The Dimaagi Naxals

row of soldiers with weapons

Disclaimer: I am a proud Indian, and I am not a ‘Dimaagi Naxal’.

In his address on the 80th Independence Day of India, the Prime Minister used the term dimaagi naxal, presumably referring to those intellectual minds and forces that work against the holistic growth of India. And obviously, as expected, repercussions followed. In no time, many across India fell into his rhetorical trap. Koi shak!

A Gujju at heart, we are told farti topi pehri nai levani, which figuratively means don’t let anyone trick you. Nevertheless, without naming anyone, many were tricked by the Gujju PM, and we had senior leaders like P. Chidambaram who proudly claimed to be a dimaagi naxal. 

Most of us know that Naxalism refers to a militant Maoist movement in India that advocates armed struggle to overthrow the state and establish a communist order. I am sure Mr Chidambaram is also well versed with its definition; after all, he served as the Home Minister of India when naxalites still existed in India.

And it’s not just him. Many politicians and non-supporters of the government had their own interpretations, eventually leading to political mudslinging. 

While everyone was pointing at the outside traitor, my mind immediately identified a traitor within my body—the rebellious hormones. 

Based on my research, in a woman’s body, hormones like estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, and many more work for years in harmony with her body, only to seemingly rebel against it as she ages, snailing towards perimenopause and menopause. 

These insurgent hormones start disrupting the body that seems to control them. They fluctuate within her, sometimes drastically, leading to severe anxiety and irritability, much like many in Gen Z. While they are, for obvious reasons, worried about their futures and irritated by the local and global upheaval, many women get irked by something as mundane as thinking about what to prepare for lunch or dinner. 

And I wonder, how come men don’t face such a backlash during andropause? Why don’t they have similar ‘pauses’ in their lives like women after a certain age? 

Disturbed by one more example of inequality, I did some research. Research says many men don’t even realize that their hormones—many of them the same as women’s—interfere in their everyday life. That’s because their hormones vary in amounts and patterns. Their irritation, anger, mood swings, and other symptoms are more about lifestyle than hormones.  

Once I was enlightened, the dimaagi naxal (the result of my fluctuating hormones) within me was struck with an idea. Right now in our country, protests are the new normal, popping up like mushrooms. Why not the women of India rise to a new protest, demanding equality of physical and mental pain for men?

Laughable, of course.

The idea was immediately followed by the realization that such a protest might not gain traction across India. But women can do one thing for sure—begin with creating awareness about male menopause and its symptoms akin to sowing a seed. Scare them with some medical jargon. Hyper-aware them. Podcasts after podcasts on male menopause or late-onset hypogonadism, making them more anxious. Let normal ageing signs worry them. Make them feel that they are victims of some unique changes in their body, thereby putting men and women on an equal pedestal. Dimaagi naxal, of course, because of hormones.

If this kind of protest doesn’t work, women can initiate a fifth wave of feminism, taking inspiration from RaGa’s slogan ‘Smash the patriarchy’ that reverberated at the Chhatron Ki Goonj event in Pune. Surprisingly, the event was exclusively for young women! Why wasn’t it considered relevant for young men?  

Those who got an opportunity to speak from the stage voiced their anger against patriarchy, but no one questioned Mr Gandhi, “Sir, why don’t you begin with smashing the patriarchy by supporting a 33% seat quota for women in Parliament?”

We know the dimaagi kidaa of patriarchy cannot be wiped completely from any society, since the conditioning goes back to eras. Today, in the so-called progressive world, patriarchy is like a sloth; it often stays completely still for long periods to conserve energy, waiting for a predatory moment akin to naxal-like guerrilla attacks. They may not always leave visible physical harm, but they do create a mental dent. True for women and men both. 

Even today, many men in Indian society have not been able to smash the patriarchal concept of mard ko kabhi dard nahi hota—an irony in itself for a manly man. It is this mindset that refrains them from exhibiting their vulnerable, feminine qualities, eventually leading to depression and suicides.

According to the latest official data from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB) report, 73.5% of men commit suicide across the age spectrum. And the most common recorded reason is family problems. 

It’s okay to be called sissy sometimes, man. We are all born with masculine and feminine qualities. Explore them like women. Smash the patriarchy.

BTW, shouldn’t women bear a grudge against ‘sissy’ being used as an insult for men?

*****

Brother: Who, according to you, is a dimaagi naxal?
Sister: Let’s leave that question for today. It’s Raksha Bandhan.

Puzzling realities

canal in venice at dusk

At an impressionable age, I had watched Amitabh and Zeenat taking a romantic gondola ride through the canals of Venice, singing the famous romantic song, Do lafzon ki hain… Since then, my younger self considered Venice to be the epitome of romance. 

As I haven’t been able to visit Venice, I decided to bring the place to me. I bought a jigsaw puzzle of a scenic Venice sunset. Simple.

Puzzles and books bring to you the places you cannot go. 

It took me around 3-4 hours to complete the puzzle, as many of the tiny pieces are just splashes of colour in red, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, and orange. Identifying the shapes of colour blobs was time-consuming. 

Since the job of a puzzle is to puzzle you, you play with that definite understanding; nevertheless, after watching a YouTube video I chanced upon, it seemed that the LoP’s attempt to draw an analogy between the PM and a magician in the recent LS session was more baffling. Mr Gandhi’s beating-around-the-bush way of building up his arguments on the government’s intent regarding the Women’s Reservation Bill seemed entertaining to many present there. 

While the leaders are entertained in Parliament from time to time, a daily dose of entertainment comes to me from across my balcony in the form of the man in boxer shorts, lounging (sometimes, tossing and turning) on the balcony, soaking up some Vitamin D. By the size of his paunch and his saggy chests, which are visible when he sits upright, he seems to be in his late 60s. 

By no means should my describing his body provoke you to think that I seek pleasure in body-shaming someone. Not at all. At the same time, it can’t be expected of me to close my eyes to the reality unfolding every summer morning in front of my eyes while I water my plants. This would be like asking many of you to stop gazing at the body of a scantily dressed female performer, dancing to the tune of an item song with provocative lyrics in many Bollywood movies.

Does it ring any bells? 

Indisputably, objectification of women in advertisements, movies, and music videos passed off as entertainment has been normalized to such an extent that it seamlessly fits like a piece of a puzzle into the so-called cultured-society framework. 

While certain concepts central to patriarchal society are acceptable to most, significant concepts like sexuality education that can help society become safe and truly progressive are brushed under the carpet. Generally, by both adult genders.

Recently, I happened to watch a solo drama exploring varied themes like child abuse, innocence, relationships, bullying, and so on. The space, accommodating a small group of around 40-50 people, had an adult audience across generations.  Most of them looked bewildered after the show, as they were ignorant of the content. Sophistication brought them to the show to get entertained, but they left feeling disillusioned. Presumably. The expressions on their faces looked like the multi-coloured pieces of my puzzle scattered across my dining table. Disorganized and chaotic.  

A thought-provoking show that it was, I came home to the tiny pieces of my puzzle lying haywire. Once again, I interlocked them into a coherent image of the Venetian sunset before a good night’s sleep.

*****

Teenager 1: Consulting a therapist or AI?
Teenager 2: Take a guess.