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.

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!

I was tagged by my blogger friend Maradhi Manni aka Sandhya to do this. That was about a week ago. I didn't see it until last night. So here goes.

The upbringing my sister and I received never made us realise that the world treats men and women differently or that there were different expectations from each. Perhaps not having brothers was the reason why. Or maybe it was because our father is a liberal minded man who believed that his daughters should reach for the stars. Whatever be the case, this is what I grew up to be and I' rather proud of it.

1. Self confident, aggressive, articulate are adjectives that usually describe me. They're also generally considered MALE traits. In fact I've been chided for my aggressive behaviour many times while growing up.

2. Some of my developmental milestones were delayed-I didn't get married the moment I completed my education at the age of 23. Worse, I got married in my thirties. And I'm not in a tearing hurry to pop out babies even though people say that the sound of my biological clock ticking is deafening.

3. I do not do the usual stuff that married women do. I did not change my last name. I do not wear a thaali (mangalsutra), toe rings or sindoor. I do not perform any rituals or poojas. My one concession to spirituality is a daily reading of the 'Hanuman Chalisa'

4. On social occasions, I am usually to be found in the company of men. I enjoy their company and seem to relate to them better. It irritates me to sit with the women and discuss recipes or school bus timings.

5. I can be relied upon to keep a cool head and take quick decisions during emergencies. People usually lean on me for support during crises.

6. I've lived alone in a big city and pretty much fended for myself. I rented an apartment, drove about by myself and even went for movies alone. It was weird at first. But then I began to enjoy it.

7. A few years back I went overseas for a vacation. I went alone and spent my own money. A dream come true. Expensive - but a dream nevertheless.

8. I returned to full time work recently and my father-in-law helps me in kitchen work. He cuts veggies and puts on the cooker so that all I need to do is throw things together when I finally wake up. Today he offered to take over the cooking of the entire lunch. I have gladly relinquished the responsibility.

There are two things where I do uphold the stereotype:

9. I love clothes, especially saris. Even a four door wardrobe seems insufficient! (refer post dated 7th July).

10. I am afraid of the dark and need to sleep with a night light on. Maybe the residue of a childhood nightmare.

So those are my sins. God forgive me for them! I don't know how to go about this tagging business. If you're reading this, and want to try it, by all means go ahead. It is open to persons of both genders.

As a woman I am constantly aware of threats lurking around the corner. I was told by my mother not to venture unescorted in the dark, to always travel in groups, not to talk to strangers etc. I relived these fears, overtly, covertly, every time a strange man walked upto me. Nobody thought this self inflicted curtailing of personal freedom was strange. After all, the world was a bad place and you had to take precautions to protect yourself from danger.

Last night, I was chatting with my 12 year old niece. She's at the threshold of womanhood, discovering life and forming her opinions. She' was telling me how she spent her vacation time at home. Like any other 12 year old, she was sent on errands - to buy groceries and vegetables at the shop next door.

At some point, the conversation turned to how once, when she went to the supermarket, this boy approached her and asked which class she studied in. She ignored the guy since he was 'a stranger', and walked past. Then she went on to say that if she was walking alone on the road, and she spotted women my age or her mother's age, she tried to keep close to them. Finally, she narrated an incident that took place a few weeks ago. It was dark and she went to the supermarket. On the way back, at about 10 feet distance, was a drunk, who leered at her and said ' hey...you're all alone'. Frightened, she raced back home. She concluded the story with 'But it was my fault you know. I should not have gone out when it was dark'. My heart broke when I heard her blaming herself. Life seemed to have come full circle. And not in a nice way.

When I argue for women's rights, people say that things have progressed so much that we should now be fighting for 'men's rights'. The world has changed and women now rule the roost. They say women have become heads of state, they've traveled to Antartica and even flown into space. No doubt these are splendid achievements. But what about when a 12 year old learns - without anybody explicitly telling her and through her own experience and observations - that she needs to curtail her personal freedom to ensure her personal safety - as generations of women before her have done?

Between self and ambition lies a long road fraught with obstacles. Braving obstacles on life's journey is par for the course one may say. But women, it seems, are not even permitted to make that journey! After all, it maybe dark, deserted or full of strange men! If 'anything happens' you have only yourself to blame. The earlier you learn that, the better. Age 12 is a good time to start.

