Showing posts with label Gender. Show all posts

Chronicles of a Sari Wearer : The Colour Purple

Posted on Tuesday, March 10, 2020 by Deepa


In the run up to the International Women’s Day this year, a mail popped into my mailbox. HR was inviting us to celebrate the day by (among other stuff) wearing purple. That made perfect sense. Purple is the official color of International Women’s Day, founded more than a century ago after some 15,000 women marched in New York City to demand better working conditions and voting rights.

I was thrown into a quandary. Running through a mental catalogue of my wardrobe, I realized that I did not have any outfit in that colour. Till…wait! There was that gorgeous silk sari that my sister had gifted me for my birthday a year back. Yes. Problem solved. I would wear a sari to work on the designated day.

Now sari wearing plans are easier made than executed. At least for me. It requires meticulous planning, at least 24 hours in advance. The sari has to be matched with the correct blouse and petticoat. And most importantly, the blouse has to fit.

Fit – a tiny three letter word. But with enormous significance when regarded in terms of the commute to work and back and an eight hour work day. It had to show off one’s silhouette perfectly, while also allowing sufficient space to breathe comfortably. Be snug and loose at the same time. A huge ask for an item of clothing, especially for those of us flirting with the wrong side of the body mass index.   

Ever the optimist, I took said sari out of my cupboard, hunted for and found the ‘matching blouse’. Made of the same fabric, it was of recent antiquity, having been stitched just a year and a half ago. So I was pretty sure it would fit in the way that I want it to. Did I try it out to be sure? No. Did I note that the cut was different? No. Did I remember that, unlike my other blouses, it did not have buttons down the front, but a zipper down the side, under my left arm? Of course not.

Imagine my horror then, when, come D-Day, I stepped out of the shower and realized that the blouse could not be worn without assistance. So I hollered for the husband, who, prince among men that he is, stepped up readily to the task. And gave up thirty seconds later.

“The fabric will tear if I pull”

“Hold the ends together and then pull. It won’t tear”

“Turn this side. I need more light. Wait, let me put on my glasses”

Some progress. But there was quite a way to go.

“How long has it been since you stitched this blouse?”

“About a year and a half. Why?”

“You’ve put on weight”

“Do you do this on purpose?! Get some perverse pleasure in pissing me off?”

After much tugging and pulling, the zipper finally slid into place. And left me feeling like a swaddled baby. Barely able to breathe.

Further conversation ensues with the husband.

“I can barely breathe”

“Yeah. Risky”

“What?”

“Better carry a spare blouse with you”

“And how do you suppose I’m going to take it off without assistance?”

“So what do we do now?”

“Help me get it off!”

More tugging and pulling ensues, till I’m finally free of the torturous blouse. Oxygen floods my lungs. I start breathing again.

“What will you do now? You’re supposed to wear purple”

“Well I like breathing and staying alive”

I finally settle on a blue top and beige trousers and take myself off to work.

When a colleague points out that my outfit isn’t exactly purple, I snap “Well, its purple adjacent!”

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Amsterdam's Red Light District

Posted on Saturday, June 25, 2016 by Deepa


Even if you know absolutely zilch about Amsterdam, you would have heard about its Red Light District. De Wallen or De Walletjes is one of the most famous tourist attractions of the city. Tourists come here in droves (myself included!) to see women of all nationalities display their 'attractions' in big glass windows illuminated in red light. De Wallen, Singelgebied and Ruysdaelkade, form the Rosse Buurt or red light areas of Amsterdam. 

Prostitution is legal in the Netherlands and was legalised in the year 2000. But it was not always so. A perusal of the country's history indicates that during the Middle Ages (ie 5-15 centuries AD), prostitution was tolerated as a 'necessary evil' but considered to be a dishonourable profession. In the 16th century, the city of Amsterdam started regulating prostitution. Only the police could keep a brothel. According to accounts dating back to 1413, these were confined to two streets in Amsterdam, Pijlsteeg and Halsteeg. Those who practiced prostitution elsewhere in the city were arrested and their clients fined. 

In the 17th century, however, with the decline of the Catholic religion and rise of Protestantism, the city stopped regulating prostitution. It was outlawed and prostitutes were considered 'evil' and having a polluting influence. Moreover, the implementation of anti prostitution laws was weak and and the enforcers preferred to leave brothels alone as long as they did not cause any trouble. 

In the 18th century, with a growing middle class (possibly due to the Industrial Revolution), public attitudes towards prostitution became more rigid, moralistic and conservative.  The working conditions of prostitutes was bad, with many of them living in poverty, being exposed to sexually transmitted diseases and bearing the illegitimate children of their clients. 

