Ssssh...abortion

The new I-pill advertisement has a unique angle in convincing the public to use i-pill as their desired morning-after pill. The angle being that the girl in the story can forgo anguish and the prospect of having an abortion IF she only had taken an i-pill after unprotected sex. The ad caught my attention for two solid reasons. Firstly, when the ad rolled I thought it was a PSA cautioning against unprotected sex, and so while on that angle the ad was doing a remarkable and stirring job of connecting and conveying the traumatic experiences involved in having abortions. However, once the i-pill box abruptly floats on to the screen at the end consciously curtailing the conclusion of the girl's fate in the story I was left with a bitter and perturbed after taste. The angle could have been better utilized. More importantly, the ad completely failed to underscore the preventative aspect of sex i.e. always use condoms if you want to avoid unplanned pregnancies. Displaying i-pill as a viable solution for mistakes does not properly educate, prevent, or dissuade the naive public. The public must be educated and assured incessantly and consistently that unprotected sex can lead to several undesirable consequences such as STDs and pregnancies. But then India has implemented several effective messages in various media in sex education. But what about Bangladesh? Having a huge billboard on Gulshan one circle (although quite refreshing and ballsy) of a condom brand doesn't make much leeway in educating the public that unprotected sex is a big NO NO. The Bangladesh media must embrace whole-heartedly and propagate resolutely sex education to all layers of the social stratum. Even at the cost of severe public embarrassment and even if completely uncultured. The more well educated the public is about sex ed the less chances of girls undergoing at times life threatening abortions to rectify completely preventable mistakes.

The Iron Curtain of Sex

Looking for a young unmarried individual willing to openly disclose their sexual histories? Do you fit the bill? Are you daring to have sex before marriage? Is premarital sex a gender-biased act? The debate rages on and the opinions espoused by young adults in their twenties hailing from diversified socio-economic milieus are startling. The most vocal adults readily communicating their perspectives come from the most surprising quarters.

Virginity, particularly female virginity, is a sacred social establishment. As one female individual in her late twenties from an prosperous background states, “basically growing up here we have been conditioned never to talk about it…. hence pms {premarital sex} is considered a dirty, vile thing….” Her assertion exemplifies the factors that govern, oppose, and shroud the concept of premarital sex - social conditioning armored with religious tones propagated and heralded in sync with the social stigma associated with the act of engaging in sexual intercourse.

And how does male virginity factor within the same cultural and social umbrella? Men across the social horizon assert it is “quite natural and ultimately necessary” to indulge in sexual intercourse before marriage.

However does premarital sex and sexual liberation depend on the level of the social echelon you inhabit? Is premarital sex more acceptable and expected among the upper ranks while the bourgeoning middle and lower classes are shackled by cultural and societal expectations? Both genders have stringent and divergent opinions on that matter.

In talks with young female adults from Dhaka University and private universities, there are currently two schools of thoughts. One reverentially opposes all sexual activities as a desecration of the social custom of abstinence. Annie, 21, a Dhaka University student strongly states, “In general, the social rules should not be broken...they should be adherently followed.” Labona, 22, agrees by noting, “sex should happen after marriage.” Mashuma, 22, echoes similar sentiment “premarital sex is uncultured!” The other thought allows females to engage in premarital sex as long as their relationship with their male partners culminates in marriage. Saika, 22, says, “ premarital sex depends on personal preference”. And Shammi, 22, states “sex is a need so people should give into it.”

Females from affluent backgrounds appear to be supremely elusive on this topic. The ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy is rigorously enforced. They indicate their opinion on premarital sex is ‘progressive’, yet they would rather not partake in the social dialogue. They further imply their sexual liberation solely depends on ‘absolute discretion’. Several females, also, admit abstaining from sexual activities due to the social mechanism that educates them to hide behind their chastity belts. Deviation from this doctrine is inconceivable and will shatter the very foundations of their adult identity. As one female, 26, notes, “This is what I know….I cannot act otherwise.”

