of my favorite sites as it supports freedom of speech and provides me with a community of authors and readers who enjoy erotica.

What sites could you not bear to live without?

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 08:45 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (18) | TrackBacks (0)

I love burritos. Chicken, beans, rice, sour cream, guacamole and little bit of salsa all wrapped in a steamy tortilla is my idea of a scrumptious meal.

Standing in front of the server with the watering mouth and rumbling tummy my eyes tend to sweep the spread and wonder what else to add to my burrito. How about cilantro or peppers? Or I could be a little more adventurous and try out their chilly sauce and beef instead of chicken? Building one’s own burrito never seemed so much fun.   

Chipotle happens to be my favorite anytime restaurant. Owned by McDonalds, the food is nothing short of awesome, and is reasonably priced to boot. The menu is limited but delicious - Tacos, burritos and salad combined with sauces that vary from mild to dang its spicy make it a meal as filling and nutritious as any big chain restaurants.   

Chipotle has a rather upbeat bistro style decor and generally has long queues of people waiting to get their burritos made; which is why it makes sense to order online.

  

Since the website is user friendly and remembers my previous orders I tend to forgive the confirmation call, which is needed because they do not yet offer online payment.  A visual presentation of the menu is available on the website and all one has to do is click on the items that one would like in the burrito or taco as done in the restaurant.   

Once the order is placed, the confirmation call made, the food is ready by the time I reach the restaurant (which is about ten minutes drive from where I stay) and the best part is that I need not stand in the food line but can go straight to the billing counter and pick my food up.    

Though Chipotle has Qdoba as a close rival in terms of being in the same price range and a similar menu yet my taste buds tend to crave spicy Chipotle other than the bland Qdoba  food. The food is filling, the restaurant is clean and a dinner for three costs no more than twenty to twenty-five bucks with drinks included. So, next time when you get the urge to eat Mexican food but are tight on budget try Chipotle and here is another tip - if you happen to go there with kids make sure you carry a spoon. Chipotle carries only forks and knives and my three year old has problems eating rice and beans with a plastic fork.  

Posted by swingingpuss at 10:45 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This essay is based on a true incident as told by my friend Rashmi J, who became a mini celebrity for a while in Delhi for standing up for a fellow female passenger on a crowded Redline bus.

Rashmi stared out of the crowded bus with her eyes slightly out of focus. She was staring at the turns and twists that the bus was taking as it neared the bus station she wanted to get off at. She gripped the sweaty pole harder and willed her mind not to think about the hard penis a stranger was pressing against her butt.

She told herself again and again that it would soon be over. If she raised her voice he might do something even worse and no one would come to her aid.

Her bus stop was a just a few kilometers away. "Patience" she told herself and tried to continue hanging on in a bus so crowded that there was hardly any place to breathe much less stand.

"Stop it!" she heard a voice scream with a slight accent.

"Bus rokho(stop the bus)!" a male voice bellowed.

"Bhahan chudh, rokta hai ke nahi (sister fucker, will you stop the bus or not)?" another male voice bellowed coarsely.

Rashmi craned her neck to see what the commotion was all about and her heart sank at what she saw.

A beautiful black girl was being molested by a group of men and no one was stopping them. One man tore her shirt and mauled her breasts, another grabbed her by the hair and yanked her towards the back door.

She was crying and trembling and they were preying on her vulnerability.

"Oye Bhahan chudh bus rokho! Nahi to tujhe bhi nahe chodenge (stop the bus or else we will beat you up too)." One of the fat men screamed a warning at the driver who complied.

The bus pulled over and the men got off the silent bus with the woman.

She screamed and fell on her knees. They dragged her and began to rip her clothes. The people in the bus watched silently. Rashmi watched silently in horror and fear.

The fear in the young woman's eyes mirrored the fear Rashmi smelt in the bus.

No one was going to come to that girl's aid. She was going to be raped in broad daylight in front of more than thirty-odd male passengers.

Anger suddenly gripped her heart.  "How dare they!" she thought and the scream in her mind turned into a warring cry that left her slight frame and she began to struggle against the sweaty bodies that swelled and crushed her.

"Let me through!" she screamed and pushed. "What's wrong with you men? We have to save her!"

She managed to get off the bus and ran towards the predators who were pillaging the innocent.

"Stop it you bastards! Stop it right now!" Fearlessly, she approached them.

They snarled at her and one hulking brute even approached her.

