How will you ever change the world lady?

To be honest, I did not want to write about this. And it was something that struck me months ago. And it takes me days to get over things like these but I did and then it happened again.

I have never been a champion of 'Feminism'. Simply because I think respect has to be earned, power has to be won and rights have to be fought for, irrespective of you being a man, a woman or just queer. For every 10,000 examples of 'the oppressed', you will find 1 person who earned whatever he/she wanted against all odds. One may not get something as easily as another privileged person but then there are privileged people who could not make use of what they had. It evens out. I think in this whole process one is driven by the self esteem they have for themselves. Ones with lower self esteem will try to seek patronage and the ones with higher self respect will fight everything and everyone to achieve what they want. But I thought everyone has it in them even if not in same degree. Days ago I was shocked and disturbed when I learnt that this may not be true.

This was when the Delhi-rape case happened and we were discussing this among friends. And a friend who is born and raised in the city said, "Oh, I am so glad I don't have girls, girls are so hard to raise." To which another friend responded, "Yes, after this incident, I would not want to have a girl." Two dear friends, one used to be a women's rights activist in Delhi and one is a bright IT professional and both women! In those two lines without realizing they trashed their whole existence and acknowledged the huge responsibility they presumably were on their families when they were born. Boys get raped too. And there are men who feel ashamed that a man did this to a woman, but I have never heard a man trashing his own existence over it. 

It got me thinking, it must have taken centuries of cleverly designed societal practices and that too world-wide to belittle the female of this species; to an extent where they themselves feel lowly about themselves. It makes me wonder if it was indeed men who oppressed women in the first place. Think about it... mothers raise their sons instilling in them the special privileges they earn thanks to being males. You would think a woman whose self respect and ego was trampled at every stage of her life would end up raising her children doing it the right way but guess what happened! Men never think too much, mom says I don't do dishes, 'Great'! But in that one small lesson, he was taught, all work is not equal, all work is not dignified, you can expect some else do things for you, especially if it is a female. Your mom can be bigger to you in age, relation and respect, but she will still do your dishes! And I will bet my bottom dollar that a man will ever reconsider this after he grows up. It's us women who have the boon & curse of thinking too much, not them.

Next time lady, when you plan to raise those placards against the oppressions of the male-dominant society, do give two pence to the fact that maybe you are barking at the wrong tree. Maybe it was always in your own hands.

Crossing the t's and dotting the i's

Does anybody use a notepad (the one that has real paper) and a pen anymore? Do you feel a little romantic when the ink flows beautifully on a smooth sheet of paper? Maybe not.

I grew up with a love for writing. No, not the creativity, but the sheer act of forming beautiful letters on a piece of paper. In my initial years in school, handwriting wasn't something I paid attention to. But one evening, in fact 2 days before the final exam of my fifth grade, my mother made me rewrite an entire year's worth of school work because she did not like what she saw in my notebook. According to her, handwriting and writing itself spoke a lot about the person. That was an 'aha moment'.

Since then I wrote! It was my second hobby (besides reading). What did I write? Anything... I filled diaries with poems, anecdotes, things that I read and liked. In fact scribbling was such a bad habit, I would have scribbled in almost every single classmate's notebook by the end of the year. People saved their special notebooks from me, because I would just mindlessly scribble something on them. There was a bright side to it too. Since I had a good handwriting, all teachers would ask me to write their journals, students grade records, even report cards! Yes, you read it right...I knew the class results much before everyone else in school. I was privy to very confidential information simply because of my handwriting. :) I wrote banners, my school projects, my brother's, cousins', nephew's. If there was something to be written, I was the go-to person. I still use a notebook in office/home to plan my days, my engagements or to simply write for the love of it.

Off late it felt like I was an artisan of a dying traditional tribal art form called 'Cursive'and I was coming to terms with it. But the other day I heard Sugata Mitra (of the NIIT fame) talking very convincingly about how reading was more important in today's education than writing; that how writing was totally redundant in today's life and I realized its just a matter of time! Cringe I may at the difficulty with which the new interns in my office hold their pens and write those barely decipherable disconnected alphabets to make them look like a word, but they are here to stay with their tablets and smartphones.

