India: Republic of Hate and Nightmares...

This appeared in Sunday times yesterday

                        India :Republic of  Hate and  Nightmares… not Ideas.

Ban this. Ban that. Intimidate.Scare.Browbeat.Disrupt.Destroy.

 We are living in deeply troubling times. The Republic of Ideas…. Dreams… Imagination… has been replaced by the Republic of  Hate and Nightmares. Which is why it is important to address this missive directly to the individual who is  hell bent on  pushing the hate envelope still further.

Dear Mr. Intolerant  -  Disrupter of  Peace,

I write this with anguish in my heart.  It took just seven days and four nasty protests to establish your credentials as the ultimate cultural rogue.Sadly,the weakened (and wicked) State has meekly surrendered to your bullying and threats. You have picked your targets well. Ashish Nandy,Kamalhassan, Salman Rushdie and Shah Rukh Khan. High profile… but soft and vulnerable. You decided to ‘teach them a lesson’.You nearly succeeded. It happened because we let it. Because we went on the defensive. We explained ourselves strenuously…provided alibis and excuses. But mainly because we surrendered. Too easily.Too soon. And allowed you to trample all over us. Yes – it has become an ‘Us Vs. Them’ siege, unfortunately.Why did we back down so  fast? There lies the sad tale. It has to do with several factors – all of them valid. Age and frail health ( Asish Nandy). Commerce and connected considerations (Kamalhassan). Heightened sensitivity ( SRK). Or plain fatigue ( Salman Rushdie ). It has come to such a ludicrous point that soon creative communities across India will be forced to quietly shut shop. And worse – shut up. That is precisely what you want.

The irony of this ghastly situation isn’t lost on anyone. Check this out - most times, the angry mobs ( led by people like you) are composed of people who do not read, write,draw,sing, act,paint… or even think. Books are judged by a bunch of  illiterate goons who may never have held one in their hands. Movies are condemned by those who have not watched the film they are demanding a ban on. Art is dismissed by philistines who have never stepped into a gallery. Speeches are damned by those who don’t know any language – except the language of abuse. In such a hostile atmosphere, artists, writers, painters, movie makers, musicians and thinkers are pushed into a pen…. threatened, gagged, brow beaten, intimidated. Their crime?They possess an independent mind.

Why is Kamalhassan threatening to quit India and seek exile in a more tolerant environment?Why is he compelled to convince his “Muslim brothers’’ that his film is pro-Muslim? Why is Asish  being dragged from one tv studio to the next asserting , “ I have always been a champion of the Dalits’ ? Why should SRK have to play the martyr over and over again and wear his patriotism on his sleeve? Why is Rushdie still hunted and hounded?

 Mr. Distrupter, you know the answer.

 As of now, you are calling the shots in this ongoing battle for Freedom of the Mind. Your corrosive antipathy towards what is foolishly called the Liberal Threat, is winning the war so far. Intellectuals are crawling when they needn’t even stoop.Soon public platforms will be effortlessly hijacked by your types – narrow minded, vicious people. “Religious thugs” indulging in “cultural terrorism” to borrow Rushdie’s evocative words. You and your ilk, who are nothing but two paisa  hirelings of  local politicians, appear determined to exert control over  carefully  nurtured vote banks . That is precisely what has led to an outbreak of cultural goondagiri parading as moral policing. People can see through such humbug. What do you want to hear? Hypocritical, gratuitous remarks? Would it make things any better if our intellectuals were to start every public discourse with salutations like : “My Muslim brothers…my Dalit sisters….  my Tribal children?” Your recent ‘triumphs’ should not give you false confidence. In the prevailing Chamcha Culture that defines political life, you may have succeeded in terrorizing a few.  But be warned  - this is a fight that goes beyond personalities.Or even expeditious politics. It is not just about Asish, SRK, Rushdie or Kamalhassan . This is a fight for freedom. Absolute freedom. Zero compromise freedom. Freedom of  ideas… and  the  vibrant expression of all that is diverse in our complex society. As guaranteed by our Constitution. Lathis can stop crowds but not thoughts. Dissent is our birthright.And we shall have it. Just you watch!

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Bebo's Style Bible...

 It's party time! What a super fabulous way to launch the imprint! I am on top of the world!

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror on Saturday....