His foul breath fanned her delicate face.

"Tujhe bhi utha lenge. Ja! Bus mai baith(we will grab you too. Go sit in the bus)." He warned her.

Rashmi, a five foot three inch, first year college girl glared back and said, "Fuck off, let her go."

He grabbed her, but by then the passengers from the bus started pouring out and shouted at the men to let the girls be.

They turned and saw men approaching. They tried to run but were caught by the angry crowd. The women covered the victim and comforted her and the men beat up the anti-social elements.

The bus was taken to a police station, a report was written against the men and Rashmi became a hero for all of us and was even featured on the newspaper.

When I asked her what prompted her to do something so brave, she shrugged and replied "It was the right thing to do."

Posted by swingingpuss at 05:39 AM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Is it okay for married men to gawk at women in front of their wives? Most men would say it's perfectly fine, that it's a 'man' thing to do and would raise self-esteem issues of the beleaguered wife or that she isn't sure of her husband and so on and so forth.

The truth of the matter, however, is that these very same men wouldn't stare at other females when they are out with women they are dating if they have some sort of future plans in mind, knowing if they behaved like repressed teenagers the women would be out of their lives before they could finish say Jack Robinson. Yet, once married, the wolves discard the sheep's clothing and resume drooling and frothing, expecting their partners to take it in stride.

An old gentleman once told me that this sort of behavior is in the genes of men and he talked about society shackling men with an artificial institution called marriage, that men by their very primal nature are bigamists and women should understand that gawking is perfectly natural and we should rise above these petty issues and let them be since that is all that modern society allows them to do.

He compared a woman to a car. According to him, a man could spend hours admiring a BMW or a Porsche, but he would never give up his Ford for these novelty cars.

My answer to this eighty year-old gentleman just stopped short of showing him my middle finger. How dare he compare a woman to a car? I reined in my temper and asked why wouldn't he trade in his dinky, run down Ford for a Porsche? Would it have something to do with the mileage issue? Or for that matter may be he knows that he could never afford to pay for a high-end car much less maintain it?

The old gentleman accused me of nearing my chums or having PMS.

It was then that realization dawned, I had hit the nail on the head. Most men know that they can't afford high maintenance women nor do they want to spend the rest of their lives peddling their souls just to keep these spoilt kittens happy.

They would rather marry the down to earth, family oriented, faithful average gal with the heart of gold.

Does that mean that a guy would be perfectly content with his battered Ford? I think not. A Porsche is a Porsche - the dream of every man - and a car being an inanimate object has no feelings, trading it in therefore would cause no more than a twinge and hopefully men, like us, feel devastated when a relationship hits the rocks.

Thus comparing a woman to a car is not only insulting and demeaning but downright stupid.

Married men generally lead 'happy' suburban lives with their kids, wives and dogs dreaming of hot babes and lost bachelor days when they could have had it all.

Right! Men need a wake-up call. They cannot butter both sides of their bread. Wanting a nice wife to replace their mothers, to nourish them, kiss their boo-boos, have their kids while they dream and leach at other women and tell their partners it's you that I want, it's you I am returning home to, so what are you hee-hawing about?

Wow! We women should feel so honored. The maharaja doesn't want a harem; he wants only me. That thought would surely make any woman's day (smirk)!

It's time women stopped putting up with this sort of behavior. It is because of our pride and indulgence that they have gotten away with acting like boys. It's time we threw them into the doghouse for taking us for granted.

Time to say no to sex the night he takes you out to dinner and leers at a woman sitting at a nearby table, time to leave him dripping by the pool minus his towel and clothes when he spends time staring a goddess in a bikini and time to throw him out of the car when he misses a traffic light staring at a hot pedestrian.

We aren't asking for a lot. We are not telling you to stop feeling your dying, held-back oats or to put blinders next to your eyes. Merely to be wise enough to keep your dick zipped in and tongue rolled in your mouth while you are out with your wives.

After all a Ford that has an unstable gasket is not one you wanna drive, especially when it is all you can afford.

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My asstr website Suspended Moments is up. Though the site is still a fledgling yet the readership has been phenomenal and has left me speechless.

The asstr management did talk about the mass volume of readership but I did not expect it to be approximately 4,0117.

Things That Bang too has also seen a fantastic boost.

Obviously this means more hard work and more creativity.

Thanks for reading.

