A digital magazine on sexuality, based in the Global South: We are working towards cultivating safe, inclusive, and self-affirming spaces in which all individuals can express themselves without fear, judgement or shame
The boundaries are the most interesting bits. No definitions can be identified without them, and yet they themselves remain in a state of flux – neither here nor there, neither this nor that, but both, all, nothing, and so much more. None can stake their claim on the borderland; it is unseizable, enigmatic, most ungraspable. In its ambiguity it has the power to comfort the outlier at its best, and at its worst, leave bereft those who seek refuge in the absolute.
The skewed portrayal that dominates narratives about Muslim women in mainstream international media continues to sustain an atmosphere of misinformation, where donning a hijab leads society to promptly place you in a box labelled ‘Oppressed’. Taking matters into their own hands are these two certainly not silent U.S.-based Muslim women who’re doing what they can – with hijab firmly in place – to undo the dangerous stereotyping that mires the image of Muslim women of colour.
The potential for art to connect people and to challenge thinking is continuously widening. Aarushi Jain, a 21-year-old artist from India, perfectly captures the societal expectations placed on women in her representation of the English alphabet.
I wanted to explore how sexuality and boundaries come together or work tangentially in a psychoanalytic clinic through the lens of the therapist, and understand how and why it may or may not be different from patient to patient.
On a cold winter evening, watching a tense India vs England cricket match when your about-to-be teenager asks you these questions, you want go deep under cover inside that blanket and never come out. Not possible, of course. I see myself as the quintessential modern day mom, pal to her kids, cool, unflappable.
Kakar talks about the divide between Ayurveda and modern medicine, Freudian psychoanalysis and Indian metaphysics, and the fault lines between colonialism, religion and sexuality.
A year ago, just ten minutes after I had landed in the Punjab and Haryana High Court. I was introduced to this young lawyer – not the least bit enthusiastic, a big critic of the law, of lawyers, of the High Court, and most importantly, of women. “Let me tell you a secret: law is not a profession for girls,” said he.
The answer depends on what feelings are evoked in you by these four words: yogi, wild, erotic and witch. Does “yogi” evoke a sense of tranquillity resulting from letting go? Or does it evoke feelings of righteous puritanism, associated with disgust for sex and sensuality? Are you repulsed by words such as “wild”, “erotic” and “witch”, or intrigued by them?
Suddenly, three older, high-ranking female bonobos bolted up from below, a furious blur of black fur and swinging limbs and, together with the female in estrus, flew straight for the offending males. The males scattered. The females pursued them. Tree boughs bounced and cracked. Screams on all sides grew deafening.
I was a shy kid, coming into my element only at home with my sister. I didn’t like being at social gatherings; large groups of peers or family made me go back into my shell. I never thought this would change, but like everything else, it did. I was surprised to find myself becoming a very sociable young adult, creatively inclined, and the life of any party.
When colours spill across, when a little bit of the red house-paint spills into the blue sky, or the brown door seems to meld in with the green grass, we see ‘errors’ that must be corrected in another attempt to preserve the perfect order of that emergent world.
I was 30 years old when memories of the sexual abuse I experienced as a child flooded my conscious thoughts. I was sitting in a session with a client – I am a mental health professional – when suddenly, a memory of playing hide-and-seek made its way out of my subconscious mind.
This month, we’re excited about featuring the story of Amanirenas, one of the most famous Kushite Kandakes, queens of the ancient African kingdom of Kush (what is today the country of Sudan) and her valiant fight against the armies of Rome to defend the boundaries of her people’s land.
In 1994, Delhi boy Nishit Saran left home to study filmmaking at Harvard University. By 1999 he had made the searing Summer in My Veins, capturing on camera his own trepidation at coming out to his mother. It is an important, lovely and poignant film.
The concept of boundaries has become mixed up with the concept of being bound in a this-far-and-no-further way. They have become enclosures, aquariums, cages built for those who inhabit them, but not necessarily built by them.