Human Nature

I was misanthropic before I even knew what it was to be misanthropic.  I was young and a dilettante in life, I was rowing clumsily in the lake of wisdom, appropriating feelings that were never mine.  What did I have to be misanthropic about, then?  Sure, it made me feel special and different, and somewhat aware, but it never occurred to me to question the origins of my ersatz despair.  And I wonder, how many of us walk around with apocryphal pathologies that we trained our minds to believe.  How many of us have sacrificed real, unmitigated happiness because we deluded ourselves into believing something we never really felt?  But then again, how many of those schmaltzy feelings were later vindicated?

Depression is one of those feelings.  When you’ve hit rock bottom and you have nothing to look forward to, then yes, depression is a normal feeling.  It doesn’t need any explaining for a person to come to the obvious conclusion that certain situations in life leave us feeling utterly miserable.  And that’s completely normal.  But how can someone be depressed when they have myriads of stuff to look forward to?  That’s when it enters the realm of mental illness.  As does bipolarity.  How many of us have juggled differing personalities, as a result of being trapped in complex, diametrically opposed circumstances?  Whilst feelings of elation and misery are a juxtaposition, it doesn’t mean we cannot entertain both at the same time.

But many of us fake it, because we believe it to be true.  We feel placated by our desire to have something to label what we’re experiencing at a particular moment.  We feel vindicated without actually being vindicated.  But my opportune run-in with my deep-rooted fears helped me understand the drive behind general misanthropy.  I hated what had become of the human race, so morally depleted and consumed by their glib desires.  So utterly bereft of any substance or real direction.  Always at loggerheads with one another, one cutthroat religion battling another.  It was all fun and games until I realized that that’s not what misanthropy is about.  It’s normal to take one single glance at this cesspit and philosophize what I just did.

My real foray into misanthropy came at a cost.  Delving into my own arsenal of bitter emotions, I grappled with something that I couldn’t really situate.  The noble savage absconds from his primal abode to fight for the death, and he’s not really noble of course.  He’s consumed by irreverent motives, he endeavors to leave the battlefield without hearing a single plea for mercy.  Because he’s bludgeoned them all, and mercy isn’t something he understands.  He’s good when you know him, but he will still bludgeon you on that battlefield.  It’s a game, with distinct results at the end.  Either you, or him.  That’s when you know, misanthropy is a valid feeling.


Ode To A Great Being

There was something in his eyes that screamed he needed help.  His aura was so bright you could never look away.  I got to know him at his peak and ever since, I count myself lucky I did.  He was unlike the other men I had loved before him.  He was simple, pure and beautiful inside and out.  He radiated goodness and vulnerability but most people didn’t get it.  He wanted the world to flourish and he embraced his enemies, but most people would shun this.  I wanted to be his forever because I was young and carefree like him.  I wanted to intertwine my vulnerabilities with his because I thought he wanted it as well.  As we grew older, I started to feel younger.  Being with him was the antidote to the eons of misery and melancholy that had been my music.  Being with him was like nothing else in this world.

I saw him for who he was, a child trapped in a man’s body.  A mind so curious and invigorated that it would rarely sleep.  A touch so unassuming and risky that it made me yearn to be touched by him.  He wasn’t just different from other men, he was different from other humans.  His speech was mellifluous and sotto voce.  He would speak pithy words in a gentle tone.  He would present his points without seeking to undermine his opponent’s words.  He would hold forth about love and camaraderie more than he cared to complain about things.  He saw people as secondary and consciousness as primary.  His ideas were the floodgates and his aura the deluge of perfection.  But he wasn’t at peace.

We hold our vulnerabilities in the palm of our hands, always looking around us for the one who would snatch them from our grip and release them into the chasm of oblivion.  He never deigned to resort to such a thing.  He bottled them up inside his very being, until they consumed him.  Every day he escaped in his dreams but when he came back to life, he felt deceived.  He sought refuge in man-made ecstasies.  His was such a gentle soul that he could never be happy in a world like this.  He would let the high consume him, and at the very end, it consumed the whole of him.

I do not care for the terse analogies.  I do not care for the fake apologies.  And I certainly do not care for meaningless paeans.  His vulnerabilities made him human and his mistakes reinforced his humanity.  In this endless absurdity that we call life, he could never get over everyday injustices.  He was an empath and he let the energy take away his life.

This post is a celebration of his goodness.  Rest in peace.


