Ladies' Driving Agency

A number of my posts here focus on women, and what empowers/disempowers them. As I was driving to do some chores yesterday, I realized that driving, or being able to drive, is such an important source of power. It gives you the ability to do things, go places, get stuff done, without relying on anybody else! I love driving in the US, with Hindi songs blaring in my car, as I sing along loudly (and often get strange glares). It gives me a feeling of empowerment, ability, control!

It is almost essential to drive in the US, as public transport is often not very time efficient. Sometimes, it does not even exist, and a car is the only option. However, this is fast becoming the case in India as well. Driving yourself gives you so much power to do things on your own, you don't have to wait for unreliable drivers to show up, or get groceries or even go meet friends. Even though one can always take a rickshaw/auto, it is often safer to have one's own transportation.

Yes, driving gives us all Agency, men and women alike. Agency, that one thing that most Indian women have to fight for, or live without. So all of you out there who drive- what are your stories? I was chaperoned by my mother, who would sit in the back seat for all my driving lessons. After all, I could not be allowed alone with a strange man, even if all he wanted to do was finish his driving lesson quickly and go to his next paying customer.

Isn't that true? For every triumph that Indian women make- be it as small as learning to drive, or going swimming (yes, I was chaperoned for that too), there is a small fight, a small victory or a small surrender. That is what life is as an Indian girl/woman, a series of victories and surrenders, against a society and a culture that does not believe in women's agency.

For all that, I'm grateful I learned to drive. And learned to swim. Because I don't need somebody to drive me everytime I need to go get some groceries. Or get some clothes, get a pedicure, get a life. I can drive and get it on my own!

(Image Source: http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/w/women_driver.asp)

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Masala Mundanity

As a housewife, there are a number of soul-sucking endless repetitive chores that one has to do, and do and then do again. Like cleaning, and cooking and sorting the clothes and making the bed, and then redoing them all over again the next day, or the next week. However, in my experience as a housewife, I have found some chores that are more mindnumbingly tedious than others (though they all are). And the winner is: (drumroll here)- refilling the Masaledaani.

That small little round box, which has those even smaller compartments in which you fill your namak, lal mirch, haldi, jeera and whatever other spices you use. First fill it with the masalas you use daily, and then replenish time and again as and when they get depleted. Mine usually takes about a week or ten days, depending on how much I've cooked in that time. Pick up the larger spice receptacles and restore the masaledaani to its former glory.

Every few days that I do this, I feel like this has to be the most mundane of all tasks that fall into the oeuvre of household tasks. And yet, I remind myself that no food can be cooked without spices. This boring little task is what adds taste to everything I cook. However and whatever I cook will be incomplete without spices and salt.

That is the lesson that I need to apply to my life as well. It is the boring and mundane tasks of everyday life that work together to create something complete and appetizing, that add taste and spice to everything I do. Things that are bright and brilliant are but a flash in the pan. They are not sustainable, it is perseverance and persistence that yields the best results. Yes, I need to realize the importance of the mundane.

Image source: http://raizadanidhi.blogspot.com/2009/04/masala-dani-spice-rack.html

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Pain and Sharing

Living a private life versus living a public life is a result of our cultural environment, even more than our cultural proclivities. I was thinking about how my life was lived out almost in the public eye- by public, I mean ALL my relatives, extended family, friends, half of their extended families, the entire neighborhood, school, undergrad and grad school friends (and their parents)- when I was in India. I never thought much about this at the time. Everybody kind of knew what problems everybody else had, how they lived, how they ate etc. Mostly, people shared their problems, issues and sob stories with each other.

After living in the US for the last couple of years, I find myself trying to always portray a happy front to people (at least the people I do not count as close friends). I now seriously have a lot of hesitation before I share my pain or problems. Mostly, I just don't. I always say that I am okay. Even when I'm not. Even when I'm facing huge problems. The US has made me a lot more private. There are probably four people in the whole world who know my current pain. Unlike in India, when every person and their dog knew about it. 

What changed? For one, my cultural environment has had a huge impact on me. I share so much less of my problems now. Secondly, I always feel that nobody will be interested in my pain, since everybody has their own issues to handle. And lastly, I have lost touch with so many of my close Indian friends, and not made such close ones in this country. We've all gone our different paths. Yet, the closeness of school and college friends is irreplaceable. 

And of course, Facebook happened in the last few years. With it, came this need to always have the best me on show. An image, a facade, that is displayed to the world. A facade of a life lived to the fullest, of a life lived with the best of everything life has to offer. Facebook is all about pshopsha (the Punjabi readers should get this). So now, I am perpetually on display to the world and I need to uphold this happy, smiling, carefree, Super-self phantasm that I have created. 

I was thinking this morning about all this. About how I can no longer share my pain and sorrows easily. Mere halak mein mera dard atak jaata hai... and I swallow it back and in, and smile. I'm good, I say. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm not sure anymore. 

Yes, at some level maybe even I swallow this pill I'm giving the world. Even I think life is okay. It is sanitized and harmless and hurtless. Maybe I need to peel off the blinkers and strive for more honesty with myself. Maybe, I can become my best friend again who will listen and talk and understand and encourage. Just maybe, I need to begin sharing with myself again before I can do it with the rest of the world.

