Skip to main content

Sahelis, sex and Debonair

Read my first copy of Debonair recently. Okay, the articles are c-grade soft porn and the photographs cringe-worthy, but what struck me is that the magazine is full of letters from women, who love sex and don't mind saying so.

Assuming of course, that these letters are genuine and not written by the staff themselves!

But what if there really are such women around? Why don't they write to, say, Marie Claire, or Vogue or Bazaar? After all, the posher, glossier, pricier, mags are all about being liberated, free-spirited and independent-minded. About loving the way you look, knowing yourself and your style icon. And of course, about buying Jimmy Choos, wearing Chanel and Balenciaga and toting Hermes on your arm!

I bet the Debonair readers don't do any such thing. So where do such women live? Not in a Mumbai high-rise, or a Bangalore gated community, or Lavasa or any "planned city". Apparently, they hail from small towns such as Ranikhet, Baner and Durgapur. And Ujjain and Dandeli. I don't think MC or Vogue or Bazaar even know such towns exist.

Yet, these places are also where you find women whose biggest adventure is to call the All India Radio's "Hello Saheli" phone-in programme. This is a Hindi film song request show. It doesn't have any fancy opening bars or fast-talking RJs. Just a couple of women presenters and a lovely collection of songs. I find the programme refreshing. And immensely humbling. The callers are women who refer to the women presenter as "madam" and tell her what a difference Hello Saheli makes to their lives.

For these women are housewives (not home-makers, if you please). They do some "silaai" from home or teach in their spare time, or if they are teenagers, look after younger siblings and dream of becoming something, anything, after they finish college. If they get to finish college, that is. And oh yes, I'm pretty sure they don't read Debonair.

Yet, aren't all these women part of the India that is unseen, unheard and ignored by us urban types. Do we really care what goes on in Baner or Ranikhet, unless of course there's a violent sex crime there, or something else equally atrocious happens?

In a way, then, Debonair and Hello Saheli are doing what we aren't. Giving these women a chance to make themselves heard.

Comments

Chin said…
:-) Yeah!! (and Kelu Sakhi too. even if I say so myself!)
Heh heh. Yup I think the radio is an awesome and totally underrated means of communication. When it comes to tapping the real heart of India, I mean.

Popular posts from this blog

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...

A confession

So you voted? Wow. Did you click a selfie with your inked finger prominent? Wonderful. Well, as for me, I have a secret that's been giving me heartburn. I didn't vote. I didn't get my voter ID on time, you see. So I have not been on Facebook with my voting selfie. And each time someone puts up a post saying "If you don't vote, you don't have the moral right to talk about corruption or lazy corporators or crib about how your city/state/the country is run", my heart sinks just a little more. Because truly, I don't think I am a bad person. I do not believe I no longer have any moral authority to call myself a 'citizen; of this country. At the most, I am guilty of being lazy--because I did not get my voter ID on time. On the contrary, I think I am an involved citizen. I religiously segregate my waste, separating dry from wet--and then I deliver the bags to the dry waste collection centre. When I see a creature in distress--street dog/animal/b...

Belly Tales

I always had a belly. In the beginning, it was rather shapely. Curvy, but not outwordly so. Then lil man came along. Suddenly, my belly became The living, growing symbol Of another tiny, living, breathing being. My body became nurturer and nurse. My belly became both nest and nuzzling point. Baby grew out of me, literally. And my belly became an afterthought. You see, my body didn't snap back into shape. My belly stayed on. So terms like 'baby belly' were thrown at me. But guess what, a baby did grow in this belly. And yes, my belly will never Go back to what it used to be. It is wobbly, it's scarred. It has stretchmarks. It symbolises my strength.