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Can houses really be evil? Ryan Reynolds in The Amityville Horror, nearly beheaded his girlfriend’s son’s head because an evil spirit whispers repeatedly- Ketch them, kill them . While the remake of the movie was as scary as the original , the idea of a bad house set me thinking.

There have been a number of times that I would enter into peoples’ homes and wouldn’t feel comfortable. There was one home where despite the repeated insistence of the host and his wife, I couldn’t bring myself to enter. I made all kinds of excuses that sounded lame even to the owners and walked back to the car at a pace that stopped just short of running.

Homes are like sponges that soak up energies of the past and present owners. They reflect the life condition of the owners. Some homes are happy homes where one is instantly at ease and others where one’s eyes are always on the door, looking for a quick escape.

And some homes are even worse-they bring bad luck- the house opposite my parents’ home was one such place. While it was being built, three construction workers died when the newly built roof caved in and squashed them, the owners of the house bickered constantly and one family member had even knifed her own brother in the middle of a fight.

Ironically, the house’s name was Shanti Sadan ( House of Peace ). I was five when I was shown the pool of blood by my grandma (which if you ask me was a crazy thing for her to do but she was an iron lady who had seen the Partition of India along with her little kids so thought nothing of exposing me to it).

The owners would come out into the street and abuse each other in a language so colorful that my mom at one point wanted to change rooms with us to ensure that our vocabulary wasn’t further enriched nor did she want us to see adult sibling rivalry at its worst . But we girls wouldnt have it - it was as if we had the front seats to the circus and the lions roared words we had never heard before. The cacophony of screams and bellowing shouts were like music to our ears.

We enjoyed the excitement that seeped into the otherwise peaceful neighbourhood once the fights started and strangely enough they always fought late in the night. My father along with other men of the community would always try to break up the fights and then later go back home and discuss it with each other over the phone, while we, kids, would have an excuse to sit up late on a school night and eavesdrop on all the gory details.

The neighbourhood had agreed that like its owners the house was unlucky. When it was finally sold, the house lay barren for about five years. Kids would break into the house, throw stones on the windows, pigeons nested there yet surprisingly none of the stray cats made it their home and there were numerous strays living around our commuity.

The house changed hands after a few years and just as the new owner began to demolish the house he suffered a massive heart attack and died. His family, by then had heard, the rumors about the house and were devasted. The house lay in in shambles for another ten years till a cop bought the house.

Nothing much happened when he had the house demolished and built a new one on the ruins of the old. The new house looked grand and yet at the house warming I somehow did not warm up to the house. It still felt strange and even though we liked our new neighbours, I still did not like spending time within those walls.

There was something creepy, maybe it were the memories of the past that I still remembered or was the land itself bad?

Nothing untowards has happened to the current owners of the house. The neighbours believed since the new oners were deeply religious, they were protected.

The owners know the history of the house and they pooh pooh it and yet none of their pets survived beyond three years of keeping.

Are they bad pet owners or is the house working it’s evil at a slow yet sure pace

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Porn toons have come a long way. Being a rather jaded erotica writer I somehow don't enjoy visual porn. All women look the same simpering kittens and the men are macho Arnolds. But I enjoy a bit of Hentai once in a while.

 View image

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For those who love mythology as much as I do here are a peek at some interesting customs practiced by the Romans.  

 

A. Childhood

• Contraception, abortion, infanticide were legal and common practices
• Immediately after birth, the child was placed on the ground and the father “raised” him from the earth. Else, the child was exposed out of the house in a public place
• Seneca approved “What is good must be set apart from what is good for nothing”
• In the eastern provinces, peasants divided their offspring. (economic)
• This was called being “stark naked”
• Bastards took their mother’s name
• Adoptions and the social advancement of freed slaves compensated for the low rate of natural reproduction
• The wet-nurse supplanted breast-feeding by the natural mother
• In addition, the pedagogue took care of education
• This formed a surrogate family for the child, normally under the eye of an older relative
• Boys and girls were educated together upto the age of twelve
• After twelve, only boys were educated
• At twelve, a girl was considered nubile
• At fourteen, a girl was considered an adult
• The Roman quarter for ‘mischief’ was Suburra
• Sexual morality as in restricting sex to marriage alone only took hold in the second century A.D.
• This also brought with it a new concept – majority
• Strangely, every male Roman child, major or minor, married or not, remained under the authority of his father and did not become a Roman until his father’s death. Even income was controlled by the father
• The symbol of social dignity was the will. It was a disgrace to die intestate

B. Marriage

• Slaves could not marry until the 3rd century A.D. They were believed to live in sexual promiscuity
• Roman marriage was a private act, did not require any public authority or sanction
• No written marriage contract was necessary, except a dowry contract
• Divorce was as informal as marriage, for women as well as men
• The wedding night took the form of a legal rape, in which the woman emerged “offended with her husband”
• The groom would not deflower, but sodomize the wife on her wedding night
• The same custom existed in China.

