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4 Quotes from Sohaila Abdulali’s Book on Rape That Will Get You Thinking

Rape is one of the most abhorrent crimes. It is a violation as much of the body as the psyche of the victim. And whatever spin one gives to it – the girl should have been more careful, women should dress ‘properly’, she was asking for it by being flirtatious, she is known to be promiscuous, women should not venture out alone beyond a certain time at night – there is no condoning it. But these are the very reasons one hears being bandied about. In her book What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape, Sohaila Abdulali points out why these excuses make matters worse, urging us, as a society, to start afresh the conversation about and around rape.
Here is a sneak peek into a few stories that will astound, infuriate and ignite you to take a step forward.
 
Title: Your Love Is Killing Me
‘Girls and boys get completely different messages about sex. We assume that sex feels good for boys, but girls learn early that losing their virginity is supposed to hurt. We create the idea that sex is uncomfortable for girls, and we raise girls who don’t think they deserve pleasure, and boys who at best don’t care about their partner’s pleasure, and at worst are actively abusive.’
 
Title: Good Girls Don’t
‘Who gets raped? Who do we think gets raped? Are girls who can shit and vomit on command immune? What about sex workers? Even if we acknowledge that anyone can be raped, who deserves to be raped? When are we willing to call it rape? At what point do you lose sympathy of your peers? When you’ve drunk too much, when you’ve had sex with x number of men in the past, when you’re just not a nice person? … Maybe acknowledging that all sorts of women get raped by all sorts of men messes too much with the comfortable narrative that says only good girls get raped. Oh, but it also says good girls don’t get raped. Both these things can’t be true, and sex workers aren’t good girls, so how can they be raped, and if they’re raped, they’re human and hurt, and we can’t have that. So let’s just shut our eyes and maybe the whole confusing thing will go away.’
 
Title: What Did You Expect?
‘Much of the confusion comes from the sexist attitudes and cultural norms. But I think there is another aspect to the ease with which we blame ourselves for terrible events. It has to do with that familiar word: control. And if that’s the case, then it’s not necessarily completely pathological to blame yourself a bit. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism.’
 
Title: Oh, Please
‘There’s a subversive little thread that often weaves itself into any discussion of women actually speaking out and taking space to claim their histories of sexual violence. It’s an insidious thread that has choked us for far too long. I call it the Lose-Lose Rape Conundrum. It unwinds like this. If you talk about it, you’re a helpless victim angling for sympathy. If you are not a helpless victim, then it wasn’t such a big deal, so why are you talking about it? If you’re surviving and living your life, why are you ruining some poor man’s life? Either it’s a big deal, so you’re ruined, or it’s not a big deal and you should be quiet.’


In What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape, Sohaila Abdulali asks pertinent questions: Is rape always a life-defining event? Does rape always symbolize something? Is rape worse than death? Is rape related to desire? Who gets raped? Is rape inevitable? Is one rape worse than the other? Who rapes? What is consent? How do you recover a sense of safety and joy? How do you raise sons? Who gets to judge?
 

Things To Leave Behind- an Excerpt

Things to Leave Behind brings alive the romance of the mixed legacy of British-Indian past. A rich, panoramic historical novel that shows you Kumaon and the Raj as you have never seen them, the book is full of the fascinating backstory of Naineetal and its unwilling entry into Indian history, throwing a shining light on the elemental confusion of caste, creed and culture, illuminated with painstaking detail.Things to Leave Behind is a fascinating historical epic and Namita Gokhale’s most ambitious novel yet.
Here is a brief excerpt from the book:


In 1856,  just before the fateful year of the Indian Mutiny,  a curious phenomenon was observed in the fledgling hill station of Naineetal. Six native women, draped in black and scarlet pichauras, circled the lake for three days, singing mournful songs which no one could understand. As they used the lower road, reserved for dogs and Indians, the British sahib-log chose to ignore their antics.
The Pahari community was, however, thrown into a panic. Thehill people knew, as the British did not, that it was the inauspicious month of the Shraddhas, when the spirits of the dead and gone hover over the lake in the late autumn evenings. Scarlet and black were colours sacred to the death cults and to the goddess Kali. These women could only be dakinis, evil female spirits with some dark, accursed purpose. But they said nothing, not even to each other. They hid their apprehensions behind stern looks and a tight-lipped silence, for, sometimes, to recognize an evil is to give it more force. Then there were the snails.
In the season after the first monsoon showers, snails had begun appearing in multitudes by the lake shore. Now they lay thick on the rocks, layers and layers of them, squirming and undulating. It was not a pretty sight, and Mr Lushington tried his best to investigate the cause of this unusual occurrence. He pored through the first two volumes of the Himalayan Gazetteer, so painstakingly compiled through the admirable efforts of Mr Atkinson. He searched the sections on the forests andwild tribes, and consulted the 1835 treatise on ‘Kemaon Geology & Natural Science’ by McClellant as well as Hooker’s Himalayan Journals: Notes of a Naturalist. Finally‚ he arrived at the conclusion that a particularly prolonged summer had destroyed the frog spawn, and that the mollusc population had consequently proliferated.
The hill folk of course knew better. ‘It’s the voice of the lake goddess,’ they whispered amongst themselves. ‘The lake goddess Naina Devi has sent her servants to announce her displeasure!’ When a young Englishwoman drowned near the rocks by the Ayarpatta shore, a new certainty entered these pronouncements. The whispers were louder and more insistent. ‘The lake goddess demands propitiation,’ the local Paharis told each other. ‘She is avenging the intrusion of the white man on her sacred waters.’


Set in the years 1840 to 1912, Things to Leave Behind chronicles the mixed legacy of the British Indian past and the emergence of a fragile modernity.

Meet the Author of Vanara, Anand Neelakantan

Vanara by Anand Neelakantan is a classic tale of love, lust and betrayal. Baali and Sugreeva are orphaned brothers of the Vana Nara tribe who created a peaceful country for their people after having suffered the consequences of the continuous war between the Deva tribes in the north and the Asura tribes in the south.  But tragedy strikes as the beautiful Tara, the daughter of a tribal physician becomes the love interest of both the brothers.
A tale about love and the the struggles that come with it, Anand Neelkantan weaves a story about love with the tale of the greatest warrior in the Ramayana-Baali.
Here we give you a few facts about the author:


Shakespearean in its tragic depth and epic in its sweep, Vanara gives voice to the greatest warrior in the Ramayana-Baali.

In Times of Siege – an Excerpt

Staff meetings, lesson modules, a half-hearted little affair with a colleague-this is the bland but comfortable life of Shiv Murthy, a history teacher in an open university. But disruption and change are on their way-an outspoken young woman with a broken knee comes into his life and turns it upside-down. Read In Times of Siege to know how Shiv is forced to confront the demands of his times and choose a direction for the future with love, lust and a perverted nationalism at his heels.
Here is an excerpt from Gita Hariharan’s, In Times of Siege.


