Showing posts with label Chinki Sinha. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chinki Sinha. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

That place called transit - a letter for those that forgot the lone passenger to Havana


Letter from transit


Dear Condor and Lufthansa and Frankfurt Airport Authority, and Germnay,


Since I couldn't take the flight to Havana from Frankfurt because of the industrial strike in Germany on Feb. 21, and Condor staff wasn't there to tell me anything in person or on the phone about rebooking, please let me know if you will reimburse my ticket money to Delhi via Kuwait and Mumbai, and rebook me for Havana from Frankfurt on some other date or reimburse that too. I am a journalist and was going to Cuba to write a story about a country where time is frozen, and where people are waiting forever, and about love and freedom. I tried my best to figure out the next option but the Condor staff wasn't there to help. They said they can put me on a flight to another city in Cuba and I could take a bus from there but you see, Pico Iyer wrote in his Cuba and the Night that buses almost never come, and I also don't know Spanish. They told me the flight would only be available on Monday. To Havana, a flight was available on Feb. 26. I was asked to stay at the airport in a transit zone because I had no German visa and the Condor staff said if I fell sick, there was an ambulance I could call. That's all they could do. They would only get me to Havana. It didn't matter how long I stayed at Frankfurt airport. I have been stuck in many airports. Because of tornadoes, and snow storms but we were treated kindly, and with dignity. For all my issues with the US, they are very professional, and ready to help out. The Germans said it is a legal right to strike in Germany, but it is not a right to treat people like animals. it is also a human rights issue. Your airlines can't just sit and not pick up the phone. That's no way. You can't forget your lone passenger to Havana. For months, I had been collecting money for this trip. I had people waiting in Havana for me. I was carrying toothpaste, and soaps for them. They couldn't believe Germany was such a bad place with such people, and Condor, such a bad airlines.

I had no option but to return to Delhi because I had no German visa and Condor was unavailable to provide any assistance.  I am still in transit, and now in Bombay because there was no seat available in the flight to Delhi. Who will pay for the damages? It is easy for you, and Lufthansa and German authorities and airport company to shift the blame to legal right to strike but we were clueless, and for no fault of mine, I couldn't reach Havana.I am very disappointed in the services of your airlines. I would request you to reimburse my fare to Delhi and rebook me to Havana on some other date and give me a voucher. How can your staff ask me to stay at the airport for six days until the next flight to Havana? Can you do that? Is it the best option? It is inhuman, and a very unprofessional thing to say to a passenger who is stranded in transit zone with no food, or anything. Germans gave us soda water, and snickers, and some sandwiches late in the night. I got fever because there was no blanket, and no proper bed. I have seen some prisons. They are better. As a reporter, I have been through many places, and cities, and I think this attitude is racist, and devoid of compassion. I have never come across such a pathetic treatment meted out to passengers. Lufthansa was not ready to help me. Condor representative was nowhere. Last time I managed to get through to Condor on 28666, I was told to stay at the airport until Feb. 26, and if I felt ill, I could get the ambulance. Sir, this is no way to operate. I would treat my animals better than this. How do you run an airlines with such callous attitude? I had put in all my hard-earned money into buying the tickets to Havana and then to Mexico, and from there to Seattle. I was to write a story on the country that I have always been intrigued by and because of your strange way of operating, I ended up returning to my country. But I am a writer. And we write about experiences. It remains in public domain. So others can read, and experience these things. I would never return to Frankfurt because they are such callous people there. It was the worst nightmare of my life being there with no assistance. Condor forgot about a passenger, and remained out of bounds. 

I don't know which country you come from and what your values have been, but let me write this to you. I am an Indian. It is never good to forget people. I was traveling alone. I had no change of clothes, no medicines, and not much money. They were waiting for me in Havana, Sir. I had to give them soaps and toothpaste, and some hope, and we were going to share our stories. It probably sounds ridiculous to you but to me, this was my life's dream. I had to buy them a nice dinner at Hotel National, and see the Hemingway Bar and bring back coasters from there. But because you forgot the lone passenger stuck in Frankfurt's terminal 1, or didn't care much about my dream and my limited means, I lost my story, and theirs. I have been to other countries, and have been at strangers' mercy, but I have never been let down. The only staff who was helpful was Shariq Nasir, an airport manager. He is Pakistani. We probably are enemy nations but we love each other. That's being human. He stayed with me, helped me find a convenience store on the other side, and gave me his coupons to get dinner. At the Lufthansa service centre, I saw staff shouting at the passengers. A few passengers had fainted. Children were wailing. Don't you have a heart? They told a woman they would corner her if she insisted on getting back. If it is not racism, what is it? I met a man from Bahrain but an American citizen who said if you were American, you'd be treated well. Is it only a matter of passports, sir. 

On the return flight, with a broken heart, I was greeted by a happy face on Kuwait airlines. In our part of the world, and you call us fundamentalists or extremists or uncivilised, or underdeveloped, or whatever, we care. The food was better. They gave me water when I wanted to take my medicine unlike the Lufthansa staff who told me they had no water on my way to Frankfurt. The Kuwait airlines staff woke me up and gave me coffee and muffin, and I felt I was respected. I now believe that every encounter changes you and there is no place like home. It is country or whatever it is but it is where they love you for what you are. We maybe poor, but poor have dignity too. We are honest.

Unfortunately, Cuba lies on your side of the world. I am sure people are nice. They are. Like Albertto who says he is there always. He waits for me in Havana. And since I am not rich, I must find cheap fares on websites, and this one was booked via cleartrip.com. But I also deserve to be treated with dignity. I don't make a lot of money. This was trip planned in love. With the country, and with the revolution, and with Jose Marti, and with whatever Havana stands for. I am in Mumbai after numerous harrowing hours at the airport with no food or water. I hope you will give me a chance to reaffirm my faith in professionalism. 

