In Search of The Time Machine

It is a misfortune that befalls man that we get wiser (supposedly) only as we age and live through a considerable part of our existence. It is no wonder that the eponymous tooth of wisdom, the wisdom tooth breaks through the molars at a later stage in life! And in the middle ages of our life or when we are all most over the hill that we look back and feel what was in store for us and what we missed, what we did not. Then you feel having wasted much.  But then it’s quite late for introspections- to bring back time that went by and we have to sigh with breath of regret-for moments that we missed, things that eluded us, that we did not notice, we did not appreciate, perhaps with little bit of wisdom, it could have been different. Why did it have to be me? The question comes up.

Someone once told me long ago, when I was single and leading a fairly irrepressible living that it was only until he became a father that he knew what it is to be one. He said he then deeply regretted his missed opportunities and life denied, as a son. I did not think much about the statement then. But as years went by and now often, I could feel deep, the pang of the reality of what he said. I can only hope and wish the A and R may not three decades from now sit back and muse like I do. Because with relationships, what we miss and lose at the moment is lost forever. There is no time machine or “black hole’ to board and journey back in life, in time.

My relationship with my father as (brief) as it was for less than two decades was not even a roller coaster like, it was cold- from my point of view. Yes, now I do remember that, he had mourned to mom on a few occasions that I maintain a painful distance from him. Indeed that was the case. The simple matter was that I did not much like him, was afraid, was uncomfortable when he was around and that reflected in my moods and my behaviour. Quite a misfortune as a father for him and as a son for myself!

Why and how that feeling enveloped my relationship with him is not quite known to me, its genesis is something I cannot now recollect or point precisely. However trying it is to build up stray incidences and bits from distant and faint memory! I can recall that he was a disciplinarian of sorts. He, I feel often targeted me and was critical of me, reprimanding me often from my early age I can remember – let me say as six year old. He used to compare me with the boy next doors and ridicule me for not being like the jolly good smart fellow like his friend’s son , a distant relative – a  boy or girl displaying  a flowing outward charm and speaking without fear the good Anglican language. He, I do not know if it was the fall out of his Air Force  days insisted that we speak English and converse at home in English. Something I detested because I was not comfortable speaking that language. Though the early education was in a respectable convent run by a very old order of nuns, there was no diktat that only English must be spoken at school. Yes the nuns who were at that period mostly from outside the country did not speak Malayalam they never were not silly and false like the Neolithic educationist of this day. I remember that once he slapped me in the face, for something that irritated him. And mom was quite harsh with him for that. Not that Mother was an epitome of softness and feather touch. She was quite tough and would vent her other irritations on me. Father would, whenever he could and have me in his sights, begin his advice, his lecture on how to be in life. Perhaps there was a bit much of the dose that was not to my liking. Not that I was a saintly fellow at that. He, I now feel was a bit unsure of my direction .And did he fear that I may turn out to be the lamb that went astray? Now I understand that the apprehension about one’s children is in every father, parent.

But should that constrict the child to an extent where the freedom to breathe freely in their presence do not exist? Freedom to be with children of the same age? Freedom to dream like children does? But be sort of incarcerated within the four walls what was called a home? I feel that the answer to these asking will be provided by my children. I’m certain they are at home and do not feel asphyxiated.

A particular incident that is still haunting me when I think of him was one that bled me to a considerable extent when it happened. I was eleven or twelve years of age and not more. There was this very important football tournament that was held in Thpuram in the 1970’s. It was an All India affair where clubs like Mohan Bagan, MH Sportings, East Bengal, Vasco Goa, JCT Mills etc used to compete. The carnival used to be for forty five days. The match began at 5 in the evening and was over by 6.30pm. My maternal grandfather who was among the respected gentry of that time was given a VIP complimentary pass to watch the tournament in full. He gave me the pass and asked me to enjoy the matches. I was thrilled and it was seamless. I ran home from school and was at the stadium in the elite VIP box before the players began their warm up. It was a dream come true. The next morning back in school I was the cynosure, the one who has the ticket for the tournament and that too an elite pass.

