R for Remarks

Why are you studying that course? You won't get married.

Why are you still studying? You won't get married.

Why are you in such a high paying job? You won't get married.

Why don't you do housework? You won't get married.
Why do you argue so much? You won't stay married.
Why aren't you married yet? You aren't the marrying type.

Why are you marrying that guy? You aren't the marrying type.

Why do you work after marriage? Quit your job.

Why don't you cook? You are married now.

Why do you travel so much? You are married now. 

Why don't you have a baby yet? Quit your job.

Why don't you have a baby yet? You aren't the baby rearing type.

Why do you still work? You have a baby now.

Why don't you breast feed your baby? You aren't the breast feeding type.

Why don't you augment with formula? Your baby is tiny, you aren't the baby rearing type.

Why don't you have a second child? You aren't the baby rearing type.

Why do you still work? Your kid won't grow up well, you aren't the kid rearing type.

Why are you divorced? You were never the marrying type.

Why are you marrying again? You will never be the marrying type.

Why are you traveling solo? You aren't the family type.

Why do you live alone? You aren't the family type.

Why do you need a big house? You are a widow now.

Why are you a widow? Because you are a sinner and this is your punishment.

Why do you have no son? Because you are a sinner and this is your punishment.

Why do you work so much? You won't stay married.

Why do you work so much? You aren't the baby rearing type.

Types and typecasts, comments and more comments, judgments and more judgments - It takes a special something thick skin to navigate this world and its ugly remarks all through life, from birth to death.

P. S. This post is the eighteenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April.

Q for Qing

I have been nursing this crazy idea of learning Mandarin for a few years now. Idea because, doing business with China is becoming an increasingly important factor in wealth amassment. Crazy because, I have this theory that knowing the common language is an important factor in doing business or for that matter, doing anything better. 

So, breakthrough happened a couple of years back when good friend K also evinced interest in learning Mandarin, and we enrolled for a basic spoken Mandarin course with the most famous institute in Mumbai. It was a 2 hour session every Sunday for 12 weeks. 

My fighter alter ego kicked in, and I am proud to report that I attended all but one class (which I missed because of a holiday I had planned much before enrolling for classes). I am also proud to report that I did my homework every week before the class, which meant that Saturday nights were spent practising mā, má, mǎ, mà and ma (having five different meanings ranging from mother to horse). Surely, that's not how V would have liked to spend Saturday nights, but, hey, variety is everything.

Overall, those were a great three months, and reminded me of how I have always enjoyed being a student, learning something new and wanting to show off what I have learnt. More importantly, the class was composed of a motley group of people across age groups and professions (starting from 18 years all the way upto 60) which was refreshing, for I have been in classrooms and offices interacting with mirror images of myself for over 25 years now.

The age group is of note here. The 18 year olds were obviously the biggest fighters in the class, and the fighting tapered down with the increasing age. I was definitely behind the real students on the fight meter, but much ahead of the rest of the class. Eventually, Judgment Day arrived and emotions ranged from "Please, let me pass" to "I am going to top this one" as we answered our test papers. Since this was Mandarin 101 and our teacher was a native speaker from Guangzhou, we just had to hang around for 10-15 mins while she corrected our answer sheets and distributed the same. I liked the number I saw on my sheet, kept it down and looked around to sighs of relief from my friends (yes, made a few out there) who had also become eligible to get their certificates that evening. Meanwhile, you remember that friend I had enrolled with? - He came over grinning saying he had got some 85 and what did I get? (We are friends from B-school so exchanging marks is a die-hard habit). I told him and I heard a 'hush' from behind - It was one of the 18 year olds. She had got 88, had already seen her fellow 18 year old's paper which had a 92, and now she was in for a shock - she wasn't second in class but third, because I had got a 94.

At that point, I really felt sorry for having disappointed this kid. But, hey, come on! You cannot always underestimate someone because they are older and more prone to memory loss and Alzheimer's, can you?

Q for Qing because it is realllllly hard to find a word starting with Q, and Mandarin is a unique language where q is pronounced ch (qing is pronounced ching that is). Also, qing means 'please' in Mandarin, for the benefit of the knowledge-thirsty ones.

P. S. This post is the seventeenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

P for Performance Pressure

Pressure is real, performance pressure that is. I have felt performance pressure all through my life. Sometimes, I have performed well, sometimes I haven't. However, conquering performance pressure isn't a test I have passed ever, forget winning. And, it has never bothered me much, the fact that I suffer from performance pressure, though the pressure itself is quite a deadly thing, leading to, amongst other things, severe anxiety, unending headaches and a constant fear of under-performance and ridicule.

The one common thread to all these situations is that they have all been under my control - school tests, exams, interviews, excel models, presenting to CxOs. If things work out, I know it is because I put my best foot forward. If things don't work out, I know I should have put a better foot forward.

However, pregnancy changed all of that. It is obviously an unknown, but the actual experience makes one realise how much of an unknown and erratic nine months it can really be. Every blood test became a make or break, every scan a do or die. I would beat myself up for every increase in blood sugar level, blame myself for any scan that showed any of the measurements of the baby outside of the normal range. I couldn't rationalise the pressure I felt because it was not rational. There was no explanation because I was doing all that was under my control right - healthy food, exercise, check-ups, supplements. In fact, I once asked the doctor what exactly I had done wrong to have ended up with this scan result. She looked at me as if I had walked down from Mars, and told me, in that matter of fact tone she used for pretty much any explanation, "Has nothing to do with you. Each female body is different."

