War Time Rapes.

War time rapes have never been limited to any particular era or part of the world. In ancient times, it was used as a reward to the champion. In more modern times, it became a random phenomenon mostly controlled by the local regime .

One might think as time proceeded, humans rights became more pronounced, thus this phenomenon would have subsided. Shockingly, in this most modern era, rapes are done more systematically. If you look at the statistics from wars that occurred, during the 20th century, in different countries around the world , you will see that rapes were done in a very organized way and mostly with a motive. Nazis raped Jews; Japanese raped Chinese; Americans raped Vietnamese; Serbians raped Bosnians. Sri Lankans, Kashmiris, Bengalis, Burmese, Somalians, Ugandans...the list can go on for ever. You can get a whole list along with years at this link: http://www.religioustolerance.org/war_rape.htm

I never really understood how a woman might feel after she has been raped: what goes through her mind, what does she think in private, what new fears does she have, does she have feelings or what happens to her inner self, untill I read Vagina Monologue, written by Eve Ensler. Again this is a book, I picked up while lazily gazing through the shelves of the public library, looking for "something" to read. I thought, naughty sounding title; being naughty myself, I went for it. I felt very very naughty reading it too, in the public with people walking past me all the time, till I reached this chapter called: My vagina was My Village. It made me cry. Sitting on a small plastic stool, in that narrow alley, with stacks of books towering over me on both sides, I struggled to control my tears.

Before I proceed, let me give a brief introduction about the book. This book is a collection of monologues with various women across the world and how they related to their vaginas. Among the women, some were raped, some were sexually abused in childhood, some embrassed their sexuality completely, and some were even angry at their vagina. She used to ask them, "If you are given a choice to name your vagina, what would you name it?". There are chapters that would make you laugh like crazy, some makes you blush, but some will make you cry like a baby.

So, someday, when you are feeling open minded and naughty, like how I felt that day, pick it up and read it, I am sure it'll take you by surprise. If not, go to YouTube, there is a whole series done by SFSU. Oh yeah, the one and only San-Francisco!!!

The chapter, My Vagina was My Village is based on the testimonies of a Bosnian women, who was gang raped by soldiers. Of course, since then, the topic: war time rapes, horrifies me. But its the way its written that left me dazed. Somethings makes you feel so heavy at heart, you can hardly express it. Rather than talking more about it, I'd say read it yourself and tell me: did it make you feel, how it made me feel??

An extract from the book, The Vagina Monologues written by Eve Ensler, a playwright and feminist.

In 1993, when I returned to New York after spending 2 months interviewing the Bosnian women refugees in Pakistan and Croatia, I was in a state of outrage. Outraged that 20,000 to 70,000 women are being rapped in the middle of Europe, as a systematic tactics of war, and no one was doing anything to stop it. I couldn't understand it. One of my friends asked me, why are you surprised. Over 500,000 women are raped every year in this country, and in theory we are not at war.

This monologue is based on one women’s story. I wanted to thank her for sharing it with her. I was in awe of her spirit and strength, as I was in awe with every woman I met who survived these terrible atrocities in the former Yugoslavia. This piece is for the Women in Bosnia.

Chapter: My Vagina was my Village.

My vagina was green, water soft pink fields, cow mooing, sun resting, sweet boyfriend touching lightly with soft piece of bland straw.

There is something between my legs. I do not know what it is. I do not know where it is. I do not touch. Not now. Not anymore. Not since.

My vagina was chatty, can’t wait, so much, so much saying, words talking, can’t quit trying, can’t quit saying, oh yes, oh yes.

Not since I dream there’s a dead animal sewn in down there with thick black fishing line. And the dead animal smell cannot be removed. And it’s throat slit and its bleeds through all my summer dresses.

My vagina singing all girls songs, all goats bells ringing songs, all wild autumn fields songs, vagina songs, vagina home songs.