The exhilaration and euphoria was mercilessly wrenched out and my father was the villain of the piece. After a few days he found out that I have been rollicking at the tournament. He asked me from where I got the tickets or the money for them. I told him appuppa (grandfather) gave me a VIP pass. He asked me to fetch the pass. And when I did, he snatched it from me and curtly decreed that it was time that I began my studies in earnest and not waste time at these places. Later I found that he gave the pass he wrenched out from me to one of his close friends. I still cannot chance a word to describe his doing or my feelings. Did I begin to hate him then? I think I did, it was the gradual slide into gradation from not liking into hate.But that was just one of the few incidents that began to eclipse him from my mind, sadly though.

Looking back I feel miserable for him, but the damage that he perhaps unwittingly inflicted on his image as a father and my psyche resulted in losses to us both.

And no time machine can help!!

A Common Trait

Sometime ago I happened to see on TV a live footage of  the aftermath of a minor collision involving a motor bike. There were quite a few onlookers around the accident spot and in animated arguments. Little scuffles also seemed to happen. Then came a Maruti car, which stopped nearby. A man alighted from the car came eagerly into the crowd, he jumped through the small group and gave two hard slaps to the guy who was probably the rider of the bike. And he exited as delightfully as he came.

This, though comical to watch, perhaps tells the underlying psyche of people. The uncontrollable passion and eagerness to comment on anything and everything of which they may not know much. To pillory someone without even knowing the antecedents of the matter.

When the going is wonderful or seems to be so there may not be accolades, but when one stumbles you have raised hoods coming at you from all possible places. Authoritative dissertations, statements and, advices even unsolicited are thrown at you by all and sundry. The cruel and equally jocular aspect is that none of these opinionated gentry has been privy to the road that you have tread and the travails that you have felt or survived. How great it will be if one could retrospectively correct the course, and out- fly the insightful ones!

Is it proper then to make an imperiously authoritative statement on something that we cannot honestly claim to know about? Commenting with mere speculative knowledge and hearsay to substantiate our opinion is quite unjustified. But then the world is such that we have more people who know more about our life, our difficulties, our means and sources of happiness and distress than we ever could.

I think that it is the pleasure that people get when they involve with something that they have no knowledge about and make statements like they were  experts of the matter, that drives people to be so. Like the man who ran out of his car to slap some stranger he presumed was the villain of the piece,  how often have we uttered things that may have added to another’s misery, all along being aware of our ignorance of the truth of the matter.

What goes on these days in television news channels ( call them ‘tabloids’) perfectly sums up the state of the matter. Tragedies are dissected to suit the ratings, victims are disregarded  and culprits are decided by the visual media, carefully playing on the mindset of the gullible viewers. The pleader, the juror , the judge and the executioner is the media. A blatant trampling of privacy and ones basic rights.

It must be a careful tread I guess, else  may result in mauling an already bruised person. Isn’t it better to be silent, quiet and  sympathetic than be a marauding ,boorish and insensitive? It is quite true , that when the going is good you have a score and many to revel with you and in distress may be your ghostly shadow for company and brick bats to chase you.

But  then  why must you be sensitive to someone’s feelings and plight? That is what is in most minds.

Ironical life is! Indeed it is!

Just Another Story

I met this guy the first time many years ago on the Nilagiri Express from Coiambatore to Chennai. We boarded the locomotive from Tiruppur. We were both in the second class compartment. He was in his late twenties. Christy and Aravind (who was a baby and about two years) were with me. He had met Christy before at some official meetings and seemed to be fairly well aware of her and where she came from, so on and so forth. Aravind got quite friendly with him during the travel and was reluctant to come away to sleep. We got to begin casual chat and by the time we arrived at Chennai early morning the next day, we got to know one other quite well. I felt it vibed. An infamous person I'm at creating friendship or acquaintance!