So for the millionth time I am going to read all those hand written notes from friends over the course of years. From a four year old neighbour to the one from a dear friend who was leaving town for further studies, observing the curves, the lines, the sweat of their palms on the edge of the paper and once again appreciating how their writing indeed spoke so much about them and what they thought of me; noting that probably those are last handwritten notes I would ever receive from someone in this lifetime.

The danger of a single story.

I love stories! And there probably couldn't have been a more obvious statement I've ever made. I haven't been writing for sometime, which is not out of place for the readers of this blog. However, I stumbled upon something which I am trembling in excitement to share. I am positive that this talk will bring that one whiff of an unknown fragrance in a spring morning that finds a permanent home in your memory. Hope it does to you, what it did to me...

The danger of a single story

Miracle!

It was a daily ritual that began with the first ray of light that falls on the snow caps of Kanchenjunga and streaked into his room. He never needed an alarm clock to wake him, that streak woke him each morning ever since he got posted in Sikkim. For a young man with a lot to do in the cities, Sikkim was a quite place with very little activity. It had been a year since he had been living in Gyalshing. Indian Army has a strong presence in Sikkim and people are used to seeing them all over the place. People are friendly and have a strict way of life. Living on high altitudes is not easy. The first couple of months of his stay drove him crazy. He wished he didn't wake up early so he would have lesser hours to kill but that streak of light was trecherous. One evening he fumbled upon this book about Houdini at a local shop. It was funny how he found it. He had bought something to eat at a local tea stall and a little kid packed his snack in a piece of paper. As he was eating out of that piece of paper, his eyes fell on the oil stained words. By the time he was done eating, he was intrigued. He called that little guy and asked him where he got that paper from. The kid brought out a half torn book. Almost half of the pages were gone. But he wanted it. The little kid at the tea stall was amused to see the fauji (Hindi for 'Soldier') going crazy over a tattered, not-even-a-book. Houdini lead him into the fascinating world of magic.

He learned some basic card tricks and tried them on the village kids. He enjoyed the look on hand cupped faces. In the village where he moved around like a zombie to the locals, the mutually exclusive co-existence was melting into recognizing looks and friendly smiles. He was the jaadugar fauji (magician soldier). One day the little kid from tea stall saw him showing his card tricks to the kids in the village. He saw him with great interest and watched closely. As all the children were thrilled after the show, the boy from the tea stall just walked away all with a quizzical expression. Next morning as he was getting dressed for work, he heard a knock on the door. It was the little boy!

He had a pack of cards in his hands. He kept his kettle down and placed the cards on the table. And one by one he showed all his tricks back to him with the most smug smile you can find on a child's face. All his tricks came down like a pack of cards. The boy gave him some tea and went away.

For a week the jaadugar fauji was not to be seen in the village. The kids were getting edgy. After a week the jaadugar emerged with new tricks. Better than the cards. The kids were delirious but he was waiting for the little boy to see him this time. The boy came again and watched him intently. The following morning, jaadugar kept waiting for the knock on the door, but no one came. He had a funny sense of triumph, as he set out for the day.

However, it didn't last long. The boy came next morning and like last time the tricks were all exposed. This turned into a routine. Every week fauji came up with something new and the boy saw through it. The competition turned into a friendship. The fauji was intrigued that, for a boy his age, he somehow wasn't fascinated by the magic tricks. When all the other kids in the village eyes looked at him reveringly as if he had miraculous powers, for this boy these were all tricks. How did he know the difference?

One evening the fauji was out on a night reconnaissance. This wasn't a dangerous area, but it was a routine recce. The worst one would expect was poachers in the jungle, but no one usually wanted to go near a military vehicle. He did his usual round and was returning to the base when he heard a gun shot. There were definitely poachers around. He stopped in a clearing and asked the driver to turn off the lights. They heard a vehicle coming closer, but couldn't see anything through his night vision device. Suddenly, the oncoming vehicle stopped and he heard another gun shot and in about a few seconds, he felt some cold liquid running from his right ear down his neck. As the pain surged he realized he was shot in the ear. The driver quickly drove him to the base and he was flown out to the closest military hospital after a tincture iodine dressing (which is not nice!). The whole village knew that the jaadugar fauji was shot.