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The Bhartiya Naari and the Bitch in Bollywood

How many of you out there remember the song "Wo Mera Hoga" , one of Ila Arun's superhit songs? I think it came out sometime in the 90's. About this guy who has two girls fawning over him, one an Indian 'modern'  woman who wears revealing clothes, drinks and smokes, and the other the gaon ki gori who is the 'good Indian girl'. The guy is promised to the modern woman and takes her back to his gaon for a visit, where the song actually happens. And the good girl's bhartiya sanskaar make the guy ditch his 'modern' girlfriend for the good girl. Moral of the story: Girls who drink and smoke do not get the guy.

So it is a bit discouraging that even after fifteen or so years have passed, the same idea was repeated in Cocktail. Yes, the good bhartiya naari who is religious, does puja regularly, does not drink or smoke or wear revealing clothes and washes ALL THE DIRTY CLOTHES in the house, is the one who gets the guy (yes, I kept wondering about the washing dirty clothes trope in the movie). Our patriarchal ideas about the women Indian men want to marry (as opposed to the women Indian men want to sleep with) does not change. Girls who are promiscuous, and indulge in such sins like drinking, are not the ones they want to take home to Mommy dearest. No matter that the girl is one of the most giving large-hearted generous and kind souls you would ever meet.

The sad part of the movie was Deepika trying to fit into the mould of the "good desi girl": wearing salwar-kameezes, doing puja and DOING THE LAUNDRY (yes, after all, that defines a good girl). Seriously, it is time to stop adapting to some impossible ideal of womanly goodness and virtue, and let the world accept that girls do party, like to drink and sometimes even sleep around (did I hear a few thuds and gasps!). And she tries to reform herself for a guy like Saif Ali Khan's character, who is basically a major sleaze/scumbag.

When do we stop obsessing over this approval for men, and their mothers? When do we realize that true goodness does not come from what we drink or what we wear, but from what we are? Aren't most of the women who are the perpetrators of female foeticide/dowry etc. all dressed in traditional Indian garb most of the time? Does that make them even remotely GOOD?

And when, oh when, do we stop this need for male approval? I was listening to the superhit song 'Tumhi ho Bandhu' from the movie.

And it says
"Jab yaar kare parwaah meri, mujhe kya parwaah iss duniya ki". 
Right. As long as my guy/man gives me love, care, validation and self esteem, I don't care about anything else. Bas my lover should care for me, and that is all that matters!!

This reminded me of another song that I have always had a bit of a problem swallowing, from the 1962 movie 'Anpadh'.

"Aapki nazron ne samjha, pyaar ke kaabil mujhe, dil ki ae dhadkan thaher jaa, mil gayi manzil mujhe" - Since your eyes now deem me worthy of your love, I now feel I have achieved my objective/destination.

Well, since I was/am nobody without your acceptance, thanks for the validation, guy! However, I've always controlled my irritation with the song because this movie was made in 1962! Also, the eventual premise of the movie is about the importance of women's education.

1962 and Cocktail in 2012! What has changed in these fifty years? Why hasn't Bollywood grown up? Or atleast, shaken off the shackles of the good bhartiya naari and shown us that the Bitch can win too? Isn't Bollywood itself being the demure, coy desi girl who craves the validation of the Indian masses and will therefore not let the Bitch triumph? Oh, but a time will come when the heart and what truly matters will shine through, when sanskaar will mean more than just dressing and behaving a certain way. I'm rooting for you, the Great Indian Bitch. Every dog has its day, and so does the Bitch!

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Revenge of the Shoes!

A long time ago, I had talked here about my shoe addiction. How obsessed I was with shoes, and how I could never have enough. I had the chance to revisit this conversation with myself lately. You see, I've been doing a lot of shoe-shopping over the last few months (the benefits of finally FINALLY having a job). I went a bit overboard buying shoes of all and every design, shape and form.

Then I realized that I needed to think this through. Why this atavistic shoe compulsion? Sudden as a flash, I got my answer, an answer that was hidden in the depths of my yesterdays. I was (and still am) a tall, big girl (yes, that is a euphemism for fat). But there are enough fat people in India, so that is not the issue here, the issue was my height. I am very tall for an average Indian girl, a bit more than 5'8". And that means big feet. All my growing up years, I never could find pretty shoes/slippers/sandals for my big, fat feet.

Oh, I remember the snide insults of all the shoe-shop owners, "Ab itne bade pair hain to kya hi milega"... The only kind of shoes that I could get were the ugly broad black ones, made for somebody thrice my age. No amount of hunting would get me nice shoes-and if rarely I did find shoes that were my size, and pretty, they were inordinately expensive (atleast back then).

I am a shoe size 9, which is just fine in this country. I get every sort of style and design for my feet size, and nobody tells me that pretty shoes are not made for my big fat ugly feet. Nobody tells me that I can not wear heels because I am already so tall (there are tons of taller women here, and lots wear heels). Nobody tells me that the only shoes I can wear are the ugly ones.

Yes, that is why I buy shoes all the time. Pink ones and orange ones and red ones and heels and higher heels and Mary Janes and pumps and wedges and everything else! Because they fit, they look good and they are pretty. Because despite my big feet, I can still get any style I want. Because finally, this is my revenge on all those shopkeepers who broke my young girly heart back then.

(Image Source: http://www.makems.com/graphics/graphic/shoes10)

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Hope at the End of the World

There comes a time in life when everything seems bleak, dark, despairing and over. When you feel that it is simply the end of the world. When even taking another breath is painful, when every pore of your body wants to scream in protest, when all you want to do is curl up and never look at the world again. Have you ever had that happen? When the pain is so intense, the hurt so deep, the wound so raw, that all you could do was sit and whimper? When tears don’t come, when all you have is a frozen, numb heart and soul that simply hurts…and hurts some more?