He was a senior level merchandising manager in a multi crore garment manufacturing and export company. We did not have any contacts after, for quite a while. And at some point we got again in touch. I asked him for dinner at our home and he obliged. We went to his parent’s house in Chennai during one of our travel. His mother liked Christy much, and since she was adept in being liked and affable to any stranger, they jelled.. He hailed from a respectable family – an erudite, scholarly father- retired as the principal teacher and since researching in temple architecture of Kerala. Mother was a fiercely strong willed woman. Loving, caring and very matter of fact! She was insistent that the children send her a certain sum every month (I guess it was about Rs 5000) without fail, and did not care if they starved because of that. And she meticulously planned that money into bank accounts in the boys’ credit. She once told Christy, 'I have to force-out this money from the boys- else they will be penny less one day. For thrift and care for the future is not with the kids of this generation'.  Some months he used to  run out of money and would desperately come to me and ask me to send the amount to his mother, which I did quite a few times. He had a brother younger to him and he was sailing with the Merchant Navy.

This guy became a frequent visitor to our house and always came running to us when he faced any crisis and for comfort. He had exercised such freedom and enjoyed much bonhomie at our home that he would come come at night after work and ask Christy to cook him dosas, with the taste of dosa his Amma cooks. Aravind used to go around with him often in the car. Once Aravind  who was then about four years,went with him to a distant town and it was much after that we joined them.

At his wedding, his parents wanted Christy to be in the forefront like she would if she were his very own sister. I remember Christy had conceived Radhika during that time and was a couple of months away from labour. We were at the wedding and treated by his parents like we were their own. This fellow repeatedly exclaimed that he was very lucky to have Christy there, that he does not miss a sister.

Years passed …… and he grew in stature, left his job, commenced fashion garment business with a client from Europe and rocketed through the roof, wealth wise. We were at the inaugural pooja of his business, which began out from a tiny little office space. The last time I met him was at his office which stood on a huge area and would rival a INFOSYs or an MS. He was quite tensed during the early days, before and after the commencement of his venture. He always called me for comfort and any form of pep. He wanted a name for the firm and I suggested he pick a name to identify with a beautiful bird. I lend him couple of my prized possessions “The Penguin encyclopedia of extinct birds”, and the “Time encyclopedia of Birds of the World”. Outrageously, but true to his subsequent nature he declined to acknowledge that he borrowed the books from me. They are lost forever! Penguin ceased publication of the former!

He was outlandishly superstitious. And the nadir of all that was when he put his pet a  Bhutanese pug to sleep after an astrologer allegedly confided that if he keeps the canine at home it may bring bad tidings. Do not know what befell him, ensnared by the new mounting riches, he distanced? Not only from us, even from his parents. His mother wept once we were in Chennai to call on her. I sensed the hurt, the wound a mother bore. His father had passed away in the mean time. And she lived all alone. The sons were too concerned about their affairs and well being that they rarely went to her. Never their wives!

At a point in time he was a helpful person to me Vis a visa companion and also as a business acquaintance. But those relationships were abruptly severed. And the last was he declined to attend my calls.

Aphrodite

“Possessiveness was not felt when it all began.She was obsessive and possessiveness gradually engulfed every sinew in her .Expressively she began to resent my absence. And imperceptibly it became no different with me. The annoyance that followed me transformed into a reciprocal feeling ” He said.

We had discussed on this phase of his life before. And I was privy to a considerable extent of  what I can term only as, “la affaire amour”. I suggested may be by his genial attitude to her preludes and subsequent displays of frantic passion, he encouraged and fanned her infatuation.                                  “May be yes, maybe not”, he said.                                                                          
“It was so, you even continue to retain the feelings that infected you”, I put in. He was silent for a while and drove looking ahead on the seemingly never ending stretch of the road through the plains, before it would hit the first bend towards the hills.