And, I know it is just the beginning. There is a long road of pressure to be handled, longer pathways of irrationality to overcome. Then again, that's the thing about irrationality. There is no rational way you can overcome it to become a saner person.

So, cheers to irrationality and erm... motherhood.

P. S. This post is the sixteenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

O for Outrage

The doorbell was ringing incessantly. Outraged, Kovakkari* woke up and tossed the blanket aside. For a second, she blinked, and then picked up the blanket again, only to throw it across the room with tremendously righteous force of anger. 'When did I buy a saffron coloured blanket?' she yelled at no one in particular as she got up to deal with the doorbell.

As Kovakkari pulled open the door with a huff and a puff, the milkman stood there with the monthly card. It was that time of the month. Already. Kovakkari looked at the bill - 325.75 rupees was the value of the milk she consumed last month. "Bloody demonetization. Bloody saffrons. Bloody..." as she attempted to curse further, the milkman gave up, telling her he was ok to collect it next week if she could keep the exact change ready, and made off in a hurry.

Losing the one person audience she had for her anger, Kovakkari scuffed against something papery down on the floor. 'What the...' she started, realised it was her morning newspaper, picked it up in a hurry and brought it in. 

Making herself a cup of black tea (she had signed up for the 'Black is Beautiful' campaign against 'Fair and Lovely' the previous night) and picking up a Ragi cookie (the nearest to black that she could get without compromising on her 'Made in India, No Swiss chocolate' oath from day before yesterday), Kovakkari settled down and picked up her laptop. Of course, as the laptop booted up, she conveniently set aside the fact that it was a white coloured 'Made in China' device. If you had questioned her on the choice of laptop, she would have said, "Arrey yaar, it consumes lesser electricity. I am saving for the sake of my power deprived country no."

Going directly to her Twitter feed, she skimmed through for the latest in the world of outrages. Nothing worthwhile, she realised, as she started flipping through the 'Paper of India'. "Ah! Here it is, I got it!" she yelled excitedly as she circled an item in red, before going back to Twitter. "Yo saffron brigade, stop promoting exclusive orange sarees #bhakt #stopthisnonsense", she typed and clicked a photograph of the paper as evidence, to post along with her tweet. It was an advertisement for 'Govinda Sarees' with models waving the pallus of their red, orange and yellow coloured sarees into the air, heralding 'Ram Navmi'. 

As Kovakkari finished her black tea in silence while monitoring the RTs on her tweets, she came across a tweet on 'Azaan' by that famous singer. "What is this Azaan? Sounds Urdu-ish", she told herself as she googled up the meaning. 

Another outrage brewed in her mind, as it did elsewhere in the world of social media.

* Kovakkari means 'Angry Woman' in Tamil

P. S. This post is the fifteenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

N for Networking

Not many of us have fine tuned the art of networking, the real face-to-face networking that is - alumni meets, office parties, get-togethers etc. In fact, a lot of us aren't even well versed with the ABC of networking which is just walking up to someone unknown, introducing ourselves and hitting upon a topic to speak about. 

To solve the problem of real life networking and to further our professional interests, providence gave us LinkedIn. Thanks to this invention, we can really walk upto anyone and ask for a job straight out, without introducing ourselves or finding a common topic to speak about. How cool is that? Not really. 

Let's all spend a silent moment thinking about all these things we do on Linkedin, and ask ourselves if we will think it decent and productive to do any of them in real life, in a social setting we attend with the precise focus of advancing our careers.

• Cribbing - Thinly veiled attempts at cribbing about investors, entrepreneurs, recruiters, candidates etc. are silly. If you have something not so nice to tell someone, go and tell them. If you are afraid of doing that, don't tell them. If you want to let it out of your system, call up a friend and tell them. If you don't have any friends to tell it to, perhaps, the issue is with you, not with the other person. The people on your LinkedIn network aren't volunteers at AAI (Agony Aunt Inc.).

• Posting for a job for someone else - Recently, I came across a posting by someone looking for a job for their good friend. The poster said, "She is a great HR manager with 'x' years of work experience. She is currently in a very bad job with a very bad boss blah blah blah". The poster had of course tagged the lady in question, which meant anyone on her LinkedIn network, including her bad boss and the employees in her bad company could see it. If this isn't bad blood and the antithesis of a graceful exit, what is? It may have been a signal to her company to buck up and treat her better, but it still is in bad taste.

• Expressing interest in public - Someone posts a job profile and mentions that if you are interested, you need to send in your details to a specific email id. You promptly go there and type "Interested" in the comments' section. This serves two purposes - 
• Exposing to everyone on your LinkedIn that you are looking for a job. Maybe, that was the idea - so your boss will know you are on the lookout and will up your salary and give you a promotion 
• Pissing the job poster off - Didn't they expressly mention that you need to contact them separately? How lazy is typing a wayward 'Interested' in the comments' section?

• Sending a LinkedIn request to connect with no information about yourself - At least update your profile before sending out invites to connect. Imagine walking into a networking event (not a masquerade ball) in a mask and expecting people to shake your hands and introduce themselves. Similarly, you cannot have a name that says "A. R.", 2 connections (B. S. and C. T.) and send out invites to connect. The place for that is Orkut, not even Facebook.

• Sending a LinkedIn request to connect with too much information about yourself - I recently got a message from someone I don't know (not a 2nd degree connection) that started off with "I lost my job at XYZ company and I am urgently on the lookout..." It sounded similar to those scam emails we get about the Nigerian widow who has billions that need to be got out of the country. Do any of us want to sound like a scam, do any of us want to come across as sham on a professional networking site? Even if that's not the case, do we want to wake up the pity hormone in the receiver when sending a message, and not really talk about our areas of strength and profile as an introduction? I guess the answer to all those questions is no. 