Indeed, the end of the world. I faced my own version over the last few days, and I have to admit, all I could do was sit and stare. Blank-eyed, frozen. I prayed for tears, for tears would thaw the numbness inside me. A cathartic washing that would make me feel something, anything, again. They came in fits and bursts, never the cascade that I was waiting for. They are still there, waiting for a vagrant word or image to begin the defrosting. Or maybe, just maybe, a warm hug…

Yes, the end of the world came. And went. And I decided to stop the pain, ignore it and get back to work. Square my shoulders, straighten my spine and gather my courage. Maybe it was some form of denial. Maybe it was the only way to survive- by not thinking about it. By not dwelling on it. By smiling, and being strong. And by hoping for a better tomorrow.

It’s strange, and I’d never expected it, but the world went on. Why didn’t the world stop spinning with the intensity of my pain? Why did my sorrow not stop the sun from rising, the moon from shining and the stars from twinkling?  Because while the sun rises, the moon shines and the stars twinkle, there is hope. Hope that touches us with its delicate wings and flutters around us, weaving a delicate web that slowly and softly sews the heart together. Hope that ripples into our soul and mends the gentle cracks. Hope that hugs me, and makes my frozen tears thaw and flow out, so that they are frozen here in words instead. These words take the pain from inside me and onto these pages, pages that hold me and hug me and make me cry. Pages and words that mutely listen, and comfort and record.

I’d written once about a line from the movie Om Shanti Om, “hamari zindagi main bhi, hamari filmon ki tarah, end mein sab theek hi ho jaata hai…Aur agar theek nahi hua, to ye The End nahi hai...Picture abhi baaki hai, mere dost..."

I hope so. I seriously hope so.

(Image Source: http://natalieswartzendruber.theworldrace.org/?filename=word-of-the-week-hope)

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The Joys of Lipstick

Lipstick is my tool of choice. Yes, the word "tool" is used deliberately. I don't wear any make-up on a daily basis, but lipstick. I love the way it adds a small dash of color to my face, enlivening my entire look. It is also my armor and my shield. I feel less vulnerable with lipstick on, because if I think I look better, I feel better.

It wasn't always this way. I was one of the really late adopters of make-up/lipstick. In fact, I started using lipstick after I turned 21! That was the defining year, the year that my love affair with lipstick started. Before that, I had no clue about the wonders and power of make-up or looking good.

I was doing an internship at the time, in Surat, Gujarat. A fellow intern was an Avon representative, and she was the one who introduced me to lipstick. Of course, she did it for her business, but I was hooked. I learned about the gazillion different shades, what to use, how to use, skin tone matching, etc. Most importantly, I learned that a little bit of lipstick looked good- and not girly or primping, as my pseudo-intellectual snobbery was wont to believe.

Indeed, I was- and to a large extent, still am- the kind of person who believes that sheer brain power and intelligence will overpower and outlast looks any time. But I've learnt that good looks plays a huge role in the process as well. Even though I still don't wear make-up, I guess this lipstick thing is my brief nod to the realities of life.

Over time, I have understood exactly what looks good on me (I chose some horrendous stuff when I started this journey). I have learnt to color match with my outfits. I now understand what shades and colors make me look young/old/haggard/cute/pretty. Now, I agonize over exact shades, I mix and match 2-3 shades to get the exact look I want, I dab and powder and paint. Lipstick application is an art, and I am still but a novice in the same. What I have learnt, however, is that appying it heavy handedly (potoing it on, in Indian parlance) never works.

To this day, though, I have not learnt not to eat it. I don't know how it stays on on some people, even after they eat and drink. Mine fades away very quickly, even if I don't eat or anything. Wish I knew how to keep it on- I've tried many many brands, and so much for long-lasting! Mine always goes away in a couple of hours.

So lipstick is my choice of tool. It makes me feel better about myself. It adds a dash of color to my life, quite literally.

Image Sources:

http://o5.com/7-tips-for-fabulous-lipstick/

http://www.yourstylentrend.com/blog/makeup-basics-application-of-lipstick/

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Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Perfection

Indeed, that is what the US of A is all about. The pursuit of perfection, and never quite getting there. It is very much in the water and air of this country. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have picked up this bug, this incessant voice inside me that keeps goading me to be perfect in everything I do. And when I don’t match up (I’m already Superwoman, but still I fall short) the guilt and recriminations are endless.

Every day, I strive to be really perfect at my work. I expect myself to work hard and produce excellent content. I want to be able to write excellently, create well, and all in all, basically be perfect at my job. Yes, I know there is a learning curve, and I will take time, but still, I am driven to be really good. Anything less, and my internal voice keeps saying I need to do better. Work harder. And maybe get back to work instead of writing this blog post!

Every day, I strive to be the perfect human being. One who never gets emotional, has crazy outbursts, cries, gets sad or feels anything but upbeat and happy. Needless to say, I do all those things. Still, there is this perfect person I want to be, who is happy not only for herself but for the people around her. Who is bright and shiny and bubbly and cheery. Oh, I am all of that a lot of the time. And then I explode, tearing to bits myself and the people caught in the explosion. Then I feel massively guilty. For not controlling my anger. For being this awful tantrummy person.

Every day, I want to go to the gym and exercise. I want to do this because a) it’s good for my health b) I need to lose weight. Scratch that- I need to lose massive amounts of weight. I want to live up to and become this impossible ideal of beauty. And when I don’t, I hate myself for it. I hate myself for not going to the gym. I hate myself for not taking the time out to do this for myself. I hate myself because I blame myself for not doing this one thing for myself.