I hope I can travel back to Havana. And I hope I can travel on Condor.

regards,
Chinki Sinha
Assistant Editor
Open Magazine
New Delhi

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Bound to be Free - On India's BDSM community


Bound to be Free
Bound to be Free


Chinki Sinha
New Delhi

On the bed of stones she lay for a long time. Ants bit into her skin, but she wouldn't move, or even scratch herself. She was forbidden to. In this time and space, she had consented to give up her freedom of choice.

He had told her to not move until a butterfly came and sat on her body.

It must have been an hour. Maybe more. She can't tell. But finally a butterfly landed on her. She had completed her task. There were more orders from the man she refers to as Huzoor. Tasks given to a sub by the dom. A game of power, a way of entering the fantasyland. Sex could be part of it. Sessions could be online or offline. There could be multiple partners. The realm of desire is unbound. Fantasies could be outrageous to many. It could mean subversion, or perversion.

It was behind a cottage on top of a hill somewhere in Karnataka. They had gone for a session there. They met soon after she joined the BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Sadism and Masochism) community, and was referred to him by a friend. She knew he would take her on many journeys.

"It was a beautiful place," Parvati (name changed) says. “He was watching me all the time. I had surrendered to him.”

She is 49. She has fought for many causes. She is a feminist, an activist, and many other things. But she won't judge herself for her fantasies. Those exist in a different realm. A place where desire is supreme. Fantasies could convert into reality. Perhaps only for a short while. Almost nothing is taboo, and pain is sought after.

But unicorns aren't so outwardly. They have a reference in reality. They have the bodies of horses. Only an imposition of a sole horn is the only fantastical element, I say.

“It is fantasy within reality,” Parvati says, and smiles.

Parvati had been eager when she first joined the underground online community. She was called a 'slut' because she was lusting for experience. It isn't about who you 'play' with. The people are mediums. The psychic space where you want to be is what matters to her, she says.

She has never bothered about personalities. The person would cease to matter in that moment. Beyond a few questions, she would not want to seek more details. Nor divulge more. For the adventurous, the journey mattered.

"Take me on a journey," she says. “Push my limits.”

When a man told her "I love you" while they were in the middle of a session, she didn't know how she would handle it. For long, love was kept out of the community's interactions. That he was playing with her mind is what she eventually figured. He vanished, but she is now thinking about love and kink reality. Why is love kept out of role play?

"Because love is love. It is up there," she says. “It is sacrosanct. There are many in the community who are in love, many more who want to be in love. But now some of us are discussing this. Perhaps love can be part of role play."

On one of the walls at her house, there is a painting by Baaraan Ijlal, a Delhi-based painter. A man, who is wearing a coat, and sports a moustache, is holding a kneeling man in a public toilet. There could be a lot of ways to tap into the layers of this painting. The man in submission is poor. His shirt sleeves are torn, and his eyes are open wide, almost in wonderment. The other man is bending with his eyes closed, holding the poor man gently. Domination and submission. The rich and the poor. A man with another man. The urinal in the background, and the tiled wall of a public toilet are part of the plot.
“Isn't that interesting,” Parvati says. “It is about us. Hence, it is here.”

One of the major issues with BDSM is its inherent lack of equality. In India, it is a stigma. Some perceive it as a psychological disorder. In such a lifestyle, there is a master or a mistress, and there is a slave. There is dominance, and there is submission. Choice, freedom, and other such things are willingly suspended. That you could get hurt is a possibility, although according to Parvati, this is extremely rare given the care taken about safety. Besides, in this ritualistic space, consent is important. There are safe words, and limits are discussed before a session.

***

Pain is real. Everything else could be fantasy. But there are contracts. Written or spoken. The problems of the 'vanilla' (a term used to denote everything non BDSM) world don't exist here. But discussions about kink exist in a small space. Its education and its articulation, a few would say, is an elitist activity in India. Because so many still aren't online. They aren't part of networks. They don't have access to the community.

Yet, Parvati, says she believes everyone is kinky.

“Love bites are an expression of kink,” she says.

***

When Parvati, one of the spokespersons for the Kinky Collective, speaks, her eyes have a faraway look to them. As if she didn't exist in the time and place. A cigarette dangling from her hands, she embarks on a journey of her experiences that she equates to junoon, a state of intensity where surrender and collapse is a spiritual experience. One that eluded her for so long.

“Intensity is when nothing else matters,” she says. “It is about timelessness. It is not the pain. It is about surrender. The intensity has been enabled by this person but they don't matter in the end.”
She says she is a late bloomer. At 35, she heard a young woman articulate about the rights of the LGBT community, and instantly fell in 'lust' (not love she clarifies) with her. She chased her. They had a relationship. At 46, she figured she was kinky, she says.

That evening, she isn't feeling well. It is getting cold in the city already. Wrapped in a shawl, she slumps in a sofa, an ashtray by her side. The photo exhibition called Bound to be Free, a first in India by the Kinky Collective, is now on its way to other cities. They dared to do it because creating awareness and dispelling myths about BDSM is important for a lot of reasons.


***
Around five years ago, Parvati was in Brighton with her girl friend and other friends, and they decided to go to a fetish ball. The party, her first such event, was in a basement club, and she was cold. They hadn't turned on the heaters to save on the costs. They were huddled together when man walked in with two women. They were gorgeous. The man sat in a couch near her. The other woman sat next to him, and the third sat on the floor, and rested her head on the man's lap. Then, on the woman's thighs. Her face didn't twitch. It bore no signs of humiliation. It was a deeply moving sight, like poetry. The power flow was interesting.

She was watching them. The expression on the woman's face as she lay her head on the man's lap as he began to pat her was peaceful. As if she was in complete surrender. She was his pet. Beer had spilled on the floor. The man took off his coat and spread it on the floor so she wouldn't get wet.