                               Like a virgin…

Last week, I made my virgin trip to Assam. I am ready to make a shame faced confession, right here, right now : visiting the Seven Sisters was never a top priority. I was attracted – yes – but also apprehensive. The usual reservations : is it safe? Will I  get my head blown off by assorted insurgents? How does one even get to the North East? Stupid, ignorant reservations, I agree. And then came the invitation to visit. Daunting logistics followed. No direct flights to Guwahati from Mumbai… I was told it was easier and cheaper to go to Bangkok. But I wanted to go to Guwahati, not Bangkok, I clarified. WHY???? asked the bewildered travel agent. Good question. Many lousy excuses later, the trip was on. Well… media men, Zarir Hussain, and his older brother Wasbir , took care of all earlier doubts ( with a little extra persuasion from Arnab Goswami – a proud son of Assam himself). I was invited to present an Award ( Assamese of the Year) to Olympian Shiva Thapa – cute as a button and all of nineteen. Apart from this important event, I had long nurtured a selfish interest or two in visiting Guwahati. Dipping my feet into the mighty Brahmaputra that flows through the city, was one. And paying obeisance to Kamakhya, the Mother Goddess, who resides in a deep dark and wet cave ( the sanctum sanctorum of the ancient temple) was another. This historic pilgrimage site is perched  800 feet above sea level on the top of the Nilachal Hill. And here’s the interesting part :  Consider this - the Brahmaputra, which flows past Nilachal Hill, is the only ‘male’ river in India. I needed to check out its testosterone levels ( very alpha and most impressive).  Kamakhya being a Shakti Peeth, is fiercely female, the seat of Tantricism,  and perhaps the most important manifestation of female energy. The juxtaposition! Wow!  I, umm,  desperately needed my fix of unadulterated female energy. I am happy to report, I experienced an overwhelming surge of the same, as I crouched next to the natural underground stream in the cave ( let me skip the yoni reference) and tasted the icy cold water. It did wonders for my estrogen levels. I swear! And I exaggerate not when I say I emerged from the dark recesses of the cave into bright sunlight feeling like Angelina Jolie on steroids or Lara Croft unchained. I was ready to take on the world.

Legends around the divine power of Kamakhya abound. She is often described as the ‘Menstruating Goddess’ . The annual Ambubachi festival attracts thousands of visitors from across the world. The privacy of the Goddess is scrupulously maintained for those three days when the underground stream turns blood red  ( iron oxide). Childless couples throng the courtyard seeking divine intervention. Tantriks make a fortune, as believers sip a mildly intoxicating brew out of a monkey’s skull.Some blessed couples return a year later,carrying new born infants in their arms. Who can question faith and miracles? On its part, the ferocious Brahmaputra claims its own victims when it floods. A centuries old structure named ‘Urvashi’ juts out into the river and is closely watched by locals when the waters start to rise dangerously. It is believed the town of Guwahatiwill get entirely submerged the day the tip of the Urvashi tower goes under water.

I met several bright ,beautiful and accomplished ladies of Guwahati, including a senior cop. I asked them about the Kamakhya effect. Did they feel more empowered living in the shadow of the awe inspiring Devi? They exchanged looks and smiled mysteriously. One of them confessed coyly that the last time she had spontaneously gone up to her husband to give him a cuddle, he had looked up in alarm and asked, “What’s wrong?” She said, she had shrugged and said, “Nothing…. sorry!” Oh oh. I looked across the room at their husbands who were busy sorting out national and global problems. I figured the  macho Brahmaputrahad exercised its effect on that lot. They were happy in their alpha heaven. As for us, we were left stranded on the banks of the male river, waiting for deliverance…despite Kamakhya watching over us. My own pumped up estrogen levels  were also rapidly waning. No worries. I’ll find me a new fix soon.

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The SDe book imprint launched at the JLF

What a Lit Fest! I had a BRILLIANT time at the just concluded JLF. Got back exhausted but exhilarated late last night after launching my imprint, the SDe Book, on the Front Lawns - the hallowed top spot at the JLF, which was packed to capacity for my session titled ''Çelebrate Shobhaa', ably moderated by the very competent Ashok Ferrey, the talented writer from Sri Lanka.Do note my vibrant Socialite Bag, a merchandising tribute from my publishers, a bow in the direction of my very first book, 'Socialite Evenings'. I love it! And it matches my mad caftan, too!

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This appeared in the Asian Age on Saturday....

                                                      Rahul Baba – Maa da Laadla

Coronation of a Prince....