Every day, I want to be the perfect wife. Loving, caring, sweet and gentle. I want to make breakfast and dinner for my husband. I want to be there for him. I want to be nice to him. I want to be a loving , kind, wonderful person who listens to all his problems and shares his concerns. And I do this- most of the time. Except for the explosions.

Every day, I want to be the perfect housewife. I want an immaculate clean sparkling house, where everything is in its proper perfect place. Where the bathrooms sparkle and the kitchen sink dazzles. Where the floor and walls and décor and curtains and bedspread are all clean, and matching and beautiful. I work towards this endlessly.

Every day, I want to cook fresh delicious food. From scratch. Every time I use frozen food I feel a little bit more guilty. About not providing fresh and healthy food to my family.

Every day, I want to be the perfect daughter. I want to take care of my parents, who are so far away and alone and unhappy without me.

Every day, I want the perfect life with perfect vacations in perfect locations looking perfect with my perfect husband.

Every day, I want to be there for my friends. Listen to their pain and share it with them.

Every day, I want to take my vitamins on time.
Every day, I want a well stocked larder and fridge. I want my grocery shopping to be comprehensive.
Every day, I want to give and get great sex.
Every day, I want to dress up well and be perfectly turned out and with great hair.
Every day, I want my laundry all folded and put back in its proper place.
Every day, I want the beds made.
Every day, I want my electric toothbrush cleaned.
Every day, I want to be in the office by 9:00 AM.
Every day, I want to make and take lunch with me.
Every day, I want to be perfect in every way.

Every day I fall short. Every day, I inch a little bit closer to going out of my mind. Every day, I hate myself a little more. Every day, in a million small ways, I die because I am not perfect.

(Image source: http://listenforjoy.com/art/perfectionmonster.html)

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Book Review: The World We Found

Title: The World We Found

Author: Thrity Umrigar
ISBN: 978-0-06-193834-4
Pages: 305
Publisher: HarperCollins

Year: 2012

Genre: Multicultural, Drama, Indian

Review: I have read almost all of Umrigar’s books, and loved them all. This is her latest book that came out recently, in January 2012. And being a big fan of Umrigar’s work, I knew I had to read it. She is one author who can simply reach into me and twist my gut and make me feel as if I have been through a cloth-wrencher (if there is something like that, but that is the only way to describe how I feel). The only way I can put this is that she gets pain. And she knows how to pen it down so that pain leaps up from the written page and gets deep inside your soul and erupts there. Her books leave me thoughtful, pensive, sad. I only wish I could write like that one day. 

She writes about four women, Armaiti, Nishta, Kamala and Laleh, who were incredibly close friends in college. Life takes them into different paths and ways, and they all but lose contact with each other. Armaiti goes to the US for graduate studies and stays there, Kamala becomes one of Mumbai’s top architects (and is a closet gay), Laleh marries well and Nishta- well, Nishta is where the book centers. Nishta is the change when a girl becomes a resigned woman. Nishta is the slow resentment that comes from giving up bits and pieces of yourself over time. Nishta is the triumph of indifference over spirit. And yet, in the end, Nishta is hope. Nishta is resurrected?

The book begins with Armaiti finding out that she has only a few months left to live. And she wants to meet her friends from college before the end. The book traverses this journey, of how her friends get together and get ready to go. It goes through the stories and histories of each of these women, their lives, their families. How their pasts were gradually eradicated by a merciless present. How life, culture, society and religion changed them.

The center plot of the story is about Nishta, whose husband does not allow her to go to the US to visit Armaiti. The other two women do not give up and somehow make it happen. The scheming, the plotting, the constant terror of him finding out is played out superbly. A beautiful description of how a spirited and feisty young woman is now a resigned, scared, broken housewife. In the end, how she manages the courage to escape. For the bonds are of love and a lifetime together. Yet, they are bonds that hold her down and stifle her.

Armaiti’s gradual degeneration, Nishta’s struggles, Laleh’s obstinacy, Kavita’s bitterness- all combine to form a tapestry of intense emotion. Emotion that will take your heart hostage and make you sob for them. Make you realize that life is not black and white, just unfair. Just horribly unfair and painful. Because bad things happen, and we are colored by them. Our reactions are results of what happens to us. How things change, how dreams change, how people change. How the world we find is the world we create.

(Image Source: http://www.umrigar.com/the_world_we_found.html)

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Neanderthal Man: Bitchfest Episode 2

After a long time, here I present to you the next version of Bitchfest. Been a long time coming, but then I am such a sweet and tolerant person that it really takes a lot to infuriate me ;-) (oh, the sarcasm and irony! Especially when I have documented here my long time struggle to conquer anger). Anyway, I digress. Lets go back to the point of this post, ranting ;-)

So I recently had the (mis)fortune to meet this guy. And he has been kind enough to express some of his views about women and their "duties" to their husbands. He often talks about how women need to cook for their husbands, no matter whether women work or not. After all, it is a woman's duty to cook for the poor guy, since he can not be expected to do so himself. When I tried to point out to him that maybe this thought process was not completely correct- men need to contribute too- he shot back at me, so don't you cook for your husband? Since of course, in his mind, that was the clinching argument.