Did I mention previously that rituals and sacrements form an integral part of the Tambrahm lifestyle? From birth to death, every milestone is crossed with determination under the eagle eyed guidance of the priest. The rules are strict and immutable. They are also male centric, institutionalising discrimination and exlusion of women.

In the Tambrahm way of life, when a man reaches the age of sixty, he celebrates his 'Sashtiapthapurthi'. When a man reaches seventy, he celebrates 'Bhimaratha Shanthi'. When he reaches eighty, he celebrates 'Sadabhishekam' and when he approaches one hundred years of age, he celebrates 'Kanakabhishekam'. These can be celebrated only if his first born is a son and his first born's first born is also a son. Yes. Its complicated. And where does the woman figure in all this? She just needs to be beside her long living husband when the celebrations take place. If she has not been so disobliging as to have kicked the bucket before the festivities - which are basically a re-enactment of the marriage ceremony by each subsequent generation of male children.

Discrimination, exclusion and isolation are experienced by women everyday in different ways. You could be an illiterate woman surviving on daily wages, or a highly educated woman belonging to a privileged class of society. Regardless of the strata of society they belong to, these are realities women learn to confront, negotiate, accept or propogate, depending on socialisation, experiences and personal mission in life. If you choose to stand up for egalitarianism, then the support and partnership of men can make the difference. And that is the origin of this long winded narration!

My parents are celebrating the golden jubilee of their marriage this year. All his life, my father has looked askance at poojas and rituals that mark the Tambrahm lifestyle. On several occassions he was simply pressurised into going along with them. But in this matter, he refused to budge. My father scorned the 'Shashtis' and 'Bhimas'. 'My wife and I have together built this family. I see no reason to celebrate only MY birthday.' But this year he was rather excited. 'Our marriage will be 50 years old. Lets celebrate!.

So we will Appa. And this post is a daughter's celebration of the wonderful liberal thinking man that you are.

With love.

This post comes after a long break. Partly because I was busy with 'home affairs' and partly because the Muse was playing truant. Well, she's back now. And a book review it will be.

I had planned to review 'Aruna' Story' - a non-fiction account of the rape of staff nurse Aruna Shanbaug written by Pinki Virani. But when I trawled the net, I found several reviews already in place. And since most of the opinions expressed were similar to mine, I canned the idea. Instead, I am, reviewing - 'AMEN: The Autobiography Of A Nun'. Originally published in Malayalam, it was translated into English and published in 2009 by Penguin Books.

At the outset, I should clarify, that I still have one chapter to go before I complete reading the book. However, my opinion on the book is already formed and I doubt that the last chapter will do much to alter it.

Synopsis:

The book is a personal account, rendered by Sister Jesme, of thirty three years spent in a convent. Sister Jesme is a nun belonging to the Congregation of Mother of Carmel. She holds a doctorate in English literature and has served as Vice Principal and Principal in two Catholic Colleges in Kerala. In August 2008, she left the Congregation.

In her book, Sister Jesme, writes an anguished account of her experiences as a nun. She raises the very important issue of the status of women within the Catholic Church. She questions why nuns are treated different from priests particularly in the matter of the Vow of Poverty.

Then there is the issue sexuality which has caused a lot of public outrage against the book. According to her, homosexuality and lesbianism are realities within the convent. Though never spoken of, it happens and is known by myraid names like 'special love'. The book also hints at sexual exploitation through an incident where Sister Jesme has to deal with the advances of a priest.

The book also highlights petty politics and groupism which were faced by the author. It also hints at class based discrimination between nuns hailing from affluent and those from poor families. Being set in the mileu of college life and academia, the book includes in its chapters the author's opinions on poor administrative practices and bending of rules being practiced by the colleges where she served.

The Verdict:

The book is a brave attempt by Sister Jesme, who seems to be a lone crusader. It takes a lot of guts and gumption to go against the establishment, particularly one as powerful and revered as the Catholic Church. All the issues raised by her in the book are important and deserve to be brought into the public domain. Sadly, the Church has closed ranks against her. It maybe a long time before it will be ready to bring these skeletons out of the cupboard.

At the same time, I find many parts of the book confusing. For eg. There is a chapter where, during a retreat, some nuns complain to Sister Jesme that the priest they confessed to had asked their permission and kissed them. The same priest asks to kiss her too when she goes for confession. She refuses and informs him that the other nuns had found his act distasteful. He replies by saying that he did it with permission and quotes passages from the Bible. She counter quotes. At the end of all this quoting, I'm left feeling baffled. So? Did he make a mistake or didn't he?

