The Angry Female - Part I

I have always wanted to stab men, in the heart, with a pen (it's thicker than knife!). And I had hoped they'd bleed to death - coughing their guts out! Is that, I wonder, what I'm trying to achieve in dreaming to become a writer?! To hit men, and the society of men, and society - where it hurts, using a pen (metaphorically speaking, atleast)?!

But why have I never wanted to stab my male characters?! I've always been in love with my characters and never wanted to harm them in any way. Except that kind of harm that befalls all humans. Except the kind of harm I am unable to spare them. Because my characters are human. They are neither male nor men. They are pure, full-fledged, humans. Pure fictitious humans. Mere embodiments of confusion and frustration. Mere accidents trying to make the best of it ('it' being life).

And those males I see around me... ?!

My female characters (now there's an interesting subject) are, ofcourse, something else. They are so much like me, but better equipped to deal with 'stuff' ('stuff' being the kind of stuff that befalls all us females, through the turmoil and heat of the day, in a man's world). They do not sit around wishing that life was a computer, so they can UNDO the past. They are in control, in charge. They are winners, in one way or another, anyway. And if they don't win, they atleast make points. Glorious points! (which is more than I can say for myself).

Needless to say, the females I know in real life, who I find quite irritating and usually boring, are nowhere near my female characters. And I am the kind of person who prides herself in studying humans for life, in taking an interest in them notwithstanding. But I guess there is only so much a person can take.

Now, where was I? The females I see around me!! The "pretty" "swamps" (would come up with a better word later) who would swallow you if you let them. Which is, ofcourse, true to women all over the world. The fact that they are swamps, I mean. As it was true for their mothers, their grandmothers, and all the generations of them. What's more, they aren't even an exciting kind of swamp. The kind you'd gladly give in to. The kind you'd willingly go down with. (Atleast for me?! A female?! Hmm.. weird!!) They are more docile and "Catholic than the pope" than their mothers. They probably speak better English! If their mothers ever do! And if they themselves do, ofcourse.

Don't get me wrong now!! I have the utmost respect for my sex/gender (and those who have it). I cry for them! I am ready to give my worldly goods (which, I must admit, ain't much) if I can change the lives of a single one of them! I'd even die for them! Technically, atleast. And anyway dying won't change anything, unless it's a man's dying, and unless he's stinking rich, and married, and has only his young wife for an heiress. You can even say I love them! But I am not crazy about them. I guess that makes me like Dostyavski (Dostoyvski, Dostovski) who said he can only love human beings from afar. The minute they show a tendency of coming closer, they revolt him. That is why, I imagine, I'm in no "benevolent", "good will-to-all-womankind" mood when dealing with my sex sakes. They make me mad, not so mad as to want to stab them with a pen, in the heart, but really furious. Really disgusted. Which is why I desperately want to change them. Change them into.. something closer to their true (honorable?) selves. Their true valuable selves. Something like.. me, perhaps? Even an unhappy me?! Because I can't very well.. not want to change them (can I?!). I got to! It's my mission in life! Not a mission I took upon myself gladly, I admit. But here I am! Here is where I found myself! And here is where I want to (MUST) linger ("here" being the "trying to change the world for the better for women" place of mission). Because if I don't, who will?! And more importantly, what would I do with my life?!

(to be continued..)