“Yes indeed, it was extravagant advance and I felt many a time towards the plateau of the ‘affaire’, the relationship, she was slipping into insanity. I was afraid that she was fast becoming psychotic. Gosh how one could infer otherwise, how one could explain her wailing moods, her uncontrolled passion, and her foolishly incongruous statements and intends?" "But...” He muttered eyes still transfixed on the road ahead. Again, a relapse of doubt, I wondered?

“Without knowing, you imparted your feelings for her. You pitied her mental state, her tenderness tripped you. Your affability, understanding and consideration to her, made her hold on to you like a limpet. And you flew around her like a mayfly oblivious of the enflamed amber that she was. Her physical nature that was the knell of  men who knew her, aroused you too, made you excited and servile. And she decided that she will have you, possess you and no one else should. You let her be the conductress. You danced to the calling of her intimate needs, you towed behind her. It was mad infatuation”. I added, once he stopped.

“And, you did slip, you were washed away  by the deluge. The twigs you clasped were tiny little drift woods, nay you clasped on her to be saved from the deluge that she was – she and her lonesome, selfish aim to arrogate you, your life. It was her selfishness”. I paused a bit and glanced to my right to see his expression. He displayed a asinine appearance - driving without exhibiting any other reaction to what I said. I continued, “And now you thirst for her and in your moments of solitude you want to hold her, possess her again. The roulette has turned a full circle. My friend that was a Russian roulette she played. Don’t you see? She needed you emotionally and physically, she masticated you, her purchase over you was emphatic, she won! It was nothing but amorous dance drama, a ballet that she conducted and you it was  bêtise of you to fall for it".

He swerved the car to the left to steer clear of a small flock of sheep that crossed the road as if from nowhere.                                                                                                                                            “Mad infatuation, that was what you said”. He began in a hushed tone and he cleared his throat to continue, “You call the passion that engulfed her, me, thus! Adults, grownups, people who have known the world, felt life in their palms .And like dimwitted teenagers take extreme steps, willing to go beyond what  that would gorge out life, ruin it forever, for us both. You trivalise it,call it Russian roulette? You do not understand. There are moments when sensibilities desert the sensible and the senses are numb, indifferent to conventions."

I was not quite prepared for his outburst. There was resentment and the longing, for “Aphrodite” has not exited him, I understood then. He was quietly ravaged within and he was disturbed by moments when he disagrees to believe that it was all over. The temptress refuses to fade away, beckoning him to her lair, often come calling in his dreams. Mercifully it is all over, but he longs....! Man, man has this inexplicable itch to take the extreme tread- to serenade with peril, to flirt with peril, socially, emotionally and physically. Trade like traders who cannot trade! Like horse men who straddle the stallion but cannot ride!

“But, yes that was so. It was illusion, illusion of paradise before tempest and destruction”. I said.

He smiled- a wry smile and with rictus. He recounted from his tale, moments when she was overwhelming, blistering like a volcano, fiery, and unrelenting. At times she was like a nestling, a loner within. And then she needed him more. When she could not have him she glared like a feline, was filed with jealousy .  On one plane she knew that she was fanning a mirage, running after one, pleading. But something sometimes told her that she will grasp the mirage and clasp it close, like a child. And like a child warily looks at her clenched fist shut tight, hoping the clutched fingers are impervious, afraid to relax the muscles around the fingers, lest the glow worm fly away! She beckoned him, flagellated, cried piteously to take her away- unperturbed at his aghast, protestation, regardless of the social status and  life they have, She willed in earnest to elude the trappings that constricted her  and let her be in abandon. Go wherever, do whatever he wills, she affirmed, but she cannot be different. She will not sit and wait to see the clock inexorably move back.        Electrocuting! She exclaimed once and she longed for that, more of it, a life of it. Defiant, she desired to begin afresh. She did not hide the adoration for him and that was much to his discomfiture. And in a moment of desperate candour confided and beseeched him if he would accept her so that she willingly would confine to the status of paramour and even a recluse. In her unrestrained expressions of affection, chided him for forsaking her all these years.  She cursed the Gods in the pantheon for not bringing him to her, let him see her and run forth into her, but rather consign her to waste and live a woeful life all this while; let her languish her youth in wilderness of ennui and of uneventful marital confinement. Hang her, decapitate her, ostracise her, brand her whorish, she cannot be different, she is what she is.  