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A study have shown that women get turned on by Monkey sex. Maybe it’s a connection to our past where the hairy man humped the hairy woman and had hairy children or it’s about reality.

For men fantasies are important. They get turned on by lesbian scenes, the more the women the merrier the fantasy but does the phallus worshipping by keening oversexed women really have similar effect on the female audience?

Somehow I’m not too sure. For me porn is no longer appealing, it’s like a worn out whore plying her trade to addicts in a crack house.

Does that make me a hypocritical porn writer? I think not, its just I’ve finally decided to write about reality and not fantasies.

I am done writing about women with big titties and small waists. I rather write about the everyday women with figures reshaped by childbirth and age. I rather talk about women who juggle children, homes, husband and their healthy appetites that they prefer to be over and done with and fall asleep to face another rigorous day.

There is no time for frills, lace or fantasies; everything is time bound as is sex. It has to be hard, fast and real. It has to be real like monkey sex where there are no pretences, no desire for her to look good for her male, she shakes her booty and he grabs her.

It is wild sex at its best.  The act is hot, mechanical and friggin fast; over and done with in a matter of seconds. He is the alpha male, full of virility, shooting his load and then moving on to grooming and getting groomed.

The act of copulation has to be honed in. Playing with her nipples for too long would probably result in her mind wondering over the morning breakfast; extensive fondling of the nub could result in untimely explosion resulting in her wanting to give her partner a blow job just to get off easy or worse still pumping in the same position would lead to boredom.

Thus, it is all about monkey sex- raw and real.

Foreplay is doing the dishes, baby sitting the kids while she soaks in the tub and then grabbing her for some raw monkey loving.

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On the 7th of March Blank Noise Project is organising Blog-a-thorn 2006 to get people to blog about sexual and street harassement. Road rage, grabbing, mauling and pinching are things most women have faced at one point or the other in their lives and those in the work force could attest to sexual harassement.

The bloggers at Desicritics.org seem to be quite excited about this activity.

On my end I will post about the courage of one girl who stood up against a couple of goons when they tried to rape a Kenyan girl in a bus full of people in Delhi.

Bravery means standing up for a cause despite the severe repercussion that would surely entail.

On Tuesday I will honor a friend, a hero who stood up for a stranger knowing that the wolves could just as well have turned on her.

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Words are like arrows and can never be taken back.

Loose lips sink ships.

There are so many quotations that have been hammered into our minds since we were kids because of which most of us understand something called the power of words.

Words are magical in nature as they can sway us to perform the noblest acts or plummet mankind to commit such heinous crimes that are far more barbaric and ferocious than any act known in the animal kingdom.

Words begin with thoughts which if not checked, become opinions and then translate into deeds that are either destructive or productive in their intent. We are what we think and since this is one faculty that we do not share with our lowly cousins, doesn't it make it our duty to continuously evolve, to seek and embrace new ideas and to hold dialogues where disagreements and discrimination prevail?

Throughout history people have fought discrimination of various kinds and as they won their places as equals, certain words that were used to describe them became derogative in their usage. Words like nigga, chinky, jap, paki, sudra, oreo, banana, potato, fag, dyke, midget are considered to be hate words and do not reflect well on the person who uses them.

Yet, ironically these very communities have accepted these words as their own and given them communal power. It is perfectly okay for gays to use the words fag or dyke between themselves in humor, or for that matter blacks calling themselves nigga or my sister calling me a potato-brown from the outside but white from the inside. The interesting exchange between Daniel Woodburn and Roger Ebert on the derogatory connotations of 'midget' is remarkable, ending with Daniel crowning Roger <span style="font-weight:bold;"><a href="http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20050501/COMMENTARY/50429001">"You my midga"</a>.</span>

And we laugh it off, but if this same language were used by a person who did not belong to our community or against a minority, our response would be different.

To target a certain section of society in humor which one does not belong to is akin to walking on a tight rope and requires special skills and finesse which many seem to lack.