He came back after a week to the base and still didn't start going out in the village yet. One morning after he got back, there was the knock on the door in the morning. He knew who it would be. He opened the door and the little boy walked in. He saw on his face what he had always wanted to see, the astonishment! He thought, so this is what it took. He spoke to the boy for the first time, "are you looking at that hole in my ear? it looks funny isn't it? Don't worry, it doesn't hurt anymore. I am fine." and smiled.

The boy looked at him and said, "they told me someone shot you in the dark. Do you see where you were hit? Just one inch on your left and you wouldn't have been standing here right now! Its a miracle!

Its still a ritual, the way his day begins. But when he looks out at that glistening snow capped peak of Kanchenjunga, he sees the miracle!

Love you and Miss you!

This was written in spring, but never posted...

Its spring time and there is pollen all around. If you come back home after a short walk outside, you could dust off loads and loads of green stuff from your clothes. Thankfully this lasts only for a month or two in a year. But its spring time for 'Love you's and 'Miss you's all year round. You could dust off as much as you want, but you'll be showered with tons more.

If you're staying away from your social circle, be prepared for astronomical proportions of this stuff. And maybe its the 'in-thing' in India, just like there are other million things that people say when they open or close a conversation, that have absolutely no sincerity. Incidentally, its the female species who is infected by this phenomena severely, although you would see an occasional male mouthing these frivolities too! The quintessential aunt, the cheesy girl friend, the long lost school friend, the college-mate who you never spoke to in college, an ex-colleague who you knew, hated you from the gut! All these are the primary carriers of the pollen.

But sit down and think about how many times your mom or dad said, "I love you my child and I miss you. Although, I am immensely proud to see you doing so well wherever you go, but there is not a moment when I wish you were here by my side." They never have to say it and you do your best to prevent them having to say it aloud. Or think about how many times your closest friend says to you, "I miss you because every time there is something I have to tell you, I hold it inside me is because I don't want to bother you, since you are far away!"

Sometimes, there are things you rather not say. But yesterday a dear friend of mine messaged and said, "hey there, whats up! Study hard and get those exams out of your way. Btw heard your favorite song on the radio and remembered you. Missed you! :("

How was this different from the green dust? I have no answer, but I thank god that I have learnt to differentiate now!

Cheer Up - Yourself and Everyone!

Frankly, this was going to come a little later, probably when the story would actually have come full circle, but I couldn't hold it any longer. Now, if you poke a kid with a secret in his chest a couple of times, the tight lips curve into a smile. One more poke, and the story spills, complete with the colorful sparklers in the eyes, making it quite a show!

It was a winter noon when I was supposed to go for a job interview. Usually, I am quite in control before I go for one... I can see some eyebrows going up, saying, "oh yeah, so you are saying you are never nervous before one? you are so good huh?"... No, I am nervous, but not to a point where I am smelling like a rotten onion, before I reach the office! Lets put it this way, I believe, there is a job requirement, and there is a skill set I possess, and what an interview is, is just a way to find a match. Its not a judgement on me. Don't worry, I wasn't this smart since I was born. I did mull over this one interview, where I blew it up on a very simple question. I realized what a blunder it was, by the time I was in the parking lot. And I had this huge urge to go back up and tell the guy, "don't give me the job, but don't judge me on that stupid answer". Finally one day I killed the beast and said to myself, "Women, you didn't do it right that day, and thats all that is to it." Since then I was liberated from the fret fits.

But this interview was different. It came after a year long sabbatical for various reasons and studies. It came from one of the most coveted organizations in my line. It came in a market swarmed with unemployed/ underemployed high skilled, local competitors. And not only did they have to like me, they had to like me enough to take the trouble to do some visa related paperwork.

