Am boiling. I slept and woke up and am going to sleep again. Hardly. And the Mumbai gun fire continues. What the hell is happening to my country? Why are we like this? I'm at a loss. I dunno what I should do to stop this. Bring my children up to tell them that religion does not matter. Well, atleast that is what I thought my generation believed. But when I look at those gunmen who seem to be as old as me, I wonder what they know and believe in. Did they think twice about killing themselves so violently, forget taking over one whole city and leaving all of us looking on? Sitting here in Atlanta, I feel dumb, and dumbfounded about what my role could be, could have been in this whole terrorist saga? Am I responsible in any way?
Of course, I am. I did not f****** vote last time. Or did I? And it did not make a single difference. I cannot even think straight in my anger. What have I done to make a difference in anyone's life? Cried and raved and ranted for about an hour after every attack like this? Sometimes, not even that.
I blame everyone else for this 'incident.' The accused Jihadis, the MNS, Bal Thackeray and his clan for whom the attacks on Mumbai are not an attack on our culture or our social fabric. We only need to paint nude goddesses. It does not matter if we shoot people randomly and target particular 'other' religions. If I were the PM, my action plan'd be for the next 15 days -
- Ban MNS and jail Bal Thackeray and anyone who supports him. Screw freedom of speech. Not needed during an emergency situation.
- Shut the useless Parliament and CNN IBN for these 15 days. Take action on my own. I do not need money-suckers to tell me if I should send 20 year old men to fight bloody terrorists
- Change the judicial process to make sure that after the bloody terrorist talks, shoot him dead, instead of keeping him hoping that someone will be taken hostage and he can be left free if and when some Westerner is taken hostage. Or even better, leave them in the Parliament and all the politicians. Don't send in the NSG, or the army or the police. Really. Just leave them. Let's see who kills whom and who survives this- The blood and money suckers or the religious extremists.
- Change the whole idea of Presidential pardon. Going forward, 10 terrorists in Tihar jail will be shot mercilessly. That is what celebrating a national holiday means, dammit!
- Vote. Make people vote. All of us should not just talk anymore. We should vote. Take that first step. Tell them that we are here, watching their every single step.
- Stop worrying about how cumbersome the security process is. I'd rather walk nude through the security check-in than being dead in a couple of hours.
- The moment an American President promises something against the so-called terrorists, think and start monitoring the bloody security situation in the country. Because like Bush showed us, even the dumbest of US politicians do what they say.
- When Pakistan extends a friendly hand with or without an administration, take it in one hand but be careful about their other hand, dammit!
I just cannot think anymore. Frankly. I do not care if anyone in the comments section tries to tell me that I'm a biased Indian. I'm tired of being a tolerant Indian. Its Thanksgiving, so thank me for being tolerant for this long.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Another tag!
Okay, people hardly tag me. But I'm suddenly popular and everyone tags me. And consecutively at that! Yes, yes, I was popular, considering I've hardly been in the blog world for sometime now :( and he tagged me ages ago! So, are you ready for a quirky ride?
Q1 - I love even numbers. I hate counting or Math. But even numbers or what I call 'round figures' are mine. After getting married, I realized when I first started making Rotis that I cannot make an odd number of rotis. I went nuts the days the dough was just enough for an odd number of rotis. I'd eat less, but not eat rotis in odd numbers!
Q2 - I'm a super messy person. People who've lived with me scream in frustration. I can live with dirty clothes all over me. I can sleep on dirty clothes and live in an utter mess. But there is an organization and I can find anything I want immediately. Strangely enough, I hate it when others mess up :P - like AB. I cannot stand it when he is messy. I act like a propah maami and clean and scrub every bit of the house during the weekend. Also, I get depressed in a mess. Meaning, when with my roomies, when I had to clean my room, I wasn't depressed, but living with AB, and we both have to clean, I get depressed. I start crying and cannot think clearly.
Q3. I'm not a romantic person. I hate receiving flowers, cards (I do, secretly) but I get irritated really when AB does that. However, I love, love, love romantic movies :D and cry and laugh and clap when I want to! But I hate all that emotion in my life.
Q4. I have a standard smile and pose for the camera. If the photographer says, get down 4 steps and let me click coz the background is great. I go down and turn with a smile, like I was smiling all along. You get what I mean no? And it is not artificial. It is just the way it is.
Q5. I pull my hair when I talk. Like all these romantic heroines do? Just roll a strand in the hand and talk. Of course, I find it very irritating when others do it. Like that girl in the movie Chamatkar, I think?
Q6. How could I forget this? When I see people, I imagine their lives and create stories around what I imagine. No, am not judgemental. But say, I saw X at a temple, restaurant. I observe them and start talking to my husband about what kind of a person he/she might be. Needless to say, he hates it and calls it gossipping. But hey, who cares!
Q7. I have a knack to make connections. I look at someone and go: Oooh, do you know X who I know through Y (I usually know them well, coz I'm also obsessed with knowing about a person. I hate anonymous or pseudonymed bloggers!) So, I thrive on the Facebook 'home' page. And reading everyone's comments on everyone else's statuses and blogposts. You get the idea no?
Q8. I assume everyone understands everything I say and do. So, I say these things and go: You get what I mean no?
Q9. I'm a very generous person. If you ask me something, I give in excess. Like this tag?
You get what I mean no? :D
Q1 - I love even numbers. I hate counting or Math. But even numbers or what I call 'round figures' are mine. After getting married, I realized when I first started making Rotis that I cannot make an odd number of rotis. I went nuts the days the dough was just enough for an odd number of rotis. I'd eat less, but not eat rotis in odd numbers!
Q2 - I'm a super messy person. People who've lived with me scream in frustration. I can live with dirty clothes all over me. I can sleep on dirty clothes and live in an utter mess. But there is an organization and I can find anything I want immediately. Strangely enough, I hate it when others mess up :P - like AB. I cannot stand it when he is messy. I act like a propah maami and clean and scrub every bit of the house during the weekend. Also, I get depressed in a mess. Meaning, when with my roomies, when I had to clean my room, I wasn't depressed, but living with AB, and we both have to clean, I get depressed. I start crying and cannot think clearly.
Q3. I'm not a romantic person. I hate receiving flowers, cards (I do, secretly) but I get irritated really when AB does that. However, I love, love, love romantic movies :D and cry and laugh and clap when I want to! But I hate all that emotion in my life.
Q4. I have a standard smile and pose for the camera. If the photographer says, get down 4 steps and let me click coz the background is great. I go down and turn with a smile, like I was smiling all along. You get what I mean no? And it is not artificial. It is just the way it is.
Q5. I pull my hair when I talk. Like all these romantic heroines do? Just roll a strand in the hand and talk. Of course, I find it very irritating when others do it. Like that girl in the movie Chamatkar, I think?
Q6. How could I forget this? When I see people, I imagine their lives and create stories around what I imagine. No, am not judgemental. But say, I saw X at a temple, restaurant. I observe them and start talking to my husband about what kind of a person he/she might be. Needless to say, he hates it and calls it gossipping. But hey, who cares!
Q7. I have a knack to make connections. I look at someone and go: Oooh, do you know X who I know through Y (I usually know them well, coz I'm also obsessed with knowing about a person. I hate anonymous or pseudonymed bloggers!) So, I thrive on the Facebook 'home' page. And reading everyone's comments on everyone else's statuses and blogposts. You get the idea no?
Q8. I assume everyone understands everything I say and do. So, I say these things and go: You get what I mean no?