Do you have any more such do's and don't's for LinkedIn? What are they?

By the way, after an internal struggle with my saner alter ego, we have decided not to post this on LinkedIn and fall under the first category of peoples outlined here, out there.

P. S. This post is the fourteenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

M for Miniature

I have a fascination for miniatures. I think all of us who have played with some doll or the other (even a teddy) as a child would, for that matter. More so for me because we have been ardent celebrators of Navratri or the doll festival since I was born. For those not familiar with this festival, go right here. 

A few years back, when I happened to visit Amsterdam's Rijks' Museum, I was fascinated by the collection of miniature doll houses there. Apparently, it was quite a tradition amongst the rich households of yesteryear Amsterdam to commission and design miniature doll houses of their own houses. It was a favourite pastime of the lady of the house. In fact, calling it a pastime seems to trivialize the money, time and energy they put into getting it done - replicating the curtains, carpets, flooring, furniture to the exact fabric, marble and wood used in the actual house. 

Look at this one I caught in Rijks'. Isn't it beautiful?

Very recently, I read this book "The Miniaturist" which is set in seventeenth century Amsterdam, and while the premise borders on a miniature doll house commissioned by the lady of the house, it does eerily get into how whatever is designed for the doll house happens in real life. The miniatures have minds and souls and lives of their own, living on in that little doll house, directing what happens in the real house. Almost!

I have little person in my hand as I type this, and it is fascinating to note how babies are miniature versions of human adults - mini hands and legs, mini mouths and faces, mini mini fingers and toes. But, it is also equally fascinating to think of how they are not miniatures in every other sense of the word - the amount of time, energy and love they consume and absorb is quite unparalleled really!

If I were a theist, I might even call babies miracles. But, since I am not, I will just leave it at calling them babies, absolutely adorably cute miniatures that are infinitely better versions of what human adults corrupt themselves into becoming in the course of a lifetime.

P. S. This post is the thirteenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

L for Language

You just met someone new, perhaps a new colleague at work. What makes it click between the two of you? Same college? School? Previous company? How long does this commonality sustain conversation? How many common friends, teachers and bosses can you really speak about? 

But, imagine if you can both speak the same language. That's a connection special like none other. It's almost like the two of you are in on an inside secret that no one around you is privy to. No, that doesn't mean that you are talking ill of the people around you. It just means that the relationship gets elevated a little, if not more.

I have always liked the idea of learning new languages, but restrained myself from fear of having no one to speak that language with and practise it to perfection. For, unlike theoretical subjects that we can study on our own (a good discussion would of course enhance the learning but isn't a necessary condition to learn the subject), language really needs the other person - the conversationalist - to make it better learnt.

Of course, those people who have parents from different parts of the country have it easy in this regard. They have the opportunity to learn more languages than the ordinary person, and an at home expert to speak it with too. When they go out into the world, they will be able to make that special connection with people from more than one region, because of that tongue they have in common.

Wouldn't it be a nice idea to foster this in school, make kids learn 3-4 languages so they have a peer group to practise, and avenues to exhibit in forms of writing and speaking and theatre? That could also extend into learning different cultures and histories and living in a lot of other people's shoes. Oh! How cool would that be!

P. S. This post is the twelfth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

K for K

K is a fairly unique alphabet in the English language, in that we don't use it as much as we do use C - Cat, Clay, Create, Commemorate and so on. It is usually a silent accompaniment to the beloved N as in Knack, Knock, Knot and Knit. But, then, it is a potent letter in its individual form, as K.

How do you react when someone says K to you, in response to something you ask them, say over text or whatsapp? 

Super Happy - You are in seventh heaven because that person actually bothered to respond that it doesn't matter they invested time that won't be enough to unlock their phone through touch id, to respond to you. Maybe, the response was from Ratan Tata or Mukesh Ambani.

Reasonably pleased - Your crush responded with a K to your tenth 'Hi'. Maybe she / he meant FO, but hope is a good thing, the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. 

Normal to ignore continuum - It is an acquaintance who asked you for some information, and you said "I don't know". K is acceptable in response. No?

Outraged - You just sent a 500 character message explaining how an induction motor works, along with tricks on how to remember the shortcuts in order to write the answer and pass the exam. And the receiver just 'K'ed you.

K is a potent letter, so remember the lessons before you respond with a K next time someone asks / tells you something. Are you ok with the person on the other end falling in the "outraged" pie of the chart, ready to kill you the next time they see you?

P. S. This post is the eleventh in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

J for Joysticks

I am not much of a video games aficionado. However, there was a time when I did play video games extensively, for a period of two weeks during summer holidays. One of dad's business associates from Singapore had gifted this joystick plus video game contraption to me when he came visiting, unaware that I would have been happier with a stack of books. My parents being the over-zealous parents they are had to set it up, just to make sure they knew how to install it. Incidentally, summer holidays were on and I think, secretly, they were hopeful of one trip less to Landmark if I could be enticed into some other occupation (Nice try - it didn't work out that way). 

It had some 50+ games that I could play, once the device was linked to the TV screen. There was an option to play against the 'system' if there was no second person around. And, being the single child I am with all the neighbourhood kids traveling to their hometowns for the holidays, I had to choose 'system' every single time. The games were quite mindless, one particularly where a frog would jump from one side of the pond to another sticking out its tongue at the right moment to catch its prey, another frog from the opposite direction competing for the same prey. The first time I played it, I got a bad headache. However, from the second time onwards, it got addictive. 

