One tight slap

The noise is waning down. The Twitterati is starting to focus on other pressing #theekhai trends. The blame game is on, a few high level suspensions inclusive.

Armchair enthusiasts have finished reading all available internet literature on the subject. Some of the enterprising lot have also opined long and strong on personal blogs and Facebook posts.

Coffee table conversation is moving on to Sachin’s retirement, amongst other worldly items of interest.

I, for my part, have “liked” Faking News’ many a dig at the administrative atrocities. It has been a mechanical job, really. There has been a sense of shame and guilt for not participating enough in the protests, either virtually or physically, but I can live with it. I have lived with the guilt of non-participation for long now.

Grey’s Anatomy is on, a repeat of last night’s telecast. I switch channels, landing on a Tam serial. The scene focuses on a young-ish middle class couple, the woman in question telling the man he hasn’t bought her enough gold jewels in four years of married life. The man seems bugged, has no patience to put up with the nagging and slaps her right across the face. The woman shuts up, just making a wry face, as if this is a natural way to end an argument and continues cooking. The man walks out, having achieved win-win. No crying, no drama. It looks like just another day in a normal household.

I switch channels again, landing on a Hindi serial this time. Two apparently vile ladies are spreading rumors about town on how the heroine in question should take up widowhood, wear a white sari, and sit at home without participating in any celebrations ever afterwards, as her husband has been missing for over two months now and is presumed dead.

I am a little more than disgusted by now, but relentless in my pursuit, switch channels again, this time landing on news. The transport minister of the AP cabinet is just remarking that, India getting freedom in the middle of the night doesn’t give Indian women the leeway to roam about the roads in the middle of the night.

I begin to wonder whether it might be a good idea to have warnings similar to “Smoking is injurious to health”, before movie screenings and during serial and news telecasts. Something on the lines of “Respect women as equals”, “Slapping women is injurious to mankind”, “Raping women will send you directly to hell” is what my mind is on to.

Meanwhile, the victim is still battling for life, on and off the ventilator, losing her organs in complicated surgeries, every other day. Elsewhere, a few more women are being raped, one every eighteen hours, just in Delhi, if news stories be believed.

I am already thinking whether traveling alone by cab in the middle of the night is sensible any more. I am also questioning whether I would have the balls to file a complaint with the police, if I am sexually assaulted or worse still, raped. Even if I tried to, I guess I would end up in the wrong police jurisdiction and be hammered around quite a bit before I can figure out the right place to file a complaint in, in this complicated country.

Perhaps, it would be a prudent idea for every Indian woman to sit at home as a nagging housewife without roaming around the streets in the middle of the night and get slapped if she speaks out of turn. At least then, the woman can only be raped legally and not otherwise. And, there is so much more honor in that.

Not dejected, just disappointed

Anger is an easy emotion. It is easy to get angry, be it with the maid who doesn’t turn up in time for work or the boss who doesn’t understand your productivity. The only difference is that in case of the former, it is a lot easier to express the emotion to the other party. However, I am not too sure of that either, as, per S’s experience and in her own words, “the maid-memsahib relationship has evolved into a partnership model where working in tandem is the only way to ensure win-win”. I digress. My point is, getting angry is an easy job. Given recent events, I’d tend to believe that getting out of the mess isn’t all that difficult either. Terms like “heat of the moment” and “passionate arguments” seem to sell like hot, lovable cakes.

Dejection is different. It builds up slowly over time, because you are incapable of doing something you’d wish done, or you do not get the expected result for what you thought you had done well. It is like walking into office one day and being made redundant, because the firm hasn’t performed well, only when the day before that you were promoted for your performance. Dejection can be a prolonged Dementor’s kiss. However, if you know how to conjure up the right patronus (mine is a combination of chocolate, books, pen and the sea), nothing and no one can suck the soul out of you. Or so I have led myself to believe over the years.

Disappointment is the most dangerous, and inflicts the maximum damage too. Disappointment is what happens when you expect the Western Express Highway to be empty at 6.30 in the evening on a busy working day. It usually stems from high expectations of yourself, and / or people you think you know well. Greater the expectation, bigger the fall. You disappoint someone and are embarrassed to face them, or you are disappointed with someone and do not want to see them. Either way, it has a lasting effect, for, moving on is complicated and redemption, an arduous task. 

I have been through the motions, with the morons, this year, different emotions at different points in time. Only once this year did I go through all these three emotions at the same point, which is when I watched this movie. An initial bout of anger gave way to disappointment (in myself for having dragged V to the movie without reading the review and in the hero for having cast himself in such a movie) which eventually gave way to dejection in knowing that those 2.5 hours of my life were gone, never to be had back again.