This really was the first time I was meeting an employer, otherwise I was at the mercy of recruiters of all shapes and sizes. Who weren't sure if I would be able to bean-count in America, since I was bean-counting in India all this while. Once a recruiter asked me, "so you have a Chartered Accountancy certificate, but do you have a Bachelors in Accounting? Because this client is specifically looking for someone who has acquired at least a Bachelor's degree in Accounting." There were some who even took an unannounced written test (2 hours of it, by the way), they were stumped by the results. Had to be, they gave me an exam on basic accounting and I have been doing this for past 8yrs of my life. So now I was a classic case of Catch 22. I couldn't get an entry level job because I was overqualified and I couldn't get a job matching my capabilities because I hadn't worked in America previously. Calls after calls, mails after mails, all I was getting good at, was guessing the reason for a 'No' for a particular application.

Having gone through this frustrating ordeal for a long time, this really was that one opportunity I had to grab. A perfect recruiter, a perfect job, a perfect profile, the impossibility of getting another opportunity like this, my desperation to grab it; in all, it was a perfect recipe for a mess-up. And like a cherry on the top, I was well aware of this too.

Anyways, I call for the cab. Dressed in a dapper suit (cringing inside, at the bomb I had to shell out on it), an overcoat on top, fully loaded I get into the cab.

"So where are we going today miss?" asked the cab driver, in his cheerful Jamaican accent.

"Asylum Street, Downtown" I replied. (Thats just the name of that street, I haven't hit the asylum yet)

"So you have a job where you can work from home and go to office anytime of the day?" He asked.

"Oh no, I am not in that kind of luck. In fact, I am going for an interview. Wish me luck!" I said, smiling back at him; and that was just the cue he needed.

"There is no way you are not getting that job lady. Just give them that beautiful smile that you gave me when you got into the cab, there is no way they won't hire you." Suddenly, I took a liking to this old gentlemen, the stereotypical, jovial, Jamaican.

"So what profession are you into?"

"I am an accountant."

"So you have to get some certification to work as an accountant right?"

"Yes, I have my certification from India."

"An accountant, and that too from India, thats impressive. You shouldn't worry then, you have what it takes." Now a lot of it was coming out of the fact that I was a "female", and I should be taking it with a pinch of salt, but honestly, it was irresistibly pleasant on the ears.

"I hope they think like you too." I added.

"Well, let me tell you something miss. The good old English education (referring to the Brit influence here) keeps us in good stead. We people have strong fundamentals, and these guys know it. They have the technology, they have the presentation, which is all very nice. But that cannot overshadow fundamentals. And as long as you are confident that you know your subject matter, there is no reason why you should be nervous." I was all ears!

"The problem is, our guys know everything, but they cannot talk. And out here, even if they don't know anything, they talk. All their parents teach them right from childhood is talk talk talk. Whereas, our parents told us to shut up. Speak only when its necessary, or only when you know something. Don't make a fool of yourself. Our parents messed up with us big time. But when we get talking, these guys understand that we are good. So remember, whatever you do, don't stop talking."

Just as he finished his 2 minutes speech, we arrived at the office. He had unknowingly or knowingly, given me just the thing I needed, motivation. I couldn't find the right words to say to him then, so I paid him, exchanged courtesies and smiled. And he said, "See! Thats what I am talking about. You've got it, I am telling ya."

The person who walked into that office at that moment was not me. It was someone, who could only think of what skills she had, what all she could bring to the table that day and who was a compulsive smiler. The two penny suit was worthless in front of the person wearing it.

And its a cliche that all inspirational stories have a happy ending. But cliches are cliches because there is a reason why they are overused.

When I got the offer, I was telling my dad about this little incident and how I wished I could call this gentleman to tell him, how he touched my life that day. And my dad said, keep your eyes open, maybe you'll bump into him some other day, but more importantly, be nice to people. You can never even imagine, which deed of yours touches someone in which walk of life.

I know the Paulo Coelho fans would jump and say, when you want something, the whole universe conspires in helping you to achieve it. Its a good thought, but for every success, there are hundreds of failed attempts. And I don't want to say, stay motivated all the time. I think thats not possible. Those failures are as much a reality as the successes. But be hopeful, for yourself and for everyone. Hope will find you your motivation when the time comes. Each moment is different, each attempt is different. Just like every match/ game is different. If every team walked in to the ground with just their stats, there won't be anyone cheering the bottom rungs. There won't be those magical moments when the underdogs win and the ones when deadbeat teams win their first trophy in their history.