Within the upper social stratum, males are seemingly tolerant of their female partners having a sexual past, albeit not an extensive one. In some cases, it is expected that both genders will have engaged in past sexual pursuits. As one male, 28, notes, “Physical intimacy and compatibility are vital to a successful marriage and premarital sex gives an opportunity to discover that before getting into a binding commitment such as marriage.” However, males from this socio-economic field think twice before seducing virgins. Their rational being that virgins ‘undoubtedly expect marriage’. In addition, some of them further assert that the sexual inexperience of virgins is ‘a big turn off’.

More young men from the middle social sphere expect their future brides to be uninitiated in sexual matters. Abir, 25, authoritatively says, “premarital sex is okay…but when I marry I prefer a virgin bride.” It seems premarital sex is a given prerogative for males only. However there is also a rival philosophy. Hasib, 25, states, “premarital sex is a necessity…regardless of how many people disclose it…not having sex affects mentally and physically.” Adnan, 24, readily agrees to premarital sex as long as “both parties are consensual”. But the young males practicing this particular attitude opines while sex before marriage is justified and warranted, “random sex’ with several partners is ‘perverted’ and socially deplorable.

At the end, premarital sex is a complex and a deeply personal topic. Contrary to the males of the upper echelons decreeing premarital sex is a ‘social norm’; sex before marriage and the social stigma it carries has a paramount impact on the individuals especially upon females; irrespective of their socio-economic backgrounds. While males may have the sexual emancipation to experiment and identify their sexual needs; females are encouraged to either unwaveringly honor their chastity belts or covertly engage in sexual activities. Furthermore, broaching the topic of premarital sex instantly unleashes evasiveness upon the individuals. Unfortunately, the looming social stigma curtails any form of open and honest discourse about the sexual liberation of both genders.

In a Brief Second

As she lay nestled in the hollows of his body, deeply inhaling his poignant scent, she stared beyond the windows into the waking sky. Has anyone felt such tranquillity as I, she thought? Her body warmed by their heat, her hair cascading down the pillows over his slumbering form, she gingerly traced his heaving chest, up and down with her fingers in perfect rhythm with his heart. She inched closer and closer to his body, hungry to have their flesh touch.

A lone crow's pitiful cry caught her attention. The first streaks of dawn were splashed across the horizon. A misty gray dipped in brazen bronze appeared behind the cloudless veil. In a few hours, he will be stirring and grudgingly waking for work. The weekends seem so short now that summer was in full swing. Yawning and stretching her arms, she hesitated between getting up for a quick run or prolonging the lazy contentment in bed. The health nut in her won and she quietly got out of bed.

The arousing sun by now faintly lighted the room. She silently foraged through her closet and extracted a pair of track pants and a comfy t-shirt of his. Once dressed, she walked over to his side of the bed and sat softly on the edge. He was flat on his back with one arm casually resting above his head on the pillow, the other arm resting in the empty spot that her body had vacated. Her heart swelled staring at him. As she bent to leave a soft kiss on his forehead, a whiff of his scent flooded her with delicious memories. Goosebumps erupted. Five years of togetherness hadn't diminished her cravings one bit. Five years of togetherness hadn't dissipated the fervour they generated together. They were intertwined together, their lives fated to leap and bound over each other. She longed to stay behind, cradling around his body once more, but his words of wonder at the sudden formation of a belly cajoled her to stick to her morning fitness. She knew he hated excess of any kind, especially excess of flesh. She, too, wanted to look fit and stunning for the upcoming events as well.

In ten minutes, she was outside her building, heading towards the park. As the morning light slowly torched the mirrored towers, the city seemed to stir herself awake. She already recognized many neighbours out for their morning runs as well. They nodded or grunted greetings as they passed each other. Early mornings were her favourite part of the day in New York. The absence of large crowds at that time imparted the sensation of the city truly belonging to her and only her.