Q9. I'm a very generous person. If you ask me something, I give in excess. Like this tag?
You get what I mean no? :D
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Tagged!
So, both Roop and The Scatterbrain tagged me to do this. Trust me, I hadn't forgotten about it. I just did not get around to doing it. It does not involve just logging in and writing what you want, but involves some copy-paste work no? :) Here it is, the tag:
1. If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
Err...upset, I guess?
2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?
Hmm...it will have to be world peace, however, corny it may sound. I pray for this everyday. I swear :)
3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
Any man who messes with me or any other woman.
4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Give some away for charity, start an organization myself!
5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
Maybe!
6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Being loved, I think. I'm not this mushy or sentimental. But I'd rather be loved by loads of people. That should make me happy.
7. How long would you wait for someone you loved?
I've not had to wait at all. LOL. Hmm.. I dunno. Mebbe until the time I lose patience? :)
8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
Thank God I did not ruin my life myself!! :P
9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Poverty.
10. What takes you down the fastest?
When I disappoint people I care about.
11. Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?
Doing theatre, volunteering for a cause, working full-time, having fun with whatever I do.
12. What’s your fear?
Reptiles. Cancer.
13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Both The Scatterbrain and Roop are immensely hyperactive people, I'd say! I can say this about The Scatterbrain from personal experience.
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Married and poor :P Atleast, I have someone to crib to, and someone who doesn't have a choice but to listen to me!
15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Ask for 5 more minutes of sleep!
16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
Whoever loves me?
17. Would you give all in a relationship?
Yes, I will, and I do.
18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
Yes. Consciously.
19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
Depends on my mood at the moment.
20. List of 6 people to tag:
Anyone can take this up. I read way too many people's blogs to list just 6 people!
1. If your lover betrayed you, what would your reaction be?
Err...upset, I guess?
2. If you can have a dream come true, what would it be?
Hmm...it will have to be world peace, however, corny it may sound. I pray for this everyday. I swear :)
3. Whose butt would you like to kick?
Any man who messes with me or any other woman.
4. What would you do with a billion dollars?
Give some away for charity, start an organization myself!
5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?
Maybe!
6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?
Being loved, I think. I'm not this mushy or sentimental. But I'd rather be loved by loads of people. That should make me happy.
7. How long would you wait for someone you loved?
I've not had to wait at all. LOL. Hmm.. I dunno. Mebbe until the time I lose patience? :)
8. If the person you secretly like is attached, what will you do?
Thank God I did not ruin my life myself!! :P
9. If you could root for one social cause, what would it be?
Poverty.
10. What takes you down the fastest?
When I disappoint people I care about.
11. Where do you see yourself in 10 years time?
Doing theatre, volunteering for a cause, working full-time, having fun with whatever I do.
12. What’s your fear?
Reptiles. Cancer.
13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?
Both The Scatterbrain and Roop are immensely hyperactive people, I'd say! I can say this about The Scatterbrain from personal experience.
14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?
Married and poor :P Atleast, I have someone to crib to, and someone who doesn't have a choice but to listen to me!
15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?
Ask for 5 more minutes of sleep!
16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who will you pick?
Whoever loves me?
17. Would you give all in a relationship?
Yes, I will, and I do.
18. Would you forgive and forget someone no matter how horrible a thing he has done?
Yes. Consciously.
19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?
Depends on my mood at the moment.
20. List of 6 people to tag:
Anyone can take this up. I read way too many people's blogs to list just 6 people!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
6 months later...
I looked myself at the mirror again. It was full of mist from the steam in the room. I'd just taken my second bath. Hot water. They say hot water ruins your hair, but nothing like it. The shampoo applied generously. The conditioner that is used rarely. The moisturising body wash which was so expensive and now, I couldn't see clearly in the mirror.
Was my kajal right, was my hair set properly? I thought I looked good. In a creamy white kurta with a not so gaudy gold print, dark blue jeans, just the right amount of make up for a coffee place, hair neatly washed and blow-dried. Maybe, I should have used the compact? But I have never used it before. So, I guess I should skip it. Then, I saw the flaws. Those eyebrows which are growing again, the dark circles. Dammit! What kind of an impression was I going to make? Phone rings. Shit!
I walked out, literally running on my way out, tense, worried if I was okay. Could I work the old magic again? Could I be normal instead of falling all over? Will I drop the fork as I usually do?
I check my matching bronze coloured bag again. I have my quick make up set (only kajal for those who think its a lot!), lip gloss and the phone. Oh, do I have cash? Mebbe I should take the card! Looked into bag for nth time. I always forget something or the other.
Phone- Check
Kajal - Check
Cash- Check
Lip Gloss- Check
Dinner for AB- Oh no! I haven't cooked for AB! Damn. Phone rings.
Today, he can cook for himself. I cannot stop now. I've made the decision. Its my day. My moment.
Finally, I walk out to the place where the car is waiting for me. I'd anyway warned that I'm not dressy or anything. Do I look okay from far? Do I walk like a penguin? Oh, these heels hurt. Damn! The driver of the car was given wrong directions. By yours truly, of course. In my excitement, I forgot the neighbouring store that I passed everyday. And its known that my direction skills suck anyway! I did not know the driver had the same issues as me in terms of navigation. Thank God, I won't be the only one looking stupid! There it is. The silver car. With the driver I'm going out with. For coffee only, this time. But that was enough for today.
The driver drove effortlessly, almost making me envious. Soon, I relaxed. Started talking (that is the only way I know!) about random stuff. Traffic, blogs, people. Men. We reach the place. Settle down at a table on the porch or whatever they call it. I'm okay now. Absolutely okay. I can crack this. I've done this before. So what if I haven't met another human being (apart from AB) in this set-up for 6 months now. I'm a natural. Smile, talk... Listen only for a second. Because I have so much to say. So much to talk about. So much to reveal. After all, its been 6 months that I've waited for this, to tell all, to listen , to laugh, to almost cry, to hug, to crib, to bitch.
A cappuccino, a watermelon martini, hummus and pita chips, goat cheese balls and a sacher torte later, and lots of telling and listening and laughing later, 2 hours later, we decided to part for now. The driver was kind enough to drop me back home. Of course, we lost our way again. But then, that is what I wanted to do, right? Lose my way all over again. Go back to what I need most, now. Now, when I so needed to know that its all going to be over, now when I listened to the same problems I face, watching knowing nods, nodding along. I came back running skipping along my way. I wanted the whole world to know how happy I was, how relieved I was. I was the same. I found my old confidence coming back, all the negativity running away, all the regrets losing their lustre, the smile returned, the eyes glowed. Now, I could go. I could go to all those chick-flicks and cry loudly, eat all the chocolate ice cream, bitch about anything and everything, sit and just pass time. I could do it all again. I had someone to do it with. I had a friend now. A girl-friend.
Was my kajal right, was my hair set properly? I thought I looked good. In a creamy white kurta with a not so gaudy gold print, dark blue jeans, just the right amount of make up for a coffee place, hair neatly washed and blow-dried. Maybe, I should have used the compact? But I have never used it before. So, I guess I should skip it. Then, I saw the flaws. Those eyebrows which are growing again, the dark circles. Dammit! What kind of an impression was I going to make? Phone rings. Shit!
I walked out, literally running on my way out, tense, worried if I was okay. Could I work the old magic again? Could I be normal instead of falling all over? Will I drop the fork as I usually do?