In the beginning of the 19th century, when Netherlands was under the rule of King Louis Bonaparte, prostitution was once again regulated to protect soldiers against venereal diseases. Prostitutes were forced to register themselves and undergo mandatory medical examinations. They were provided with a red card which was a sort of work permit. If they were found to be infected with any venereal disease, their red card was taken away and replaced with a white card and prohibited from working until they were free of their disease. 

Later in the 19th century, prostitution came under the purview of the Abolitionist movement (a movement in Western Europe and the Americas to end slavery) that called for the abolition of regulated prostitution in the manner that it was being practiced at the time.  The living conditions of prostitutes continued to be bad or worsen. They were usually under the control of a madam, living under severe debt and with strict control over their mobility. At first the movement targeted only the mandatory health checks for prostitutes but later shifted focus to the exploiters and people who profited from prostitution 

From the late 20th century onwards, a policy of tolerance or gedoogbeleid  was adopted by many local governments. This policy was premised on harm reduction based on the belief that anti prostitution laws would be counter productive and the best way to protect women was to 'tolerate' prostitution. Although prostitution was defined as a legal profession in 1988, it took until the year 2000 for it to move from the limbo of 'tolerance' to getting full legal status. 

The Netherlands is one of the most progressive countries in the world. I recently heard that due to a negligible crime rate, their empty jails are being used to house Syrian refugees! So the way their history, on the issue of prostitution, has evolved, is nothing less than commendable. However, as one of the top three organised crimes in the world, the dark underbelly of this profession is not so easily controlled. The Dutch government has been cracking down and shutting brothels where crime is taking place and I am sure they will have to continue to be alert and active to prevent crime and injustice. 

So what did our trio do on that chilly May evening in De Wallen? After my husband and I picked up our fallen jaws from the pavement and after our eyes had settled back into their sockets, we took a brief tour of the streets of the RLD. I held fast to my husband's hand and hissed a warning of  "Only Looking!" at him. 

I witnessed a gorgeous woman with platinum blonde hair, barge out of the window and threaten to break a man's camera when she caught him photographing her. (Photography is STRICTLY prohibited in the RLD). I looked at the sex toys displayed in shop windows in awe, my mind not comprehending to what use they could be put. I looked askance at a young man (overcome by a smorsgasbord of morality and feminism) when he gawked at one of the girls in the window and said "What a rack!" and then proceeded to negotiate a deal with her for 50 Euro. I smiled at how my two escorts barricaded me against the testosterone driven crowd. I argued that I wanted to visit the museum of prostitution while my husband and his friend dissuaded me. It was only because I could barely feel my toes in the freezing five degree temperature that I gave up the idea. 

I finally came away from the RLD feeling philosophical about the complete commodification of the female form and an economy that is built upon two breasts and a vagina. 

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No! Men Will NOT Be Men.

Posted on Tuesday, November 1, 2011 by Deepa

I'm back to my favourite rant on gender stereotyping in the media. The Seagram ads are the latest on my hit list. Take a look at this one:


Seriously! A husband cannot remember his wife's name? And that can be excused as 'Men will be Men?"!! Even our male centric mythological texts did not let off Dushyant so lightly when he forgot his wife Shakuntala.

Here's another:



Man forgets his wedding anniversary and decides to buy a diamond ring as a peace offering. Bigger the offense, larger the size of the diamond.  After all, who needs to remember trivial stuff in life like a wife and marriage! Grrrrr. And when they do, they fall back on the old stereotype of diamonds being a girl's best friend. Shut the woman up with a shiny rock.

And yet another:



Man looking devastated. Leads you to wonder if someone has died. But no! Its worse. His wife's trip out of town has been cancelled! Men will be men!

Apart from portraying woman as:
1. Not worthy of being remembered 
2. Greedy and hankering after jewellery
3. So unbearable that husbands eagerly await their departure from the home - I think these commercials also portray men in poor light. As people who do not care for their wives enough to remember their names. As people who would bribe their way into their wives' good graces rather than be contrite and admit to making a mistake and as people who seem to find their wives' presence insufferable. At least the men in my life do not live up to THIS stereotype. 

My father is a wonderful man and a devoted husband. Going against the tradition of celebrating 'shashtiyaptapurti', he preferred to celebrate his golden jubilee wedding anniversary instead. Read more about it here: Celebrating Milestones. 