Without sounding like I'm belittling her problems, I must say that at times, it feels like Sister Jesme suffers from a persecution complex. One feels empathy with her trials and tribulations. But at some point, it seems like the whole world is her enemy and she is the only blameless one. This is particularly true when she is describing the problems she faced during her tenure as lecturer, then Vice Principal and then Principal of a college. In fact, when I discussed the Malayalam version of the book with some Malayali Catholic colleagues, one of them remarked, that the book was all 'I'm OK. You're not OK'.

Finally, the book could do with some tight editing. It rambles in places and events do not seem to be well connected. The language is heavy and gets tedious to read. But I would not blame the author for this. A first time writer and writing on so bold a theme, she should have been provided with better editorial support by Penguin.

As regular, serious and practiced readers, I would recommend that we put aside the flaws in the book and read it, to get an insight into the issues raised by Sister Jesme. Judge for yourself whether her story is real or imagined (as you can see, mine is not an unbiaised opinon). And think of the lives of women in religious life, belonging to other religions also. I'm sure there will be many similarities.

On a weekend trip to a college campus in south western Tamilnadu, I was shocked to learn about some gender discrimination being practiced in the name of 'Protection'. Being located at the foothills of the Eastern Ghats, far away from civilisation, all students are hostelers. Having been a hosteler myself during my college days, I was curious to learn what hostel experiences were like in recent times. So I asked a group of girls about it.

To begin with they were shy and hesitant. Said the facilities were superb and they loved being in hostel. 'So when is curfew?' - That opened the pandora's box.

Let me explain the meaning of the term 'curfew' in the context of this post. Back when I was in undergrad, there was a 'curfew time' for hostelers. This meant that you could roam around the college campus till 11pm. At the stroke of eleven, a bell would be rung signaling that you had to return to your room from whatever corner of the campus you were in. If you didn't return, you ran the risk of being locked out of your hostel. Being locked out was not really such a bad proposition, if you didn't count the mosquitoes and Lord Clive's ghost. But that's another story.

Cut to present day...these poor girls had to return to their hostels at 6PM! And there they had to remain till the next day.

'But what about dinner? Don't you have to go to the dining hall?'

'Our dining hall is inside the hostel'

'But what about the boys? Do they have curfew?'

'No' said the girls sadly. 'The boys have no curfew. They can roam about as they feel like'

This was too bad! Prohibiting the movement of girls around campus after 6PM! What if they wanted to go to the library? What if they wanted to surf the net? What if they simply wanted to hang out with their friends? Yes, their guy friends! Separate dining halls? It was outrageous.

When I was doing my masters, we looked forward to mealtimes when we could eat, laugh and hang out with ALL our friends. Privacy and protection was limited to the hostels. Which basically meant that you could not go beyond the reception areas of the men's or ladies hostels. A rule we respected and everybody was happy.

Poor kids. I felt bad for them. I thought GenNext was so cool and in charge of their lives. Perhaps we had a better deal after all.

And you know the unkindest cut of all? The guys got wi-fi access whereas the girls didnt!!

Ever since I've started blogging, I've developed an interest in reading what other bloggers write. Particularly on subjects which are of interest to me. So I wander from link to link, eagerly perusing what others have to offer. If the post moves me, I even leave a comment.

So yesterday, I chanced upon a blog written by a Mumbai based gentleman. He seems to be quite a prolific writer, poet, and what-have-you, having 7300 blog views to his credit. He's interactive and responds to each and every comment that readers leave behind. His responses are positive and respectful. Needless to say the blog is very popular.

A post by this blogger titled 'Indian Male Libido Going Haywire?' caught my eye. The blogger refers to an article in the Times of India about the rape of minor girls from affluent families. He then goes on to wonder why these crimes occur. Is it because the Indian male is frustrated?.

The post seemed harmless enough. Even socially relevant. Rape is after all a very serious crime that affects the lives of women. But the comments were another issue altogether. One comment in particular concerned me. I paste an extract here: "...girls are equally accountable by being so sexually arousal..they are found arrayed with so meagre outfits..that u can;t help shunting ur eyes from her...". (Pardon the poor english!)