Since I was a single person playing against the system, there was no need for two joysticks, the second one packed and kept in the loft, that ubiquitous place that must still be holding much of our family treasure (second joysticks, extra nuts and bolts, car repair tools to name a few). If you have seen me working on my laptop, you would know that gentle is not my touch with keyboards. Then, how could the joystick have escaped the power of these hands? In a week or two, the joystick started feeling a little loose in my hand. That's when mom took control of the situation and packed off that video game contraption, thinking that I would lose my mind in my overuse of the thing. I tried explaining to her that it was only the strength of my hands at work, but it fell on deaf ears.

Though I crib about it today, I am kind of glad that the gift was packed away for good, and offered to the loft lord, in exchange for my wellbeing. One less addiction to deal with at least.

P. S. This post is the tenth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

I for Information

The Oxford English Dictionary defines information as fact, etymologically derived from the Latin informare, meaning 'formation of the mind'. 

See what I did there. I started by factually describing what information means, before even getting into the context of this post. I am a true consultant like that, I cannot make statements without reams and reams of data back-ups, footnotes and source references. For instance, I wouldn't say, "We live in times of rampant racism". I will hit google to find out trends in racism across the past few decades, with cuts by geographies and racial types, before making the statement, even if the statement does not cover any of the aforementioned data. 

I know - I have it easy thanks to the internet. Would I have done it in a different era when information was found in books and in libraries that couldn't be searched at the click of a button? I can't answer that question definitively because I don't have data about any avatar I may or may not have had in a different era.

But, then, should we really be thankful to the penetration of the internet in our lives? 

Sample this. For my parents, clicking photographs was a big deal. The Kodak was ceremoniously brought out on special occasions and out-of-town vacations, camera rolls refilled, photos clicked and developed, and placed in elaborate albums that were stowed away in the cupboard, only to be taken out for show and tell when guests came over and stayed for so long that conversation ran out of the house. It was difficult to figure out what movie, food type, book, author, city, actor etc. they liked unless someone had spent years knowing them and knew them very well. 

That's no longer the case. No one needs to pay us for information about ourselves, nor does anyone need to spend years befriending us and earning our trust. We are more than willing to supply it online, as profile data, page likes, photos and videos, and stupid tests that claim to tell us "Seven secrets about you", "Who are you in the fantasy world" and "Who will look out for you", amongst other things. Yes, guilty, I am addicted to those tests as well. And, only after I click through to the results do I wonder how much data about myself I gave away to get back results like "You are a saint. You were Mother Teresa in your previous life." Hell, two of the biggest storms last year - Brexit and Trump - were successful because of big data. Yes, big big big data about people's online presence and likes and dislikes helped fine tune and target campaigns that made Trump POTUS. 

That article has definitely made me wary of my increasing online presence. Not that it has had any meaningful effect, because, just like alcohol and drugs and cigarettes, social media is an addiction too. It might make sense to invest in and build a social media detox methodology, for that might be a big business in the years to come, campaigned and targeted with the use of big data, at the heaviest users of nametests and the biggest uploaders of cat videos.

P. S. This post is the ninth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

H for Horlicks

What with the maternity recovery in progress, my mother has found a great reason to revert to her former bully self as far as my food habits are concerned. No cold drinks, no chocolates, no ice creams, no onions (really?!) - I didn't even know so many food items can be "no"ed. But, that's not what gets my goat. It is this:

Me: I am tired.

Mom: Drink Horlicks.

Me: I am sleepy.

Mom: Drink Horlicks.

Me: I am hungry.

Mom: Drink Horlicks.

Me: I am going to die.

Mom: Drink Horlicks.

For heaven's sake mom, have you secretly become the brand ambassador for Horlicks? How much are they paying you? More importantly, can you give me a cut, if you are going to force me to drink the damn thing all the time?

P. S. This post is the eighth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

G for Great Indian Novel

The Great Indian Novel by Shashi Tharoor is an all time favourite book of mine. It is one of Tharoor's more ingenious works, marrying the political scene of yesteryear India with the Mahabharata, the real great Indian novel.

As a kid, like all other kids, I was exposed to the Mahabharata and Ramayana in myriad forms - songs, cartoons, abridged books, grandmother's tales. As I grew older, there was something about the Mahabharata that enamoured me unlike other mythological tales. And this fascination continues till today.

The Ramayana is a black and white story. There are two kinds of people, good and evil, and in the end, good triumphs over evil. That sounds too simplistic. Perhaps, I have not delved deep enough into the story of the Ramayana to make a comment. But, its black-and-whiteness and its protagonist's chastity tests of his wife have never allowed me to delve deep.

The Mahabharata is a different story altogether. It embraces the grey, the murky and the normal human mind's failings beautifully. It encapsulates good and evil, fate and karma, going as far as to say that who you think is evil may actually not be evil, he may even have done something so good that the evil gets cancelled out and he reaches the heavens much faster than the "good guys". It is not a story about a bunch of good guys being cheated out of their property and rightful throne. It is about two factions that war against each other, off and on the battlefields, second guessing the other's next steps all through their lives, and ending most of their lives in a pointless war eventually. In fact, one of my more favourite parts of the book is where Kunti and the Pandavas, while escaping the lac palace, kill a worker woman and her five sons and place the bodies inside the palace so that the Kauravas are thrown off track into believing that the family indeed died in the fire they had planned. Clearly, the Pandavas are no better than the Kauravas then. Or, perhaps they are worse off because they kill innocents who have no stake in the game for their own benefit. 