“That was surreal,” she says. “Loss of dignity. That's what so haunting about it.”

The collapse of ego, the beauty of surrender, she adds.

We are at a friend's house. There is a bottle of wine, and she is comfortable talking. That image stayed with her. She would have her first BDSM session much later.

“Everyone has a fetish,” she says.

But these are difficult conversations. She is nervous about me. I am an outsider, and I have already made my first error. I asked her about the 'paraphernalia.”

“We don't call it that. Those are tools,” she says. “You are welcome to see those. It is about the mastery of senses.”

But BDSM isn't just about tools, and costumes, and role plays. Those are just stereotypical notions. It's not about sex even.

***

At the Abadi Art Gallery in a tucked-away lane in Lado Sarai, there are 40 photographs on display. These have been taken by members of the community. Much could be tagged as BDSM stereotypes – stilettos digging into a man's throat, blindfolds, whips and bodies, melting wax, leashes, and other such representations.

The point is to shatter the notion that BDSM as anti-women and misogynist.
There are women Dominants. There are male Submissives. It is essentially about power flow, she says. Gender isn't of consequence here.

In a hazy photograph, she drinks milk from a bowl. Someone says that's the reward. There are rituals, he says.

There's more to it. She was playing the role of a dominant's puppy. She is in other photos. As a domme (a female dominant), with her stillettos digging into a man's throat. In another, she has her feet on top of a man, who has prostrated himself. A cigarette in her hand, she is laughing.

There are other photos. It is just a hall with a small terrace. These photos aren't every explicit. They aren't shocking. But for the uninitiated, it is all very strange. Almost surreal to know that those that are in the photographs are in the room. That it is not a still from a movie. That reality ad fantasy can co-exist.

Like the face of a woman wrapped in cellophane. Or the dog collar in a woman's neck in a car. This is in Delhi. Because beyond the dog collar, you could spot a CNG auto rickshaw. There is one of a man with wax being poured on his back. Pleasure in pain.

“No gain without pain,” someone says, and chuckles. 

For many, it is erotica. It is what turns them on. That it is. But it much more than that, I am told.

There is a cage, and a woman's steel heels, and a whip in a picture. There is a man inside the cage. You can't see him. But the heels are in focus, and so is the whip.

I later see the cage at her place. She has two dogs. At one of the collective's gatherings, they had played a game. It was just for fun, and a man had gone inside the cage. It hadn't been easy. It meant squeezing oneself into a cage on all fours over iron mesh.

Outside on the terrace of the art gallery, Parvati sits dressed in a black skirt, and black stockings. This is the first time in the country that a kinky photo exhibition is being held. The photographs have been taken by the members of the community. It is a traveling exhibition and will be shown at Bangalore, and Kolkata among other cities.

Over 150 people came for the exhibition, she says, but not hardly any from the community. In fact other than the organizers, only six have come from the community.
“They are afraid,” she says.
For three days, the photos hang in this space. It is not easy to be seen in this space. Associations of a wrong kind in a society that doesn't understand such fantasies can belong to those that live routine lives, go to work, have families, and do everything else.

***

The fact that Parvati can speak about the collective, and their photo exhibit is a liberating feeling for her. There is a certain relief in coming out. Like when she figured she wanted a woman.

“I would think about her, and it was like my bed was on fire,” she says. “I had to come out to my mother. This had to be the bravest thing I had done, and I moved out of the house. People are very paranoid about the media. There is a history of fear in the BDSM community,” she says.

But perhaps now is the time for Kink (even if not kinksters) to come out of the closet, she says.

Fifty Shades of Grey, with all its pathologization, broke the silence about kink. But she and other members of the community in Delhi had burnt the book at a fund raiser party for the exhibition. A photo with the shreds of the book and rose petals hang at the exhibition.

“BDSM is about consent. Consent is sacred. We have rules,” she says.

At workshops which can be held only in people's homes, the members meet to discuss issues, and to do skill sessions – training in wax play, whipping, or tying with rope. You can't whip in the stomach. That could hurt someone, she says. Certain things are off limits. Like paedophilia.
“But isn't that desire?” someone says.
“Where is the consent there?” she responds.

It is not only about dispelling myths, she clarifies.

“Those outside the community can learn from us about consent. As someone who has been part of the women's movement for 30 years and fought against violence against women, I have learnt a lot about consent after joining the BDSM community in which consent is not assumed, it is proactively sought and given, negotiated. Even more importantly, what makes it powerful and real, is that it can be withdrawn instantly and unconditionally. Limits are spoken about, and they are pushed.”

Parvati doesn't like the term 'lifestyle' because she has never been comfortable with labels. BDSM community, she says, is an often misunderstood sexuality. Much like the LGBT community.

“I feel differently about identity. Everyone has experienced power in sex, the wrist being held if even for a moment, or rough sex.... I believe this is a sexual orientation,” she says.

Whether the time is approaching when kinksters can come out, not be branded as perverts, and not be forced to lead double lives, is hard to say. This is their first photo exhibit. The collective has only 21 members. There is an online underground community, but not many see it belonging to a realm or even needing activism.

***

After joining the online BDSM community, Parvati went out into the garden at her mother's house. She had stayed the night over, and there was a tall iron grill, and a creeper wrapped itself around the grills. She went out in the morning, placed her hand on the arrow-shaped grill, and stood there. Thereafter, she took a photo, and that was her profile photo on the networking site for a long time. She says she felt like the vine – dependent.
That she is a feminist, and an activist is incidental. She is that and this. It is not as if that is reality and this is fantasy, she says.
“This too is real, but it's my erotic reality...” she says.

And in that spectrum, she lives. Shuttling between this and that.
For her, the magic happens when she plays with intensity. She says it is much like Hindustani classical singing which she is learning. It has discipline, and that allows for creativity.