I check my matching bronze coloured bag again. I have my quick make up set (only kajal for those who think its a lot!), lip gloss and the phone. Oh, do I have cash? Mebbe I should take the card! Looked into bag for nth time. I always forget something or the other.
Phone- Check
Kajal - Check
Cash- Check
Lip Gloss- Check
Dinner for AB- Oh no! I haven't cooked for AB! Damn. Phone rings.
Today, he can cook for himself. I cannot stop now. I've made the decision. Its my day. My moment.
Finally, I walk out to the place where the car is waiting for me. I'd anyway warned that I'm not dressy or anything.
The driver drove effortlessly, almost making me envious. Soon, I relaxed. Started talking (that is the only way I know!) about random stuff. Traffic, blogs, people. Men. We reach the place. Settle down at a table on the porch or whatever they call it. I'm okay now. Absolutely okay. I can crack this. I've done this before. So what if I haven't met another human being (apart from AB) in this set-up for 6 months now. I'm a natural.
A cappuccino, a watermelon martini, hummus and pita chips, goat cheese balls and a sacher torte later, and lots of telling and listening and laughing later, 2 hours later, we decided to part for now. The driver was kind enough to drop me back home. Of course, we lost our way again. But then, that is what I wanted to do, right? Lose my way all over again. Go back to what I need most, now. Now, when I so needed to know that its all going to be over, now when I listened to the same problems I face, watching knowing nods, nodding along. I came back running skipping along my way. I wanted the whole world to know how happy I was, how relieved I was. I was the same. I found my old confidence coming back, all the negativity running away, all the regrets losing their lustre, the smile returned, the eyes glowed. Now, I could go. I could go to all those chick-flicks and cry loudly, eat all the chocolate ice cream, bitch about anything and everything, sit and just pass time. I could do it all again. I had someone to do it with. I had a friend now. A girl-friend.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
I praise you...I thank you..
I've titled this post I praise you..my I thank you... because this is technically my only prayer when I pray. I'm not very religious. Fortunately, sometimes, and unfortunately when I'm in trouble. Lately, when I read about conversion issues in India and the lives lost over religious conversion, I'm appalled and understand the pain of conversion or the pain of not converting. Some of my friends are passionate for, and about Hindus converting to Christianity. They feel it is missionary work - the reformation of poor tribal communities. Fair enough. However, reform does not remain reform with some missionaries. They *do* try to convert these tribals into communities believing in Christ. Nothing wrong, of course, in believing in Christ. I believe in God, and not in a particular God or religion. For me, its just faith in a power stronger than me. It could very well be my own inner strength. Having said this, I oppose the missionaries trying to convert poor Hindu tribals into Christianity. If reform is the objective here, Jesus' word is not the most important thing. Am sure there are other ways to educate poor tribal communities. I know this is going to cause a controversy among some of my readers. Please know that I'm no RSS/VHP/BD or any sort of religious activist. One needs to have deep passion and thorough understanding of the religion they are fighting for, and I lack that. Or even the interest to learn about religion.
Being brought up in cosmopolitan Bangalore, my first brush with any sort of religion and conversion issues came with studying in a Catholic convent. I was in Class 5 when we started learning Hindi in school ( my Hindi is excellent, btw). Our teacher was a Ms. A. In all Catholic schools, every week, on a particular day (Thursday in my school), a prominent girl from the school choir or the student council (co-incidental in my school) came to take all the Catholic girls out of class for 'something.' At 10 years, I wanted to be a Catholic. No one ever called me out in the middle of the class. Soon after, something called Miracle classes was held in our school. Ms. A held those classes. Only students from Class 5 onwards could go for these classes. Initially, it was only for Catholic students. However, she soon announced that anyone could come for these classes. Note that these classes were not the reason why Catholic students were called off classes. They went to the Chapel. These Miracle classes were held every Thursday at 4 PM, after school. I stayed back and even told my parents about it. My parents did not have any problems with it, frankly. My mom has had a Catholic school upbringing and prays in similar words as me (hers is more elaborate, I admit :)) No one said or noticed anything for a long time. I even prayed everyday with this prayer: I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus. My dad was initially upset when he heard this. He spoke to my mom and they both told me in a very reasonable tone about how Jesus wasn't the only God. No, they did not ask me not to pray to Jesus. They just wanted to make sure I knew about other Gods that they believed in. I did not say much except for nodding. However, things were taking a new turn in my Miracle classes. It sort of started seeming cultish, now that I think of it. Ms. A told us stories of how there was a man trapped on an island without food or water after committing a sin. He finally figured that God'd help him, and he called out to his Gods (He had a Hindu name in the story). However, no amount of faith in his God helped him. He tried Allah and Allah did not respond either. As a last resort, he prayed to Jesus Christ and soon, he was helped by a ship which came near the island magically. At 10 years of age, I loved stories. I took all this too heart. I heard more such stories. More radical than the one mentioned here. Every time, Jesus Christ seemed to be the answer. Before our Mid-term exams, she said chanting of 'I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus' will help. I did chant that. I prayed every night chanting this, before going to bed. I bought Infant Jesus cards (am not sure they are called that) and prayed for something. My parents did not say anything much. My mom also took me to Church once to buy an Infant Jesus card. They were very tolerant, I must say. They patiently tried to explain to me that our God was possibly different and that I should be open to learning about our Gods too. I did try. However, if I believed in any power, it was Jesus Christ. Every time I passed a church while driving or walking on a road, I'd pray and say Amen. I never did that when passing a temple or a mosque because I thought they were not Gods who helped people.
My father is not a patient man. Once, he lost his temper over something, some rule I'd broken. He scolded me. I refused to say sorry and I looked at him in the eye and refused to follow the rule because I did not think it was right. ( It was something very trivial) He got angrier as I looked at him and said that as long as I do the right thing that my conscience says, my Jesus will protect me. He lost it finally and screamed at me and even raised his hand. I did not cower. My words became feverish, and I started saying: I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus. My parents were shocked. My mom asked me why I said that because we weren't that religious a family!! I said Jesus Christ was going to protect me from Appa. My parents complained to my school, however, my principal mentioned that I could stay away from that class. My parents knew that I was way into Christianity, and into believing that Hinduism and Islam was not going to do anything to help me in trouble. And that I'd attend that class for sure. So, they changed schools for me.
Today, when I think about it, I thank my parents for taking matters in their hands and thinking wisely about it. They did not once say Jesus Christ was the wrong God to pray to. They wanted me to be more open. My parents are highly tolerant people. I've been to the local mosque several times as a kid to get that charm everytime I fell sick because my servant told me it worked. My parents never objected. When I was in Class 4, my class prayed for something or someone who was ill, and our teacher asked us to buy Infant Jesus cards, my parents did not object. Even at home, they believed in God, but never forced us to pray or create a fuss about religion. Yes, my father is a staunch Hindu and supports the RSS for the kind of discipline they have. The old RSS. He does not condone the recent activities of the RSS or other similar organizations. I'm extremely tolerant myself. I did not lose patience or feel hurt even when someone called my close friend and me: Tam Brahm b****. We were called TBB by a woman who we were supporting when she accused some guy of sexual harassment. We told her she could always come and talk to us if need be whenever she felt like it. Her response was: I would not talk to TBB like you guys. She called herself a Dalit. I dunno and I do not care if she was one or not. In fact, back in college, my friends and I were considered 'elite' because we did not support reservation and did not approve of some provocative activities of the student Dalit wing. See, I'm not against Dalits or any religion/caste. All I'm saying is, to each his/her own.