I read  a detailed version of the Mahabharata a few years back, one written by Ramesh Menon. It is an easy read, but a really long and detailed one, and came with very good recommendations from people with much more knowledge than me on the subject. Guess it is time for a revision because there are so many intricacies in this epic that can be easily forgotten. 

Warning: There is popular belief that reading the Mahabharata brings bad luck since it is a book about war and death and no real happiness. As against this, reading the Ramayana apparently is supposed to bring good luck.

P. S. This post is the seventh in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

F for Feminism

Feminism is the bad boy of the Oxford English Dictionary this decade, perhaps usurping Atheism from that coveted position it held on to for centuries. Since the word has given itself a bad name, for reasons hitherto unknown, I wanted to clear the air a bit on what Feminism means to the average Feminist, when he / she calls himself / herself a Feminist. 

1. Feminism advocates equality of the male and female genders across all walks of life - school, college, work, home.
2. Feminism does not call for extra powers or privileges for females. In fact, it just asks for females to have the same privileges as males. 
3. As you would have already noticed from the introduction, both men and women can be Feminists. It is a gender neutral word.
4. Feminism does not advocate hatred towards the male gender. If that were the case, it would be quite weird because then, male feminists would be calling out that the male gender (not just their own but themselves) should be hated.
5. Feminism is not a new fangled idea or movement. It can historically be traced back to the 19th century when feminist movements were focused on winning the "right to vote" for women. Yes, there was a time when females were not equal enough to males to have the right to vote their leaders into power.

Now that we have the basics sorted, let's move on to some detailed FAQs. 

There is so much equality now between the genders when compared to the previous generation. Then, why do you crib so much?
There is a reason we have more equality today as compared to the past decade or century. Equality isn't about luck or being in the right place at the right time. Women are able to vote today because the feminist movement fought for it in the 19th and 20th centuries. Women can have assets registered in their names today because that right was fought for and won. But, there are many other areas where equality doesn't exist. At the work place, there is enough evidence of females being constantly passed up for promotions, hikes and bonuses, because they are females and the team runs the risk of losing them to marriage or childbirth for substantial periods of time. At home, equality is still something to be strived for and far from the reality. And, I am not even talking about the "married woman surname changing" practice, perhaps that's more a token gesture we can tackle in the next few generations to come. 

• The fight for equality starts even before the female is born. As per the 2011 census, child sex ratio is at an all time low of 914 females to every 1,000 males, with studies claiming that around 2,000 girls are killed everyday. 
• The same census pegs female literacy rate in India at 65% compared to the male literacy rate at 82%. Many of you might have heard of the popular STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics) argument - females don't have that much aptitude for STEM as males, hence there are lesser females in STEM careers compared to males. But, seriously, when the bottlenecks are so much for a female to even finish her basic education, isn't it that much harder for her to get to the step of considering a career in STEM? 
• Eventually, we get to work and pay, where the gender pay gap is as high as 25%. And, even if the female manages to get through all these bottlenecks and sits in a job that pays her 25% lesser than her male counterpart, she quits after she has a child. 
• According to multiple studies, as low as 20% women continue working after they have their first child*.
• Beyond all these bottlenecks, if the female still wants to and puts fight to continue in the workplace, she is passed over on projects citing "safety" as an issue. I remember a few years back how a male colleague mentioned he doesn't want women on his project because the project was expected to be hectic with potential night outs and he doesn't want to shoulder the responsibility of the safety of the women on his project because Gurgaon and Noida are unsafe places. Fair point from his perspective. In a similar vein, a recent observation by lawmakers in Karnataka that women should be banned from night shifts is nothing but counter-productive. It means that slowly fewer and fewer women would be recruited because they are not as employable or as productive as men, and that's not for lack of capability from their end. 

Why do women have to keep calling out that they are lesser than men and asking for equality? Doesn't that show weakness?

If my 9 year long corporate career has taught me something valuable, it is this. We need to ask for things we believe that we deserve. It could be a role expansion, a team expansion, a promotion, a hike. We may well deserve it and everyone around us, including our bosses, may well be aware of it. However, we need to ask for it, building a case for why we deserve it. I find it difficult to implement this strategy because I feel a little cheap about flaunting my accomplishments and skills. However, there is nothing cheap about it. If it isn't important enough for us to ask and fight for what we deserve, no one is going to find it important enough to give it to us on a platter.

So is the case with equality. If we feel that females are treated the lesser of the two genders and we believe that females deserve to be equal, we need to ask for it and fight for it. There is no other way this is going to work.

What about men, men who are discriminated against, men who face domestic abuse, men who are sexually harassed? If you are talking about equality, you should fight for that too.

Yes, agree, there is definitely a percentage of men who are discriminated against, those that face fake rape cases, those that are domestically abused. But, this movement isn't about that. This movement focuses on equality for the female gender with the male gender. That doesn't mean one cannot focus on and try to resolve issues faced by men. Only that such a movement will be different from the feminist movement. Both movements can exist, strive for and win for their respective core groups, surely.

  

Why can't we have a normal conversation, why do we need to get into this feminist type language?