I felt, she was- because the wolf eats the lamb, will you hang the wolf, if that will make the wolf different so be it, hang her.

Many a monsoon has passed by since. I mused, as we drove on, turned the bend on the road and on to the mountains.

Flying Tales

The longest   period in time I stayed away from the country and most importantly, the longest time that I was away from home, happened with the day ending the past week. The first time it was 22 days, away in Rotterdam in the early 1990’s while on a seminar plus business prospecting tour. And now with the day ended yesterday, the unexpected swings in life have seen me away from home, for thirty days at the trot. Call it “the moving ridges” of life!

After literally cooling my heels in the UAE, I landed in Bahrain a day ago. During all my journeys by air, I have from the beginning been finicky and careful of my choice of the airline company that I fly with. One of my friends who was in a dilemma before his heart bye- pass surgery asked his consulting physician to suggest a cardiac surgeon he could approach for the bye- pass. The physician said you must go to the surgeon to whom you can "trust and give your heart". From there it was not difficult as he flew down to Cochin and the surgery was performed by an old mate who was the surgeon in a hospital there. So like the difficult and delicate choice of entrusting ones heart, I wanted to be confident about the airline I took as for a good part of the travel, not just my heart, even my life was pledged to their good will and skillfulness.

‘Puppet on a chain’ was an  Alistair Maclean thriller that became a movie in 1972.The breath taking boat chase though the canals of Amsterdam, the Schipol airport , the KLM air planes  and the Dutch locales placed a good imprint in me. And I dreamed and fantasised the fascinating chance that may one day come, to fly with KLM airline and boat ride through those canals and walk the streets of Amsterdam. The fantasy became true much later. And I was off to Holland for a pretty long time away from home. The flight was indeed out of coincidence the big white and blue KLM jumbo. The feeling of security and that the passengers are being cared for, was present all throughout the travel. And there and then began a good travel partnership with the airlines.

I garnered lot of miles on the airline and once even had a frequent- flyer platinum card. I used the miles I accumulated to travel with C to the USA and Canada, and to Italy. On an occasion, while on a journey to the North Americas, I and C had to cool our heels for seven hours in the Flying blue lounge at the Schipol. It was early morning 8’o clock, and till the connecting time which was a long time away, C sat in the lounge and polished off a bottle of “Bailey’s Irish Cream”. That was an astonishing feat! Thanks to the courtesy extended by the Airlines.

On another occasion on the flight from New York, KLM gave us a bonus- they upgraded us to Business class, and C again indulged in liqueurs and wine. Though I felt a bit embarrassed, she reveled. But believe me, the true hypocrite I’m there were occasions when I have had the most of spirits from the lounges waiting for flights even before sunrise. They were great travel times with the airline.

But the one hour flight from Sharjha to Bahrain was the first time ever that I flew with an airline that stakes more on the volition and whims of Providence than on the machine or the pilots who man them. It was an early morning wake up and travel. And I collapsed into slumber as soon as I took my seat. I was jolted by a haunting recitation and woke into an acoustic ambience that one would feel and hear in a medieval monastery; the monks invoking the gods with the haunting eerie chants of the sacred psalms!  Shaken jerkily, I looked out through the window and saw the aircraft taxing and about to take off."Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar.......” went the chant played through the public address system. The aircraft moved into the take off speed and began hurtling along the runway. The intensity of the chant seemed to be increasing spookily.

I felt a sort of fright, for the first time. I have heard that passengers fervently pray loudly when the state of the flight was disastrous or the likely hood of a crash loomed large. But this was an awfully disturbing moment even for a person who did not subscribe to any faith for absolution or comfort.