Millennial Feminists Are Something Else…

I infiltrated the ‘Babe’ group on Facebook because I was curious to see how those who support the website that brought down Aziz Ansari, felt about feminism.  The website is run by a bunch of 20 something millennials who take umbrage at everything a man would ever do.  As someone who used to infiltrate the manosphere for the same purpose-that is, to observe the cultural shift in gender related discussions- I’m loath to say that millennial feminists pander to feminism just to vent about their gender related grievances.  And by that I mean, bitch about every bad date, every bad experience they’ve had with a man.

The first post that really hit me was a girl talking about how ‘weird’ guys would message her on Tinder.  Because you know, you shouldn’t message someone on a dating app.  Ever.  There were a slew of misandrist comments from women who felt like men should never approach them and I was thinking to myself, ‘wait a second, what do these girls want?’  If no man should be allowed to approach a woman, that would be the death of the dating scene.  Women rarely take initiative and the women who would post in this group contradict themselves post after post, sometimes to the extent of ‘begging’ for male attention.

This group of girls claim to be feminists, hardcore feminists at that.  They want to change the culture.  They are ’empowered’.  But those are just glib words that they throw around to profit off the fulcrum of modern feminism, a movement that’s as noble as any human rights movement.  I was taken aback as I started scrolling through the posts, every one of them from a millennial girl who has guy problems, every one of them from a girl who either got snubbed by a guy or whose man thinks she’s crazy, because he gets it, she’s crazy.  It beggars belief that this group of women, who obviously crave male attention more than anything in the world-because that’s what they always talk about-should ever call themselves feminists.  Because feminists they are not, they are just as misguided as Grace, the girl who thought Aziz Ansari could read her mind.

I’m a millennial woman myself and to see how entitled most millennial women are, is pretty appalling.  The movement will go adrift, and like many people have foreshadowed this sad truth, feminism will become a man-hating movement.  Sure, if a man does something horrible that actually warrants criticism, I’m all for it, we’re after all trying to redefine culture in a way that’s healthy for both genders.  But to go around labeling every trivial incident as an aggression against women, is preposterous.  It goes beyond that; most of them don’t see men as human beings.  They’ve mythologized the idea of a man; a man should be well versed in their physical and mental cues, a man should never object to a crazy demand, a man shouldn’t be allowed to make his own choices.  I could go on.  This group of women are as bad as the manosphere.  There’s no opportunity for common ground because their tenets inherently presuppose that men and women aren’t identical beings, but groups with diametrically opposed agendas.

I used to laugh at people who’d equate feminism with man-hating because I thought it was such a vapid categorization, a haughty accusation from those too comfortable to deal with real life injustices related to women.  But I’m slowly beginning to see their prescient judgment coming to light, because it is true.  Millennial women never had to contend with gender-related injustices, second-wave feminists made sure to end that.  But they have to contend with something far more unnerving, their sense of entitlement when it comes to the men in their lives.  And that’s scary, because a whole bunch of men will be attacked and denigrated on the public scene, just like Ansari, because they happened to misread a young entitled millennial princess.

People who perpetually see themselves as victims, no matter the severity of the incident, shouldn’t be allowed to become the cultural dictators of our era.  And certainly not appropriate a word that does nothing to describe what they really are, because feminists find strength and resilience in their struggles and those two things are as alien to them as the notion that men and women can actually co-exist.


A Guide To Dating In Mauritius For Women

We don’t talk about it very often because our culture didn’t evolve to include open dialogue between the sexes and honest discourse on relationships, as a whole.  When was the last time you heard someone holding forth on the aspects of healthy relationships and a healthy sex life?  Sure, we have extensive reading material about those things in our rags but they are glib and superficial.  They’re presented as shock pieces to titillate our curiosity and nothing else.  But in the media and everywhere else, our prudish attitude toward sex prevents us from engaging in insightful and thoughtful conversations that would help us mitigate certain bad consequences that emerge from bad relationships.  And those consequences impact women on a larger scale.

As part of the New Year celebrations, a radio show focused on things that marked us in the past year.  Among the topics that were being expounded, crimes of passion raised the alarm; we have a very unhealthy idea of relationships.  The new year began with another crime of passion making headlines; a jilted husband had shot his wife and then turned the gun on himself.  Another child will be growing up without a family, due to our collective apathy on what is destroying our society from within.  Here are some useful guidelines for dating here, in Mauritius.

1. The misogynistic ones wear their misogyny as a badge of honor-learn to identify the signs

These guys are loud and very passionate about their disdain for women.  When people tell you who they are, believe them.  Those guys always jump at the opportunity to deride women or lecture women on how they ought to behave.  So it goes without saying, they’re quite fond of the traditional gender roles, where they will have the upper-hand, almost all the time.

Why can’t every man be Don Draper?