I am not really sure when the tilt happened, when Feminism started being looked at with a negative connotation. Perhaps, it happened in the era of the millennials, perhaps much before. Perhaps, since the time the movement started, a sizeable number of men and women may have secretly admonished it, rationalising, "Why should we stir the pot? Why can't we let things be?" For instance, I know a number of men - good at heart, well educated, striving for equality between the genders though not always achieving it - who vociferously proclaim that they hate feminists. "Don't talk in this feminist type language. Let's have a normal conversation," is something I have heard for many years now. Actually, not just men, many women also hold this view, some even going as far as to brand this clan "Feminazi". I have an infinite capacity to absorb shit, but this is shit I refuse to accept any longer. So, yeah, before we proceed, I am making it crystal clear - I am a feminist. If you hate feminists, you hate me. And the hatred is mutual, this is the last of conversations I will be having with you.

* All statistics and data points pertain to the Indian population

P. S. This post is the sixth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

E for Elephants

Late last year, I promised myself that I will put my story writing skills to good use and cook up many a good story for Little Person (LP) when he / she arrives. While I haven't really put my head to it and thought in detail, and neither is LP of an age ripe enough to listen and imbibe the goodness in morally uplifting stories, we did try one story a few days back. I started off with no agenda but for one character (everyone's favourite - the elephant) and ended it with a moral (voila!). It seems a promising beginning to a one-person audience career in children's story-telling. Even though it is nowhere near perfect, here it is (translated from Tamil in which I narrated the story to LP), for I am mighty proud of having come up with it impromptu!

There was once an elephant calf, called Eleph, in the big, wild forest. Unlike other elephants, he was thin and scraggy. In fact, if not for his long trunk, everyone would actually mistake him for a small donkey. Eleph wasn't happy with this state of affairs as he was always the odd one out being teased by all and sundry. 

He decided to ask his neighbour Foxy Fox for advice. Foxy Fox, acting all smart and knowledgeable said, "Hey Eleph! I will tell you the easiest way to become fat. Instead of having the leaves and shoots in the forest, munch on some of the yummy stumps. Have a target of five stumps a day and see the difference in five days!" Eleph, without giving the advice a second thought, started on his mission immediately. By the time he took the second bite off the first stump of an abandoned tree in the forest clearing, his teeth started paining profusely. He howled in pain but pulled himself together to go for a third bite. 

By that time, Kawy Crow came that way, saw what Eleph was doing and started laughing. Eleph, taking a minute off his mission, explained to Kawy why he was sacrificing his teeth. Hearing his sob story, Kawy said, "Eleph! You should be smarter than this. There is no need to change your diet. You continue eating leaves and shoots. But, don't move or exercise once you are done eating. Every time you eat, just lie down right there and sleep deeply for a few hours. The food will have nowhere to go, and you will have a big tummy in a week." Eleph found this idea to be brilliant and implemented it at the first big tree he came across.

As he started snoozing after a hearty meal of leaves worth 10kgs, he heard what sounded like a roar. He opened his eye but a wink and looked around, only to notice Fiery Tiger approaching him from a distance of 100 metres. Scared but not at his wits' end, Eleph got up and rushed out of harm's way. By the time he stopped, he must have easily put 20 kms between his hunter and himself, while losing 5 kgs in the ordeal. 

As he panted and stopped to collect his breath, Brainy Monkey jumped from a tree to land in front of him. Brainy Monkey was concerned as he saw Eleph, tired and weak and most probably crying. After hearing the entire story, Brainy Monkey said, "Eleph. Do you realise what helped you escape Fiery Tiger today? It is this figure and size that you hate so much. If you had been heavy and slow, like the other elephant calves, you would be dead by now. Why do you want to become like others? You be yourself, that's the best gift you can give yourself." 

Eleph, having finally understood what he should do, thanked Brainy Monkey profusely and walked back - this time with his head held high, his trunk swaying from side to side, proudly carrying his lithe and strong figure home.

P. S. This post is the fifth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

D for Downturns

My first year in the big bad professional world was a downturn year. I joined work in 2008, the year of the great Lehman debacle. And spent another year or two listening to how I should be glad and grateful to have my job when so many of my batchmates didn't. Yes, that's the reason people who still held their jobs were given for not being given bonuses and hikes.

It takes a downturn year for you to understand what cost cutting really means. Suddenly, notepads and pens become scarce with the stationery department designing a detailed form to be filled in by the requesters of notepads and pens. That might still be manageable, for one just has to give one of these myriad reasons - doodling, tearing pages into bits and strewing them around, drinking the ink in the pen because of lack of money to buy and drink anything else etc. But, what does one do about toilet papers? No, not as bad as you think. The toilet doesn't convert to a BYOTP (Bring Your Own Toilet Paper) model overnight, though the quality of the paper becomes so bad that you wish you were in a BYOTP model, to begin with. And, to top it all the AC is surreptitiously switched off for an hour each day, actually for more than an hour if a sizeable number of the population doesn't notice and get up to complain to admin.

But, all that is still handle-able. 

What is unpardonable is the denial of the most basic of human rights - coffees and conversations. Suddenly, the coffee machine is out of work much more often than usual, tea bags don't get replenished more than once a day, sugar is no longer in petite packets but sits in a lump in a bottle that has not understood the concept of being airtight, coffee cups run out by 11 in the morning. Without the drink, how do you have the conversation? How do you exchange office gossip, b**ch about your frenemies, exchange notes on bosses, crib about the economy and in general feel bad and drive yourself to a miserable state of desperation? You can't really hang about near the coffee machine without a cup in your hand and do all that, can you? Though everyone knows what people do at the coffee machine, no one wants to be caught empty handed (literally) and red-handed (figuratively) at it after all.