For example the movie <i>Harold and Kumar go to White Castle</i> was a well-rounded movie in its humor despite the lackluster storyline. The script writers made fun of all the races and I found it quite enjoyable, especially the ending. They made fun of the prejudices that plague our society but it was done without any deliberate malicious intent and that clearly came across to the audience.

This brings me to dark comedy where one finds enjoyment in the sufferings of another and trivializes their existence for they own amusement. That can be described as being thrown in a Roman arcade like the defenseless Christians in front of hungry lions for superficial amusement. There is absolutely nothing tasteful about comedies or satire pieces which promote snuff or other means of violence in the name of fun.

It is nothing more than verbal propaganda, spilling one's anger and hatred against certain group of people. It is akin to a bully mercilessly teasing his victim to tears and saying, "Well it was all done in fun, grow up, no harm done."

This kind of genre is for only certain kind of people and most healthy, sensible adults would shy away from its crude, raw and senseless appeal towards humor.

Words are no more than deeds and actions waiting to happen. To say something one does not mean is to have a loose tongue and once it's been said it sets a chain of reactions that may come back to haunt the speaker. They do reflect the mind of the speaker and most of the times the impression created by those words cannot be undone.

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Recently a friend of mine came over and breathed heavily on my face and said,"I have something to tell you but you must not tell any one about it, not even your husband."

I raised an eyebrow and enquired,"Not even my husband? But, I tell him everything."

She raised her eyebrows,"Really? Well, this one you can't tell him."

I was miffed, "Then, I don't want to know your secret."

Now she was miffed, "Fine. I won't tell you."

I shrugged my shoulders and replied casually, "Okay by me."

"Okay by me, too," she parroted

I rolled my eyes,"This is juvenile."

She crossed her arms defensively and replied "I know. So, do you want to know?"

I crossed my arms and stared in her eyes "But, I have to tell my husband."

She glared at me, "Why?"

I smiled, "Because I'm happily married."

She rolled her eyes, "That's friggin' nauseating."

I glared at her, "No, it means having your husband as your best friend."

She glared back, "I thought I was your best friend."

Brief pause

"So, do you or don't you want to know my secret?"

"Only if I can tell my husband."

"Damn it! Why can't you say that you will keep the secret and later tell your husband?"

Pregnant pause

"But, then it won't be a secret."

"Of course, it will be secret. It will circulate on a different level which won't be connected to me or the person it is about. So, now do you want to know my secret?"

"Okay, but just so you know I might tell one more person other than my husband."

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Do you remember having your hair pulled in a movie theater? You would turn around and give the parents of the child a dirty look and resume watching the movie but the harassment wouldn’t stop and after having your hair pulled more than a few times you would turn around and tell in the parents in a low threatening tone- ‘Can’t you control your child?’ and the parents would pay lip service to your complain, ‘Munu, don’t pull that aunty’s/ uncle’s hair.’

Aunty ? Uncle ? the movie would be spoilt and you would come out of the hall glowering and your friends would be laughing at your plight back there.

Or, for that matter when the Press walli wouldn’t turn up and because of load shedding you wouldn’t be able to iron your work clothes and grumble all the way to work hoping no one notices your slightly crumpled clothes? Or for that matter being house bound as a rogue monkey could be terrorizing the neighborhood?

Makes you a little mad doesn’t it? Not me, all these little inconveniences and more that I suffered back home seem like amusing incidents that make India a unique country where something or the other is always happening.

I want to see cows on the road, I want to hear the blaring music that a guy would play for his girlfriend as he would be racing his car down her lane just to let her know that he was on his way back home.

 I want to be able to leave my kids with my neighbors for play dates even though their kid could be a babbling infants. I want to be able to have loud arguments in my own home without worrying whether the neighbors are getting disturbed.

There is something about being pulled by one’s roots. Initially when I left home I wondered why people went back home after every year or two. It was as if India was their Mecca Madina but now having been away for five years it’s a craving I cannot deny.

With the passing of every month I miss home more and more. And it just isn’t my friends and family but India as a whole. I know it sounds clichéd to some but don’t worry, I’m still sane enough not to break into the ‘mera bharat mahan mode’ or sing some patriotic song.