Being a Tam Brahm is not a privilege for me. I'm a regular human being and a woman like any other. I know that many will argue that I've had privileges thanks to my caste. And its probably true, unfortunately. But I'd like it not to be true going forward. Again, I know its easy for me to say this, as compared to people who've struggled thanks to their caste. But someone should forget somewhere to begin with. I haven't chosen friends who are from the same caste as me, or even ask any of my friends what caste they belong to. I have several friends from various castes, religions, strata of the society. I'm Nandini for them. A human being and a woman. Being a feminist, I know that women's issues are unfortunately lost in the caste system. I'm harassed inspite of being a Hindu or any caste that I may belong to. I've lived with tribal Christians and have even celebrated Christmas at their church. Nothing really matters ultimately, and it should not!
Coming back to religious conversions, I'm against it unless the individual himself or herself is for it. In the case of poor tribals, they are uneducated and for the promise of a better life, they convert to Christianity. I'm not really sure how the quality of life improves when you convert to any religion from any other. Under the Indian Constitution, all religions are equal. Yes, there are reservations, but really, that is not my point here. No one is converting anyone without their consent, they say. But when you think of what happened to someone like me, then you can imagine the poor tribals and their kids. I was at the point of converting. I was 10, and I told my dad that his Gods are useless. Believe me, I was told this in class. Ms. A pointed out in every story about how 'other' Gods ( she did use Rama and Allah as names for the 'other' Gods) never helped a man in trouble. Her stories were amazing. She was a beautiful story-teller and created these torturous scenes playing in our minds. I'd think day and night of those starving children or those people trapped in a cave who were rescued by Jesus Christ. I came from an educated family and I studied in a mainstream school, mind you. If one woman could create such havoc in my mind and life when I was 10, I can imagine what a set of missionaries may do in poverty-stricken people's minds. I'm all for missionary reform. They've done some great work, but seriously, I wish they'd stop talking of how Jesus is the cause of any change happening in the world. I know they do, because I was possibly part of some sub conscious conversion attempts.
See, religion and caste may have mattered for my parents and their parents. It should not matter for my generation. I've learned that the hard way. I was depressed when I joined my new school. I hated it. I hated going to the temple with my parents, I hated the Gods in my house. I lost faith. I prayed for days together to Jesus Christ. But really, all that Jesus Christ seems to have taught me was that he/she liked to be referred to as God, and that my parents just saw him differently from what Ms. A saw him. Today, I say: Praise you God, Thank you God. The prayer remains the same, and I feel better saying this. Because faith matters to me, and doing the right thing matters to me. And that is what matters to Rama or Allah or Jesus Christ, I've realized.u
(P.S. - I know this is very idealistic, and many of you may scoff at me for being such an idealistic person. However, I truly believe in what I've said)
Being brought up in cosmopolitan Bangalore, my first brush with any sort of religion and conversion issues came with studying in a Catholic convent. I was in Class 5 when we started learning Hindi in school ( my Hindi is excellent, btw). Our teacher was a Ms. A. In all Catholic schools, every week, on a particular day (Thursday in my school), a prominent girl from the school choir or the student council (co-incidental in my school) came to take all the Catholic girls out of class for 'something.' At 10 years, I wanted to be a Catholic. No one ever called me out in the middle of the class. Soon after, something called Miracle classes was held in our school. Ms. A held those classes. Only students from Class 5 onwards could go for these classes. Initially, it was only for Catholic students. However, she soon announced that anyone could come for these classes. Note that these classes were not the reason why Catholic students were called off classes. They went to the Chapel. These Miracle classes were held every Thursday at 4 PM, after school. I stayed back and even told my parents about it. My parents did not have any problems with it, frankly. My mom has had a Catholic school upbringing and prays in similar words as me (hers is more elaborate, I admit :)) No one said or noticed anything for a long time. I even prayed everyday with this prayer: I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus. My dad was initially upset when he heard this. He spoke to my mom and they both told me in a very reasonable tone about how Jesus wasn't the only God. No, they did not ask me not to pray to Jesus. They just wanted to make sure I knew about other Gods that they believed in. I did not say much except for nodding. However, things were taking a new turn in my Miracle classes. It sort of started seeming cultish, now that I think of it. Ms. A told us stories of how there was a man trapped on an island without food or water after committing a sin. He finally figured that God'd help him, and he called out to his Gods (He had a Hindu name in the story). However, no amount of faith in his God helped him. He tried Allah and Allah did not respond either. As a last resort, he prayed to Jesus Christ and soon, he was helped by a ship which came near the island magically. At 10 years of age, I loved stories. I took all this too heart. I heard more such stories. More radical than the one mentioned here. Every time, Jesus Christ seemed to be the answer. Before our Mid-term exams, she said chanting of 'I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus' will help. I did chant that. I prayed every night chanting this, before going to bed. I bought Infant Jesus cards (am not sure they are called that) and prayed for something. My parents did not say anything much. My mom also took me to Church once to buy an Infant Jesus card. They were very tolerant, I must say. They patiently tried to explain to me that our God was possibly different and that I should be open to learning about our Gods too. I did try. However, if I believed in any power, it was Jesus Christ. Every time I passed a church while driving or walking on a road, I'd pray and say Amen. I never did that when passing a temple or a mosque because I thought they were not Gods who helped people.
My father is not a patient man. Once, he lost his temper over something, some rule I'd broken. He scolded me. I refused to say sorry and I looked at him in the eye and refused to follow the rule because I did not think it was right. ( It was something very trivial) He got angrier as I looked at him and said that as long as I do the right thing that my conscience says, my Jesus will protect me. He lost it finally and screamed at me and even raised his hand. I did not cower. My words became feverish, and I started saying: I praise you Jesus, I thank you Jesus. My parents were shocked. My mom asked me why I said that because we weren't that religious a family!! I said Jesus Christ was going to protect me from Appa. My parents complained to my school, however, my principal mentioned that I could stay away from that class. My parents knew that I was way into Christianity, and into believing that Hinduism and Islam was not going to do anything to help me in trouble. And that I'd attend that class for sure. So, they changed schools for me.
Today, when I think about it, I thank my parents for taking matters in their hands and thinking wisely about it. They did not once say Jesus Christ was the wrong God to pray to. They wanted me to be more open. My parents are highly tolerant people. I've been to the local mosque several times as a kid to get that charm everytime I fell sick because my servant told me it worked. My parents never objected. When I was in Class 4, my class prayed for something or someone who was ill, and our teacher asked us to buy Infant Jesus cards, my parents did not object. Even at home, they believed in God, but never forced us to pray or create a fuss about religion. Yes, my father is a staunch Hindu and supports the RSS for the kind of discipline they have. The old RSS. He does not condone the recent activities of the RSS or other similar organizations. I'm extremely tolerant myself. I did not lose patience or feel hurt even when someone called my close friend and me: Tam Brahm b****. We were called TBB by a woman who we were supporting when she accused some guy of sexual harassment. We told her she could always come and talk to us if need be whenever she felt like it. Her response was: I would not talk to TBB like you guys. She called herself a Dalit. I dunno and I do not care if she was one or not. In fact, back in college, my friends and I were considered 'elite' because we did not support reservation and did not approve of some provocative activities of the student Dalit wing. See, I'm not against Dalits or any religion/caste. All I'm saying is, to each his/her own.