Now that the deed is done, let’s pump the lad’s hand and get on with it. Wait a minute. Did I just use the word ‘lad’? Ooops. Rahul  Gandhi at 40 plus is no lad. Laadla, yes. Not just his mother’s, but, as the Congress grandpas are hoping, of the entire nation’s too. Don’t laugh. It may yet happen. Anything is possible in this pathetic scenario with the acute paucity of leaders. But before we start singing hosannas and rush out to anoint the Dimpled Darling, we really need to get a few things right. For starters, can we stop this nonsense of referring to him as a Youth Leader? Or a Youth Icon? What youth? At his age, Barack Obama was a Senator from Illinois, already eyeing the White House.Today, at 51, Obama has just been sworn in for a second term as President of America. And our Rahul (just 9 years his junior)

 has yet to take his first few baby steps in the big, bad world of politics. Even so, compared to the fossils in his party, it is understandable that they would want to propel him forward as a youthful leader who could then become the youthful prime minister – just like his Daddyji before him. Perhaps his stubble and disheveled appearance are a part of that construct. Perhaps his minders have decided that’s the look which will click with Youngistan. Maybe they are right. And maybe his critics are totally wrong when they mock his speech after this week’s dramatic nomination and elevation. I have a feeling even that ( babalog speech) was a part of the overall positioning strategy. Here’s the possible scenario : Diggy and gang went into a huddle after the Reluctance Prince had been talked into accepting the number 2 position in the party.  Once that tiny detail was out of the way it was decided that Rahul Baba should make an untutored, straight from the heart speech after the mini-coronation. Sceptics who  may have pointed out that it was not the best idea given our Baba’s…. ummmm, lack of political experience, were haughtily dismissed by Diggy and everybody went home happy. Then came the ‘cold and dark’ night which saw Rahul Baba in an agitated frame of mind. He thought long and hard about the most difficult decision he has ever taken and several thoughts ran through his head. Bingo! His speech wrote itself! He confessed he had watched his mother cry just once.  Earlier, she had surprised everyone by hugging him in public. He  too had  allowed himself to blush, dimple and hold back tears. The moment of truth was but a few hours away. What on earth would he say to the waiting world?

Aha. India found out soon enough. We discovered through our Prince that power was actually poison. But the good son was willing to drink poison for the sake of the country. There was a Christ-like message in the imagery. The chalice was in place. Rahul had no choice but to do the noble thing, as several members of his family had done earlier – and take a swig. During his Garden of Gethsemanemoment, he remembered his late father (“ the bravest man I know’) and the tears in Rajiv’s eyes when his mother Indira Gandhi was assassinated. And now, here he was,  Rahul the dutiful son, ready to embrace his destiny and take charge of India. I have to confess I am a sucker for sentimentality. Never mind the Doubting Thomases who scoffed at the naivete of  Rahul’s childish speech, I fell for it hook, line and sinker. My motherly self reached out to the lad ( yes, at this point he had regressed and become an endearing lad), and my tear ducts went into over drive. I told you I’m an absolute sucker! What to do?

Political analysts insist Rahul Baba wasted a golden opportunity. Instead of a mature, well thought through State of the Nation address a la Obama,  Rahul converted the occasion into a maudlin Gandhi family melodrama. That is true.  So he did. But why not? How smart of him ! Rahul is no Obama. He is Rahul. A pretty simple minded chap, incapable of grand standing or brilliant oratory. It was clever of him to discard any official speech that may have been prepared for him, and decide to speak from the heart instead. At least the guy sounded genuine! But, hello! Was it smart of him to also indulge in much needed party bashing ? I think so. Rahul merely said what others have been voicing for the longest time. He had the guts to articulate popular sentiment and say it like it is. In the bargain, he did sound like a class monitor scolding naughty students . But frankly, better that than a  Sermon on the Mount.Rahul talked about reaching out to Young India in a more meaningful way. That was pretty cool. What wasn’t as cool was his reference to those leading an ostentatious life and depending on their privileged positions to protect them. His digs at Delhi’s Lal Batti culture must have reddened the faces of  several of his own party men.  Khair,Rahul sounded really cute when he made that remark. Mainly because he himself is probably THE most privileged person in India right now. Was it then , a wasted opportunity? Did he look like a wimp when he went on and on about his tete a tete with Mummyji? Yes, he most certainly did. But let me tell you, every desi mother watching him on tv that day must have wished fervently, “Beta ho toh aisa!” Let’s start counting those female votes, folks. The numbers are pretty awesome. Which is what makes me believe that the chweetie pie  speech was no accident. Whosoever designed it deserves loud applause. Taaliyaan ! India is a country of over emotional Matajis. Rahul managed to tug at several thousand heart strings in one go. He is no intellectual. But this one time, I for one think he got it right! Rahul was spot on! Chew on that, Narendra Modi.