Like my father, my husband is also a caring human being. And what I love most about him is the amount of attention he gives me! He has his faults of course. But I have never wanted for attention from him. He misses me when I'm away and certainly knows how to make anniversaries special :) 

The reactions to these commercials have generally been good with people liking the humour, the acting and the music. One reaction says that since advertising for alcohol and tobacco are banned, the companies have to turn to these kind of 'humourous' methods. But why does 'humour' always make women the butt of the joke and present them in unfavourable light? 

No doubt, the commercials are entertaining and the actors very talented. Overall stylishly created commercials by Ogilvy. But I think they've gone over the top with the stereotyping. I know this refrain is so oft repeated that it is passe - but I think it bears repeating. Media needs to be more responsible in the way it portrays gender relations. And, we, as a society, need to be more alert to the sub text in these seemingly 'well crafted' and 'entertaining' commercials. 

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From Dreams To Anguish

Posted on Sunday, December 26, 2010 by Deepa

Many years ago, a woman was born to a middle class family. Her parents believed in the power of education. And encouraged her to learn, expand her mind and reach for the skies. They gave her a liberal education, at a time when doing a simple graduation and getting married, was all that was expected of daughters in her community.So she grabbed the opportunities presented to her and chased after her dreams. Some proved elusive, others were within reach.

Then, as she stood at the threshold of thirty, the walls started closing in. The M word began to intrude into her otherwise orderly world. 'Why aren't you married?', 'Are you supporting your parents financially? Is that why they are not getting you married?' The questions infuriated her. At first she deflected them. With aggression, logic and later evasion. Then,under the covert, but relentless pressure, she began to shrink into herself.

And so it might have been till she met him. A good and decent man. So she crossed that milestone and got married. Love was in the air and everything seemed good.

Then the walls started closing in again - the expectation to conform. And the confusion and veiled reproach when she didn't.

"You don't know how to draw a kolam(rangoli)!" . She restrained herself from sharply retorting " No. But I do know how to stand on my own feet and be financially independent. Do you know how to do that?"

"When are you going to give us some good news?". She wanted to ask " what good news do you want? I just got a promotion. We bought a house. His cholesterol levels are under control. Take your pick"

"Still no kids? Have you consulted a doctor?" She couldn't stop her tears in the face of this blatant intrusion.

"My sister's dying wish was to have a grandchild." How was she to deal with such emotional blackmail? Her back, her spirit even, was likely to crumble under the weight of this expectation.

"Nobody asks you!" she ranted at him. "Am I expected to make a baby alone?". He did his best to shield her. But it was not always possible to prevent people from riding roughshod over her vulnerability, leaving her exposed.

What was she to do? In her mind she knew that one could not live one's life to please others. Hell, this was the advice she had handed out to many friends when they sought her counsel. But saying it and living it were different things.

Its true, there was price to be paid for wanting to live your life on your own terms.

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Mail or Male?

Posted on Monday, October 11, 2010 by Deepa

This is a new commercial of Indian Railways doing the rounds in cyber space. Produced by Nirvana Films and directed by Prakash Verma of the ZooZoo fame. It is a slickly produced commercial and makes use of the classic song 'Rail Gaadi' rendered by Ashok Kumar in the film Ashirwad. Here is the commercial:


Most people I know have liked and enjoyed this video. I did not. Why? The tag line for the video is 'Desh Ka Mail' - with a play on the word 'mail'. Mail could denote the train or, in Hindi, it also means 'meeting' or 'similarity', thereby indicating that Indian Railways actually brings different people together.

The image of a train, to me, is a metaphor. Of different people traveling to one destination. Of meeting as strangers and parting as friends. Of a single thread that connects diverse lives. Except that the human train in this video is devoid of women and children. They have been reduced to spectators.

I am a Railway child. My father was a senior bureaucrat with Ministry of Railways. I grew up in a railway colony. Our social life was structured around the railway club and other railway families. And life in the railways is all about appreciating diversity. In the colony where I lived, our immediate neighbours to the right were Kannadigas, to the left were Hyderabadi Muslims, and in front lived an Oriya family. We moved every 5th or 6th year to a new place, a new city, a new State. My sister and I loved every move, learned new languages and imbibed new cultures.

Having unconsciously learned lessons about inclusion, I cannot stomach this video. The Indian Railways transports 20 million passengers daily. At least half these passengers must be women and children. And yet, like in so many other domains, they have been excluded here too. One comment in youtube questioned "veryyy cool ad .. although i wonder y only males were included as a part of the रेल गाङी ?! :(". The reply to this comment is shocking in its insensitivity "The Ladies compartment is getting ready, gone for a makeover... "

Damn this testosterone driven train for being the metaphor of Indian society!

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