The wave peaked, the story goes, when a marriage was arranged between the children of two veerashaiva couples.The bride-to-be was brahmin. The bridegroom-to-be was the son of a cobbler. This marriage is more the stuff of legend and folklore than stern history. But so apt a symbol was it of the crisis Kalyana was heading towards that every subsequent popular account took it for granted. The marriage is the ineluctable climax of the story in popular memory. (There is, however, ample historical evidence that Kalyanawas rocked by violence in King Bijjala’s last days.)The story is that the marriage was the catalyst; it generated a shock that charged all of Kalyana City.
The traditionalists were already enraged by Basava’s challenge to their monopoly of god and power and the afterlife. Now, terrorized by their fear that ‘even a pig and a goat and a dog’ could become a devotee of Siva in an equal society, they condemned this marriage as the first body blow against all things known, familiar, normal. Against, in short, a society based on caste. Egalitarian ideas are bad enough, but a cobbler and a brahmin in the same bed? As well bomb Kalyana (and its vigorous trade, its prosperous temples and palace) out of existence!  King Bijjala was pressured into joining the condemnation of the marriage. He sentenced the fathers of the bride and bridegroom (and the young untouchable bridegroom) to a special death. Tied to horses, they were dragged through the streets of Kalyana; then what was left of them was beheaded.
But Basava’s followers did not call themselves warriors of Siva for nothing. They, particularly the young and the militant, particularly those who had shed the stigma of their lower-caste status to become followers of Basava, retaliated. Basava’s call for non-violence was not heard. His charisma was no longer enough to keep the moderates and the extremists among his followers together. The city burned; now in the untouchable potters’ colonies, now in the coffer-heavy temples. Basava left the city for Kudalasangama, the meeting point of rivers that had been his inspiration in his youth. The king was assassinated, allegedly by two of Basava’s young followers.
Not long after King Bijjala’s death, Basava too died under mysterious circumstances. The popular legend is that the river, the waters of the meeting rivers, took him into their allembracing arms. Though veerashaivism would live on, its great moment of pushing for social change was over. What began as a critique of the status quo would be absorbed, bit by bit, into the sponge-like body of tradition and convention. But Basava and his companions left a legacy. A vision consisting of vigorous, modern thought; poetry of tremendous beauty and depth, images that couple the radical and the mystical. Most of all, Basava’s passionate questions would remain relevant more than eight hundred years later.
 


 
“What makes a fanatic? A fundamentalist? What makes communities that have lived together for years suddenly discover a hatred for each other? The book  In Times of Siege answers these pertinent questions.

The Playlist that Inspired Fatima Bhutto's 'The Runaways'

In Fatima Bhutto’s new book, The Runaways, three disparate lives cross paths in the middle of a desert, a place where life and death walk hand-in-hand, and where their closely guarded secrets will force them to make a terrible choice.
Here is a playlist piece on the songs that she listened to while writing the book, with notes on what they mean to her.
Ya Rayah – Rachid Taha

I have always loved Ya Rayah. To me, it is the most beautiful song about exile. It’s a song that’s followed me a lot in life and I felt it relate to all the characters in The Runaways.
Nour Baladi (solo drums) – Amir Sofi
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RNuFcegJImU
This is the sort of music that Aloush plays in the darkened Apollo basement, it’s what draws Sunny in that first night he’s walking by and becomes the music that passes between them night after night in the club.
Layla- Eric Clapton

This is Monty’s anthem for his beloved and anyone who listens to the lyrics will know that the beloved doesn’t exactly return the devotion of the singer. But Monty is too blinded to even notice the warning in the song Layla always asks him to sing to her.
Anjane – Strings
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=58yEDh_s_b0
Strings is one of Layla’s favourite bands and this is the song she sings in the car with Monty when he takes her on their night time drives around Karachi.
Mogambo – Riz MC 

This song came out after I was done writing The Runaways, but the lyrics are so incredible, like a jolt to the body. “They put their boots in our ground, I put my roots in their ground” really spoke to Sunny’s experience. But, “why you bring a tweet to a gunfight” is pure Oz to me.
Eid al Ashaq – Kadim al Seher

This is Abu Khalid’s wife’s favourite singer and Sunny hears a ghostly refrain of one of his songs in the desert.
Billie Jean remix – Punjabi MC
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oipnXZOAYTY
Billie Jean is the best song of our century. I won’t hear any debate about that. I imagine Oz, in his pre-Syria days, would have had this remix blaring out of his beat up Skoda.
Ams Intahena – Fairuz
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DKXyKUB06Q
Aloush isn’t a main character but his story and Sunny’s merge powerfully. He’s someone that has a profound impact on Sunny and I don’t want to give very much away but this is a song that belongs to them.
Hypnotise – Biggie Smalls

Monty would have listened to Biggie Smalls and been a devoted East Coast loyalist in the West Coast/East Coast divide. (Sunny meanwhile is West Coast till he dies, this difference between them tells any 90s hip hop fan a lot). Monty would have imagined himself possessing some of the rapper’s swagger and style – this to me was a song he would listened to with his friends at house parties and in the lounge at school.
Dam Mast Qalandar – Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

The Sufi poetry and the emotional resonance this song has in Sindhi, syncretic culture, always made me think of Anita Rose as a young girl in the days when she climbed the steps to Osama’s home, seeking refuge with her dear comrade.