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Off to the Maha Kumbh of Literature in Jaipur! These images are from the absolutely wonderful fruit and vegetable market in Guwahati. I came back with two cartons filled with veggies and fruits ( did you know Guwahati is the pineapple capital of the world?). Those gooseberries are from Kashmir. And I pounced on the oranges from Meghalaya and Bhutan - the sweetest on earth!

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Bharat Ratna for Nirbhaya??

Will the Government of India have the guts to confer the highest civilian recognition on the Nameless Nirbhaya, who has become a symbol of courage and defiance for every woman who has ever faced violence and fought back bravely? I doubt it. The Republic Day celebrations tomorrow offer little hope for our women. The usual suspects will receive the usual national awards - the Padmas and more.  Nobody will remember or care who won what even one day after the announcements. Nirbhaya may be given some token recognition. But even that will not be without debate, considering what an embarrassment her death has been to the Dilli wallas. Shame!

I am off to the Maha Kumbh of Literature at Jaipur tomorrow. It's an annual ritual I look forward to.

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The two images above record the magical moment  just after I stepped into the icy cold, rapidly moving waters of the mighty Brahmaputra in Guwahati earlier this week. It was a dream come true! The river is indeed magnificent, as the picture reveals.This trip along the banks of the Brahmaputra was right after a wonderful 'darshan' at the centuries old Kamakhya temple close by. Another dream that became a reality! As I am sure some of you know, the Kamakhya temple is the seat of Tantric energy and thought, being a primary Shakti Peeth. I was in Guwahati to deliver a keynote address on Violence against Women. And to present the Assamese of the Year award to Olympian boxer Shiva Thapa, all of nineteen!

 More pictures coming up tomorrow!

                                             Love and self-loathing…

A few weeks ago, I was talking to dinner companions at a lively soiree hosted by a public intellectual. As is the case these days, our conversation kept coming back to the death of the 23-year-old rape victim in Delhi.The erudite husband of a beautiful lady seated at the table, wondered aloud as to what is worse – an acid attack or rape? I was startled by the comment and asked him to elaborate. He said with complete sincerity, “ An acid attack is far worse for a woman since it disfigures her.” Still startled, but not wishing to appear rude, I requested him to clarify further. He answered thoughtfully, “ A rape victim can walk down the street confidently, and nobody will know she has been raped. But what can the poor acid attack victim do? Her scars are there for the world to observe.” Later the same night, I couldn’t get the conversation out of my head. Imagine the ‘choices’ we as women have – acid Vs. rape. One , visible. The other, not. Both violent. In a bizarre context, which is the bigger trauma? If a woman is given such a sadistic choice by an oppressor… would she be in a position to select? “ Please, Sirji…. go ahead and rape me. But… but… hold the acid!” Has it really come to that? Are visible scars far more painful than internal ones? Or is it back to the same old problem faced by women down the centuries :  “Never mind what happens to me behind four walls. Beat me, rape me, throttle me, gag me – but don’t leave any evidence behind. For , if you do, the shame of that revelation  will be far harder to live with than the  lifelong sorrow of the body having been sexually violated.” A woman is an expert at keeping countless secrets. Some of these dark secrets haunt her till she dies. Sexual abuse, often by close family members, is one of them. She is expected to stay mum, or face the wrath of her family and the samaaj at large. She becomes a sullied creature. No better than used merchandise. Her family conspires to pass on the tainted woman to an unsuspecting groom. In all this, nobody bothers to find out what hell the victim herself is going through. Having spoken to several women trapped in such appalling circumstances, I can tell you, there is just one pre-dominant emotion: self- loathing. A woman who has been brutalized physically by a man, is further brutalized emotionally, generally by her own self.

This is how it has always been. Female guilt is rarely understood. It is somehow  not particularly ‘important’ to anybody. People scoff, “ Oh… you women are such whingers! Stop going on and on about your bloody guilt. Or deal with it yourself.” Quite forgetting the larger question :Why should the victim feel guilty in the first place?