Being a Tam Brahm is not a privilege for me. I'm a regular human being and a woman like any other. I know that many will argue that I've had privileges thanks to my caste. And its probably true, unfortunately. But I'd like it not to be true going forward. Again, I know its easy for me to say this, as compared to people who've struggled thanks to their caste. But someone should forget somewhere to begin with. I haven't chosen friends who are from the same caste as me, or even ask any of my friends what caste they belong to. I have several friends from various castes, religions, strata of the society. I'm Nandini for them. A human being and a woman. Being a feminist, I know that women's issues are unfortunately lost in the caste system. I'm harassed inspite of being a Hindu or any caste that I may belong to. I've lived with tribal Christians and have even celebrated Christmas at their church. Nothing really matters ultimately, and it should not!
Coming back to religious conversions, I'm against it unless the individual himself or herself is for it. In the case of poor tribals, they are uneducated and for the promise of a better life, they convert to Christianity. I'm not really sure how the quality of life improves when you convert to any religion from any other. Under the Indian Constitution, all religions are equal. Yes, there are reservations, but really, that is not my point here. No one is converting anyone without their consent, they say. But when you think of what happened to someone like me, then you can imagine the poor tribals and their kids. I was at the point of converting. I was 10, and I told my dad that his Gods are useless. Believe me, I was told this in class. Ms. A pointed out in every story about how 'other' Gods ( she did use Rama and Allah as names for the 'other' Gods) never helped a man in trouble. Her stories were amazing. She was a beautiful story-teller and created these torturous scenes playing in our minds. I'd think day and night of those starving children or those people trapped in a cave who were rescued by Jesus Christ. I came from an educated family and I studied in a mainstream school, mind you. If one woman could create such havoc in my mind and life when I was 10, I can imagine what a set of missionaries may do in poverty-stricken people's minds. I'm all for missionary reform. They've done some great work, but seriously, I wish they'd stop talking of how Jesus is the cause of any change happening in the world. I know they do, because I was possibly part of some sub conscious conversion attempts.
See, religion and caste may have mattered for my parents and their parents. It should not matter for my generation. I've learned that the hard way. I was depressed when I joined my new school. I hated it. I hated going to the temple with my parents, I hated the Gods in my house. I lost faith. I prayed for days together to Jesus Christ. But really, all that Jesus Christ seems to have taught me was that he/she liked to be referred to as God, and that my parents just saw him differently from what Ms. A saw him. Today, I say: Praise you God, Thank you God. The prayer remains the same, and I feel better saying this. Because faith matters to me, and doing the right thing matters to me. And that is what matters to Rama or Allah or Jesus Christ, I've realized.u
(P.S. - I know this is very idealistic, and many of you may scoff at me for being such an idealistic person. However, I truly believe in what I've said)
Friday, October 3, 2008
Must love dogs ;)
So, we are not a dog family. Never been though we've not had anything against dogs. My earliest exposure to pets came when I was a kid. My grand-dad looked after two dogs on the street as pets. They stayed on the road, came for breakfast, lunch and dinner. They were strays who loved to come and stay in our house. My house that time was h-u-g-e, what Tamils will identify as 'vathaalam.' The dogs'd come into our compound and lie under the tap during summers to beat the heat. My grand-dad, much to my grandma's disgust fed the dogs before he ate because (I think) he never trusted my grandma to feed them :P I do not really remember my relationship with these dogs. I liked them, yes. I think I even used to pet them and all that. But beyond that, I have no memories of these dogs. Ramu and some other name :)
But, but, yay! We moved out from there (my mom didn't think she could bring up 3 temperamental girls with the local rowdies carrying us :P) to a more posh (!), residential location. Very well known in Bangalore for slightcha upper middle class families. I loved it. There were huge parks, wide trafficless roads, kids on the street who went to the same school as me to play with, trees on the roads :) It was like living a dream of mine, though it was quite normal for any major residential area in Bangalore! But then I came from an area full of people fighting for water from the local tap, men loafing at the corners of streets with their beedis, the road was witness to sewage problems everyday and my father, being the only slightly more educated, with a little more money, a little more voice, fighting with the corporation guy on the road! Okay, I digressed there. Let me get back to the dogs bit of it!
The only problem in my new locality was that EVERYONE seemed to have a dog! They all walked them in the mornings. Dogs had friends. People made friends with others thanks to their dogs. After growing up on an Enid Blyton diet, I just had to keep up with the social scene at my new locality with a dog only. I begged, pleaded, threw tantrums at 11 to have a dog. Finally, finally, we got one. My sister(s) and I were thrilled. We thought of Enid Blytonish dog names for him, while my Dad named him Ghattu after Ghatotkacha :( We weren't at home when he brought the dog home. So, by the time we came, he responded to this Ghattu name! So, we obliged. At least we had a dog now! My other sister hated him. Someone told her his claws resembled that of a tiger, and she is paranoid of animals. Actually, anything that moves ;) So, she refused to socialize with the dog and hated him. My granny was totally on another plane. I think she secretly missed having dogs, you know? She hated him initially, but got used to him. He loved her! He'd wait for her every morning when she went for a walk. She is an orthodox woman and refused to touch the dog. He graciously moved away (just like all of us did) when she walked. She'd scold us citing his example: "Even the dog understands that it should not touch me" :D
This dog bit me twice :) I say it with a smile coz it taught me a lot of lessons. The first time he bit me, he actually just scratched my back. Every night, we'd lock the gates and let him loose in our garden. On one such night, he came running behind me, and put his paws on my shoulders and just pulled it down. It was a minor scratch and all that was taken care of. The next time he bit me was when I took him out for a walk in spite of my dad asking me not to. My dad felt something was wrong that day with the dog, and generally, and asked me not to go out. I was 15. What do you think I did?
I took him out at 10 PM for a walk with my 8 year old 'I love dogs too' sis. He bit into something - a jack fruit peel and I tried pulling it out and accidentally hit him on the head. I think I hit the wrong spot by mistake and he just jumped. When he jumped, he bit my lower lip (cut into two parts) extending to my chin and my cheeks and scratched my hands. He immediately sat down there and started crying. Poor thing! I was shocked and my face was bleeding. I started talking to the dog calmly before my dad arrived on the scene. My family's reaction was worse.
I said: How could you do this to me, Ghattu? I love you so much.
My sis who hates dogs: I just knew 'it' was going to do this. And she is doing nautanki even now. Talking to him, it seems. Leave him and run, stupid!
My other sis who loves dogs: That is all. No more dogs for us, and he will be sent somewhere now (breaks into tears)
My mom ( in tears) : OMG, look at her face (all the time praying I do not have permanent scars- what will happen to my value in the marriage market YEARS later :P)
My granny: Dogs are animals after all
My dad: I told you so!
So, in a moment of teen ego, told my dad I could take care of this and since I'd been bitten previously, I knew what to do. My dad stared at me (more out of anger) and let me get inside, wash my face and came with me to the hospital next door. There was only a duty doctor there who was shocked. She called 101 other doctors and confirmed that as an exceptional case, my wounds had to be stitched and closed. (Dog wounds are not usually covered with bandage) I found her to be very nervous. I was fine by then, just worried that I may not able to talk with my lip like this. She cleaned my wound, while I constantly showed off my knowledge about medicines to be used during a dog bite.
Doc (cleaning wound and trying to talk in a reassuring voice): It will be ok...
Me: Ya, I know. Its only a dog bite. So, is this betadine?
Doc (shocked): Umm..yeah
Me: Okay. It is an ugly brown solution but is really good with wounds like this.