America has been good to me no doubt , she made me grow up from a spoilt brat whose idea of kitchen work was to bake an occasional dessert or make tea when the ‘help’ was having their siesta, to a mother and a wife who has learnt the art of cooking four dishes simultaneously, I have become  someone who believes on being at the go despite running a high fever and being near a breaking point uncountable times but finding some untapped strength to go on taking care of my home and hearth without any family and friends support.

Being a Consultant’s wife isn’t easy even when one is supremely happy in their marriage. It is heart wrenching to make stead fast friends and then leave them behind, hoping and praying that one would be able to make equally good friends the next time.

I have left good friends behind countless times and shed countless tears, moved more times than the years I have been married and I’ve seen the length and breath of America. But, now after five years of loving this step mom, I want to lay my head on my mother’s lap. I want to feel her vitality, her chaotic dynamism and interact with her teeming children.

Yes, I am homesick, so homesick that I started to cry over Sholay that I was seeing for the second time on the same day.

The life of an NRI isn’t easy and for those of you back home who think we enjoy a high life, let me tell you that some of us pay dearly for it.

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Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti's post  Paris Visa: Falling in Love on Blogcritics.org made me wonder whether Aaman and I would have gotten together ten years ago while we were both college goers. Probably not; he was into girls who topped the class and I was into booze, ciggies and feminism.

I'm not even sure we would have acknowledged each other if we had been in the same class.

Aaman had a steady girlfriend back then. A nice enough girl with a competitive streak who had friends that burnt the midnight oil studying as opposed to me who spent her nights throwing up or holding her girlfriends while they threw up.

Our worlds were totally different. He went to pubs and I danced at nightclubs; he had fights with his girlfriend and I preferred to have heartbreaks without the break ups.

Who would have thought that ten years later I'd find myself falling in love in with him over a cup of tea in a run down coffee shop called Flury's in Calcutta.

We had so much in common and yet were so different. Aaman was a quizmaster who spent his Sunday lunchs debating with journalists and I was a high strung party girl who spent Sunday snoozing in her messy bed.

Yet, when we finally got to meet sparks flew- we loved books, dogs, had the same taste in music and shared a common tragedy.

Aaman had lost his mother to cancer and I lost my father a year later. We had been jolted out of our comfort zones. He had a grieving father to take care of and I had a devastated mother and a younger sister to emotionally support.

After my father's death my partying days had come to a standstill; I spent quiet nights at home with my mother and sister and taught first graders during the day.

Aaman’s life however had become tumultuous. His father fell prey to cancer and suffered from manic depression.

While I picked up the pieces of my life and sobered down, Aaman began to have a wild time.

I began to think about having the one meaningful relationship; he on the other hand started dating the wrong sort of women.

I was balancing my cheque book; he was emptying his bank account.

We were viewing the world from different spectrums but we wanted the same thing –stability.

Our one and only blind date turned into a marriage proposal and the rest was history.

This April it will be five years to our marriage and yet it feels like yesterday when he put his hand over my head while we were getting married and made a solemn vow to protect me as his wife.

Today, we seem to be evolving at the same pace, we have same likes and dislikes and better still we seem to think along the same lines.

We are happy together but looking back I do wonder would we have hit it off ten years ago as we do know?

Somehow I’m not too sure but glad that we met ten years hence.

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My first reading indiscretion took place when I was eleven years old. My friend got a free copy of a Mills and Boonalong with a bottle of Laxme Lotion. At the time she wasn't much of a reader and passed it on to me. The name of the book was Counterfeit Bride and while I enjoyed the romantic drama between the characters, the sex went over my head.

My pre-adolescent brain could not understand how a man could penetrate a woman and make shivers of pleasure shoot through her slim body. I thought about it for a long time, called up my friends and the girls could understand either.

We decided to take the book to school and ask some knowledgeable girls but they were as stumped as we were. The book became famous and was passed around for a month before it was returned to me in a tattered condition.

Despite the skirmishes that we had with each other being in a all girls Catholic school, we were united in our decision to keep the book hidden from the teachers and parents. We debated over the ways a man could get under a woman's skin and even the most ludicruous explanation brought us girls together as we tittered and giggled.

The words penis or vagina were not mentioned even once in the book. Being a book published in the early eighties intercourse was generally explained in rather delicate, erotic manner in most romance novels.

The book and I, however, were destined to part company the very day I got it back from the last borrower. I had hidden the book in my messy cupboard and my mother decided to do me a major favor and clean my cupboard up.