I just had to retort to this. Here is what I said and also the response it elicited:

Deepa:

Hi John. You have raised a very important issue about violence against women. However, I am a little concerned about the last comment that Prasun made - that girls are equally accountable by dressing sexily. It is like saying that one should blame a woman for not taking sufficient precautions to prevent her rape. Ours is a democracy. Society and the State have a RESPONSIBILITY to ensure safety of women especially from violent crimes. Safety and protection are a RIGHT of women. Besides, as most feminists will tell you, rape is not about sexual arousal at all. If it was, how does one account for children being raped? Old women past 60 being raped? Young boys getting raped? Rape is about wielding power over the powerless.

Blogger John said...

Deepa,

Thanks for your comment, I respect your view that rape is about power, but disagree with that contention.

Rape may be about power, that I don't know, but rape is also about arousal. I read somewhere that a man can get aroused once every eight minutes. Unlike in the middle ages (with more women working and all) he lives in a society where women have right to work and earn a living he is surrounded by women everywhere he goes. Imagine a man being aroused every 8 minutes in the office and on the street by a sexy figure, a revealing dress, a show of undergarment (all of which openly happens in today's society), etc. and a man would become something of a sex fiend if he doesn't have a wife or cannot restrain himself.

In cities like Bombay around half the population consists of men living alone. That's all the more reason for women to exercise caution while dress, and not following the trend of wearing sexy clothes advertised to sell products. Because if a man is aroused he will exercise his libido over an innocent minor or someone who is not in a position to fight back.

I guess this fact of men's sexuality has not been understood (rather has been misunderstood) by women's libbers. Hope to put this aspect in the right perspective.

J

I am really at a loss how to deal with this mindset! This is from a man who, going by his writing, seems to be highly educated, erudite and well informed. He probably represents the mainstream thinking on this issue. That it is not the responsibility of the state to provide a protective environment for women. A man will do nothing to 'control his libido' but a woman must give up her freedom of choice and wear conservative clothing to prevent getting raped.

This opinion is just a polite and polished version of what girls at a Mangalore pub were subjected to at the hands of the Shri Ram Sene not long ago.

Oh! How will women ever throw off the shackles that enslave them if men do not partner with them in the endeavor?

I was so distressed by this exchange, that I just had to write a post about it. I would really like to know what my readers think about this. Or better still, please visit the blog: http://johnpmathew.blogspot.com/, read and leave a comment for the author.

Last week I participated in ceremonies to honour the memory of a beloved family member. The ceremonies went off well to the satisfaction of friends and family. This blog post is inspired by a few incidents that took place during these ceremonies. Rituals and traditions are generally considered a normal part of the Tam-Brahm life style. But, to those who believe in an alternate way of life - one that upholds equality, equity and inclusiveness, it is a bitter pill to swallow.

For starters, one needs to understand and respect hierarchy. Lets start with women. In the best of Brahminical traditions, the older women hold all the knowledge (and therefore power) about the intricacies of rituals. You see, though men PERFORM the rituals, women ARRANGE it. And in order to arrange it, one needs to be well versed in the requirements of the ritual - what flowers and fruits are required, on which side should they be placed, which direction should one be facing and so on. Here it should be noted that dowagers are the most aggressive in wielding their power, since their true source of power has departed the world. More on that later.

Next there is the idea of 'purity and pollution' or 'madi' as is known in Tamil. I have come to the conclusion that the Tam-Brahm obsession with madi is the single most significant reason for water scarcity in recent times. Clothes must be washed in readiness for rituals the following day. The washed clothes must not be touched by anyone, else they become 'polluted' and must be washed again. You cannot perform rituals unless you are 'madi'.

Now let's talk about the whole concept of 'Sumangali'. Literally, it means ' a married woman'. Hindus are obsessed with the sumangali. A woman's sole purpose in life is to become or remain a sumangali. Being a sumangali completes a woman's identity. She is always expected to wear the symbols of sumangali-hood on her person: vermilion, thali (mangalsutra) and toe rings. A sumangali is thus, self actualised in her lifetime, and a candidate for sainthood should she pre decease her husband (which is highly recommended)!