So, yeah, I do know a thing or two about downturns now and their impact on the common man and woman who haven't been directly impacted with job losses. That doesn't mean I am prepared for the next downturn myself. I sure as hell freak out when the coffee machine is under repair for a little over an hour, or the pantry boy says that we have run out of hot chocolate sachets. Is there a bankruptcy going on somewhere in the world that I have missed out on?

P. S. This post is the fourth in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

C for Coasters

Have you had a crush on an object? No, don't get me wrong. I am not talking about untoward affections or fantasies for inanimate objects, just plain fondness and liking for things and a want to acquire them immediately.

I have many such crushes. I have a liking for quaint things - colourful, well designed, cutesy, arty stuff. There are times when I have craved shopping in quaint shops and hunted all over Mumbai for the perfect quaint shop that could drain me of my time and money, giving me instant gratification in return. Inordinate are the minutes I have spent at Colaba causeway and the Kala Ghoda arts festival, walking up and down the lanes and by-lanes, if not buying, at least drinking in my quaint little things. Nowadays, however, I just go onto arty websites to ape at 'em stuff and buy a few while I am at it.

Specifically, I love acquiring coasters. I have coaster families of Mumbai (Gateway, CST - the works), of nice paintings, of random flowers and so on. In fact, I once ordered a DIY kit on Flipkart (yeah, I am the poster child for e-commerce websites I tell you) and made my own coasters. Which outputted to a disgusting set of quadrilaterals, as evidenced by the look on V's face though he kept good counsel and reserved his comments, instead of earning my wrath for a lifetime.

So, yeah, acquiring coasters by itself is not a bad idea, as you would agree with me (as long as I don't experiment with DIY kits and expect love-filled reactions from the better half). But, if you are a coaster lover like me, pray answer this question. How extensively do you use the damn things? I always, ALWAYS, forget to take a coaster before keeping my brown tea filled blue mug on the side table or the center table or the dining table or... you must be getting the drift. As a result of this, I don't just get dirty looks from V anymore, but suspiciously questioning ones whenever I am on my laptop or on my phone with a lovestruck look in my eyes. He seems to be dying to tell me, "Can you please not order one more set of coasters? We live in Mumbai and real estate is frigging expensive here."

P. S. This post is the third in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

B for Birthdays

When I was in school, birthdays were huge though not in a fancy, "need a holiday", way. The biggest issue I had then, funnily, was that my birthday would never fall on a working day. It falls on a day that is a compulsory off for everyone across the country. To the school kid me, that meant "no flaunting new dress when everyone else is in uniform and distribute chocolates" day. But, I was never one to be daunted by such silly challenges as this. I would wear my new dress on the next available working day, and go packing with all the chocolates. My classmates and friends would be kind enough to remember and wish me "Belated Happy Birthday" while for the uninitiated who did wish me with a "Happy Birthday", I would be ready with a "Oh no, not today; my birthday is on Independence Day" rejoinder  accompanied by a beaming smile. 

Anyway, that's not why birthdays were huge then. Birthdays were huge because we had awesome at-home parties every year, the house being decorated with festoons and balloons by mom and dad, a cake ordered from McRennett a week before and picked up a day before the birthday (Wow! McRennett has a fancy website now and is even going to start off online orders in a bit. Times do change!) And, mom would actually make samosas and batata wadas at home for the little guests who would grace the occasion. 

The guests were what made the parties awesome. It was a long list, believe me, of all my friends from school, who lived within the 1km radius of our house, along with the neighbourhood kids who I knew well (though I didn't play with, because I was never the playing kind. Sigh!). The list also included the neighbourhood adults and family members that could make it. The little guests would arrive at around 6pm soon after which the cake would be cut, gifts given and received, photos taken by dear uncle on his Kodak camera, snacks and cake polished off with some juice on the side, return gifts given and received, goodbyes said and party wrapped up by around 8pm. 

My dear friend from across the road would celebrate her birthday 5 days after mine, where the process would repeat itself with Minnie mouse cakes, a much larger gathering (she has thousands of relatives, I tell you), Fruitnik and Rejoice for refreshments and a larger house to play around in.  

I can't remember a thing fancy about these parties, no fancy outdoor location, no fancy music, no fancy themes, no fancy gifts and return gifts, but they form some of the best parts of my school memories, because we were happy then, in a silly, childish and innocent sort of way.

Two days back was the little one's one month birthday and as I hung up a few ribbons and color papers, I couldn't help but look back at my own birthday parties and wonder what kind of parties the next generation would have. Something flashy I guess? Well, as long as happiness resides, I don't mind the flash and glam.

P. S. This post is the second in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

A for Ambitious

I have always known I am a little ambitious. But, you know what the problem with me is? I take on very ambitious targets with interests that don't have immediate monetary gratifications, and then fizzle out in a few days or weeks or months (depending on the scale of the project) because there is so much work that I am already doing that has monetary value, and you know, where is the time? (What bullshit right).

This month is a bit different however. I am on leave taking care of a little someone who has no clue about who I am and doesn't really care whether I exist as long as she can get food on demand at the food station and a change of nappies at the diaper station. Definitely no monetary gratification this, but there is a sense of something else (which I will save for a different post in the series), that is super difficult to articulate. 

Which means, whatever I am doing currently is even more hectic than work, so this whole A to Z blogging challenge this year is that much more ambitious than my other hobbies.

Which is why, I have started scheduling a few posts in advance when I remember them so I do not default completely on the challenge. 

