Identity.

Thoughts on body, its abstractions and me (#BodyShameRebellion)

Who am I? Where inside me or on my surface do I reside?

My body can dance, my mind can make and follow rhythm. In between the two lie conceptual shapes of Shringi (but that is just my name/ a name). Who I am, might then be abstract or even an abstraction.

The body reflects — flesh, fat, expressions, movements. The body — gets dirty, gets real. The mind like a powerful alien controls this mass of bones, blood and flesh. Tells the body what it is, how it must behave and follow the contours of made up definitions. Physically, this mind (I suppose) resides in the body.

Am I asexual? But I am bisexual. Am I a bisexual-asexual? An imposter of a human being? I am not sexually very active although I am in a loving relationship. I am also bisexual although I have never been with a woman — such an imposter. The two of us are also in an open relationship which is technically not that open as we haven’t quite found anyone we would rather be with. These lines are full of contradictions and I can write long articles on each of these subjects, explaining how hard it is and has been to explain it to people, how people react, how I think twice before calling myself queer etc etc. But these are labels and only that. Like the body, only a cast. Have I slept with a woman or just dreamt of it — visual thorough imaginations start questioning what is real to begin with. Sexuality, relationships at this point seem blobs swimming in the air of identity or even self exploration reminding me/us of our fluidity as beings. The permanent labels which we use to define ourselves start seeming porous or even air itself. The body loses the strong shape it has and becomes an oversimplification of our reflection. Our self. The question is can we look past our idea of identity/ body/ manner and then past our cultural and societal concepts —

For a healthy marriage(relationship) one must have a decent amount of sex. Well. To be an asexual one must never think of sex. Sure.To be a bisexual one must actively have/want to have sex with more than one gender. Absolutely. And so on.

New boxes, new limitations in the hunt of identity which is not a solid substance to be found to begin with. How do we hold on to the abstract, the moving. The changing, morphing body amidst the rest of our being. //The being which might in itself be centered and united.// The body becomes a tool (the only physical seemingly ever-present tool) to hunt the definition of our abstract. Must we? We juggle between types and boxes like intro/extro, lesbian/gay/bi… to find, and find, and find out our correct fitting identity outside of us. Constructs already formed for us like a dress or a shoe. We are ready to shed our uniqueness to fit into manufactured personality/sexuality types. To hold on to the abstract. We look for ourselves right where we are and never find us. The body finds its limitations and we stretch it. We stretch our only tool and demand it to be who we are. A perfect reflection. “I am an introvert that is why I hate socialising” and we stack definitions and pressures of how a person labelled introvert must or mustn’t behave. I am an introvert one second and an extrovert another. Now tell me who I am, find my TYPE, my sticker.

I am not against us — humans identifying with labels one bit. We must do what’s best for us. The body/behavior is an important cast (it curves and caves important entry points to self), but it is also only that. A body, a hanger carrying our clothes and expressions. Carrying our dance moves and the mind as a crown. Carrying us through this saga of life, our raft and also our ocean. That dance which liberates us via this portal and that mould which limits us from living our music. I am only suggesting that we must understand how to stop these labels/the body from limiting our expansion.

My sexuality is a river. My body a shrinking← →expanding horizon as I move towards it and move away from it. I am bloated one day, on another bleeding. My back hurts but my hair looks perfect. My nails need to be cut and teeth brushed again and again. I must serve this casket of mine and this casket of mine shall allow me to move beyond its borders.

My open marriage is an opening of a border. You can come in if you want a relation and if you find in me what you are looking for. We might already be polyamorous — in spirit. The laws will follow or oppose. This land is here to support us while we stand at its hard borders. I have said before, our rainbow is on fire but without us (the rainbow) there would have been no fire. That fire is an important part of this voyage. We have no need really to debate constructs. We must fly and merge~ slowly tap onto the varied beats of our spectrum and understand our fluidity. Our non-body-ness. To accept ourselves, then others, then understand we were always the same — one. Then allow our body to be what it is. Damaged or not. A carrier towards identity/ self.

With drag, we (can) change our exterior to free our interior. What is body then but Play-Doh. A corset here, an eyelash there. What is a body then but a living decorated sculpture. Accurate, exact. Liberation for some, exclusion for some (I am a drag queen but I don’t want to dress up —).

A flip of the hair and a nun becomes a slut. A wink at the wrong time and a loving uncle becomes a creep. Our children are looking for definitions and our books are throwing those definitions at them. Child, you are anxious. These labels have value. A lot. If we control the values and dosage of these labels we can perhaps use them for our journey towards self. Instead we let these labels abuse us. What does my body become? A shelf holding my boxes.

We wish for normal, acceptable, even beautiful. We go into a beauty parlor and come out. Look into a mirror. Make mirror faces. What does my body become. A scratch-card. A slot machine. Sometimes, we hit the jackpot. What does the mirror say though? I am capable of finding myself through my body? I am able to make a blue necklace say who I am? I am the blue sky — does it say that? I believe it can.

We can fold our body into the meditative posture of Shiva and look at the universe as us. We can take the same body and pass it through a series of plastic surgeries and eventually via hit and trial find ourselves. In both these cases we use our body in ways to lead us to ourselves. I am not going to criticize either method. But I am going to say this — it is for us to use and ask this body to lead us to our yoga (unity of the individual with the cosmos) in whatever way we deem correct, however, I don’t quite think it is for our body to tell us — who we are.

Following that thought, since my body can’t define who I am. I can simply not be fat, short, skinny, white, brown, pudgy, bony, lanky, asexual, heterosexual, cis, trans, binary, male, female, old, young, introvert, extrovert, flexible, stiff and so on. These can at most be my attributes — sure. But that is all. That is simply all. As long as we keep looking for our identity outside of ourselves we will continue to create labels. He, she, them, and more. I say again the body cannot tell us who we are. We tell the body to take us to ourselves.

I will repeat some lines from a poem I wrote years ago –

“Brahamand ki shanti ko dekh bhaybheet, ekantmay aur dharti ke kalakriti mei ghira, anjaan Us sagar ka kewal ek boond aur usi sagar ka daayra bhi Mera kirdaar bhi har doosre ki tarah naraaz aur chanchal hai vyom mei tairkar, kar raha hai vyom ki talaash”

Translation — “Petrified yet at peace, seeing the calm of our cosmos lost in the intricate drawings of this earth Just a mere drop of that ocean while also the boundaries of the same ocean My character, like everyone’s is angry, anxious furiously looking for the aether while swimming in it”

I don’t know what mood I was in when I wrote this. However, it is not my hand or body or even mind that came up with this. I think it was me, who did. And that me (part you, part everything) is and will always be beyond me, at least till I allow the body (my limitations) to tell me who I am. Instead of understanding its liberation.

In response to Ashley Evenson’s thread Body Shame Rebellion. #BodyShameRebellion (and in continuation of Vaishali Paliwal’s thread Diversity For Real. #DiversityForReal)

These thoughts are conflicted, confused and probably controversial. Would love to hear your take on the piece.