“When I first came into this, I was a sub in a hurry,” she says. My friends in the community told me to slow down so I did. But after I met the first dominant who I knew I could trust and within 12 days, I was on my way to Rishikesh for a session. It is about trust and faith. That we have in abundance.”

While there are safe words and defined limits, Parvati says she usually doesn't play with too many limits. One that is not negotiable is that she wouldn't eat meat.

As she stubs yet another cigarette, she speaks about one her most intense journeys of pain. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's dhamal played in the background.

“It was all very hypnotic. My dom (short for Dominant) in that session was a sadist and very experienced. In my journey of pain, I went into a kind of space that was trance like. In the community, we call it the sub space,” she explains.

She defines this space as consisting of nothingness.

“It is still and calm. I didn't want him there then. In my state of collapse, I wanted to be alone,” she says.

But she insists that aftercare is very important in the community. That's one of the things they speak about in their meetings.

Is there pleasure after all?

“For me, its difficult to call it pleasure. It is just the pain, and the intensity of the moment. It is not that I don't dread these sessions. Yet if the whipping stops, I am disappointed,” she says. “I am definitely turned on.”

Parvati has a reason beyond the terminology and articulation of BDSM.

“I want to cease to exist,” she says. “That is the only thing in life,” she says. “It is a spiritual journey to me. It didn't happen with meditation. We are just mediums for power flow. It is like singing. How to best let the notes flow. It is the trance.”

Some of her sessions were very ritualistic. Some pushed her own boundaries in a way that she felt liberated in the end.

Like after one of the sessions, a dom asked her to send him her photos everyday. She felt the fear. She was never comfortable taking her own photos, but she did.

“That's how a dom understands you. They release you, empower you,” she says.

With another dominant, it was about dancing. He asked her to do a striptease in front of him. She rehearsed, wore a pink sari, and danced to the beats of a song from Bollywood.

“It is wonderful to not have a choice,” she says. “If I am a good sub, I will let you take me on any journey.”

***

Much of reality is fantasy, she says. She is reserved, and speaks softly. It is like she has measured her words, and then doles them out one by one.

“BDSM helps me to distill out parts of fantasy within reality,” she says. “I long for a daddy figure. But it isn't incest. It is not about debunking my feminism. The fantasy here is about unconditional love. That daddy doesn't exist. Even if he did, he couldn't rule me in that way. In my BDSM, I want it. I can even get it.”

But kink isn't a new deal.

“You only have to look at the kamasutra. The articulation of it could be. But speaking about such issues requires courage of a different kind,” she says.

Even in her own work in rural areas, she knows she can't speak about it.

She can talk about instances where she knows of people in lower middle-class settings who are kinky. But for now, those are off limits. Maybe there will be a time when there would be open conversations. For now, it is best to tread slowly. It is not elitism, she intervenes.

In one of the sessions, her ear drum was injured. She was told to tell the doctor it happened because she fell down. But she had wanted to tell the truth. But it could have been misconstrued.

“We want to speak to mental health professionals. Why should we make up stories. Awareness needs to be there,” she says. “This isn't perversion. We have a meeting coming up soon with some doctors to discuss this.”

***


As a child, he would pull out the ties of the bolsters at his grandfather's house and tie himself to the french windows in the old house. It was a child's play. His parents were only concerned he should not hurt himself.
 He would pretend he had been captured, and he loved the feeling of being in bondage.
 

“Maybe I didn't know the terminology. I have been into it from a very young age,” Aditya (name changed on request) says over the phone.
 

He is a lawyer based out of Kolkata, and is one of the founder members of the Kinky Collective that was set up in 2011 though he has been closely associated with the community for more than ten years now. As an experienced member of the community, he says he supports new members who joins the BDSM lifestyle, a term that is widely used by the community, but certain members feel it is not representative of something that isn't an acquired taste, but is at the core of who we are. Much like homosexuality, and its articulation in terms of many saying it is just an acquired lifestyle, and a choice.
 For many years, Aditya thought something was wrong with him or he was diseased because he was kinky. Those were pre-internet days. He couldn't discuss it with others. He was worried about perceptions, and stigmatization. 
 

“I used to think I was the only one in India with this disease. I wasn't sure if it had anything to do with sexuality. I though the rest of them were in America. I was almost in my late 20s then. In 1998, I had my first computer and internet through a dial-up connection. The point is that there was no exposure to media. At the time there was no pornography to tell me about it. So accept from my example this is natural in human beings,” he says.
 

The first time he was inducted into the network was when he received an email from someone asking him whether he was into BDSM, and he first thought it was a spam. However, he did reply to it, and was pleasantly surprised to see a response the next day from a woman in Bombay who was compiling a list of those that were into BDSM, and establishing a community of sorts so they could discuss issues and network to find willing partners.
 

“In 2003, I travelled to Bombay and at that point of time. I met others like me. It was real. It was fun,” he says.
 He hadn't been practicing it in his personal relationships because he was afraid of the reaction. But he did mention it to his partner that if she was tired of him teasing & disturbing her, she should tie his hands. That did the trick. The other felt the surge of power, and they would make out. But it was introduced carefully. He would never say he was into self-bondage.
 Aditya identifies as a polyamorous, gender fluid and a switch, who can be both dom and sub. But he has a primary partner while he also plays with others, and he says he keeps all his relationships transparent with all his partners. 
 In college, a friend of his had once confided in him that she was turned on by a scene in a film that had Jaya Prada being dragged by the villain to get raped while her husband was tied up.
 