A few days ago, I met him again as part of a large group, and he started talking about how men work so much more and have more tension in their lives, as compared to women/ wives! Oh well! Men who work less hours than their wives, come home sooner, and sit on the couch watching TV, waiting for their wives to come home and cook and clean. When we (me and some other infuriated women in the group) told him that actually working women work a lot more- since we work both at home and office- he said that of course we could give up working. Outside the home. Not that men could contribute more so that women's lives could be a bit easier, but women who had problems handling both should just give up work. He then added after all, that it is the wife's duty to take care of the husband. Since men work outside the home (and of course, women need not).

Now, this guy is planning to get married soon, and his parents are looking for a girl for him. So he was talking about that, and said that he was ambivalent about marriage, because, once married, he could no longer party/ hang out with friends (yes, that was his reason!). So I suggested that he could party with his wife, and/or take her to the party with friends. His answer- of course I can not, because she would not drink. So I asked her how did he know she would not drink, since he has yet to meet anybody. Well, he answered, because obviously the girl my parents find will not drink. Okay, fair enough, so I suggested that he could initiate her into drinking socially. To which he responded that it was better if she did not drink!!

After that, I just gave up talking to him.

All this, coming from a decently educated guy working in the US. It is saddening, disappointing, but most of all, infuriating. Is this a problem peculiar to Indian men? Who grew up so mollycoddled and worshipped by their families that they don't think helping their wives in housework is important? More so in the US where there is nothing like household help? Who think that it is a wife's duty, DUTY, DUTY (I feel like screaming that word) to take care of the husband? Whatever happened to taking care of each other? Wasn't that what marriage was supposed to be? Where does this sense of utter entitlement come from?

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Fat but not Powerless!

A few days ago, I saw this Indian movie called “Desi Boyz”. And I have been seething ever since at one particular dialogue in the movie. Of course, I probably should not expect even a modicum of sense from such an inane movie, yet I am completely and totally incensed by this one thing. In the movie, the good for nothing dumb and useless male protagonist goes back to school (since he could not be bothered to finish first time around) and one of his classmates of earlier days is now his Economics professor. She obviously harbors a huge crush on our macho man, and sets out to get him. He fails to recognize her in the beginning, because she was ugly and fat, with braces etc. when they had last met. This time around though, she has metamorphosed into a super-duper hot attractive smart babe to end all hot babes. And she says to him, (I quote here) “last time we met, mai moti aur bechari thhi. Par ab this is not so” (or some such claptrap to that effect).

Right. “Moti aur bechari” (fat and powerless). That is how fat people are perceived. That is how fat people perceive themselves. Because being fat renders you helpless, powerless, useless!! Can you even think of something more self-esteem annihilating? What self-worth do we talk about when we buy into this idea that being fat makes us powerless? What about being smart and intelligent- the woman in question was smart enough to be an Economics professor at Oxford, for heaven’s sake!- and all she could say was that she was fat and powerless. She still had the same brains, if inside a fat body.

Yes, I know that this is the ugly truth. That being fat is perceived as ugly, powerless, as something/ somebody to be looked down upon. Fat people buy into this idea as much as everybody else. This is something that is ingrained in our culture. Beautiful is thin, and vice versa. Beauty may be only skin deep but we live in a shallow world.

As a fat person who has had self-worth issues all her life, I know the pain. I know how difficult it is to maintain a modicum of dignity. To find some shreds of self-esteem in the annihilated remains of self. I have been there and am still struggling. To believe that my complete sense of self does not come from how much I weigh. That I am a smart, intelligent and good person who deserves a good life.

It is not easy to accept myself. To forgive myself. To love myself. People who have never had to struggle with being fat don’t know the pain. It is not merely the physical aspect, but an entire societal and cultural construction. And fighting, not for acceptance, but for the right to live a life that brings us dignity and self-respect is something that we all deserve. Being fat does not render us automatically powerless. We have to fight this mindset in our culture, but first and foremost, battle our own inner devils of doubt and anger and pain. I am my own greatest enemy, my own lack of self-worth allows me to feel powerless.

Which is why I am angry at this movie. Because they brainlessly translate being fat with being powerless. The two are not the same. In fact, it is against all human dignity and self-respect to even think so. As Eleanor Roosevelt had once said, “Nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent”. And yes, we consent. We agree that we really do not deserve better. We agree to be powerless.

Today, this is what I want to start my New Year thinking. That I may be fat, but I am not powerless. Or helpless. Or useless. I am good, and powerful, and yes, even beautiful. Mai bechari nahi hoon!

(Image Source: http://mindset.yoursabbatical.com/2009/04/17/susan-boyle-gives-a-dream-some-welly-and-your-pathetic-life-comes-into-view/)

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Musings on Validation

So I was wondering today about this deep rooted, deep seated need for validation that we, as mere mortals, have. How deep seated and deep rooted it is, depends on each of us as individuals. Our upbringing, life, circumstances, gender, society and culture all influence the depth and intensity of this atavistic desire. Or is it just me, who has this intense need for validation of self?

From what dark void inside me does this need arise? And why is it so intense? More to the point, why is it focused on external systems and means of validation? Oh yes, I have done enough self-introspection and psychoanalysis to know the answer. Still I struggle with the answers. Still it is not enough.

I have realized that seeking external validation, and getting it, is a mere drug. An addiction of sorts, that satisfies the occasional craving. Can an intermittent high from an ephemeral compliment even come close to satisfying what is, what has become, an eternal need? Yet I question the very existence of this need, if not its existence, atleast its strength.

Time and again I have seen this inside me, time and again I have realized the one painful truth, that I am not good enough for myself. Why seek external validation, if my internal validation was enough? What lack inside me, that my self-belief is weak and wavering? What depths do I plumb to find inside me worth and confidence in my self?