During last week's ceremonies, I committed the ultimate sumangali faux pas, of pottering around sans thali/mangalsutra. I was pounced upon by an older female relative and severely reprimanded for my oversight. I oscillated between yelling 'Its my neck and my thali! I decide if I should wear it or not!' and strangling her. Alas, coward that I am, I contented myself with a mumbled reply and swift exit from the room. I spent the rest of the day avoiding her.

Cut to serving up meals. Meals have a pecking order. Old timers will tell you that it is the men who should eat first, though children can also join in the first service. Food is served on banana leaves laid out by women. This is followed by an elaborate ten course meal with the women (usually older) fiendishly pressing more and more food on the hapless eaters. After this, the men retire for a brief respite leaving the women to clean up after them.

Finally, the women sit down to eat. This eating also has certain objectives. The minor one is to fulfill nutritional requirements. The main one is to ensure against left overs. This is because cooked food (especially ritual feasts) may not be refrigerated nor eaten for another meal as per the tenets of madi. Regardless of whether your belly is full, food may be piled onto your plate if it is in danger of being left over. Any protests that your belly should not be treated as a garbage bin are ruthlessly brushed aside.

To say that I was stressed out is putting it mildly. I have always held the view that women bear the burden of tradition while men are its beneficiaries. To be pulled into the quagmire of rituals and tradition as an active participant was unpalatable. The unequal and gendered division of labour for a cause that holds little meaning to me, went against my core beliefs. But, being my marital home, there was little I could do, except fulminate to my husband.

The silver lining in this circus was my husband. He did me proud. Among all the men present, he was the only one who ventured into 'women's turf'. Though he was shooed away many times, he did attempt to help. He served the women when they sat down to eat. Though he was teased for wanting to 'take care of his wife', he soldiered on, giving as good as he got- shoveling huge quantities of food onto the leaves of the senior women, insisting that it should be eaten since food cannot be left over! Once I even came upon him on all fours, cheerfully scrubbing the floor after the previous batch of people had eaten. Now tell me - isn't that a prince among men?!

Perhaps all is not lost yet. Perhaps things will change. Despair is not an option for those in the business of social transformation. Another world is possible. Let us hope that it happens in our lifetime!

We went to see a movie last night. The plan was that I would join my husband, (on his evening shift), at his office and from there go to the movie theatre. So, after dinner, I set off for the sub urban railway station, about 1 km from my house.

Just to give you an idea about the neighbourhood - our apartment complex is located in an interior road which connects two arterial roads. The fact that it connects two arterial roads is a rather well kept secret. As a result, the road is less crowded during the day and wears a deserted look at night.

So - there I was, ambling along the path, enjoying the cool evening breeze and savoring the anticipation of watching a movie, when I noticed a car parked on the bend of the road. Having lived alone, in a large city, during my single days, alarm bells went off in my head. And sure enough, as I passed by the car, its occupant, a darkish young man called out: ' Excuse me...'.

Deliberately, I put some more distance between me and the car before turning to ask: 'Yes?'.
'Do you live in XXX Apartments?
' Yes' I replied coldly. Being the only apartment complex on the road, the question rather answered itself.
'Come, I will drop you wherever you are going' was next.
'No thank you.' I retorted, groping for my phone.
' I'm your neighbour' he said, and smiled (evily I thought)
'No thank you. I prefer to walk'. Putting an end to the conversation, I walked away.

This incident is something which most women living in cities might have experienced and dealt with in myriad different ways. Some of you reading this post might think that I took a risk walking down a deserted road at night. What is the alternative? Be a prisoner in my home after sunset?

I had taken measures to minimise the risk. My family was aware of my whereabouts, I had my mobile phone - fully charged, was dressed conservatively and had removed expensive jewellery from my person. And though the road was deserted, the street lights were on and it was fully lit - and for God's sake, cant a woman walk 1 km down the road without being accosted?!

Let us assume, for argument's sake, that the gentleman in question did not have sinister motives. That he was, in fact, my neighbour (though I do not recall having seen him at all). Offers of help, in these troubled times, must be accompanied with full and complete information that will help the 'helpee' establish the credentials of the 'helper'. For eg. 'I am your neighbour' can be accompanied with name and flat number. Simple, verifiable facts!

I doubt this will deter me from continuing with life and doing my own thing. And indeed it shouldnt. I wrote this post to know, from other women, their experiences, thoughts and opinions. And from men - what is your opinion, position, stand on these type of incidents? How can we make neighbourhoods safer for women?