As she neared the park, she changed the track on her ipod. She retrieved the wedding album selections and opened it. Now was the perfect time to sort out those songs. She had been neglecting this pivotal aspect of their wedding plans for many days now. Work always took precedence in this part of the world. This hour of solitude served as the perfect opportunity to sort out her music. The end of summer would soon be nearing and she did not have much time left before she had to send her final approval back to their families. She relished in the detailed work and attention that entailed planning such an elaborate series of events leading to their wedding.

The large iron gates guarding the park beckoned runners to enter into its verdant belly…

He moved in his sleep from one side to another. Instinctively, his arm rested on the vacuum left by her absence. He jerked his head towards the emptiness, adrenaline soaring through his body as he belatedly realized she must be on her morning run. Dropping his head once again on the pillows, he rolled on to his back staring at the ceiling. Don't go now, a little more he vainly pleaded as sleep swiftly evaporated. The bed clock read six thirteen. Light flooded the room. Annoyance piqued as she had forgotten to close the curtains before leaving. She was becoming quite preoccupied with the planning and more and more absent-minded, he thought.

Instead of sleeping, his mind meandered over ordinary planes. His new plans for his small art management company flashed in his head. He had discovered a new talent that was on the periphery of making a brash statement in the art world. His new discovery could single-handedly reconstruct his company bringing in enough revenue to expand his business. As a failed painter, a deficiency he realized and accepted way before it became a handicap, he re-directed his love for art into a business that located, nurtured, and marketed new painters who would ordinarily never get a foot into the competitive and ruthless art world. As a person he found it quite gratifying to know he controlled the fates of the artists in his hands. He could make them or break them. It was no wonder that many of his new discoveries were females. He was quite well known in the art world, numerous articles cited him and some even ran profiles of him in their arts section.

His newest asset gave him immense satisfaction. She was unconventional and quite titillating. Her craft was seductive and surreal, provocative and primal, sultry and supreme. She was his new obsession. Cassandra Hudson rolled off his tongue in a brazen sexual manner. Her presence evoked long-repressed fantasies that he had forgotten. He felt rejuvenated, revitalized, and young around her. He could almost convince himself he was enamoured with her. But he wasn't a fool.

A distant siren ended his reveries. He checked the clock again, she was running late. Usually she would be back by now making breakfast before the mad dash to the showers. His eyes briefly rested on the framed picture of them. It was taken last Christmas, at a noted art critic's soiree, where he was galvanizing the art world with his latest profile in a prestigious art magazine. He was ensconced between them both. She had one arm tightly coiled around his side. Cassandra was wrapped around his other side. Both of them smiling for the camera. He was looking at something, or was it someone, away from the camera's prying eyes.

His mind tiptoed around the wedding preparations. She insisted that it took place in their country. He found this a comic notion considering they hadn't lived there long enough to claim possession. A country that was mistakenly identified as being their own by ill-fated births. A distant and detached land that faintly hinted of ownership. But he gave in to her. He usually did. He found it easier to go along with her instead of arguing his ground. Less resistance and more distractions for her. More distractions for him too.

She should be back by now. Maybe he should put the coffee pot on the stove…

She was heavily panting, her breaths caught between her throat, sweat clinging to her hot skin. She picked up her pace as she sighted the park's exit. She knew she was running behind time. Dread of a bulging belly drove her to exceed her usual number of laps. He must be up by now, definitely already in the kitchenette, brewing the coffee pot, settling down with the papers, waiting for her. She smiled at the image of him waiting for her.

As she finally emerged from the park, she stopped before the traffic signal. Traffic was already snaking along the road leading towards midtown. She strained to see the clock embedded in the colossal building dwarfing the park. She squinted as the sun's blare prevented her from seeing. As the green light flickered faintly, she sprinted across the street. A scorching burst of bright light knocked her sideways and she felt herself suspended in mid-air. She instinctively shielded her eyes from the intense glare. But the glare transformed into a pain that she never imagined. Garbled screams echoed in the background. An immense terrible pressure descended upon her. Her legs buckled under her and the ground rushed to embrace her. Her eyes pricked with annoyance as the distant cacophony inched closer and closer. A series of fading images rushed through her mind…images of him…of them…of him and her…of him and the other one…of them together…of him alone…of her alone…. Stop buzzing, move out of my way, I need to run home…I must select the songs…he's waiting for me…what is that song buzzing in my ears….