Doc (talking to my dad now): Ya...I'm going to give her anaesthesia now since am going to stitch her cheek and lip.
Me: Great. Could you give me local anaesthesia? I'd like to know what is happening to my face. And also, see how much pain I can endure.
Doc: It will be really painful
Me (reassuring smile): I know I can manage. After all, I fall everyday and get hurt in the same place everyday
Doc: Umm...ok.. (to my dad): This is going to be painful
Dad: Let her experience it. Nothing will hurt her. See how she is smiling. She wants to, anyway. Stupid girl (storms out of the room)
Doc (totally shocked): Err..ok
10 mins later. She is using suture now and stitching my lips together. And my jaw which we realized was also bitten.
Me: Good. So, you are using suture right? Is it the dissolvable type?
Doc: Umm...ya
Dad: Can you stitch those two lips together? Its okay if its dissolvable also!
Me (in shock, turn jerkily to look at him imploringly to show some love and forgiveness): Aaaaaaaa (the suture pulled too!)
Needless to say, the doctor got tired of me and sent me home packing with the stitches. With local anaesthesia, of course and I could not talk for approximately 10 days. The silence was deafening. Like I was the only person who ever spoke in my house. There was NO sympathy for me when I got back from the hospital thanks to my dad's wrath :(
Every time I narrate this story, people ask me about the dog. I tell them what happened, however, my close friend's long well-explained version is what everyone loves to believe.
"Oh, the dog bit Nandu and died. It was very sad. He suffered for a year after that day. Not from guilt, but from some sort of disease. He died just before her Maths exam. He knew she won't do Maths well anyway, so she couldn't blame it on his death, he died just the day before her exam."
But, but, yay! We moved out from there (my mom didn't think she could bring up 3 temperamental girls with the local rowdies carrying us :P) to a more posh (!), residential location. Very well known in Bangalore for slightcha upper middle class families. I loved it. There were huge parks, wide trafficless roads, kids on the street who went to the same school as me to play with, trees on the roads :) It was like living a dream of mine, though it was quite normal for any major residential area in Bangalore! But then I came from an area full of people fighting for water from the local tap, men loafing at the corners of streets with their beedis, the road was witness to sewage problems everyday and my father, being the only slightly more educated, with a little more money, a little more voice, fighting with the corporation guy on the road! Okay, I digressed there. Let me get back to the dogs bit of it!
The only problem in my new locality was that EVERYONE seemed to have a dog! They all walked them in the mornings. Dogs had friends. People made friends with others thanks to their dogs. After growing up on an Enid Blyton diet, I just had to keep up with the social scene at my new locality with a dog only. I begged, pleaded, threw tantrums at 11 to have a dog. Finally, finally, we got one. My sister(s) and I were thrilled. We thought of Enid Blytonish dog names for him, while my Dad named him Ghattu after Ghatotkacha :( We weren't at home when he brought the dog home. So, by the time we came, he responded to this Ghattu name! So, we obliged. At least we had a dog now! My other sister hated him. Someone told her his claws resembled that of a tiger, and she is paranoid of animals. Actually, anything that moves ;) So, she refused to socialize with the dog and hated him. My granny was totally on another plane. I think she secretly missed having dogs, you know? She hated him initially, but got used to him. He loved her! He'd wait for her every morning when she went for a walk. She is an orthodox woman and refused to touch the dog. He graciously moved away (just like all of us did) when she walked. She'd scold us citing his example: "Even the dog understands that it should not touch me" :D
This dog bit me twice :) I say it with a smile coz it taught me a lot of lessons. The first time he bit me, he actually just scratched my back. Every night, we'd lock the gates and let him loose in our garden. On one such night, he came running behind me, and put his paws on my shoulders and just pulled it down. It was a minor scratch and all that was taken care of. The next time he bit me was when I took him out for a walk in spite of my dad asking me not to. My dad felt something was wrong that day with the dog, and generally, and asked me not to go out. I was 15. What do you think I did?
I took him out at 10 PM for a walk with my 8 year old 'I love dogs too' sis. He bit into something - a jack fruit peel and I tried pulling it out and accidentally hit him on the head. I think I hit the wrong spot by mistake and he just jumped. When he jumped, he bit my lower lip (cut into two parts) extending to my chin and my cheeks and scratched my hands. He immediately sat down there and started crying. Poor thing! I was shocked and my face was bleeding. I started talking to the dog calmly before my dad arrived on the scene. My family's reaction was worse.
I said: How could you do this to me, Ghattu? I love you so much.
My sis who hates dogs: I just knew 'it' was going to do this. And she is doing nautanki even now. Talking to him, it seems. Leave him and run, stupid!
My other sis who loves dogs: That is all. No more dogs for us, and he will be sent somewhere now (breaks into tears)
My mom ( in tears) : OMG, look at her face (all the time praying I do not have permanent scars- what will happen to my value in the marriage market YEARS later :P)
My granny: Dogs are animals after all
My dad: I told you so!
So, in a moment of teen ego, told my dad I could take care of this and since I'd been bitten previously, I knew what to do. My dad stared at me (more out of anger) and let me get inside, wash my face and came with me to the hospital next door. There was only a duty doctor there who was shocked. She called 101 other doctors and confirmed that as an exceptional case, my wounds had to be stitched and closed. (Dog wounds are not usually covered with bandage) I found her to be very nervous. I was fine by then, just worried that I may not able to talk with my lip like this. She cleaned my wound, while I constantly showed off my knowledge about medicines to be used during a dog bite.
Doc (cleaning wound and trying to talk in a reassuring voice): It will be ok...
Me: Ya, I know. Its only a dog bite. So, is this betadine?
Doc (shocked): Umm..yeah
Me: Okay. It is an ugly brown solution but is really good with wounds like this.
Doc (talking to my dad now): Ya...I'm going to give her anaesthesia now since am going to stitch her cheek and lip.
Me: Great. Could you give me local anaesthesia? I'd like to know what is happening to my face. And also, see how much pain I can endure.
Doc: It will be really painful
Me (reassuring smile): I know I can manage. After all, I fall everyday and get hurt in the same place everyday
Doc: Umm...ok.. (to my dad): This is going to be painful
Dad: Let her experience it. Nothing will hurt her. See how she is smiling. She wants to, anyway. Stupid girl (storms out of the room)
Doc (totally shocked): Err..ok
10 mins later. She is using suture now and stitching my lips together. And my jaw which we realized was also bitten.
Me: Good. So, you are using suture right? Is it the dissolvable type?
Doc: Umm...ya
Dad: Can you stitch those two lips together? Its okay if its dissolvable also!
Me (in shock, turn jerkily to look at him imploringly to show some love and forgiveness): Aaaaaaaa (the suture pulled too!)
Needless to say, the doctor got tired of me and sent me home packing with the stitches. With local anaesthesia, of course and I could not talk for approximately 10 days. The silence was deafening. Like I was the only person who ever spoke in my house. There was NO sympathy for me when I got back from the hospital thanks to my dad's wrath :(
Every time I narrate this story, people ask me about the dog. I tell them what happened, however, my close friend's long well-explained version is what everyone loves to believe.
"Oh, the dog bit Nandu and died. It was very sad. He suffered for a year after that day. Not from guilt, but from some sort of disease. He died just before her Maths exam. He knew she won't do Maths well anyway, so she couldn't blame it on his death, he died just the day before her exam."
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Creating some noise...
