There was a time when, not too long ago, when rebellion meant sneaking out of the house after midnight while your parents are asleep, getting drunk and having sex with a guy in a parked car.
And yesterday, while playing hooky on a Monday afternoon and spending all afternoon and evening “having sex” with my master, I realized I was enjoying the same sensation I craved back when I was 15.
I also realized how far down my idea of rebellion has come, in a way.
I don’t feel rebellious very often anymore even though people constantly accuse me of it, and I literally mean accuse.
When I was younger and I put a drink to my mouth, the alcohol did nothing for me, but the deviance behind the action just kept me going. Since the past few years, when I put a joint to my lips, it really is all about the substance so even when my actions are read as subtle rebellions, they feel completely natural.
For a while now, I have felt that rebellion, really, is about radical thought (and possibly subsequent action) and not pseudo-radical actions and personality traits.
The girl with a cigarette on her lips and a skirt that barely covers her hips, is not worth mentioning in the rebellion hall-of-fame but the girl who does whatever the hell she wants but posits a biologically gendered but sexless existence forces a radical perspective.
Rebellious thought and beliefs are often missing in the pseudo-progressive intelligentsia of India.
The ones who would have you believe that the augmentation in the status of a few set parameters is progress but will never stop to think about the validity of the parameters themselves. And create an elitist bubble eliminating anyone who does think of it.
(When I started to type, this is not what I had in my mind, but I can no longer remember what I did so I guess it was “forced intellect” anyway.)