He heard the bell from the shower. He was waiting for her to open the door. When the bell kept on ringing, he emerged from a premature shower, annoyance blazed on his face. Where was she? Why was she so late? She was going to make him late now. She should have been here by now. He wrapped a towel around his lower torso and marched to the door. He called out her name. No answer. He looked around the room for signs of her return. Her trainers weren't tossed aside on the floor. There was no new coffee pot brewing. Her dirty clothes weren't thrown carelessly thrown on the bedroom floor.. She was late and now he would be late too, he muttered to himself, so inconsiderate of her to put him in this spot. He opened the door. Two policemen. Strange he thought.

"Mr. Imran Rahman?" asked one of them.

He nodded.

"Do you know a Ms. Areena Kha-der?"

He nodded, noting the enunciation of her last name. Quader, you half-witted American townies.

"We have some bad news…"

Mythmaking of Reputation

Dating in Dhaka can be an absolute nightmare. The usual dating problems are further compounded by society's looming disapproval or expectations in the eventual outcome of the relationship and involved partners.

So being in your late twenties, single female, and Bangladeshi is a double-edged sword. Now is the time I have been resolutely and repeatedly expounded for 'settling down', find the perfect guy, merge, and procreate. Serial dating is considered a desecration of the sanctity of Bangladeshi femininity. I have been admonished to refrain from dating lest I acquire a 'reputation'.

Reputation? Reputation surmising the degrading labels attached to a young female who is living her life on the principles that are in complete contrast to the ideal archetype of a Bangladeshi woman. Regardless of the common knowledge, that females around the world from the same demography are living their lives on those very principles.

Reputation in Dhaka is at once tenuous and tangible. It is thrust upon you unwarranted yet its sole sustenance depends on you. A single false move can carry repercussions that will alter your future. Thus, females are encouraged and directed to guard their reputations with the utmost care and cloak it with sheer purity in order to enhance the females' rich futures. Hence, many safeguards are positioned around a young female's life in order to counteract any possible means of a 'reputation' being slapped on. Those safeguards soon become the basic compositions of Bangladeshi's females identities. In some cases, drastic measures are needed to radically alter or suppress females' identities in order to be in sync with the accepted notion of femininity.

In addition, females are incessantly informed that behavioral patterns that are deemed inappropriate during their singleness is generally considered normal once those females are securely married. In short, females must restrain their ostentatious personality traits during their single days so as not to acquire a 'reputation'.

Reputation plays a pivotal role in determining females' eligibility and rights. For single females, their pristine reputations or lack of can enhance or hinder, respectively, their chances for clinching good partners. For married females, their pristine reputation or lack of allow them to secure and exercise their basic rights.

In the end, reputation says it all. It can determine, deviate, or destroy.

Double-Edged Sword

Another befuddling facet of being Bengali and unmarried is perfectly captured in the following story told by a dear friend : She says that when she was single aunties would appraise her disapprovingly on her appearance and garb soley based on her unmarried label. However, once, she was married, those very aunties would proclaim and extol her regardless of her appearance and costume. The underlying message is that her married status exalted her for being dismissed or disapproved by her elder peers. Furthermore, this simple story also appropriately displays the discrimination faced by younger females, especially younger single/unmarried females, at the hands of their older foils.