I distinctly remember a shiver of fear chill my spine when she screamed my name in a loud, truly dissed voice. I had never seen my mother so mad. She quietly spelled out  how deep the pool of shit I had landed myself in and threatened to call my friend's  mother, the school teachers and worst of all tell my father.

The book was confiscated for good five years before I became bold enough to ask for it. My friend and I had spent a whole week on tender hooks. My mother played well on my fear by doing absolutely nothing.

No sex education was given, no calls were made to my friend's mother or teacher met. Instead I have given the silent treatment along with pointed looks. My father and  siblings remained oblivious to the tension between my mother and me.

Time passed slowly but surely and I finally received my sex education by pouring over the Britannica Encyclopedia set that I received as a birthday gift a month later.

Enlightenment dawned on me soon enough and I made sure I shared it with my fellow friends the next day and the word spread to other classes soon enough. I enjoyed the  status of a minor celebrity for the rest of the year.

I was the Miss Know-it-all till one fine day the nuns got a whiff that we knew 'stuff' and were given Sex Education a grade earlier. We knew that the penis went into the vagina and about orgasms but it came as a shock when Sister Rose dressed a banana with a condom and passed packets for us to check out.

We were told about contraceptives, about boys wanting only one thing from girls and how romantic relationships impregnated girls, destroyed career plans and not to mention the social stigma that accompanied a sullied reputation.

Romantic books were said to be as distractive and corrupting  as the opposite sex  and we had regular raids in our classes to make sure we weren't having illegal transactions.

But no amount of corporal punishment, swollen calves and knuckles stopped the batter, if nothing else we became creative in our hiding places, our bags had false bottoms, I had made a slit in my coat where about ten books were hidden when we had a surprise raid, and my fellow mates were eternally grateful for coming to their aid.

Boys naturally followed as curiosity and age made us test the boundaries marked by our parents and teachers.

While most girls were having romantic relationships I became more and more involved in the world of books and found boys of my age to be numbskulls who couldn't raise their eyes above our budding boobs.

Classics soon replaced romantic novels and while my friends cried over their boyfriends I mulled over Madame Bovary, Anna Karenina and drew comparions between those errant women and my boy crazy friends.

That being said I wasn't without my romantic inclinations- I had a liking for older men but had enough sense to know that to become a Lolita would be a sure fire way to self-destruct.

Men in their late twenties, early thirties reminded me of the heroes in Classics and also reflected some heroes from Mills and Boon. They were mature, noble and had refined humor.

Keeping my romantic longings under a tight lock and key I deliberately remained boyfriendless till I did my masters in history and archaeology.

However I continued to read romantic novels and watched them progress from using plot lines with macho heroes to a whimpering heroines to women who kicked ass and men with  liberal outlook towards life. Feminism had finally stepped into the world of romantic writing and had positive influence on my young mind.

My favorite Mills and Boon authors who peppered their stories with humor and gave the female protagonists enough backbone to say fuck off were Emma Goldric and Sara Craven

My all time favorite books by Emma Goldrick were The Road, Rent-a-Bride and Bringing up the Babies.

By the time I came to the ninth grade books like Jackie Collins, Danielle Steel etc were being casually passed around and while we got to know what phrases like giving head, blow job etc meant, yet we remained an innocent bunch as words like nymphomaniac, necrophilia etc had even the most jaded amongst us raise their eyebrows.

And though we had lesbians amongst us who hugged too close, toyed with each other's buttons or wrote letters in blood, we remained oblivious to their orientation, thinking they were just too bonded to their friends till we came to high school and understood what gay relationships were all about.

Many straight girls in their ignorance considered homosexuality to be abnormal and swallowed what the nuns and priests had to say about it hook ,line and sinker yet some of us were saved yet again by books.

Jackie Collins had written about girl on girl and sweaty mixed orgies with an accepted briskness and details were provided about anal sex, blow jobs and the difference between fucking and making love.

Despite being utter trash Collins books helped me maintain an open mind with regards to homosexuality and once I discovered that Oscar Wilde was a homosexual and Lord Byron a bi-sexual, it was then that my arguments in my literature class strengthened against the teachers and nuns who propagated homophobia.

I was soon to swim against the tide again and gain the title of a renegade as I began to educate my friends on Gay Culture and their contributions to society and incurred censorship from the school administration who even threatened to call my parents.

This time round there was no fear in my heart. I puffed my chest and told the principal that censure books was a distinct feature of fascism and if they tried to stop alternative viewpoints then the school was a fascist organization.