We are conditioned to accept ‘our position’ in the overall scheme of things. If a woman dares to defy that assigned position, she is branded a trouble maker…. dangerous to society. She has to be suitably punished. This punishment takes several forms – some are so subtle as to be more lethal than even a harsh beating. When a woman begins to hate herself, it is the equivalent of  a slow and painful death. Day by day, she dies a little. If her family notices and does nothing about it, she herself  accelerates the process. Often, she ends up taking her own life. The family is relieved. It is considered the honourable thing to do. At the back of their minds is the sneaking suspicion that she had it coming. That she had asked for it. That she deserved to die. Rape victims are judged and condemned far more than the dastardly perpetrators of the crime. ‘Why me?” the victim keeps wondering. And the answer she receives says it all : “You obviously invited it. You must have provoked the man.”

Nirbhaya’s case is different. There were not just six penises involved. There was also the killer iron rod. It was not just rape. It is murder. And what has horrified people across the country is that ghastly detail involving her intestines being pulled out. As any student of basic biology will tell you, one cannot pull out intestines from a woman’s vagina. Let’s leave this sordid story here. It fills one with such deep anguish, that Nirbhaya’s excruciating pain during  her courageous struggle becomes ones own.

Who deserves the Bharat Ratna in 2013? There’s no contest. It has to be Nirbhaya.

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Have we finally had it with war games???

  This glorious white peacock was spotted by my daughter Arundhati in Juhu last week! He appeared.... almost like a vision.... and she clicked him quickly! It was a good omen , I told her. And I swear everything is suddenly better! Thank  you, peacock!

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This appeared in Sunday Times today....

                               Have we finally had it with war games??

 Have we finally had it? Or.... are we being had? Last week was a particularly disturbing one.The number of mixed signals coming our way from assorted sources, added to the aggravation. Suddenly, the trauma of rape was out and Pakistani atrocities were in. The deeply shocking story of Lance Naik  Hemraj Singh’s brutal beheading took over every conceivable space in media. And we had gauche, inarticulate anchors blabbing away incoherently about how ‘bizarre’ and ‘obnoxious’ all this was… and how India must retaliate. Retaliate? How? Sushma Swaraj promptly provided an answer . Rashly and impetuously she thundered that for every Indian head we lose to Pakistan, we should bring back ten! Coming from a senior politician, this was a seriously dumb statement. Fortunately, the average citizen’s response was far more sober, intelligent and considered. Soon we had a cacophony of voices banging on about the signals we need to send out to our neighbor…. to America…. to the world. Nobody made much sense, least of all our Prime Minister who finally opened his mouth to declare it was ‘not business as usual’ with Pakistan. Really? No kidding! Everybody wanted to know what exactly he meant by that ambiguous, entirely vague remark. What ‘business’? What is ‘usual’ when it comes to Pakistan? As always, it was left to Pakistani spokespersons to smoothly ride over the crisis… pass the buck… and move on. All of this while the perfectly matched chiffon dupatta  stayed demurely in place  without once slipping off the coiffed head. The Birkin offensive worked – yet again!

Meanwhile, our bewildered citizens suddenly discovered the identities of a few hitherto unknown top brass of the army, who came out guns blazing, all bristling moustaches and belligerent words. “They fire.We fire,” declared Army Chief Gen.Bikram Singh. While one gentleman spoke about retaliatory action ‘at the appropriate time’ ( and when would that be, Sir?). The other spoke ominously about his ‘hope’ that our government would extend support to the army.  Huh? Iska matlab? Were we meant to read between the lines and draw our own conclusions? Was the Government holding back on required support? And support for what? Did a Lt.Gen need to send out such a crucial message using television channels to convey it? Who was this message meant for? Those  in power in Delhi? Their counterparts in Pakistan? The Americans , who are once again leaning just that much more towards our (un) friendly neighbours these days? The world at large? Bhagwan only knows.

Meanwhile, our hard working anchors were relentlessly at it . An emotional storm was being systematically whipped up. Panelists were frothing at the mouth. And everybody was in overdrive covering the grisly minutae of the heinous beheading and milking every tiny detail in a way that was embarrassing,morbid and insensitive.Suddenly, Nirbhaya and those 67 daily rapes across India – the ones that get reported – became stale news. There were no new angles to exploit. India had swiftly moved on. Hemraj Singh was the new martyr. And Pakistan had to be whipped once more in public.The flogging seems to be on hold for now. Pakistani actress Meera has planned a peace march in Delhi.Her agenda involves the granting of 5 year visas to Pakistani artists, and has nothing to do with heavier issues. A particularly clumsy gesture involved Pakistani hockey players being unceremoniously packed off. Raj Thackeray got into the act and accused our government of playing up the beheading of a brave soldier as a diversionary tactic.The rather pathetic truth is that countless people believed Raj! That’s how low our morale is right now. We are prepared to accept the worst charges against the ruling class. Even charges as grim as this one. Lots of loud noises later, the Hemraj story , too, is limping along, with non-committal comments from both sides of the border, after the shrill ‘war-mongering’ charges made by the beauteous Ms. Birkin herself. Everybody is ‘backing off ’.The  daily routine of  strutting and posturing is over.Soon it will indeed be back to business as usual. Sorry, Manmohan Singh.You’ll have to come up with a better line… and quickly at that!