The Runaways is an explosive new novel that asks difficult questions about modern identity in a world on fire.

The November Business Bookshelf: Books to Help Your Business Grow

What does it take to bring your business to new heights? What are some of the key factors that will guarantee success? What are the changes you can make in yourself and how can you guide those who work with you?
This November we’ve put together a list of books that will tell you how to take your business to success through tips, facts and true stories. Take a look!
A Game Changer’s Memoir

A masterful strategist, GN Bajpai, in this book, recounts his truly inspiring journey as he weaved through complex rules and frameworks in his efforts to turn SEBI into an effective financial regulator for the country. Easy-flowing and readable with the writer’s anecdotal and educative style of writing and yet greatly comprehensive, this is a go-to book for a new generation of aspiring financial groundbreakers.
The Tata Saga

The Tata Saga is a collection of handpicked stories published on India’s most iconic business group. The anthology features snippets from the lives of various business leaders of the company: Ratan Tata, J.R.D. Tata, Jamsetji Tata, Xerxes Desai, Sumant Moolgaokar, F.C. Kohli, among others. There are tales of outstanding successes, crushing failures and extraordinary challenges that faced the Tata Group.
Compassion Inc

In this book, Gaurav Sinha, world-class businessman and entrepreneur, founder of Insignia in 2003, outlines the economics of empathy for life and for business. He offers actionable solutions to maintaining a successful trade in a changing global landscape where conscience, ethics and authenticity are high on the agenda. The world is changing, perceptions are shifting, consumers are evolving and this book will ensure your business keeps up.
Stories at Work

Storytelling in business is different from telling stories to friends in a bar. It needs to be based on facts. Stories at Work will teach you how to wrap your stories in context and deliver them in a way that grabs your audience’s attention.


 

10 Revealing Facts about Rape from Sohaila Abdulali’s Book ‘What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape’

Rape and sexual assault have become commonplace, but lingering questions still remain. Drawing on exchanges with many survivors, Sohaila Abdulali, a survivor herself, looks at how we – women, men, politicians, teachers, writers, sex workers, feminists, sages, mansplainers, victims and families – think about rape and what we say and what we don’t say.
This book is a must-read in order to normalize conversation around rape. Here’s why.
Rape has different connotations for men and women
‘A bad sexual experience for a man is more likely to be a missed communication, sexual frustration and a sour aftertaste, whereas for a woman the menu is statistically more likely to include humiliation, pregnancy, rape and death.’

~

Shattering the good-girl stereotype
‘What makes a “good girl”? Too often being good means being docile, passive, accepting your lot without question. I hope, in that case, for a new generation of only bad girls, who listen to themselves and follow their own hearts. And get up and straddle their lovers with abandon.’

~

Self-blame becomes an unhealthy coping mechanism
‘Maybe self-blame isn’t always about self-hatred and internalized patriarchy. Maybe sometimes it’s a convoluted way of making the whole thing less scary.’

~

Speak up about rape, when conducive
‘Keeping quiet about rape has a whole other toxic effect: it lets abusers off the hook. I want to be very clear that it is never the victim’s obligation to speak up, or report, or do anything but survive. Her first responsibility is getting through it. But we are all culpable in the silence around rape, a “vast international conspiracy” if there ever was one.’

~

Destigmatize the act
‘It’s going to be a long time until rape is so stigma-free that there’s no penalty for speaking out as a survivor. Sometimes the penalty is to be pigeonholed, somehow diminished.’

~

Revolution is led by mass dissent
‘The #MeToo campaign made it impossible to ignore the scope of sexual harassment and rape, at the same time as we were treated to some unsavoury glimpses of rape culture.’

~

No means no, irrespective of role
‘Being a sex worker doesn’t mean you deserve to be raped. Neither does being a spouse.’