So, I read MM's blog and her experiences and thought I should put some of mine down. I'm sure every female reader has her own experience and her own horrifying details to add. My blood boils when I think of it. I'm talking of street abuse, or eve-teasing, or sexual harassment on the street. I've spoken about it before. Here I go again.
I did my Masters in Hyderabad. I'm from Bangalore, and technically grew up in one of the busiest areas in Bangalore. An area full of ALL kinds of people, the poorest of poor, the richest of the rich. My dad grew up in the same area and we knew everyone there. I was the pet of the whole wide road when I was a kid. So, I'm not one of those super-sensitive people, thankfully. The first time I was coming to Bangalore in a bus from Hyderabad was a big deal for my parents. They didn't want me coming alone in a bus, they didn't want me travelling alone. Period. You know how parents can be! I just brushed their fears away and decided to go to Bangalore as a spur-of-the-moment decision. I had short hair that time. I sat on my seat with a woman next to me. Smiled, chatted for a minute and decided to try to follow the horrible Telugu movie showing. Those days, I thought I'd learn some Telugu. Suddenly, I felt something on my hair. I thought some mosquito, some insect, some bag's handle touching me and just brushed it off. After some time, I felt the same again. This time, when I ran my hands through my hair, I felt I touched something solid. I suspected it to be someone and not something anymore. Me, being me, I decided to teach him a lesson. I put my head back, threw my hair back and waited for him. It was around 12.30 or so in the night. I knew if I screamed and raised a ruckus like I always do, I will be the one off the bus and that was the last thing I wanted. So, the next time I felt something touch me, I quickly put my hand, and touched 'it.' It was a man's hand. The man sitting behind me. In an impulse, I pulled it forward, bit it hard and threw it back. I heard him wince and after that, he stayed away. Of course, I spent the whole night leaning forward and trying not to sleep with nightmares of him doing something to me and how I'd attack him back. Sigh.
Ever since I was a kid, I've been practicing moves in my head to beat up a man or hit a man who touches me wrongly. I do it to date. Atleast it gives me confidence to walk on the streets. It helped me once. Once, in the busy Panjaguta area of Hyderabad where the infamous Hyderabad Central lies, I got off the cab and crossed the road on the zebra crossing to get into the mall. The road was busy, and many many people were crossing the road from both sides, vehicles in abundance, noise levels deafening, it was a busy city at 7 PM. There was a woman walking in front of me. Nothing special about her, really. An average Indian woman in her regular attire of salwar kameez, shoulder length hair, returning home possibly to go cook for her husband and kids, mid thirties, running with the urgency that I see on young working wives/moms' faces. Then I saw him. He was coming from the other side. He slapped her bottom. She just stopped midway. In shock. I stopped. I actually saw this guy lift his hand and slap this woman's bottom in the middle of the road in front of 1000s of people with a grin on his face. She said something like: aeeeee, but my blood boiled and I do not know what came over me. He was walking towards me and I pulled him and screamed out aloud and threatened to take him to the police station. Ironically, the police station was across the street. The woman was shocked, but she regained her composure and came along with me to the police station with him. To date, I do not know what made me do this, and how I summoned the courage to pull him into the police station. She filed an FIR and I told the police officer there to keep him for the night atleast. Atleast until that woman reaches home and I finish my shopping at the mall and reach home, only to narrate this as another of those everyday incidents in our lives to ourselves and maybe, our girl friends. That day, I did my usual weekly 2 hour grocery shopping in 15 mins flat and ran home. Literally.
Who said trains are the safest of modes of transport for women? Who said you can make friends on the train? I travelled regularly for over 4 years between Hyderabad and Bangalore on the train. There have been very few times when its been eventless. I know of my friends who carried a thick blanket even during Hyderabad's horrible summers. We all felt vulnerable. I never did. Not because I was bold or anything. I always forgot. I always ran from office to the railway station just in time. There was one time when I got the side-berth (I never learned to book tickets on time) and I lay down reading a book. I was dressed in a pair of jeans and a long sleeved kurta. There was this guy on the upper berth on the other side. He kept staring at me. I adjusted my position, I sat down, I threw my stole around any exposed part of my body (my feet!). Nothing worked. I even glared at him. It did not work. I lost it. I've never had too much patience, and not with men, ever. There were two others. One Tamil boy 20-21 years of age accompanying his grandmother. I usually avoid Maamis and Patis on the train for obvious reasons. This time around, I figured I should use them.
I lay down in a comfortable position, and waited for him to watch me again. He had this mean, crude grin on his face and I was determined to see it off. The moment he looked at me, I let him be. Then a good 5 minutes later, I looked at him and said in a continous stream: "Do you want this seat? Or, am I that pretty that you cannot stop staring at me? Or is it something else you are looking at? Do you want to talk about what interests you so much?" The Pati got up, asked the grandson to take my seat and muttered something against the guy. The guy, you ask? He was too embarrassed. I asked him way too many embarassing questions, you see.
I once got angry with a guy in my class (who was half my size then, and now is double my size) and lifted him from the collar and screamed and threatened to beat him up in school. Do you want to know why?
I used to be the class monitor and was asked to dictate Civics notes when the teacher wasn't available once. Everytime I said: "The constitution......irrespective of class, race, gender, sex,...," he'd ask me to repeat the sentence and would repeat only one word loudly after me as if he was learning to articulate the word and wrote it down clearly. You know and I know which word it was. And every answer in that particular chapter had this line. I lost it. Call it hormones, call it plain anger at being harassed in a very differently 'sexual' way, I walked up to him and lifted him and threatened to beat him up. It hurt his male pride and he hasn't let me forget it. I haven't because I do not regret it.
But, why? Why should I hide everytime? Why should I feel embarassed about myself every time? Why am I the only one who feels this whole staring, touching, maliciously grinning, winking is wrong? Why should I feel the brunt of an aisle seat instead of a comfortable window seat? I know that my parents'd have gotten worried and not let me travel alone again. I may not have been allowed to carry on with my life in Hyderabad all alone again. My mom would have come to school and spoken to my principal and at 15, I did not need that. Everytime I rant about this, there are many who agree and then the discussion moves on to CSA and then they exclaim: "Nowadays, even boys are being harassed. Do you think they will let the girls be?" So? Does that mean that since boys are also harassed, and its not like only women are harassed so, we should just take it in our stride saying that it happens to the boys too, and shut up?? Everytime I talk of these particular experiences, I narrate them as a funny anecdote of the kind of person I'm. You know why? Because the first time I spoke about it seriously, I had a crowd laughing their hearts out about how feisty and jhagdaalu I was. But you know what, everytime I narrate this as a funny anecdote, I'm laughing at all you people. All you people who stand and watch women who are harassed, all you people who laugh and such stories and call people like me incorrigible. All you people who forget about it until the next party and say: Yaar, tell us how you bit that guy's hand no? It is my fault too. But you know what? This is the only way you will hear the story without telling me : OMG, stop it. Its horrible! So, I say it this way. Laugh all you want. As long as you want to keep on hearing it, coz I will keep on saying it. It happens everyday to me, so I keep coming up with a new tactic to keep myself safe, a new move to use against all the perverts. A new story to entertain you all with.
I recently read somewhere about how some men started an organization to protest against their wives who beat them. You know what? Just like we women deserve to be harassed or raped because of the way we walk, or talk or the kind of clothes we wear. Mebbe, if I wear a burqa, you will want to see more and still harass me. Mebbe if I wear a mini skirt, you will want me more and harass me. Just because I'm a woman.