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Why I love bitches....

 You are going to see a lot of Gong Li in this space. She is ravishing, isn't she?And a complete heart breaker. We've had visitors all day to take a look at our newest family member. I am besotted!

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This is my new column in Mumbai Mirror. Meenal Baghel, the spirited editor, has added a clever tag line : "How to be a chick, and other life lessons."'  I have received an overwhelming response to the column - good and bad. Something tells me THIS is the most fun column I'll be writing...Blogdosts - feedback needed!

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                         Why I love bitches…

Soon… really,really soon….there will be a new bitch in my life. I can’t wait. I am very partial towards bitches. This one happens to be  smashing looking to boot. And quite a coquette. Perfect. As you may well have guessed, she is a four legged female dog. A stunner, who has broken several hearts already. She certainly broke mine the moment I laid eyes on her in Pune. My sister Mandakini and I jointly christened her Gong Li.This was a sneaky trick designed to melt my husband’s heart and take care of any resistance from his side. He is an ardent fan of  Gong Li - the beauteous Chinese star of movies like ‘Memoirs of a Geisha’ and ‘Farewell ,my Concubine.’

Her predecessor Kiara, was another ravishing female canine, all sleek lines and smooth moves. After her, I was determined to stay away from heartbreak. But one look at Gong Li, and I was smitten. I love bitches. It works in exactly the same way with humans who share traits that we nastily and rather inaccurately refer to as ‘bitchy’.  It’s a seriously awful word. Most times it is used recklessly to describe any woman who has dollops of attitude and isn’t afraid to flaunt it. If she also happens to be a man magnet,it makes it that much easier to brand her. Even if she hasn’t done anything specific to tantalise admirers. I remember a distant time in Bombay ( it was still Bombay then), when ferocious socialite wars had broken out. The scale and intensity of the brawls would have made Sean Penn playing Mickey Cohen in ‘Gangster Squads’ look like a docile, well trained spaniel. The word ‘Bitch!” was spat out several times in public. Sides had to be taken. Like George Bush Jr. the message was unambiguous and strong: either you were with one of the socialites, or against her. The question of remaining neutral did not arise.

Years later, history repeated itself. The cast of characters had changed. But not the negativity and viciousness. The scene had shifted from South Mumbai skirmishes featuring high priestesses of all that is stylish and extravagant, to upstartish Bollywood Divas settling scores and ostracizing predators. But that word ‘bitch’ stayed a constant. It’s another matter altogether that the younger generation throws ‘bitch’ around with total nonchalance. To call a hirsute , louche chap a ‘bitch’ is taken as a compliment. Most young girls prefer to be addressed as ‘dogs’.  A poster states, “Men are the new bitches.” Everybody is pretty cool about it. Even the bitches themselves, who shrug, laugh and happily admit there is nothing quite as fun as a good bitch- out with gal pals and a couple of gay buddies. A worthy gentleman I know quite well,proudly describes himself as ‘the biggest bitch in town.’No contest, there! I have also been present when serious corporate types ( men)  have savaged contemporaries with devilish glee and indulged in what can only be described as heavy duty bitching. Delicious !Maybe inside each one of us lurks a closet female dog. Some are reckless enough to let the beastie out occasionally. Modern day sociologists insist occasional bitching is good for blood pressure. It’s a valid stress buster that makes one feel lighter. What’s the point of stored up bile, a doctor asked me one day. Quite so. That was all the endorsement one needed. I instantly passed on the good news to my friends. And we felt vastly relieved. Bitching became something the doctor ordered - cathartic…. even therapeutic. And we felt terribly sorry for all those people who harboured homicidal thoughts about half the world , but not a single undiplomatic word ever emerged from their mouths. Bores! Today, bitching is seen as an art form. It is fairly acceptable democratic and kosher to indulge in it from time to time . To bitch or not to bitch is no longer the question. Not to be bitched about is a far worse social crime. Bitch and be damned being the new mantra, I guess it’s flattering to be identified as a ‘Bitch Goddess’  by the wannabe amateurs in our midst.

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