The aircraft was soon airborne and the chanting eased out. I tried to get back into the sleep that was spolied, thinking, thankfully the invocation did not end with the statement,(Insha Allha.......), “God willing we will land in Bahrain”.
I wish to state that no disparaging intent is intended here but, it was awfully too far from comfort to me to hear such desperate sounding prayers(sic) on the public address system and at a crucial moment before being airborne. I understand that the phrase is recited by Muslims in many countries in many different situations. They, when they are happy, to express approval to praise a speaker, or even as a battle cry and even during times of extreme stress.

I slid back into sleep recollecting with some amusement the prayers and hymns that were sung in school, “Father we thank thee...:”; “guardian angel from heaven so bright...” and then later at the Government run schools, the pledge, “India is my country...”.But nothing like this in an aircraft about to be airborne.

"Holier Than Thou" - a musing

 I was trying to figure out the kind of attitude in people that I cannot avoid scowling at and see as a very hard choice of character to deal with. But I also felt that if I phrase it that way, the holier ones would allege that a plebeian like me is obsessed with self styled air of infallibility. That, I do not want, because I do not intend to stake 

claim to flawlessness.

There are an awful many distinct imperfections in my person .I, though not intolerant, may throw it in the face. Diplomacy would have seen me in a far comfortable life than I managed till now. Would have certainly increased my circle of acquaintances but not friends! I may not even practice to the near last letter what I pontificate. But I do not necessarily claim that I do and in reality hold a little different course. So I’m a student of the “Art of Imperfection” and a practicing hypocrite. Is anybody out there willing to be comrade in arms?

The biggest threat a man can be to another is to be an offensive person in character, countenance, and bound by rudeness. It is also when words of appreciation for the good in him or her, be it the persona, artistic or literary creative excellence, manifests as a malignant ego  and fed by that, the qualities of offense, rudeness and intolerance sets in. A discernible contempt towards everything and anything, disdainful attitude and intolerance towards all that is different from his/her professed (not practiced) ways. The decency in the culture of argumentative tradition is found to be at the nadir in such people. They fume, frown, and even abuse in their own subtle ways.


The only matter that threatened to affect dangerously even my wedlock was orchestrated by the folks who were eagerly acquiescent to my proposal to C, twenty three years ago. A junta of people who then were commoners but with some goodness!  C has an inexplicable quality of unrequited love and affection especially to people who are from her immediate clan. My unenviable lack of tact and diplomacy when up against insolence, diabolism and manipulations has made me severe all sorts of links reinforced and kindled by the nuptial cording. Whilst C bends head over heels, eyes glistening with affection and immense love at the sight of even a lowly (literally) a wiggler from amongst the clan. That confounds me exasperated, anguished and angry.

However I have never forced her like a fascist despotic spouse to tag on my outlook without any demure. Coercion, emotional or otherwise is not my forte and liking. Even with the children, I contain to expressing my strong displeasure and disapproval, but I seldom let my annoyance plummet into insolence and physical reactions. C will vouch for that, I’m certain.The annoyance is when people who are privy to my personal life begin to pontificate, whilst they adept themselves in doing all that I do, and even sorrier.

To talk disparagingly about a person and  slander him,only to get even with him is silly and mean as it can get. I saw this happen. And as since the people concerned were known to me, it was embarrassing and ridiculous and the matter was trivial.If jest cannot be taken as such among friends,and triggers a one sided diatribe it is only a pathetic reflection of  penury  of ,not wealth, but .....! To personally abuse and rake up a friend’s self confessed personal infractions, with the desperate intention of satisfying and covering one's faux pas! There is only one word to describe, ‘miserable’.

So, let me also for a moment try to revel and exult in the feeling that “I’m, holier than thou”..

  

Moralists, Missed Opportunities & The Parade

It is quite easy to gauge the depths of hypocrisy and insensitivity that has got rooted in the society. One need not be an erudite in sociological behaviour of this gregarious creature called man. And succinctly the visual media in Kerala is agog with the news that tells the tale.