Mebbe you deserve to be beaten, unjustly so. Just because you are men.
I did my Masters in Hyderabad. I'm from Bangalore, and technically grew up in one of the busiest areas in Bangalore. An area full of ALL kinds of people, the poorest of poor, the richest of the rich. My dad grew up in the same area and we knew everyone there. I was the pet of the whole wide road when I was a kid. So, I'm not one of those super-sensitive people, thankfully. The first time I was coming to Bangalore in a bus from Hyderabad was a big deal for my parents. They didn't want me coming alone in a bus, they didn't want me travelling alone. Period. You know how parents can be! I just brushed their fears away and decided to go to Bangalore as a spur-of-the-moment decision. I had short hair that time. I sat on my seat with a woman next to me. Smiled, chatted for a minute and decided to try to follow the horrible Telugu movie showing. Those days, I thought I'd learn some Telugu. Suddenly, I felt something on my hair. I thought some mosquito, some insect, some bag's handle touching me and just brushed it off. After some time, I felt the same again. This time, when I ran my hands through my hair, I felt I touched something solid. I suspected it to be someone and not something anymore. Me, being me, I decided to teach him a lesson. I put my head back, threw my hair back and waited for him. It was around 12.30 or so in the night. I knew if I screamed and raised a ruckus like I always do, I will be the one off the bus and that was the last thing I wanted. So, the next time I felt something touch me, I quickly put my hand, and touched 'it.' It was a man's hand. The man sitting behind me. In an impulse, I pulled it forward, bit it hard and threw it back. I heard him wince and after that, he stayed away. Of course, I spent the whole night leaning forward and trying not to sleep with nightmares of him doing something to me and how I'd attack him back. Sigh.
Ever since I was a kid, I've been practicing moves in my head to beat up a man or hit a man who touches me wrongly. I do it to date. Atleast it gives me confidence to walk on the streets. It helped me once. Once, in the busy Panjaguta area of Hyderabad where the infamous Hyderabad Central lies, I got off the cab and crossed the road on the zebra crossing to get into the mall. The road was busy, and many many people were crossing the road from both sides, vehicles in abundance, noise levels deafening, it was a busy city at 7 PM. There was a woman walking in front of me. Nothing special about her, really. An average Indian woman in her regular attire of salwar kameez, shoulder length hair, returning home possibly to go cook for her husband and kids, mid thirties, running with the urgency that I see on young working wives/moms' faces. Then I saw him. He was coming from the other side. He slapped her bottom. She just stopped midway. In shock. I stopped. I actually saw this guy lift his hand and slap this woman's bottom in the middle of the road in front of 1000s of people with a grin on his face. She said something like: aeeeee, but my blood boiled and I do not know what came over me. He was walking towards me and I pulled him and screamed out aloud and threatened to take him to the police station. Ironically, the police station was across the street. The woman was shocked, but she regained her composure and came along with me to the police station with him. To date, I do not know what made me do this, and how I summoned the courage to pull him into the police station. She filed an FIR and I told the police officer there to keep him for the night atleast. Atleast until that woman reaches home and I finish my shopping at the mall and reach home, only to narrate this as another of those everyday incidents in our lives to ourselves and maybe, our girl friends. That day, I did my usual weekly 2 hour grocery shopping in 15 mins flat and ran home. Literally.
Who said trains are the safest of modes of transport for women? Who said you can make friends on the train? I travelled regularly for over 4 years between Hyderabad and Bangalore on the train. There have been very few times when its been eventless. I know of my friends who carried a thick blanket even during Hyderabad's horrible summers. We all felt vulnerable. I never did. Not because I was bold or anything. I always forgot. I always ran from office to the railway station just in time. There was one time when I got the side-berth (I never learned to book tickets on time) and I lay down reading a book. I was dressed in a pair of jeans and a long sleeved kurta. There was this guy on the upper berth on the other side. He kept staring at me. I adjusted my position, I sat down, I threw my stole around any exposed part of my body (my feet!). Nothing worked. I even glared at him. It did not work. I lost it. I've never had too much patience, and not with men, ever. There were two others. One Tamil boy 20-21 years of age accompanying his grandmother. I usually avoid Maamis and Patis on the train for obvious reasons. This time around, I figured I should use them.
I lay down in a comfortable position, and waited for him to watch me again. He had this mean, crude grin on his face and I was determined to see it off. The moment he looked at me, I let him be. Then a good 5 minutes later, I looked at him and said in a continous stream: "Do you want this seat? Or, am I that pretty that you cannot stop staring at me? Or is it something else you are looking at? Do you want to talk about what interests you so much?" The Pati got up, asked the grandson to take my seat and muttered something against the guy. The guy, you ask? He was too embarrassed. I asked him way too many embarassing questions, you see.
I once got angry with a guy in my class (who was half my size then, and now is double my size) and lifted him from the collar and screamed and threatened to beat him up in school. Do you want to know why?
I used to be the class monitor and was asked to dictate Civics notes when the teacher wasn't available once. Everytime I said: "The constitution......irrespective of class, race, gender, sex,...," he'd ask me to repeat the sentence and would repeat only one word loudly after me as if he was learning to articulate the word and wrote it down clearly. You know and I know which word it was. And every answer in that particular chapter had this line. I lost it. Call it hormones, call it plain anger at being harassed in a very differently 'sexual' way, I walked up to him and lifted him and threatened to beat him up. It hurt his male pride and he hasn't let me forget it. I haven't because I do not regret it.
But, why? Why should I hide everytime? Why should I feel embarassed about myself every time? Why am I the only one who feels this whole staring, touching, maliciously grinning, winking is wrong? Why should I feel the brunt of an aisle seat instead of a comfortable window seat? I know that my parents'd have gotten worried and not let me travel alone again. I may not have been allowed to carry on with my life in Hyderabad all alone again. My mom would have come to school and spoken to my principal and at 15, I did not need that. Everytime I rant about this, there are many who agree and then the discussion moves on to CSA and then they exclaim: "Nowadays, even boys are being harassed. Do you think they will let the girls be?" So? Does that mean that since boys are also harassed, and its not like only women are harassed so, we should just take it in our stride saying that it happens to the boys too, and shut up?? Everytime I talk of these particular experiences, I narrate them as a funny anecdote of the kind of person I'm. You know why? Because the first time I spoke about it seriously, I had a crowd laughing their hearts out about how feisty and jhagdaalu I was. But you know what, everytime I narrate this as a funny anecdote, I'm laughing at all you people. All you people who stand and watch women who are harassed, all you people who laugh and such stories and call people like me incorrigible. All you people who forget about it until the next party and say: Yaar, tell us how you bit that guy's hand no? It is my fault too. But you know what? This is the only way you will hear the story without telling me : OMG, stop it. Its horrible! So, I say it this way. Laugh all you want. As long as you want to keep on hearing it, coz I will keep on saying it. It happens everyday to me, so I keep coming up with a new tactic to keep myself safe, a new move to use against all the perverts. A new story to entertain you all with.
I recently read somewhere about how some men started an organization to protest against their wives who beat them. You know what? Just like we women deserve to be harassed or raped because of the way we walk, or talk or the kind of clothes we wear. Mebbe, if I wear a burqa, you will want to see more and still harass me. Mebbe if I wear a mini skirt, you will want me more and harass me. Just because I'm a woman.
Mebbe you deserve to be beaten, unjustly so. Just because you are men.
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