“She wasn't enjoying sex, she told me. I said something was wrong with her and said she should go and see a psychiatrist. I thought both of us had this disease. I want to apologize to her now and tell her that it was alright to fantasize. We never met after college. This was in 1992-1993. Over the next 10 years, I kept things within myself and I suffered. In 2002-03, I had my first session. Pain was an amazing experience. This lady used to say she could take a needle through her nipples. When I was very ill and was hospitalised and the nurse would come to administer injections. I had this fear of injections but that conversation helped me gather courage. When you are in pain, the mind shuts down and you tend to run away from it. Here, pain can be pleasureable too. I felt I could be brave,” he says. 

“Just like bungee jumping is not for everyone. Or like the game of chess is not for everyone. It is just a choice that people make. That's why there are a variety of choices. The problem is we are comfortable laughing at anyone different. It is a misogynist culture.”
 

Over the years, Aditya has become an experienced member of the community but feels there is still a lot to learn. He feels there is a need to disseminate information even within the community about safety in a session, respecting the limits and use of safe word. 
 

“For the first timers, it is important that it is done right. Someone who wanted to have a session with me. She started with a list of 50 hard limits. Over a span of six months, we had negotiations and long discussions. When she met me recently, she only had four hard limits. If one has to push the limit with a newbie, it should be in the conversation, not directly in the session. It might leave a scar if things go wrong. Let them take the conscious call beforehand by understanding the pros and cons,” he says.
 

In a BDSM context, which the members say is based solely on consent, sex is not presumed. In marriage sex is presumed, he says.
 

“In India a man can't be charged for raping his wife. In the kink community, consent is important. If you don't abide by the rules, you can earn a bad name. The community will denounce you,” Aditya says.
 

For instance, he says one of the rules is to have a safe word. That is agreed upon by the people prior to a session.
 

“The sub goes into a state of mind when they feel devotion and complete submission. You want to feel overpowered. Until you use the safe word, you can't be released. Otherwise, it may just imply that you are enjoying the helplessness,” he says. Just like any other relationships in the society, “Abuses could be there too.”
 

Aditya is a switch. He can be a dominant or a submissive partner. He says he enjoys both equally.
 

“As a submissive there is this sensation of giving up control. I don't want to sound religious but if you take up Bhagwad Gita, Krishna shows the Vishwaroopam avatar to Arjun and says give up all religion, give up all thoughts, and surrender yourself at my feet. This is ultimate surrender. I am for my domme's pleasure,” he says “and will enjoy my sub doing the same for me”.



There is the need for clear understanding articulation between the play partners. The fear is good. It is a way of looking at things. It releases chemicals in the brain, which is a high in itself, he says.
 

“The fear is not of being exploited, or of being abused. It is not a negative fear. The fear converts into a sense of surrender. I am ready to take what you give me. That is the high. Even an ordinary person can do it. When you take a fight you give your consent to hand over your life at the hands of the pilot! Similarly we are constantly surrendering in daily life, in many things,” Aditya says.
 

There are ways to look at it. There could be love, or there could be only sex or a session in isolation. Surrender is also being vulnerable. There is trust, and there are conversations.
 “It is an extremely volatile situation. The chances of falling in love with the dominant are quite high. Because you stand naked in mind and physical. The dominant takes you on a journey. You survive the fall, and when you are done, you are empowered. You overcome fears. There have been marriages within the community. For me, I have a problem with love. Trust and faith are more important. Love is merely a collection of feelings. You make it sound holier than thou,” he explains.
 Someone fell in love with him once after a few sessions. When he declined he advances, she became violent. She started saying things about him, he says.
 “Being a male is also very vulnerable. If I tie up a woman, and she has rope marks and we have sex, and she says rape, then I am done for,” he says.


In this underground community, there is a fear of being recognized, and then of being outed to others that might perceive of kinks that could include flogging, whipping, and other things, as perversion, a mental disorder. International researches have shown that a person practicing BDSM is in no way different from anyone else. They are not perverts. According to Aditya, the only form of perversion is when something is done to someone without their consent. What is apparently violent is not always violence. He gives the example of boxing. 


“Thereafter, we formed this group. Kinky collective was formed in 2011. Even papers were presented on BDSM in academic conferences in 2010 . There were some of us that thought we should take the cause forward. You are bringing someone out of the cocoon so they can have clear meaningful lives.
 “It is willing suspension of disbelief, Samuel Taylor Coleridge has said. It is not real,” he says. “If in the mind of the protagonist it becomes real, how do you distinguish between consensual and abusive relationship. This is not real.”
 

But in this world where there is a need to be invisible, and yet find willing partners, the community helps. 
 Some are monogamous, and others are polyamorous.
 

“The question comes from the perspective that we think everyone is monogamous. The dynamics could be fluidity. One could do multiple sessions but there needs to be clarity and transparency. The most dangerous emotion is jealousy,” he says.
 In this articulation of BDSM, there are justifications to self. To simply say it is erotic is not enough. Aditya says he had a session with a woman who came from a conservative background, and he wanted to push her limits, to liberate her, and to set her free.
 He inserted Ben Wa balls in her vagina, and together they went to a mall.
 

“She could have had an orgasm right there,” he says. “Only we knew she had these in her vagina, and she felt free that she could be out in the open and be so naughty without anyone knowing of it. I was controlling her. It had been done by me. It is about knowing a person,” he says.
 

In another instance, he had an exhibitionist as his sub, who was comfortable wearing a dog collar to a queer party.
 “I was holding her collar, and dragging her. There were interesting reactions. This was an act of dominance in public space,” he says.
 

***


 Parvati says she would rather not show her face in the photos. These are reasonable fears.
 But she has dared to speak out. That's enough. 

She has withdrawn her name from the piece. As an afterthought, she says.

"Now you know why there is paranoia," she says. 

