That Sassy Thing

Seeking emancipation from the stupidity of patriarchy.

I am simply that woman who will probably remain unrecorded by history. For in history, I feel, there is a constant struggle of who narrates the story and thereby its credibility. However, thanks to the minor day-to-day updates on social media, history of an individual is recorded as an electronic memory - sometimes resurfaces, and sometimes lost for good. This too is one of the many posts - which may be remembered as long as That Sassy Thing is not erased.

Beaten brutally by love’s intoxication, the body had just given up on all the desires. Strange thing the power of hormones, and age. One ought to tread carefully, else one ends up composing cringe and foolish verses. Nevertheless, history came to my aid. The many vagina monologues assisted me in realising the stupidity of patriarchy. I learned that one can fall in love three times in a lifetime, the first is always a teenage-infatuation; the second is where the raging hormones collide with rationality; and the third is when practicality sets in. The first two teach you that you are capable of loving another and of being loved; but the last one reaffirms your position in any relationship more sensibly and compassionately. Even if this relationship is with your own self!

Apart from the vagina monologues, history also states the facts of the body. Those needs and carnal desires that erupt at the ungodly hours is a testimony that your body can speak in the tongues not so familiar to the majority. Now, that sassy thing enters to keep you company. Quivering in varying intensity with a click of a button and giving its full potential unconditionally (well, at least till it runs out of charge!), here is your electric boyfriend making you wet and lust for more.

This electronic boyfriend - I call my guy ವಡ್ಡ, a nickname that I am too weak to part with - emerges as the hero in all my yearning nights. The moaning synchronises with his amplifying decibels, and ends in a satisfactory outburst! It is in the switching on and switching of of ವಡ್ಡ, new literature is written. A literature of yearning, a bubbling desire, an unquenched thirst, and a woman who simply voices her imagination. If this is not history, then what is, I do not understand.