I know that is the answer. I need to believe more in my own abilities, my own choices, my own self, my own identity. It is only internal validation that will lead to lessening of doubt, fulfilment of self, and the ability to traverse life more confidently. Because internal validation is not ephemeral, not fleeting, not occasional. It is this deep abiding faith in oneself, this deep love for self that gives joy, fulfilment and freedom.

Yes, there is emptiness...as the line of one of my favorite songs goes, ...ik khalish hai hawaaon mein bin tere...(there is an emptiness in the air without you...). But the only person who can fill this void is me. I need to be there for myself. In this time when doubts rage, when things change, when I question my very worth and value. I need to tell myself that I am good enough. Not for the outside world, not for people, not for family, not for friends. I am good enough for myself.

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The Indian Socio-Cultural Dynamics of Eating Out Alone (OR a 12 Year Old Rant)

I’m talking about a long ago India here, and I have no idea whether this exists anymore. Eating out alone in the US is not a big deal, indeed it is the culturally acceptable norm. It is perfectly okay to sit and eat alone at some place- in fact, it is expected in some of the café/bakery sort of places. Where one can sit, eat, ruminate, read, write or Internet surf endlessly. And nobody will blink an eyelid.

As I was eating my lunch today- alone, mind you- I recalled an incident that had occurred almost twelve years or so ago. Obviously, it still rankles, since that is one memory that I have never forgotten. Chinese (Indo-Chinese) food was new on the Indian horizon at that time and I absolutely loved it. There was this one Chinese place near my undergrad school that we would often visit, named Golden Dragon (what else!). Once, I was craving that particular place, food and taste so badly that I just could not stop myself and decided to go there without further delay. Most of my friends were out of town, so I went alone.

I sat there and ate the most wonderfully unhealthy MSG laden vegetarian hot-and-sour soup and Manchurian (dishes that nobody in China has ever heard of). I suddenly heard a really snarky voice at my adjacent table say loudly … “mujhe pata nahi log baahar akele kaise khaa lete hain” (I don’t understand how people can eat out alone). Spoken out loudly enough to make sure I heard. I still remember the disdain in that voice.

I’ve never forgotten that incident. Almost every time I eat out alone, I recall this. I wonder what was going on in that person’s mind as he said this. I wish I had said something. I wish I had not been hurt. I wish I could meet him again and give him a resounding slap! I was just satisfying a primal urge- to eat some delicious food that I was craving. I wish I had not felt bad about doing this one thing I wanted to do for myself.

Eating out alone- especially for a girl, ye heavens! - was overstepping certain circumscribed societal norms. It wasn’t accepted, it wasn’t common, and hence it was worth commenting upon. Indian cultural norms are defined, created and delineated to keep women in their place, inside. The outside is seen as the site of potential breach, be it of norms, principles or people. Indian women, as the moral and physical upholders of Indian culture, are not allowed to breach anything. Be it norms, principles or boundaries. Be they physical, socio-cultural or psychological.

I can only hope things are different now. From what I hear about the new India, I sure hope that women can go and eat out alone as, when and where they want. All the Chinese, Italian, Thai, Japanese, Vietnamese, American, even Indian food that they want to eat. Without the world judging them in any way. Next time this happens to me, I’ll make sure I dump the bowl of soup on the speaker’s head.
No matter how delicious it is.

Image sources:

http://pandasprefermenthols.wordpress.com/2011/02/16/table-for-one-please/

http://www.tower.com/table-for-one-mark-hose-paperback/wapi/112359022

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Blog Anniversary Post: Six years together

A friend of mine today mentioned that she wanted to start her own blog. So we were talking about it, and I was reminiscing about the day I started this blog. And suddenly it struck me, it was on THIS VERY DAY, six years ago. Yes, this blog was born on November 03, 2005. Went back in time (to the first ever post) and checked. Indeed, the first post was on November 03, 2005. Just "Testing" :-)

So many memories and moments came flooding back. I was extremely new to the US at that time, had been here only for about two months. Was lonely and miserable and had no friends and wanted to go back. That is how this blog was born. Since I had nobody to talk to, I decided to talk to this space. My blog, my friend that would listen to all my rants and pain and sorrow and share it with me.

That is indeed what has happened. We have come a long long way together, since that fateful day six years ago. My blog has always been the repository of my emotions, thoughts, feelings, expressions and rants. It has stayed with me through my highs and lows. It has been a true hamsafar of sorts, growing and evolving as my thoughts and I evolved. It has been both my aks and aaina...

I was wondering why it is not called a blog birthday, but a blog anniversary. And then I realized, that it is a day that we both came together. It marks an important milestone for both of us. So here is wishing us both a happy anniversary, and many many more years of sharing and togetherness!

(Image Source: http://www.dianebrowningillustrations.com/2011/03/my-blogs-birthday.html)

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It's only Words...

Writing is an essential life task for me, something that is very important for me as it gives me the vent I need to maintain my self and sanity. It is also my most important medium of self-expression. If I have not written for a long time, I feel restless, as if all the words stored inside of me will bubble out incoherently, toppling over each other in their haste to escape the confines of my mind and heart. I feel the incessant urge to write, to express my thoughts and feelings. And this blog is my one way of doing so, of arranging all those words in a semblance of coherence, of permutations that allow for self-expression and revelation. Words are a precious resource, our only commodity of exchange that we use to create mutual understanding and empathy.