~

Make men accountable
‘We choose to blame each other, maybe out of misogyny, maybe simply out of fear, forgetting, as we do so, that there is someone else in the picture who also has a choice: a man who can choose between decency and dominance.’

~

Consent can have undefined, blurred lines
‘So often we tend to talk about the victims and the ways they went along with, or took advantage of, or kept suspiciously quiet about, rape. They didn’t leap up and stab the man and go running out clutching their clothes to their outraged bosoms, therefore they consented.’

~

Creating healthy boundaries
‘It blurs boundaries, or it can clarify them. Although I paid for my rape in many other ways, it actually helped me draw very clear boundaries, and for that I’ve always been grateful. Not to the rapists, of course, but just to whatever contrarian gene I have that hates being told what to do.’


In What We Talk About When We Talk About Rape, Sohaila Abdulali asks pertinent questions: Is rape always a life-defining event? Does rape always symbolize something? Is rape worse than death? Is rape related to desire? Who gets raped? Is rape inevitable? Is one rape worse than the other? Who rapes? What is consent? How do you recover a sense of safety and joy? How do you raise sons? Who gets to judge?
 

‘Five letter word’- Struggles faced by the invisible men of India

Female-to-male transgender people, or transmasculine people as they are called, are just beginning to form their networks in India. But their struggles are not visible to a gender-normative society that barely notices, much less acknowledges, them. While transwomen have gained recognition through the extraordinary efforts of activists and feminists, the brotherhood, as the transmasculine network often refers to itself, remains imponderable, diminished even within the transgender community. For all intents and purposes, they do not exist. In a country in which parents wish their daughters were sons, they exile the daughters who do become sons.
Here are 7 of the many struggles of transmen in India, quoted from Nandini Krishnan’s book, Invisible Men: Inside India’s Transmasculine Network:
Fear of the unfamiliar
While transwomen have had a peripheral presence in the public sphere, transmen have been conspicuous by their absence.
All of us were terrified of the transwomen we encountered, at traffic signals and on beaches and on trains, clapping their hands boisterously, demanding money, and threatening to lift their skirts or feel up the boys unless they were paid.” “So alien is the concept of transmen to the world that even when I explain they are female-to-male (FTM) and not male-to-female (MTF), the typical response is a puzzled, ‘But then why do they wear saris?’”

~

The language of otherness
The alienation of transmen is further aggravated by ‘offensive’ vocabulary that floats around and enters our psyche.
The term ‘transgender’ is largely acceptable as an umbrella term, but ‘gender change’ could be deeply offensive. To say someone was ‘trapped’ or ‘had the wrong body’ could be offensive too. I met a transman who was deeply hurt because a psychiatrist had written that he ‘suffered’ from gender dysphoria. He did not like referring to his transition as ‘treatment’, because, he said, ‘I’m not ill’.”

~

Disembodied souls or soulless bodies?
Society’s denial of non-binary gender is ruptured by misplaced curiosity that doesn’t allow any integration of form and soul.
Gee Semmalar observes “‘There’s a kind of voyeurism that is involved in piecing together our lives. We’re like lab rats. You place us on the table and you dissect us and you see what our bodies look like and how our bodies change and what surgeries are being done’.”

~

Culturally legitimized violence
Many of them have been victims of forced marriage, even rape. Nearly all have been victims of some form of physical or emotional violence. Not one person told me he had never contemplated suicide. All of them had friends who committed suicide.”

~

The unobtainable organ
“ (…)the fact is that the gender reassignment or sex reassignment surgeries that a lot of transmen opt for are limited to uterus and ovary removal and top surgery, because the phalloplasty or the metoidioplasty for construction of a penis is not a very well-developed surgery in India. The surgery is complicated, and prohibitively expensive.”

~

The circus of certification
If the invisibility of transmen from public life puts them at a disadvantage, their invisibility in law cripples them. Largely invisible in terms of national advocacy, they sometimes have trouble convincing officials they exist.” The Supreme Court of India “allows one to self-identify with a particular gender, irrespective of what his or her birth certificate, hormones, or surgical history say.” However, “Many have paid bribes they could barely afford to get their documents falsified.

