Monday, March 27, 2006

Dil hai hindustani?

I was talking to a friend about another friend's visit to India. The 'dude' is born in America, of Indian origin. He happened to visit the country his parents were brought up in for the first time recently, at age 23. And he could not stand it. He says he never wants to go there. The filth, the crowd, the dirt... he cant take it again.

At first reaction, I felt a bit outraged, a little indignant. But the second thought was more practical. Can I really expect him to love India with her million ways, her myriad discrepancies and her galaxy of social levels? How can one who is not born in the middle of that hot, humid and grimy bazaar ever be in love with it. He, of the clean roads, the cool air, the public 'restrooms', and the covered chefs can never deal with the open air toilets, the sweat, the spattered roads littered with spit, dung, animals; and the roadside food vendors who so flout the word hygiene! And yet I can love all the simple things in India. Of course, I crinkle my nose at open drains and fold up my salwar to jump the smallest puddle... but my sense of belonging comes from being born there, brought up there. I owe my values and my upbringing to that nation of diversity. Above all, I owe it my tolerance... and my immunity. :)

Thursday, March 16, 2006

I, of the Weaker Sex?


I happened to stumble onto the Blank Noise Project site and had the chance (wont say pleasure) to go through pages and pages of so far suppressed outrage.

It's been a while now since I pondered these ugly facts that we shrug off as teenage growing up pangs. Pangs they were. (I see this post turning long and rambly already! Memory after memory is surfacing. I want to share those long forgotten cr*p incidents) I consider myself lucky… nay, privileged to have the parents I have. I think that basically halved the trauma of going through this shit called eve-teasing.

Some of my 'decent' and over analytical male friends have sometimes asked me a genuine question, "Do girls enjoy the attention? The hooting and whistling"… one even asked me if the 'petting', is in any way enjoyable. I cant understand how these questions even strike a match into their dark heads. Dude, would you enjoy a tight slap across the face if that meant getting attention from the opposite sex? Would you appreciate an en'crotch'ment of your space? Really.

Well, there have been some discussions about the scumbag Road Romeos who are treated exactly as that. But what about the harassment which so often takes place at home. By men who enter under the garb of uncles, cousins, sometimes even granfathers? Have they absolutely no shame whatsoever?

I remember this incident from the time I must have been 5 or 6. (Yes, actually that young.) Whenever I visited my grandparents, I used to barge into the homes of all the doting neighbours. I was well loved and received a lot of affection from all the mamajis and bhaiyyas along with the mamijis and didis. About 3 years back, as a more sober and quiet 20 something girl, I was standing in our courtyard, with my grandmother, haggling with the bhaajiwali. Just then, our neighbour's son (who I call mamaji since he is more my mother's generation) walked by. He respectfully greeted my grandma, made small talk and commented on how I had grown into a sweet young woman. And he used the word 'beta' to address me. I don’t know what happened then, but this one memory surfaced after 15-16 years of exile. One of those summers, as a kid, I had been loitering in our courtyard in the evening and decided to go and check whether the next door nanaji wanted to play with me (he was one of my best playmates). The door was opened by mamaji, then unmarried, and probably bordering on his 30s. I don’t know if it was just a wrong time, or what… but that must have been my first experience with a form of sexual harassment. And sadly, I didn’t even know what it was. What I remembered that day when he walked by, was that he had tried to hug me tight and was kissing my face and I was telling him that I wanted to go and play. And the heavy breathing. I felt profound sadness and wondered whether he remembered that time. Whether he hoped that I had not understood and had forgotten what he had done. Did he feel guilty about it? I didn’t know how to react once I remembered this. I told my grandmother and neither of us has been able to decide how to treat him. I have, for one, singularly avoided him till date.

But there are others like him. An Aunt's relative who bestowed me with affection and Cadbury's. Who came across as a warm and affectionate elderly person who loved to banter with me. Who started visiting me whenever he was in the city. I still am not sure whether those uncomfortable hugs which were meant to be affectionate, fatherly were accidentally provocative. Or whether the attempts to plant a tender peck on the forehead were just misplaced. But when I talked to my mother, she told me to trust my female instinct. She said if it made me uncomfortable, I should not let it go on. Both my parents offered to confront him and also talk to my Aunt. But I held them back and was successful in never responding to his communication. But I know there are other unfortunate girls in the same social layer as I am, but with less supportive and intelligent parents. And no, I did not enjoy ANY of the male attention. And I did not enjoy it even from the younger and better looking male friends when it was unwanted. Even when it was as simple as constant badgering for company over coffee. It just sucks.