Not since the soldiers put a long thick rifle inside me. So cold, the steel rod canceling my heart. Don’t know whether they’re going to fire it or share it through my spinning brain. Six of them, monstrous doctors with black masks shoving bottles up me too. There were sticks and the end of a broom.

My vagina swimming river water, clean spilling water over sun bathed stones over stone clit, clit stones over and over.

Not since I heard the skin tear, and lemon screeching sounds, not since a piece of my vagina come off in my hand, a part of the lip, now one side of the lip is completely gone.

My vagina: a live wet water village. My vagina my hometown.

Not since they took turns for seven days smelling feces and smoked meat, they left their dirty sperms inside me. I became a river of poison and pus and all the crops died, and the fish.

My vagina a live wet water village.
They invaded it. Butchered it and burned it down.
I do not touch now.
Do not visit.
I live someplace else now.
I don’t know where that is.

Divorce

Ranjish hi sahi dil hi dukhaanay kay liyay aa
Aa phir say mujhay chhorr kay jaanay kay liyay aa

Pehlay say maraasim na sahi phir bhi kabhi to
Rasm-o-rahay duniya hi nibhaanay kay liyay aa

Kis kis ko bataayengay judaai kaa sabab ham
Tu mujh se khafaa hai to zamaanay kay liyay aa

Kuchh to meri pindaar-e-mohabbat ka bharam rakh
Tu bhi to kabhi mujh ko manaanay kay liyay aa

Ek umr say hun lazzat-e-giryaa se bhi mehruum
Aye raahat-e-jaan mujh ko rulaanay kay liyay aa

Ab tak dil-e-khush_feham ko tujh say hain ummeedain
Ye aakhari shammain bhi bujhaanay kay liyay aa
*********************************************
Come, even if only to break my heart
Come, even if only to leave me again

Yes, it is no longer like before, but still
Come, if only for the sake of convention

I cannot tell people the reasons for our separation
Come, even if unhappy, for public show

Respect just a little my love for you
Come, for once, just to appease me

For long I haven’t had even the pleasure of lament
Come, joy of my life, if only to make me weep again

My heart, the optimist, still retains some hope
Come, to extinguish even these last little embers.

I am not an expert in Urdu, neither can I understand it very well. But whenever I read an Urdu poem, I find myself taking pains to search for word translations in Google. I want to understand them.

The above poem was written by Ahmad Faraz, one of the greatest modern Urdu poets, who lived during the last century. Its sung by many. A simple search in YouTube can give you many results. But I reccomend picking up a version sung by a female singer. Here's one: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGZfS3gUW8c&feature=related

Now lets talk about the reason why I brought this up. Divorce. Even though this poem is considered romantic, after I talked and observed many divorcees, I realized they also had these mixed emotions. These emotions and thoughts occur before, during and after the divorce. At one point or the other, they all want their ex back, even though you might never hear them say it loudly. The fear and hurt is so strong and deep that they all choose to wear a mask instead.

I always say, loving someone and living together are two different things. One might be madly in love with someone, but he/she might find it highly impossible to live with that person under the same roof. It applies to both love and arranged marriages. Ask around, you will see that lot of divorces happened for no major reason. Its the small small reasons, which piled up over time, that caused the separation. But when people hear about them, they say," You chose to divorce for that?? Ridiculous!!". Well, let me ask you: what gives you the right to ask such a question. Everybody has their reasons. You just need to understand it from their prospective. If you do not have the ability to do so, at least do not ask stupid questions.

So, I say please do not judge. If you haven't been there yourself, you might never understand them completely. But you can do something for them. They are hurting and taking baby steps to make sense out this fatalistic situation in their life. So, be there for them and support them without judging or imposing your will. Encourage them to be their own healers. Be a good listener and do not isolate them. Include them in your parties. Divorce is not contagious.

I also request those couples, who have children and still contemplating divorce, to really think before making a decision. Somehow, I am yet to accept that a child will "eventually" grow out of it. I believe, they never will.