Also, not having a list doesn't help. So, in last year's challenge, I had to register on the A to Z blogging challenge website with my blog link, and there was someone monitoring my blog from time to time to ensure I wasn't fake participating, but really writing something every day. I think if I had defaulted for more than two days in a row, my name would have been off the list. That sword over the head really helped me get on with the challenge, as I am not one for failure. This year, they have decided to do away with the list :/ So, it is only upto me to pursue this ambition and take it to completion. Let's see if that happens. 

Meanwhile, if you are following this blog and you think goading me into reaching the goal is a good thing, drop me a comment so I keep at it and fulfil this ambitious task for this year!

P. S. This post is the first in the A-Z blogging challenge series for April. 

A brown paper package

It was the summer of ’95. Or perhaps autumn. One would never know in the Chennai of those years, whose best friend was the sun, monsoon only a one-day trickle that flooded not the discarded cap of a cola bottle.

I alighted from the cycle rickshaw, and sauntered home, looking forward to the weekend. Outside the door there were a lot of slippers, and inside, a lot of noise, mostly female. “That’s strange”, I told myself, as the house would usually be empty at that time of the day, save my mother with some interesting smells wafting from the kitchen.

Inside, a strange sight greeted me. My mother was sitting in the middle animatedly discussing something with the horde of neighbors who had descended upon our house, gesticulating at a brown paper package kept at the corner of the drawing room.

I looked at her, at the neighbors and at that package in the corner. The package seemed infinitely more interesting than the rest of the objects and subjects there, so I walked towards it hurriedly. “Stop! Don’t go near that box!” my mother rasped sharply. I looked around wondering why it was such a big deal, which is when the story unraveled.

The box had originated in Australia (as evidenced by the postmark) and traveled a considerable number of weeks before being delivered in our humble abode a couple of hours ago by the ever dependable India Post. It didn’t have a source address or name, but it did have a destination address and a name, both matching our coordinates. Going on in her animated voice, my mother said she suspected it could have a bomb and so they (she and the neighbors) were discussing on the best course of action to take. 

Eventually, curiosity overcame the cats in the room and the few kittens scattered around. It was decided that the package should be opened, my mother reasoning that India Post must have got wind of it if it indeed contained a bomb (Really? India Post? In the 90s?). 

So was it opened, to a dream come true for me. It was WonderLand, La La Land, NeverLand, DisneyLand all put into one. It was a brown paper package that wasn't tied up in strings but filled with my most favorite thing - stationery!!!

Colorful pens, pencils long and short, crayons and water colors, sparklers galore, notebooks beautiful, sheets and sheets of lovely paper, some really cool sharpeners, many shaped erasers - oh the list goes on! I was lost in a trance flooded by the deluge, but I did manage to have a huge fight with my mom after the neighbors left. How could she have invited the whole world to open this love of my life? Like how some people don't like sharing their chocolates, I don't like sharing my stationery. Most. Definitely. Not.

P.S.: The package was from one of dad's business associates in Oz land, as a goodwill gesture for the profits he made thanks to dad. And, it was meant for me and me only (not even my dad). He of course had not anticipated shares for the neighbors! And I never bothered to find out how random he could have been not to mention the "From" address on the package.

What I lost this year

No. This isn't a post summarizing my year, so you can safely continue reading beyond this point. Also, it isn't a rant about losses I might have faced this year. Safe still.

I have had a complicated, rather hate-filled relationship with religion for many years now, rituals particularly. I am convinced that religious rituals were introduced and improvised upon by greedy pundits to create and sustain a growing revenue stream for themselves and their progeny, so it hasn't been without disdain that I have walked into places of worship and participated in religious ceremonies (mine own wedding included). Also, schooled in an Arya Samaj educational institution made it hard for me to believe in idol worship, for the Samaj was particular about teaching us that there is only one God and (s)he doesn't live in idols and random rituals. So, the hurdle of losing belief in places of worship was crossed very early on in life. What remained beyond that was only belief in God, a supreme being.

And then 2016 happened.

I am not sure what snapped the brain, there was no big event that made me look differently at the concept of God. Perhaps, it was just too much intellectual masturbation with S or trying to see things from different points of view as part of Ze Salon. Things changed over the course of the year, and here I am, at the end of it, having lost my belief in God. Contrary to opinions I may have held in the past, that hasn't made me a happier person.

The belief in a greater God gives a sense of hope, the optimism that things will be alright even when the odds are completely stacked against one's favour. There is that teeny tiny open space beyond logic and rationale that one can fall back on to, because an unknown, abstract larger-than-life figure may potentially influence outcomes. What I have lost isn't the loss of belief in God, but that loss of a sense of irrational optimism, hope and security that I may have possessed before. It has become impossible for me to not over-analyse a situation, sit back and relax, and say "God may still wave his magic wand in my favour". It has become impossible to wonder with joy at events thinking "Miracles are possible". It has become difficult to trust in luck, chance, fate etc. In fact, it has become hard to tread that fine line of believing in random events without believing in someone trying to orchestrate the randomness. Because, the mind isn't able to process how a random event can happen, it isn't able to accept random for randomness' sake. 

This loss of belief in God could have been the worst thing to happen to me in 2016, because it has left me a lot less hopeful and a lot more cynical than I already was. I do wish I never set out on this quest, to begin with. But then there is no reversing the past, there is no way I can go back and convince myself to start believing in God now unless a big miracle happens. Or something like that.

Perhaps, 2017 would throw open a few more answers beyond the "Believe in yourself. You are your own God."

Happy New Year everyone!