A lot has been said about the topic. I hope it finds its way to the part of society that actually needs the change of perspective. To those men who otherwise prefer to shrug or turn a blind eye or gaze at their watch to check how late they are likely to get if they tried to get into a melee over the girl beside them being 'eve teased' as they would conveniently want to think. And women too. Because one woman can defend herself and another just as well. Our society needs to reach a point where men will think carefully whether it is worth it to get a quick squeeze at the girl beside them and be beaten black and blue or at least be questioned strongly. This deluge of posts should not be limited in impact to the male or female blog enthusiasts who are already in agreement over the need for awareness and collective action.

To end on a more cheerful note, let me recount this (in one way) funny experience I had. Thanks to our very pragmatic parents, both my sister and I received KungFu training. Well, it didn’t really show on our then-frail frames. :) This happened when I visited my sister for the first time in Bombay after she started working. I was in my 2nd year of Engineering. As we walked on the jostling Andheri railway station bridge, she stopped to look for something in her purse. I was carefully holding on to my suitcase and purse and walked a few steps further so as to not create a roadblock. Out of nowhere, this b$%#%#$%#d walked out of the torrent of office-goers and gave me a squeeze. I hope that's the last time he would have done that to anyone. Coz as he smugly strode off taking advantage of the fact that my hands were full, he was in for a surprise. I actually turned back and followed him through the throng and gave him a hard hard hard slap on the back that left him gasping. To his chagrin, he got caught between my sister and me. She happened to look up from her meddling with the items in her purse, immediately grasped the situation and without further ado punched him. That must have set some ideas straight for the perv. We got approving glances from some fatherly passersby and all became well after the piece of garbage bent down and said, "Sorry Sister". My sis and I let him go with a warning (though I have a strong feeling that he was stopped in the way by some of those father figures who wanted to take the admonition further). Although we had a hearty laugh as we described the incident to our parents, fact remains that this happens all the time. And it’s not ok. And it has to be curbed and the offenders brought to book.

I cannot but emphasize the need for giving girls training in self defence and the confidence that comes with it. The confidence that you have an edge and are a force to be reckoned with.


Monday, March 13, 2006

St. Patrick's Day Dash


March 12, Sunday. I did the St. Patrick's day dash. Well, Vatsan, (yes, that king of all sorts of discussion lists!!!) had unearthed and sent this link and had added, off the cuff, that he'd registered. (A fact that I had pushed into the dark depths of my mind's abyss, and one he gleefully pointed out when I was at the point where i had no registration and the dash was a day away. Another To-Do item condemned to the murky depths of my forgetfulness.) Anyways, thankfully Ankit and registered on Friday (the 10th) and were punished with XL sized sweatshirts since all other sizes had run out. (Ha! Who cares about a nice gray long shirt with the dash details in bold green printed across? Who cares about wearing something fun for the Irish spirit within (?) ). Hmph.

Well, like I said before, I spent Saturday cramped in a lifeboat with a certain Pissing Patel! I was reading till 3am and only drifted to sleep after that, after having been scolded. Anyways, got up and went to the run with Vatsan and Ankit. It was contagious... the excitement and gaiety. People had gone to great lengths to reflect the spirit and the theme... green and spring. There were green trinkets, tattoos, hats, everything! We ran the timed red wave and stuck together throughout. Only for a while towards the end, Ankit was separated. Vatsan and I kept dodging people and beelined for the Finish at the end of 32.28 mins. All in all, it was real good fun. :)

The Life of Pi


I spent the greater part of my saturday finishing the Life of Pi . It was amazing. Considering I had taken a good 6-7 months to get across the first 80 odd pages. Not to blame the book itself for this joyous dash from page 1 to page 80, I will attribute it to other 'uncontrollable factors'. Anyways, that I finished 250 something pages in a few hours on a beautiful Saturday speaks favourably of the book. It is a story that had several elements to catch my attention - My love for biology, especially of the zoological aspect; my love for animals themselves; my philosophies - particularly my religious sentiments, or rather my secular and non-religious ones; my vegetarianism; my resignation towards flowery language and yet the grudging affinity for verbose and amusing writing; my appreciation for resourcefulness; even my typical inclination towards tales with twisted tails... All in all, I cant put a finger on one thing that made me journey with Pi over the seas of pages. It would take several fingers and I have only 2 pairs of limbs. At points in the book, I felt the motion sickness Pi battled, I felt like reaching under my bed and warmly and benevolently patting the cool, wet muzzle of my very own feline ally. I felt the twinge of guilt for that first flying fish and the pang of remorse for the turtle. More than anything, I could not miss the philosophical titbits sometimes hidden and at other times flaunted in the bounty of anecdotal recounts, all threads woven into a rich and colourful fabric - one that I covered myself in a settled into a Saturday reading fever. I like the different style and the real descriptions. That's something I worry about regarding my own writing abilities. I can describe people, emotions... can I also describe things, places and happenings to create the same interest, credibility and rapture? Again, Pi has become a friend who is gently coaxing me to make the trip I have promised myself, to observe, learn and write. To process, and deliver. I must. Someday.