Oftentimes, I talk to people who tell me that they don’t write (or read) much. And I can only think of the wealth they are missing. Isn’t everything we do, say, feel… just words? All my joys and sorrows, all my feelings, thoughts, ideas, expressions, sentences, pain, love, hate, emotion… aren’t words the only way to say it all? Even though, in the immortal words of Jagjit Singh, kaun kehta hai ki mohabbat ki zubaan hoti hai, ye haqeeqat to nigaahon se bayaan hoti hai…

The entire internet is based on only words. It is all about content- words that grip, entrance, captivate! Nowadays, a lot of my reading is on the internet, blogs and thoughts and articles of people. And I can’t help but admire them, people who use words to such effect. Who create and influence using words written somewhere on the internet. The writing can be inspirational, effective, motivational, controversial- whatever. But it makes me think. It creates an impact. I am the kind of person to whom words matter, be they written or spoken.

That’s what Twitter is, isn’t it. We click and read stuff we like and if we really like it, we retweet it because we want the world to read the same amazing stuff. We only follow people whose words we like to read. We read blogs we like and identify with. We link to articles that are good.

The power of words is endless. Words are a double-edged sword, while they can uplift and motivate, influence, they can also tear and rent apart, they can destroy and annihilate. They make us laugh and cry. Words are the only means we have to communicate- and if we stop communicating, the world ends right there. Words can be a bridge and a chasm. Words can be everything and nothing. Words can bind forever and break forever. And yet, words are all we have.

Of course, you know where this is leading. Towards It's Only Words. Because words are truly all we have. To tell each other everything. To listen to. To understand and feel and empathize and take our hearts away….

http://www.youtube.com/user/Boyzonegreatesthits#p/u/20/w_Rut4qm33g

(Image sources: 1. http://telling-secrets.blogspot.com/2011/06/words-fail.html

2. http://januscastrence.deviantart.com/art/115-words-of-LIFE-152755216)

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Guest Post: Poetry and Thoughts

A few months ago, I had written this blogpost, Lost. A friend of mine really liked the post, and was inspired to pen down some of her own thoughts about life. She sent me this beautiful poem, that I am posting below. Thanks a lot for this, Vandana. And I hope to have more guest posts from you in the future :-)
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By Vandana Toreti

Zindagi ke teedhe-medhe, kabhi janne kabhi anjanee,
rastoon ko tai karte karte hum umar ek padav se doosre par pahuch jate hain

Mausam ki tarah zindagi bhi badalti hai rang,
Kabhi khushi de jati hai, kabhi gum chod jati hai,
Kuch naye rishtee jud jatein hain, kuch appne kho jatein hain

Zindagi ke teedhe-medhe, kabhi janne kabhi anjanee,
rastoon ko tai karte karte hum umar ek padav se doosre pahuch jate hain

Mushkilen aur kathinayi jo kabhi hum se juda hotee thein,
Woh jaane pechane se lagne lagte hain,
Humari himmat ki pariksha leti hui yeh zindagi hume kahan se kahan le aati hai

Zindagi ke teedhe-medhe, kabhi janne kabhi anjanee,
rastoon ko tai karte karte hum umar ek padav se doosre pahuch jate hain

Duniya ke bhool bhulaiye mein,
Kabhi girte, kabhi uthe, kabhi fisalte,
kabhi sambhalte huye hum khud ko bhulakar aage nikal padtein hain
Mud kar aapne aks ko dekho tho lagta hai ki kya hum wahi hain

Zindagi ke teedhe-medhe, kabhi janne kabhi anjanee,
rastoon ko tai karte karte hum umar ek padav se doosre pahuch jate hain

Yeah raste bhi aajane se hain, yeh log bhi ajnabi se hain,
Aur hum is anjane duniya ki anjani rastoon par nikal pade hain
Apni hai sirf mann ki shakti aur upwarwale par bharosa,
Ki woh rasta dikayega aur mazil tak pahuchayega...
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The Road less Traveled: Cross-cultural Entrepreneurship

“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities,” said Dumbledore to Harry in the book, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. This quote has stayed with me over the years, as I navigated my way through the myriad pathways of life. Dumbledore was talking about choosing to do the right thing under trying circumstances. Even though very often, the right thing turns out be the more challenging choice.

As I started work at a start-up recently, I was reminded of Dumbledore’s words. What made people choose to start their own companies? What made them give up comfortable and cushy jobs to bet their lives, savings, and family life- all on some nebulous dream of a better future? The answer could not merely be Dumbledore’s words, wise though they were. So I started reading up on entrepreneurship. On why the choices founders made were the choices they made. Was this really the right thing to do? And if so, right for whom?

Considerable research has been done on entrepreneurship in recent years, especially in Silicon Valley, CA. Dr. Wadhwa (2009) conducted extensive research to find the ‘anatomy of an entrepreneur’. Dr. AnnaLee Saxenian also conducted research exploring the nexus between immigrants and entrepreneurship in the Valley. Both of them agree that educated and skilled immigrants not only bring abundant talent to the country, but as entrepreneurs, are also responsible for wealth and job creation. As an immigrant myself, I could relate to some of the attributes of social and ethnic networks that Dr. Saxenian (2002) talks about, that foster immigrant growth

Dr. Wadhwa’s research shows that there are about double the percentage of Indian entrepreneurs than the next closest foreign-born category (3.8% vs.1.7%). Simultaneously, his research also uncovered that the single most important attribute that needed to be inherent in an entrepreneur was the ‘ability to take risks’. As much as 98% of the respondents ranked the lack of willingness to take risks as the greatest barrier to entrepreneurship. Another important attribute was the ability to adapt and change (Wadhwa et al, 2009).