Monday, October 22, 2012

Kallol Datta's inspiration


On his own spaceship

Kallol Datta's inspiration

Chinki Sinha
Delhi, Kolkata


“I find shelter, in this way
Under cover, hide away
 ...
I still want to drown, whenever you leave

Please teach me gently, how to breathe

 ...” The XX
He wants to hide, run away, and smoke. He doesn't want to look them in the eye. He wishes for a non-interactive world, but then this is fashion fantasyland, and they want to get it – the foetuses, the bones, and the eccentricity of his shapes. Because Kallol Datta, in his abaya, and his granny sunglasses and an orange fan, is being hailed as “alternative, edgy, experimental, abstract” by the high and the mighty of the fashion world. They have called him the rule-breaker, the rebel, and even tagged him as “Lady Gaga” of Indian fashion, a reference he scoffs at.
“They just don't get me,” he says. “I don't have any design philosophy. I don't want to explain my work. I guard it. I keep it to myself. Else, it would be whoring it out.”
They must watch out for him. But he is elusive, reclusive. He wants to drown when they congregate around him – the fashion bloggers, the writers, everyone.
At the Wills Lifestyle Fashion Week that concluded in Delhi last week, Kallol , 28, conjured up the vision of the woman he had encountered while he sat smoking one September evening last year. He made her up in his mind. But she took a life of her own, wandering around, cutting up bodies, and being grotesque. In his latest collection called “Grotesque Nonsense”, she reappears. For a third time.
In the Nation of Suicide, among a bunch of women on the verge of doing something. There she was, as he saw her, sharpening knives, preparing tea in a ritual ceremony, almost in a trance.
And when they begin to do it, slicing their throats with the knives in a mass suicide gathering somewhere in Japan, the nameless woman watches. She stops. Then the apparition blurs, and he will have to wait till she reappears, and he will then know if cut herself up, or chose to live.
In the meantime, the models walked the ramp to the tune of The XX, a British band. Lyrics matter, and even before he started work on the collection, he had the song for the showcasing of it in his mind.
“I like lyrics. It has to be words,” he said.
They walk the “Kallol walk” - straight hands, measured steps, no swaying of hips, no smiles.
“Anger, give me anger,” he briefed them.
He introduced his collection with a hand-made insanity print – a man screaming.
“Losing my sanity was never part of the plan,” it says.
To the creator, the last few months were frustrating. He was chosen to do the grand finale at the Lakme Fashion Week, and he was angry with the negative vibes he got.
He got into fashion because he loved it.
“I didn't know I'd go psychotically crazy doing it,” he says. “There's a confort in depression and I believe it is important to create but I felt that comfort was getting snatched. This is why I have stopped doing press releases.”
After the show, two women came up to him. They cried as they saw the collection, and heard the lyrics.
“Why are you so sad? It all looked so sad,” they told him.
“I can understand why they cried. When I was watching Arjun Saluja's, I couldn't breathe. I was choking,” he says. “That is amazing. For clothes to elicit an emotional response.”
Eroguro, the Japanese concept that focuses on sexual corruption and decadence, and sexual acts devoid of romance, and has been used to refer to horror scenes and blood, is what inspired him. The literal translation of Eroguro would be “grotesque” which implies unnatural and malformed. But Kallol Datta is no stranger to such acts of daring. A collection that he called “Avant Garde Fuck” was inspired by the use of the term by designer fraternity, and a friend dared him to call his collection that. He did it. Never a conformist.
All he wants is to tell a story. Like every story, it has a million dimensions to it. He calls is “Grotesque Nonsense” to give a sense of security to those that find his work “malformed.”
“I also compliment my work but I lull them into believing that I see it as nonsense,” he says. “But there's more.”
Eroguro, which was an art movement in the early 19th century in Japan was lost in translation as it reached the west as all things. They interpreted it as gory and erotica and ritualistic suicide practice. In his personal work, he has felt that it has been lost in translation.
“Before they have even seen my collection, they would term it as morbid. I don't care anymore. I don't think my work is political but it is my reaction to what is happening around me in terms of gender notions, conformity, and state-waged wars,” he says.
He was angry, an anger that was not violent but stemmed from frustrations.
“Then I turned around and said, fuck you bitches,” he says. “I am going to continue with my story.”
The story of a woman isolated in her loneliness, performing autopsies on dead bodies. Because nobody came to claim her, because nobody would care enough about the bodies strewn around.
Because some of us don't love. Because some of us don't find love, or know of love, and are abandoned, or spared that emotion.
Because only stories live on in the memory. You can copy everything, but you can't replicate the stories that someone made up in their heads. Because they belong to him.
It was evening, and he was about to begin work on his Autumn/Winter collection.
She was small, and had bad teeth.
“You know the kind where you have pain because you have cavities, and it is a state requiring a root canal,” he says.
Much of her is an abstract idea. She is 55, and when he first encountered her in his mind, she was wearing an ivory-colored kaftan and doing those autopsies.
An ex-naxal, she is dark, and has white-grey hair.
In the collection called X O X O that he showcased at Berlin, which took his deconstruction to a new level by putting hoodies in front of the dress, and took a stern take at “love” by rejecting the Valentine's Day heart shape for a biological shape. Here, he presented her to the world. Loveless, and forlorn. In fact, a small heart kicks a bigger heart as part of the prints. He said he got a lot of texts with the sign offs 'XOXO' and he was irritated. Most irritants find their way into his designs.
“Did you love?”
“Who wouldn't? I'd be a machine if I didn't,” he says. “But my creations are more like statements on politics, gender, society.”
Where most designers are trying to show the global Indian confident woman, a shining beacon as an inspiration, Kallol says he is inspired by the dark and the mysterious, the madness of life in general. In fact, his twitter account description used to read “breath of fresh darkness.” Subversive, and he takes his chances. He deconstructs, and creates with an imagination that is fertile with dreams, and in his memory, he retains games he played as a child, lyrics of songs, images at the airport toilets, and emotions.
It is all about relativity, he says. What appears to be the dark and morbid to the world could be perfectly normal to him, he explains.
Now, he changed the description to “heaviest Indian designer.”
“Because I am quite heavy,” he says.
While Indian fashion is still to graduate to fashion houses, and structure and form, he is one of the very few designers that are going against what they were taught in design schools like fashion forecast, which he hated. He thought it was an attempt to commercialise fashion, force people to wear certain kinds of clothes in order to look make them attain the “fashionista” tag.
He controls the scene because there is a story, and it needs to be told. Whether those who sit in the front rows get it, he wouldn't be bothered. Interpretations interest him. He would use oxfords or brouges but when he sees women wearing heels with his clothes, he is amused.
The woman who is roaming around, and emerges in different situations, is an abstract idea, a tag associated with him. He wouldn't name her. Not now. Let her be a mystery, and let her reveal herself when she does.
“I am building the plot,” he says. “Let's see. At the Lakme Fashion Week, where I made the models wear silver-grey hair, I taking the story forward. An austere gritty hard look, introducing this woman as the character.”
He took his potshots at the plastic looks that everyone seems to be going for. His creations are a reaction to photoshopped looks where the women look from another world, with perfect skin, and unusual heights and weights, and strutting around like swans.
Hence, the deconstruction bit.
This time around, he went for much longer and leaner forms. In the retail rack everybody was doing drape, and he was trying to do proportions so the clothes could fit anyone.