There are, as of now, two or three cases of alleged abuse of girls who are said to be minors.And they  are being brandished day and night on the local mallu channels and their woeful stories narrated with new revelations to the utter moral outrage of the morally conditioned Keralites. This was not the first time that such sensational story of newsworthiness that is well cherished by the general public has surfaced in the State. Many instances of abuse of hapless girls have been reported and many big wigs and persons of repute in the social and cultural fields have been accused. Many have wriggled out by the virtue of their clout and wealth .There was also a very poignant and moving film that was made by the director Lal Jose, (Acthanurnagatha Vedu), which I think can be loosely translated as “A father’s tale of woes”.

The investigation goes on-collection of evidences for which the victims are paraded around the country in police vehicles; the thronging of people to all such places with facial expressions of unrestrained orgasmic pleasure at the sight of the victims, (whose faces are generally covered with some fabric). And then the sensational names of the alleged men who abused them and the TV news reporters  stating in a tone of immense achievement that the girl was repeatedly abused by around one hundred men in matter of a month.All this adds much value to the news cast. As a master coup in adding spice and flavour to the news, the father of one of the alleged victims has been accused and arrested for parading his daughter to many men as if she was ware.

The alibi seems quite intriguing on many accounts.

Firstly, it seems quite beyond plausibility that these girls being incommunicado or were unable to visibly inform someone while they were being shunted from one destination to the other, that they were being abused or sexually used without their consent. And this as it is alleged was perpetrated on one victim, by around one hundred men in a month’s time. Medically questionable perhaps! I wonder, Kerala society is not a feudalistic citadel like some of the north and central Indian societies, for women to be absolutely subjugated and unable to communicate. There certainly must have been some means in the course of the alleged atrocities, for these girls to come out.

Secondly it is hard to believe that these men were all  quite naiveté and foolish and some who are allegedly wealthy and influential ,chose to vent their wild urges on girls who were below the age of majority and brought to them in circumstances that were questionable. Unless it points to some perverted evolution of preferences of Malayli men folks.

There seems to be a bigger side to these sleazy and disturbing tales! As it is held by courts in all countries that subscribe to civilised jurisprudence, non consensual sex even if it is between husband and wife can be seen as determined by force or coercion and defined as rape. Fair enough! That will nail all the men folks who show these kinds of uncontrolled sexual aggression. And violating a minor girl automatically falls under various section of the criminal penal code. So unless the witnesses or the victims turn hostile or indifferent it is certain that the accused will be convicted.

But still, larger questions remain unanswered. How is it possible that in an open society with various communication channels, that teen aged girls doses not send SOS but passively wait till scores of men violated them? What becomes of these alleged victims? Not much light has been thrown on that. Though, a victim who once even got a senior politician in the State running for cover later turned hostile and settled quietly for the sudden flow of largesse that came to her.

Does these stories point to the insatiable excursions that men make outside wedlock? Has religious edicts and commandments failed pathetically in reigning in mans sexual urges? Have the laws of the land, archaic as they are, failed to curb rape and molestation of women?

Let me make a submission here in this regard, though it may invite raised eyebrows from many puritanical sections. The laws that we have are archaic and money can change course of any event that is considered amoral or unlawful. Society like to exult in sleaze and news of philandering. The crowd that the incidences mentioned earlier attract are because of so. Nirvana in morality is the consolation often grabbed by people with missed opportunities. Courts often are loaded and biased against women, that a misdemeanour in an early instance can be raked up to effectively throw out an allegation of rape or molestation, while the accomplished philandering of a man may be ignored to his benefit. The society’s moral outrage and the law that illegalise paid sex are archaic and nuisance. Legalising paid and consensual sex, though it may not greatly help in reducing instances of rape and molestations or attempts, they can certainly avoid the need to parade a woman through the streets and locations where the police claim that she has been taken to and abused. And that parade is bigger abuse than any physical act on her with or without her consent ,with or without gratification and consideration!