“The Trip” and how feminism is misunderstood by wealthy media houses.

The Trip

So, one day, I come across this sponsored content on facebook, which was the first episode of a series called “The Trip”. I watched the first episode. It was stylish, the people were pretty and it had Mallika Dua in it and she’s adorable and incredibly funny.  I went eh and watched. I even somehow, got my boyfriend to watch it. We decided it was very pretend and we continued watching. ( Because, there is something soooooo seductive about bad content)

What is the nonsense about?

Four women, one of them is getting married, they plan a bachelorette, they bond, things go wrong for everybody at some level and they live happily ever after like chickens running around with their heads cut off.

Elements of the show and why they were a jarring pain

The branding – The endorsement and branding game in this series was another level. It was overkill.  You couldn’t get through even five minutes of an episode without being reminded to either blush (Because, feminism is aaaaal about blushing) or glow with the Lakme face wash.  I do not know what the objective of such aggressive stupidity was, but I am never buying anything Lakme ever again.

 The premise –  Oh, so a group of friends who have known each other for a while, get together for a wedding, plan a bachelorette and take a road trip? Wow, tell me more. Its not like it has been done  SO MANY TIMES ALREADY!  What was SO NEW about this that you wanted to make a show out of it ?  Huh ?

The Thailand/ Bangkok Obsession – What have these countries ever done to you, to deserve such negative press? I will just leave the question there for you to ponder over.

The boring romance – The romance between Lisa Haydon and the boyfriend ( Cause, he wasn’t cute enough for me to google his name, sorry) was so cringe worthy. It was like watching someone eat cornflakes at 4 am. It’s stupid and boring and I’d rather be sleeping.

The misguided Effort  You want to make a series about women bonding and getting stronger?  And you thought showing four rich, pretty women with petty issues and whiny attitudes is going to bring the message home?  What else did you think? That the moon was a star ?

The glorification of Consumerism – You watch this show, you will believe that money brings happiness, and warmth and love and a boyfriend and world peace. Money is everything. Buy all the stuff, it will keep you warm at night.

Nothing about the show shows women in a good light. It shows women running around, being petty, living undecided lives, all while they blush and glow in their Ford endeavor car while being comfy in their whisper sanitary pads. 

Oh but Mallika Dua, is lovely! She made the ordeal bearable.

 

Waiting the lifetime out.

He doesn’t sleep

He sits up straight, each night

Night after night after night

I fear night

 

All night, he doesn’t sleep

Doesn’t let me sleep

To pass the time, to watch me weep

He’ll break my heart, in short sweeps

While I break his ego, letting the hurt seep

But he doesn’t sleep

And doesn’t let me sleep

 

“It hurts here, here and here”, he says

All night, every night, he lays

I nod and let myself wait

This lifetime out.

Left

We are women you leave behind

We are left at windows, staring out for ages

We are left at doorsteps, counting remaining pages

We are left crossing out dates on the calendar

We are left mumbling names, out of character

We are left flipping pages in the dead of the night.

We are left singing broken bits of songs, till morning light

We are left building a fortress around ourselves

We are left wavering between screams and yells

We are left piecing together fragments of time

We are left contemplating punishment without crime

We are left in dignity and respect

We are left in agony, to build air castles erect

We are left where life and love become one and the same

We are left freezing frames

We are left to wait

And we are never left.

 

 

 

 

The need.

There is a need

There flows a river of sound, a river of death and greed

There are flowers, black and rotting, blooming like its spring

On the banks of these rivers, scattering disease like romance in the air

And I breathe, I stop and I stare

The murky waters flowing menacingly silent, beneath my feet

And I’ve never felt more enchanted

Than when I swam those rivers, like a sword unsheathed

It felt like I was the sin and I was melting into beauty

Like the naked thighs of youth spoilt, spread apart for pleasure, not duty

Time passed and before I knew

I was a washed up, washed away, pining little thing

Up in the hills, in the little house painted blue.

There is still a need, there still flows that river of death and greed

I sometimes hear its roar, waking me up from dreamless sleep, calling me once more.

 

Walking postcards.

Long eyelashes, cast a shadow below your eyes

On nights, brought to life  by candle lights.

Each time you blink, or your lips curl into a smile

I swallow in dread.

You move too much, pretty girl. You die.

You’re like a sad lullaby,

That a dead mother sings to a dead child

Through the buzzing of flies in her rotting throat

To the ears of the babe, somewhere swollen and afloat

Still songs will drape that lullaby in layers of gold

And that’s how, pretty girl, I see you.

A corpse’s lullaby, wrapped in the hollow that’s you

You move too much, I lose my mind

One slip and you go spiraling down into the depths

Of memories sweet, sweeter and repressed

I want you to stay, bleed and be blessed

Oh girls like you, are walking pictures of dead

You move too much, you are breaking my heart

I can see you smiling from frames and postcards

Queen of tragedy, almost too accepting of it.

Don’t move so much, I can already see you dead.