Perhaps one day he would write a book, he says. When he first started out with his work, he knew it would be criticized, gawked at, and not considered “cool.” He hates the terms “androgynous” although many have referred to his creations as such. But then, women have been wearing men's clothes forever now, he says.

He still gets surprised when women wear his clothes.

***

“Fuck the body. The body is a given,” he said. “I work with proportions.”

He was showing me the collections from his X O X O and Lakme Fashion Week's commissioned collection, which he didn't name at his house in Kolkata in Salt Lake neighborhood. He lives alone. There's a housekeeper to cook his meals and a driver. For days, he said, he could stay home, distanced from the vagaries of the world, and create, and let the emotions take over, and not be dissolved or corrupted. He reads, and drinks

And dreams. He hangs on to those. But they disappear. They are amorphous. But one had stayed. That dream put him on the map of the fashion world. Then, he was at Central St. Martin's in London.

He tells me the dream from memory.

The man, a classical pianist, was at the peak of his career, performing all over the world. One night, his body was modified, and he ended with a hump at the back, and an arm became much larger than the other. He couldn't perform, and he ended up in a circus where people came to get amused by his tragedy. A circus freak.

“You know like how we had in old times – the bearded lady, the three-breasted woman, and other circus freaks,” he says.

The dream refused to leave him. The pianist stayed put and manifested his mutant body in his collection.

“Initially, for the first two years, people were thinking what spaceship is this guy on. They thought I was doing to get attention,” he says, as he puffs away outside at the Wills India Fashion Week. “I know as of now that for every one person that loves my work, 10 people hate it. I think my clothes are far from being cool. Even when I see other designers, I feel they are so well-groomed. I wouldn't be bothered about what I am wearing.”

To those that have seen his work, the clothes appear to be malformed, and deconstructed. But more than anything, he views himself as a pattern-cutter, and mostly works with circles, and sews them. His first collection he cut and sewed himself. Sometimes when the tailors are unable to translate his vision, he takes over, sits down on the machine and starts sewing.

“Proportions are always set. They still forming a woman's body irrespective of her size. All my garments can be translated into XXS and US Size 20,” he says. “I wear them. I started wearing my creations in London because it empowered me. I don't do rouching and pleating. I am a great believer in not showing skin. Wraps make me feel secure. This bit is personal.”

Everything with him is personal.

“The big problem in fashion is when you bring about gender norms. They don't work in fashion. Half the men are wearing skinny jeans. Gender conformity doesn't work for me in fashion,” he says.


***

His world, his art is tattooed on his arms. There are three stars. One imperfect, but then those are concessions allowed to the human hand that does the marking with a vibrating needle. He says his body reacts to pain well. That he can sit through the sessions without the needle making him twitch his face.

“The moment I turned 21, I got my first tattoo - a Celtic sign for courage. I think at that point of time, I was living that kind of life. Courage was needed for what I chosen to do,” he says.

Or how he had chosen to live.

“I love being alone,” he says.

Out of the 12 that he has engraved on his arms, there are six from his collections – remission, X O X O, etc. There are sperms, there are the amputated legs and arms of male and female forms, his own reaction to gender conformity in society. Amputation is the result of landmines.

“The shoe print on your dress is based on roadkill,” he says.
When I had first bought the dress with bulging fronts, and shoe print, I didn't know what it meant. It intrigued me. When I managed to find him, I asked him.

“An 80-year old woman is the inspiration. She has sagging boobs. This is how she would look like,” he says.

“But the motifs?”

Sometimes, the motifs tell a parallel story, or at times they integrate with the story. Indians understand prints, and they don't get the structure, or the shape, he says.

***

Datta, whose label Kallol Datta 1955 has made people sit up and take notice of the bulging silhouettes and the madness of his motifs, was once a preppy young kid who wore Pierre Cardin pajamas that were monogrammed with his initials, and wore a side parting, and dressed in buttoned down shirts, dress pants and cardigans. Then began his tryst with sports. Oversized t-shirts took over, but the real drama started in high school where he said he didn't know how to deal with clothes. He'd cut the sleeves, or chop off the length, and that's where his own experiments with fashion began. He grew up in the Middle East and vacationed in Europe where his grandparents lived. He was in between two sisters, and because his elder sister studied classics, he would read from her list, and was a loner. When children his age would make jokes, and sneer, and laughed, he would sit in a corner and observe them trying to figure what made them laugh.

