When The Muse Strikes

My trips to Delhi really provide so much material for my blogs! Here's a new one. I was flying back to Chennai on JetLite last night. And of course, whenever I fly, the powers that be decide to have some fun at my expense. So we were experiencing bad weather and turbulence and the captain had to order everybody, including the crew to return to their seats and belt up. Being a nervous flyer at the best of times, I was not happy. As I sat, gripping the arm rests and praying hard, a new thought struck me - why was it so noisy? Air plane rides are never silent, tranquil experiences I admit. But the sound levels were unnaturally high. My anxiety levels soared.

When the turbulence subsided (momentarily I must add), I asked a passing flight attendant: 'Why is there so much noise?'. He looked surprised. 'What noise?' 'That! Cant you hear it?' I said on a hysterical note. ' Its the sound of the engines ma'am. Dont worry'. I gulped. ' Hope everything is ok?' 'Yes ma'am. Everything is fine'.

A while later, the captain addressed the passengers:'Good evening ladies and gentlemen......this aircraft weighs 79 tonnes and is of the top grade in its line....I believe some guests have expressed concern over the noise levels.....this engine is more powerful than others and that is why it may seem a little noisier....blah blah'....

'Some guests'? That was clearly me! And what did he mean 'more powerful' - didn't they fit engines as per the need of the aircraft? You didn't put round pegs in square holes did you? More powerful my eye! I bet they were trying to hide the fact that they were fighting to prevent the aircraft from plummeting to earth. I was going to die for sure. I started praying again - this time a bit louder - so God could hear me over the roar of the engine.

A short while later, the aircraft made a smooth landing at Chennai airport. As I de-planed, the flight attendant grinned wickedly at me. 'All ok?' he asked. I smiled back sheepishly.

What can I say? If God had meant for humans to fly, He would have given us wings!

This morning, I observed an act of kindness on my drive to work. I was driving past the T.Nagar bus stand - a place of nasty traffic snarls. My only aim in this leg of journey is to move through traffic, without hitting people or being hit. In my endeavour to accomplish this goal for the umpteenth time, I saw a sweet and tender sight.

A middle aged guy, about 50 was helping a young school boy, about 10, to cross the road. He had his arm around his young charge and was carefully negotiating the morning traffic. An ordinary enough sight you might say? I didn't think so.

Sadly, I have rarely seen people stop to lend a helping hand to someone in need - and for something as simple as helping a child cross the road. But more significantly, this middle aged man was a traffic constable. These are the least helpful people I have come across. Apart from dotting the roads at infrequent intervals and scowling at moving traffic, I have rarely seen these guys stretch themselves to help citizens-despite having a mandate to do so. And here was one helping the most vulnerable of citizens, a child.

In this age, of police inaction in some of the most brutally violent situations, of people's indifference to the suffering of others, this was one of those 'feel good' sights. Did my heart good to see this. I drove the rest of the distance to work humming 'kisi ki muskurahaton pe ho nisar' and a vague resolve to try and do a good deed that day. Which is to spread the message of this unknown cop's good deed. May his tribe increase.

It is only befitting that I should enter this blog post today, the 8th of March. Sisters, I have stormed the last male bastion! Indeed, I have crossed the threshold of the gents toilet. It happened entirely by accident. Like Newton sitting under the apple tree, like whats-his-name putting the whatchamacallit in a dish and forgetting all about it and ending up discovering penicillin. Nothing premeditated about it. Just destiny - pure, wonderful and path breaking.

I was at Delhi airport, awaiting departure call. A colleague was on the phone and I was engrossed in a serious discussion. Soon my flight was announced. Hurriedly, I rang off and made towards the toilet as was my usual practice before boarding a flight. Absently, I noted the sign saying 'Toilets -->' There were two doors with indications above them. The door on the right noted ' Gents'. So I turned towards the door on the left and walked briskly in.

There were three people inside. A sardar leaning over the wash basin, a long haired man combing his hair out and another who by this time had blurred in my vision. Registering this sight, I uttered a horrified gasp - matched only by three similar gasps from the three male occupants of the lavatory. Without further ado, I turned on my heel and marched out, taking time to see that the sign above the door on the left also said 'Gents toilet'.

I finally located what I was looking for after carefully double checking that it was indeed the ladies toilet. A few minutes later, as I was heading back towards the gate, I pondered over the incident. I wondered if there was a diaspora of women who have the unique distinction of having seen the interior of a gents toilet? How could I reach out to them?

That brings me back full circle - a blog post on Women's Day, celebrating the storming of this last male bastion!

I demand to know who in the Chennai Corporation's Solid Waste Management Department is in charge of transportation of garbage from the streets to the dumping ground. I wish to acquaint him/her about my real feelings on their fantastic sense of timing.

On a regular work day, I drive to work on my two wheeler, and usually leave home around 8.30am. The first leg of my journey is on Mount Road, an important arterial road. Despite the traffic - which at that time is medium heavy -I generally enjoy the drive It is 'my time' - when I think cheerful thoughts and even sing on the drive to work.