It is quite common for a young female to be inundated by questions regarding her single-ness and forseeable plans on getting married soon. That question is at once Bengali in its roots and germination. In our culture, it is permissible to openly and covertly question and refute the rationale of remaining single. Unmarried women eager to remain in that state of unattachment is seen akin to sinners. An hyperbolic statement, some may conclude. But more often than not, the questioners are the elder females or matriarchs who at once castigate their younger subjects on their apparent follies and foolhardiness. The disinclination of getting married is at once met with stern reprisals and heavy doses of Bengali sensibility and respectability.

But the fact of the matter remains that younger females are more discriminated by the very female members that should instead be championing their abilities and determination to pave their own identities. Bangladeshi females have come a long way from our parents and grandparents generations where the bulk of the females were expected to smoothly fit into the square pegs of nurturing mothers and dutiful wives. Now we have numerous females superbly juggling the roles of mother, wife, socialite, business partner, breadearner, nurturer, PTA member etc. However, apparently, some of these very females are in turn dissuading their younger counterparts to shy away from balancing multifarious roles unless the wife label is clinched foremost. Thus, it seems Bangladeshi females, at least the unmarried ones, are incapable of accomplishing most feats unless they are promptly betrothed.

Have we indeed placed a high and covetous price on being married upon our race?

Retouched Photos Exemplifies Perfection

I came across a recent article in Marie Claire asking if retouching photographs is a bad thing? Personally, I think retouching photographs of celebrities conveys two equally destructive messages. The first message is that celebrities are born perfect! They transcend from the humanly possible boundaries, to an almost god-like existence, where perfect skin, perfect size zero body proportions, perfect face symmetry, and perfect talents reign supreme. The second message dictates that the legions of fans following the retouched celebs' photos are deceived in believing that they, too, must attain the very god-like characteristics which would place them on the same par as their beloved celebs.

Celebrities aren't perfect. Let's face it, they are humans like us, and subject to similar fallacies, errs, and misfortunes. However, because they are under the constant scrutiny of the cameras and at the mercy of the greater public's insatiable greed, they must look, act, feel, propagate, and perpetuate the myth that they were born perfect. Thus, airbrushing out skin imperfections, slimming unwanted layers of fat, defining face contours, adding sparkles in the eyes are pretty much aspects of their jobs. In addition, in order to play along and live up to the public's expectations of ideal beauty, celebrities are hard pressed to maintain and monitor their shrinking physiques according the desired dress size that is in vogue. The amount of strain placed on celebs to constantly personify the ideal beauty cannot be underestimated. However, their eagerness and compliance in following and perpetuating the myth of 'ideal beauty' and perfection cannot be equally under emphasized.

Secondly, if celebs are pressured to fit into the mold of perfection, what about their fans? What undue pressure and strain is heaped upon the fans to conform to their beloved idols' images? You come across numerous articles showcasing young pubescent girls' experiences, at times intentionally, destructive eating disorders, never-ending trips to the plastic surgeons to cut and contour their bodies to ideal standards, and struggles with hating their own body images. In their quest to look more like their favorite celebs, young women are more susceptible to distort and mutilate their own image. I have, personally, seen many young girls fresh in their early teen years, already starving themselves in order to acquire the same physique as Miley Cyrus, Hillary Duff, etc. Furthermore, these young kids have picked up the notion that their darker hues aren't desirable to their male counterparts.

So is retouching wrong? Yes, I think it is. Celebrities are celebrities because of their striking talents and skills, of their ability to reach out to people distant and near and connect, of their ability to exemplify the angst and anguish of a particular generation, mind set etc. It is imperative that their fans know that beyond the screen time, celebs are typical humans like Tom, Dick, and Harriet, but just with better incomes. It is equally pivotal for celebs and their fans to teach each other that attaining and complying with transient ideal beauty standards and images is difficult, exhaustive, and an injustice to both of them.

Getting Screwed Below

A friend informed me recently that India and Burma laid claims on much of Bangladesh's land. That is, any and all rich materials discovered in Bangladeshi's soil, deep within, will automatically fall into Indian and Burmese hands. Now pending verification of his claims, this tidbit of information alone made me realize how tenuous our country, our land, is even in our own hands.