~

The schism within

Several transmen told me that because the Transgender Boards (…) comprised mainly transwomen, there was some gatekeeping within the community. ‘They don’t want what is already a small piece of the pie sliced up even further, so you have transwomen putting up all kinds of hierarchies of authenticity, saying transwomen who are post-operative are the most genuine, most authentic and most deserving transwomen and at the bottom of the totem pole are transmen (…).’”


Read Nandini Krishnan’s ‘Invisible Men’ as she investigates this seismic activity and brings it up from the depths to the surface.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Bridge of Clay – an excerpt

Here is a story told inside out and back to front:
The five Dunbar brothers are living – fighting, dreaming, loving – in the perfect squalor of a house without grownups. Today, the father who walked out on them long ago is about to walk right back in.
But why has he returned, and who have the boys become in the meantime?
Here is an excerpt from Markus Zusak’s new book, Bridge of Clay


IN THE BEGINNING there was one murderer, one mule and one boy, but this isn’t the beginning, it’s before it, it’s me, and I’m Matthew, and here I am, in the kitchen, in the night – the old river mouth of light – and I’m punching and punching away. The house is quiet around me.
As it is, everyone else is asleep.
I’m at the kitchen table.
It’s me and the typewriter – me and the old TW, as our longlost father said our long-lost grandmother used to say. Actually, she’d called it the ol’ TW, but such quirks have never been me. Me, I’m known for bruises and level-headedness, for height and muscle and blasphemy, and the occasional sentimentality. If you’re like most people, you’ll wonder if I’d bother stringing a sentence together, let alone know anything about the epics, or the Greeks. Sometimes it’s good to be underestimated that way, but even better when someone sees it. In my case, I was lucky:
For me there was Claudia Kirkby.
There was a boy and a son and a brother.
Yes, always for us there was a brother, and he was the one – the one of us amongst fi ve of us – who took all of it on his shoulder. As ever, he’d told me quietly, and deliberately, and of course he was on the money. There was an old typewriter buried in the old backyard of an old-backyard-of-a-town, but I’d had to get my measurements right, or I might dig up a dead dog or a snake instead (which I did, on both counts). I figured if the dog was there and the snake was there, the typewriter couldn’t be far.
It was perfect, pirateless treasure.
I’d driven out the day after my wedding day.
Out from the city.
Right through the night.
Out through the reams of empty space, and then some.
The town itself was a hard, distant storyland; you could see it from afar. There was all the straw-like landscape, and marathons of sky. Around it, a wilderness of low scrub and gum trees stood close by, and it was true, it was so damn true: the people sloped and slouched. This world had worn them down.
It was outside the bank, next to one of the many pubs, that a woman told me the way. She was the uprightest woman in town.
‘Go left there on Turnstile Street, right? Then straight for say two hundred metres, then left again.’
She was brown-haired, well-dressed, in jeans and boots, plain red shirt, an eye shut tight to the sun. The only thing betraying her was an inverse triangle of skin, there at the base of her neck; it was tired and old and criss-crossed, like the handle of a leather chest.
‘You got it then?’
‘Got it.’
‘What number you lookin’ for, anyway?’
‘Twenty-three.’
‘Oh, you’re after the old Merchisons, are you?’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, not really.’
The woman came closer and I noted the teeth of her now, how they were white-and-gleaming-but-yellow; a lot like the swaggering sun. As she approached, I held my hand out, and there was she and I and her teeth and town.
‘My name’s Matthew,’ I said, and the woman, she was Daphne.
By the time I was at the car again, she’d turned and come back, from the money machine at the bank. She’d even left her card behind, and stood there now, with a hand at centre-hip. I was halfway into the driver’s side and Daphne nodded and knew. She knew near to almost everything, like a woman reading the news.
‘Matthew Dunbar.’
She said it, she didn’t ask.
There I was, twelve hours from home, in a town I’d never set foot in in all my thirty-one years, and they’d all been somehow expecting me.


Bridge of Clay is an epic portrait of how a ramshackle family, held together by stories and by love, come to unbury one boy’s tragic secret.

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