As I pondered these findings, I could see an obvious behavioral pattern emerge. Most immigrants, before they turn entrepreneurs, already have successfully started-up their own lives in a new culture and country. These highly educated and skilled valuable members of society have already once given up comfortable lives, friends, family and supporting social structures to carve out a new life in a new socio-cultural setting. They set out to achieve everything anew starting from scratch, and mostly succeeded. I know how difficult this is from personal experience: even after so many years here, I am still struggling to recreate my sense of cultural and professional identity.

Dr. Saxenian, in her research, talks about strong cultural and ethnic networks that in turn lead to professional growth. A number of ethnic associations have also grown to support co-ethnic entrepreneurs. A strong sense of ethnic and cultural identity binds this group together. Similarly, Wadhwa talks about how friends and family provided funding for up to 16% of startups. Wadhwa goes on to elaborate on the importance of family/ spousal support in successful entrepreneurship. This is in accordance with Hofstede’s cultural dimension of Individualism vs. Collectivism, with both Chinese and Indian cultures rating high on the collectivist scale. Since we already know that familial support is essential to entrepreneurship (about 73% of respondents in Wadhwa’s research said that was an issue), and collectivistic cultures provide more of that support, we can infer a causal correlation that gives Asian cultures an entrepreneurial edge.

While the single biggest motivation for start-ups was the creation of wealth, Wadhwa’s work also uncovered that innovation motivated over 68% of founders. The founders wanted to get a good idea to fruition. This translates into attempting to make a positive contribution to the world at large. To solve a small problem in your area of expertise that makes life better for some people- or at least, try to make life better for some people, also motivates a large number of thinker-founders. This desire to make a positive change to the world and to do the right thing in the face of easier choices is what life is all about, not just entrepreneurship.

Therefore, one can make the obvious connections that emerge after reading all the research. I do think that immigrants are innate risk-takers. Having taken and successfully navigated the cultural, social, physical and mental trans-country divide, increases one’s inherent capacity to take risks. To take yet another leap of faith. In the immortal words of Robert Frost, to yet again choose the road less travelled. And hopefully, to make all the difference.

Bibliography
1.Rowling, J.K.(1999). Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Arthur. A. Levine Books.
2.Saxenian, AnnaLee (1999). Silicon Valley’s New Immigrant Entrepreneurs. Public Policy Institute of California.
3.Saxenian, AnnaLee, et.al. (2002). Local and Global Networks of Immigrant Professionals in Silicon Valley. Public Policy Institute of California.
4.Wadhwa, V., et.al. (2009). The Anatomy of an Entrepreneur: Making of a successful entrepreneur. Ewing Marion Kaufman Foundation.
5.Wadhwa, V., et.al. (2009). The Anatomy of an Entrepreneur: Family Background and Motivation. Ewing Marion Kaufman Foundation.

Image source:http://www.iedp.com/Blog/Five_million_euro_donation_Maag_Entrepreneurship

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Judgment and Opinion

It is a truth, universally acknowledged… no actually; it is nothing of the sort. I just felt like starting this blog post with Austen’s most famous quote ever. But indeed, it is true that we perceive and experience that as people get older, they tend to become more opinionated and judgmental. More rigid and inflexible in their thoughts, ideas and ways of doing, being, thinking.

However, the exact opposite has happened to me. As I get older, I realize that I am getting mellower. I am more forgiving of people’s faults and transgressions. I make and accept excuses for them- be it for any reason. In my brash and unforgiving youth, mostly everything was black and white. Either bad or good. I did not give anybody the benefit of doubt. I branded people and slotted them and that was it.

Now, as I have grown older and wiser (hopefully) I see that there are extenuating circumstances in a lot of situations. I have no idea what kind of pain, stress or troubles the other person is belaboring with. Life throws us curveballs and lemons and brickbats and everything in between, especially when we least expect it. Each of us reacts differently to the pain and stress. The pain may explode in any way, shape or form- and who cares who is in the way when the explosion occurs!

The single reason why I have become more forgiving and understanding of people is that I have seen and faced some really tough situations in the last few years. And have not always reacted well. I have understood that people do bad things when in bad situations. It is impossible to do and be good when difficult things and situations occur. I am more empathetic because of my experiences. I can condone almost anything now- maybe, just short of rape or murder.

This new mellow me set me thinking. Does this happen to all of us as we get older? Maybe not. Why not? Here, I formulated my own opinion. I think that if we have had a relatively easy life, we tend to be more judgmental. And if we have faced tough times and tough situations, we tend to be more forgiving. I have also seen this borne out in a lot of people. I was like this myself a long time ago. Having had a very easy and sheltered life in India, I was extremely judgmental and opinionated. Also, I had the overbrimming brashness and confidence of youth. But it all exploded in my face after I got to this country. I’ve faced some really difficult challenges and demons, both inside and out. I’ve reacted and behaved in the most unexpected and awful of ways.

And you know what- I’m not sure the earlier me would have forgiven myself. Understood or empathized or sympathized. But this me has realized that yes, there are extenuating circumstances in lots of cases. Anything can happen to any of us anytime. If the bad things do not happen, consider yourself blessed. But people with easy lives become opinionated or judgmental.

So that’s my opinion. Not only with myself, but I have seen this time and again with people around me. The easier our life, the more prone we are to judging others. The more we go through the agni-parikshas of life, the more mellow and soft we become. But of course, the new mellow me will not judge you and call you judgmental. I can understand where you’re coming from ;)

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