And most importantly, keep smiling! :) This one works like a beauty!

PS: Now the deal is, I have an offer, but they are completing the paper work, background checks and the HR blah blahs. If everything goes smoothly, my new year will start with a bang. Even if it doesn't, it won't break my heart 'coz then its not my doing. I meant to post it in Jan, but then- What the heck? :P :P But yeah save the congratulations!

Faith & Belief

6.30 am on a lazy day, way before any youngster opens his/her eyes to the day, and maybe is in the prime of his/her favourite dream, Ruhi's phone rings!! "DAMN this phone... but I didn't put it on alarm...who is it now?"

"Hey Ruha, I am off to my exam, wish me luck!" - This cheeky moron is me, and its a real life story. No fiction today!

"You idiot, I wished you last night, you are such a pest... (other expletives cannot be written on this forum!)

Ruhaa, has been my lucky charm for about 7-8 years now. She is one of the major reasons why I have passed the numerous cumbersome exams that I have. There are indeed some papers where I have not studied enough (...something like, things that require 2 months of dedicated studies, I have just about done something in 10 days), and I have managed to pass such papers too, thanks to my lucky charm. The most difficult exams, have turned out to be easy, some gruelling interviews have been a cake walk, and many more. And like you give a present to your God, when some task is accomplished, I give her presents too whenever I accomplish something. I am that serious about it!

Maybe, this is what the seers tell you about. And since everyone cannot have a Ruhaa, there is God. When you really believe its gonna work, it just works. Sometimes I even know its crazy, the way I am superstitious about this, but trust me, even then it works. Not to say Ruhaa is God for me, but maybe thats where my Faith is, and once I've assured myself, however illogically, that this can be done, it gets done.

Maybe all the knowledgable ones wanted people to benefit from this faith within and conjured up 'God' who can do anything. But why would God do something for you in particular out of a zillion people? So then you do something special, and what that special is... is some special ritual, or a chant or offer. To me it looks like a series of lies to cover up one small lie. And the lie is that there is 'One God' catering to everyone. Well maybe for once, one can even believe it, given the amount of mess there is in the world and it could only go so wrong because there is only one person on the helpline.

But I think you have to find your Faith yourself and see what works for you. Its more about something inside you, rather than elsewhere.

I am someone who in common parlance would be called an atheist. I don't like to follow a religious calendar to pray. In fact, when someone asks me to pray because its an 'xyz' occassion, I hate it. Its this childish resistance, that when someone asks you to do something, you don't like it. Its the most excrutiating thing to stand infront of god, when deep down you know that here you have to put up your best behaviour, and instead of that you are getting irked because you don't believe. Lack of belief, not in God, but these rituals!

I am quite a believer in fact; in God (if thats the favoured name), in a cosmic power and a hidden power within. But rituals, I abhore. I like to go to a temple when I feel like. I like to have that 'me time' within the sanctuaries of that divine power. There is no better place to channelize your senses than a temple, church, mosque or a gurudwara. There are days, when you do land up in a sacred place serendipitously, and thats when I feel God wanted to see me, I feel elated about it. That to me is the true connection to him. Someone once said to me, always compare God to your parents. The relationship between him and you is for you to decide. My mom hasn't defined any days, and manners in which I can hug her, or even words that I am supposed to say to her. But, there are days when I borrow more ornate words from a card, which truly reflect what I want to say to her, or sometimes I say 'I love you', or sometimes, I don't want to say anything. But thats between us, its on no calendar. Treating God like that makes sense to me, rather than praying in a particular order, muttering some chants without understanding them, and with the a fear that if you don't do it right, it will make him unhappy. Isn't it dichotomous to credit such shallowness to someone, who you pray to because of his magnanimity?

Why this sermon? Well I am expected to pray, in a certain way, for some odd day marked on the almanac! But this is definitely not to hurt those who follow rituals, maybe thats where they have parked their faith! Just don't stone me because I can't place my faith there!