So there I was the other day, freshly scrubbed from my morning bath, powdered and perfumed, driving along singing 'mein chali mein chali', when I was assailed by the most godawful stench. I was reminded of my high school chemistry lab - where a particular chemical reaction emitted the smell of 'rotten eggs'. Looking around, I saw the yellow Corporation garbage disposal van drive past, with bits and pieces of organic waste dropping off and flying in its wake. My breakfast threatened to come back up.

The following day, the same odour hit my nostrils at precisely the same spot. And yet again the next day.

What is it with the Corporation guys? Agreed the city's bowels spew 3200 MT of solid waste everyday and it needs to be moved to the dumping ground asap. But why choose peak office hours to transport garbage? Are they trying to kill citizens with the stench? Apparently their collective brains reside in their nether regions.

I would greatly appreciate the opportunity to inform the Corporation guys on the whereabouts of their grey matter. And perhaps help them locate it. Hope readers will help in the cause.

You guessed it! This one is about my visit to the National Defence Academy. What an experience! Entering the sprawling 8000 acre campus on the outskirts of Pune city is like entering a different world. What I noticed immediately, was the supreme fitness of the people who live here, (Not a spare ounce of flesh-be they equestrian or human) followed at once by a wave of self loathing at my generous proportions.We were escorted around the place by a smiling Naik Subedar, smartly dressed in olive green uniform and beret with a baton tucked under his arm.

The highlight of the visit was of course the tour of Sudan - the regal main building of the NDA. Legend has it that the money for its construction was donated by the Govt. of Sudan as a mark of gratitude for services rendered by the Indian Army during World War II. Within this graceful building is the 'Roll of Honour' - a list of names of all those brave soldiers who have been decorated with gallantry & service awards. Seeing the list of Param Vir Chakra - most given posthumously - was a solemn moment. And naturally, yours truly couldn't hold back the tears.

As we moved out of the building, we noticed a few cadets standing still under the hot midday sun with heavy back packs. When we looked enquiringly at Naik Subedar, he said but one word : Punishment. Punishments at NDA seem to be a way of life. Designed to take the mickey out of you! I was told of 3 types: Run 5 kms with a heavy back pack, run 10 km with a heavy back pack. And here's the best one - the one we witnessed - stand still under the hot sun - with a heavy back pack of course!

Life at NDA is all about rules - some of them are rather quaint. There are these hostels where the cadets live. Apparently, if you belong to one hostel and are passing by another - you cant walk past - you need to take it at a brisk trot - or else face some thrashing at the hands of other cadets who live there. Here's another - cadets never walk, they always march. You're allowed to go shopping at the campus shopping center ( called 'Gol Market' for obvious reasons) only on Wednesdays and Sundays. You cant go alone. You gotta go in groups of four. If you're shopping is done and your group does not have the requisite four persons, you have to wait till it does. No wonder then that a trip to the city is called as 'Liberty'!

The most poignant part of our visit lay in a quiet corner of the massive NDA mess. A remembrance for those soldiers who are prisoners of war - missing in action - a single table, a single rose and an unlit candle to serve as remembrance until they come home....

Before I sign off, I really must put in my two paisa worth of jingoistic nationalism:

These guys - the armed forces - they're phenomenal! Am so proud of them! Tum jeeyo hazaaron saal! (Dammit! I got tears in my eyes again!)

I saw this Tamil movie recently - 'Mozhi' - meaning 'Language' or 'Speech'. As the name suggests, the film is about a young girl who is deaf-mute (apologies if this isn't the politically correct reference) and a young musician who falls in love with her.

The characterisation of the female lead in the movie is interesting. Being used to movies where the 'heroine' is this clinging beauty always in need of rescue (usually from her own foolishness), this comes as a pleasant surprise. Here is a leading lady with spunk. Disability notwithstanding, she holds a job as a teacher, paints and even uses her karate to beat up the local drunk. Scorning at pity, she refuses the hero's offer of marriage.

Though to give the hero some credit, he does truly love her and 'wants to share his life with her'. A nice enough bloke who wins you over with his idea of womanhood" well educated, brave and independent - if she is this, then she is beautiful" Oh! Why do these men exist only on celluloid?

What sets Mozhi apart is the way in which the subject of disability has been dealt. Usually Hindi or Tamil movies depict people with disability in superlatives. Either as objects of pity or ridicule. But in Mozhi, the deaf-mute heroine has an innate dignity not usually seen in movies that deal with this subject. She is fully in control of her life, makes decisions and is that rare creature - an empowered woman!

If your apetite to see this movie, has been whetted by this blog post, check it out at your local book /video store. Moserbaer makes Mozhi available to you at the bargain price of Rs. 45!! For non-Tamil speaking viewers, the movie is available with English sub titles. Happy Viewing!

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?