Needless to say, your relationship will revolve around his needs, his views and his sexual appetite.  He’s the king and you’re merely the dinner.  Unfortunately, men of the aforementioned creed, make up a huge chunk of the population so you need to learn how to spot them and how to casually avoid them.

 2. Avoid male prudes like the plague

As a 21st century woman, it is quite offensive to imply that women shouldn’t enjoy sex.  It’s biology, it’s science, it’s the core of human existence.  But Mauritius is still quite a dogmatic society where people expect you to abide by the tenets of their religion, as if you’re not allowed to have your own version of tenets to abide by.  As a result, sex is viewed under a very repressive light, that you’re supposed to indulge in it when you’re married and that’s it.  There’s no sexual education for kids in college and teen pregnancy is quite a big problem here, due to this inane misconception about something so natural.


There are many guys here who’ve been raised to think that only they ought to enjoy sex.  It’s very common in oppressive cultures to have men who walk around believing they’re Rocco Siffredi and looking down on women who want a piece of the cake.  Those men are not going to be fun to be with, especially if you’re the kind of woman who’s self confident enough and has a healthy self-esteem.

3. Observe their social circle

Men who cannot be friends with women are almost always sexualizing the opposite gender.  Of course, attraction is normal but a person who cannot overcome physical attraction and maintain platonic relationships with people, is the definition of a red flag.  In Mauritius, many activities are limited to men, and they take great pride in partaking in those activities with their male friends.

This female computer engineer has no female friends, which is OKAY.

Often, in patriarchal societies like ours, women who mingle with men are harshly excoriated so watch out if your guy has no female friends.  It means that he probably sees women as a dating accessory only.

4. When he overtly criticizes women’s rights movement, he’s telling you he doesn’t think much of women

When someone feels the need to tell you that views on gender shouldn’t evolve and specifically targets your gender as being inferior and not eligible for equal treatment, you have to understand that you will never be equal in their eyes.  There is no worse outcome in a relationship, which ought to be fun and spontaneous.  People who are opposed to your own progress and to the progress of women’s rights in general, are not going to vouch for your well-being.

Thankfully, he’s not into women.  If he were, he wouldn’t be getting any.


It is 2018, the times have changed.  The #MeToo movement has finally sounded the death knell on abuse in many countries, female leaders are more vocal than ever and society is finally making amends for the inequalities of the past in developed countries.  It is time to eradicate these anachronistic attitudes toward women and relationships in Mauritius and level the playing field.



I’m a force to be reckoned with.  I’m a bright spot in a wasteland.  I’m a star that shines bright in the desert.  I am unsmoteable.

That’s how it begins every day.  I wake up with ideas brimming in my head, bad ideas mostly.  I tell myself that I will not waste this day, it’s very rare that I do honestly.  I understand that this day isn’t a given, it could end right then, it could be my last day.  I philosophize that this day is nothing, just a random point in time, time that’s bendable, time that’s mine to spend, like money.  I love how people automatically think about entitlement when it comes to personal possessions, but not when it’s about their own time.  I’m entitled to my time and this gives me the leisure to plan out my life the way I see fit.  I do not want to be part of a patina of lies.  I’m too much of an old soul to give a damn.

I, I can’t tell you how much I need you, because I do need you.  I don’t need you because of those other things though, I need you because I like you.  People don’t like people very often, and that is the bane of humanity.  The inclement traits evolution never really wiped out.  They don’t seem to wane either, they seem to be getting stronger even.  But what am I supposed to do about it?  Why do I feel like I need to bear the brunt of it?  I’m a good person I suppose, that’s how I know it.

I’m not going to pretend otherwise.  I feel good in my bones, despite the initial wretchedness that tormented my soul for a while.  That wretchedness was part of my senescence, at least the beginning of it.  I didn’t know how to live because I wasn’t raised for it.  I was raised to be like you, and I didn’t like it.  My soul was at loggerheads with my mind and my spirit weakened gradually.  But something happened, like it always does, to untether me from the frigid bonds of normalcy.  I don’t like being normal, normal is a burden, normal isn’t natural.

People are afraid of living because they are afraid of dying.  The endless streams of possibilities and coincidences do not appeal to them because the obverse scares them shitless.  I can only speak for those who aren’t afraid of living, because we’re the people who will never off ourselves when the tides turn and shit gets real.  We’re the people that find joy in the tiniest of things.  We’re the people who smile at beggars and pout at capitalists.  We’re the people that make love like we mean it.  We’re the people that find people objectively intriguing and we’re not afraid to get to know hordes of them.  In short, we’re kind of cool.