These words had the desired effect and while I remained a rogue reader in their eyes yet they dealt with me with grudging respect.

Books are like genies that can make frogs from a well become the owners of the oceans within the confines of the heart, if you'll pardon the mixed metaphors.

Books egged on my thirst for knowledge that was deliberately held back ,they gave me the courage to stand by my beliefs and helped me evolve into a person who believes that libraries and books are treasure troves that can counter the spread of religious or political intolerance.

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Engaging India is a book that many might overlook in browsing Amazon, considering it a dry read as it deals with the intensive rounds of dialogues that were held between the Clinton administration, India and Pakistan respectively after India surprised the world with the nuclear test. Being a pre-9/11 book it might seem irrelevant except to those interested in the political dynamics of the sub-continent.

Strobe Talbott’s book, however, is a must read for those interested in knowing what US strategy might be towards hindering Iran from developing a bomb (i.e. if they don’t have one already.) especially in the midst of the unique socio-political dynamics of the country .These dynamics may well be the reasons why it might not come as a big surprise that the Iranian regime might thumb their nose at incentives offered by America/ Europe and despite international condemnation go ahead with the nuclear program anyways as did Pakistan.

Pakistan desperately needed the money. Its economy was in terrible shape. The government was on the edge of default; foreign and domestic investments had all but dried up; unemployment was rising. On top of these troubles, Pakistan had been living for years under the Pressler sanctions that the US Congress had imposed in the early 1990s because of it's nuclear program.
....
Clinton telephoned Nawaz Sharif, the Pakistani Prime Minister to whet his appetite for the planes [F-16s],  huge amounts of financial aid, and a prize certain to appeal to Sharif - an invitation for him to make an official visit to Washington.

Sharif was not swayed. "You can almost hear the guy wringing his hands and sweating," Clinton said after hanging up. The lure of money, praise, and gratitude from the world, with a few long-in-the-tooth warplanes thrown in for good measure, was far less powerful than the Pakistani fears of what had happened just across their border. India in their view, had just racheted up its fifty-year-old campaign to humiliate, intimidate, and perhaps even eradicate their country.

The pressures that led Pakistan to test the Bomb were not only the fear of economically richer India or the fragile tolerance of democracy by the aristocratic military but most importantly by the public opinion. Pakistani identity has always been defined by national pride and Fear of the Other, than any long-term desire for sustainable development.

And it was public opinion again that led the Indian government to resist global pressure into signing the CTBT till it died an unsightly death under the Bush Administration anyway.

Talbott through his skilful combination of anecdotal writing and humor makes a reader chuckle even through tense situations such as the reactions of Pakistani Generals when asked to back down from the Kargil War who looked as if they wanted to jump across the table and do Talbott bodily harm or the hand-wringing sweaty Nawaz Sharif, erstwhile Prime Minister who reminded him of a helpless puppy.

Pakistan was clearly shown to be a failing state bogged down by religious zealots and the military and yet the very devil that seemed to be the biggest danger to the fledging democracy became the nation’s savior in the form of General Pervez Musharraf.

Post 9/11, General Musharaf made a far sighted decision and overrode the vehement protests of the mullahs and began to curb the terrorist training madrasas and camps with an iron fist. Thus in a matter of days Pakistan  was no longer an emaciated dog living on crumbs thrown by its American master but a strategic ally of America in the war against terrorism.

Today ironically the nuclear arsenal seems safer in the hands of a despotic General (despite the flashpoint that happened back in 2002 between India and Pakistan) than a weak democratically elected politician who wouldn’t be able to handle the mullahs nor the insurgents.

The much talked about flashpoint was averted by aggressive diplomacy on the part of America and Britain but more so by the economic squeeze put by the foreign interests threatening to pull out and the resultant pressure put on the governments by strong public opinion to back down.

Post-9/11, America and India are closer than ever before, economically and strategically. Pakistan is a valuable ally in the War on Terror. Furthermore, in this unipolar world, America plays an essential balancing role in the Subcontinent, healing deep scars left behind by the Last Empire, on which the sun never set.

Thus, this book clearly shows that in countries where the <i>vox populi</i> is strong, governments take this into account in critical decisions, despotic or democratic. If the Iranian public is as vociferous, we could be faced with a second Islamic Bomb.

Strobe Talbott was the deputy Secretary of State under Wild Bill Clinton and currently president of the Brookings Institution thinktank.

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