He was into sports. But more than anything, he would play games on his own. When everyone else was buying Ninja Turtles, he would go for magic games, and mull over the plots trying to figure who killed, and how.

“When I was in high school, I was the school prefect. I would get caught most number of times in not being in uniform. Those were the days of friendships and I had like 40 bands wrapped around my wrist. I'd color my hair purple, and only in high school, I started to figure I couldn't deal with clothes. I wanted to deal with them in my way so I'd cut them,” he says. “My parents were quite liberal as long as i didn't do anything that was harming my health.”

His mother used to do voice overs, and he would listen to her as she did the dubbings. He wanted to be a television anchor but he cursed so much he was afraid “fuck” would find its way on auto cue and he'd be a disaster on national television. So, he chose fashion. But almost missed his NIFT entrance examination in Bombay.

“I was horrible at drawing,” he says. “I walked into the examination hall with a ballpoint pen. No drawing pencils, nothing. Had to borrow from others.”

He made it. At the last checkpoint where they wanted him to do an installation with his initials, he said he had gum all over his hands, and while he walked out, he saw what he had made fall. Deconstruction.

At NIFT Calcutta, which he chose over NIFT Delhi, he was a rebel, who got into arguments, and hated going to the libraries and fashion forecasts. He would not conform to the rules of the world of fashion. First semester, he said, he managed somehow. Then he bunked classes except for those that a teacher – a frail, young woman – taught. She taught him pattern-cutting. She'd eventually become a friend and “handled his tantrums.” He would sit and vent out his frustrations, and she'd listen as he would smoke, and talk. He got suspended before he was to showcase his project at the end of the course.

They complained he was smoking and drinking. But what was the big deal about it. Everyone else was, too, he says. Maybe he did it while he was at work, downing a vodka shot, and smoking near the window discreetly. But then, it was an intense time, and this was when he experimented with pattern-cutting.

After graduating from NIFT, he went to Central St. Martin's in London where with a small portfolio of drawings, he made it to the list of those that had been selected to do a women's wear line. This was his “dream” project, humped backs, and bulging arms.

He returned to India, and went back to the familiar streets of Kolkata. This is where he would eventually set up his workshop.

He wanted to be away from the politics of fashion, isolate himself from the Delhi and Bombay fashion brigade, and immerse himself in his work. Because exile is important to create.

He was fascinated with his mother's taste in clothes. In fact, even his grandmothers. They'd wear kaftans they bought in Indonesia, and his mother would get uncut stones from all over, and string them into interesting jewelry. He would watch with awe, and later, the abaya appeared in his work. Anti-fashion, they'd call him. But anti-Christ too had its place in imagination and mythology.

***

He emerged from the rehearsals, hair tied in a tight bun, looking hassled. The show was about to begin, and he was using heels combined with oxfords for the first time. Besides, he was also showcasing his men's wear collection – a series of lose jackets, and pants with motifs. Everything white and black. Anger, seen in black and white. Red would have been an easy way out. So, he worked himself up in a frenzy, and worked with images of fetuses, bones, and skeletons, trying to project his state of mind.

“Give me white light,” he says.

“The walk is too strong,” the choreographer screams.

A male model rushed to the makeup artist who tried to get the look right. Kallol walked up to the mirror, then turned towards me, and did a swirl.

“Go to the show. I want you there,” he says.

And then it begins – an indulgence in anger, in grotesque. He emerges only for a few seconds, never walks up to where the paparazzi is stationed, or the fashion editors are measuring up the collections with their mascara'ed eyes, and disappears backstage.

At his stall, which he had refused to decorate like all others, people walk up to him to congratulate him on yet another stunning, intriguing collection. Because it in only when you don't understand, curiosity fills the being. They want to work with him, and he smiles.

A woman says she loved his motifs of mating snails that he did last season as part of Lakme's commissioned line where Kareena Kapoor walked as his showstopper.

Not that he wants to dress Bollywood. But a few celebrities are wearing his designs – Sonam Kapoor, Neha Dhupia, and Sameera Reddy.

“It is good if they are supporting a young designer,” he says. “Fern Mallis, the former director of the New York Fashion Week, wore one of my jackets to the White House. Can you believe that? Sometimes, I wonder why would people want to wear my clothes.”

There is no muse except for the woman or his attraction with everything dark. Because happiness can't exist in a void, it needs the dark, the mad to be emerge. So, he provides that.

There's a certain fascination with the number “55”. Because he is very close to his mother Meenakshi, he has tattooed her birth year on his arms.

His father, a banker, named him Kallol, which means sound of waves. At least, that's what he grew up believing, he says.

Within a month, he will start thinking of his next collection. For sometime, he wants to do installations because they are non-interactive in a way.

“At the end of the day, it is all about relativity. I have been asked the strangest questions. Like in this press conference, where a reporter asked me what was the chemistry between me and Rimzim Dadu because we have always shown together,” he says.

It is like the song he made his models walk to. The XX's Shelter.

“Because there's always that parallel line. While wanting something, you turn the other way. You keep walking,” he says.

With more than 50 fans he has collected over the years, and his kohl-lined eyes, and abayas that he wears, mocking everything, creating for the sake of art, and not for the sake of commercial success, he is walking the road less traveled.

“I was never the cool one. Nobody said they were dying to hang out with me. I guess if you keep doing what you are doing, then people realize it is cool that he is sticking to what he believes in,” he says.

“There is no perfection. Extravangant is pornography. That's what I said for one of my collections. Another one, in my early years said 'I am a budding celebrity - immaculate conception'. I probably thought then that I was on the brink of doing something great. I was like 'Oh, I am gonna rock it,” he says. “I know i am not saving lives but India is being shaped aesthetically and I am playing a part.”

In the meantime, he will continue with his story. The woman - he is waiting for her to come to him.