My Story

My story flows from my sorrow,
Its jagged edges, a red, reeling heart.

My story is born of my sin,
Deliciously secret, guilt caressing its dirty lips.

My story is born of my love,
Deep, yielding, fraught, delicate, ever more and never again.

My story is filled with my dreams.
Feather-light, they fill me to bursting. And then some more.

My story speaks of desperation
Of dried-up tears, dashed hopes and itchy scars.

My story has the rabid spirit of vengeance,
Of the embers of anger, the ashes of wrath.

My story has splashes of furore,
Of restlessness, and wandering monkeys.

My story is made up in my mind
And lived on the crackling veneer of reality.

My story is made up of my words,
An experiential vocabulary, my eye fixated on syllables that will fit just right.

But really, my story has no beginning, nor end;
It's a speck, it's but nothing in the endless swirl of the Hourglass.

My Choice is, apparently, not in Vogue

Dear Deepika Padukone and the creators of the My Choice video,

Like any other mere mortal on social media, I, too, was flooded with links to the My Choice video. With so many friends sharing it, I did the irresponsible thing I usually do when it involves a favourite celebrity, brand or a good friend's judgement in deciding what to share: I 'liked' the post on Facebook before moving on to watching the video. Sadly, in this case, all three let me down.

So what is My Choice all about? Coming in the #VogueEmpower series, which has done splendid videos on domestic abuse and women's safety, I expected something pathbreaking, mind-blowing. Names like director Homi Adajania and Deepika Padukone meant I definitely had something to look forward to.

And then the film rolled: featuring a stunning Deepika and shot in stark black and white, the film had all the poetic metaphors that made a woman feel good about herself, about being infinite, about not being a caged soul, about roaming free, about wearing what I want, being the size I want... Woohoo... I am all for that!

And haven't I heard them a hundred times before? Are these really about women's empowerment? Are men not judged for what they wear, the work they do, the way their bodies look? Are men not criticised for who they want to marry? Or not? Or if they are gay or bisexual? These did not look like women's issues to me. These sounded a whole lot like gender issues, masquerading yet again as women's problems.

What troubles me is that these are the superficial problems. The choice (or not) of taking on a surname, working late, wearing the clothes one wants... these are the decisions an educated, privileged woman makes. What about the illiterate woman of little means? She may not be so bothered about working late at the homes of these very privileged women, if it means she can earn enough for her family. Her only decision about clothes may be to wear the ones that are least worn out. Do you think she is bothered about being a Size Zero? So who are you really empowering?

The reason I liked the Madhuri Dixit #VogueEmpower video is because it chose a distinctly upper class setting to show a disturbingly common problem. It conveyed the message that domestic abuse happens in every strata of society, not just in underprivileged homes. And it had a great message about sensitising our children, male and female. The Alia Bhatt video, again, could be projected to reflect the mindset and concern of girls, whether they are driving by themselves or taking a late night bus home.

I refuse to think that a woman's empowerment is all about wearing the clothes she wants to wear, being the size she wants to, coming home when she wants to, having extra-marital sex, no sex or whatever. Yes, these are definitely the concerns for a handful of women who are regularly featured in Vogue. But what about the rest of us women?

We want to get better at the work we do, get into leadership roles, make a whole lot of moolah and never worry about the time-money conundrum again, spend some great time with our families, make happy memories with our friends... and that's the middle class me talking. All my house help wants is job security, a little plot to call her own, and funding her children's education. These are just bare life needs I am discussing here. There's a whole lot of deeper societal issues like female infanticide, education (for all children), child marriage and more that need to be addressed in terms of women's issues.

Yes, society needs to change. And I am happy to see government and private initiatives in this regard. But making a remarkably beautiful video on the peripheral issues is just Vogue reaching out to its target audience. It's just a misplaced wish of mine, but I wish Deepika hadn't been a part of it. Now the message reaches out to so many people who are likely to be misled by her sheer aura. Don't get me wrong, I love the woman and think she is a damn fine and intelligent actor... which is why I wish she had put some thought into reading this script.

My 9-year-old and 3-year-old are both fans of this lovely lady and I do not want them hearing this message one day, and coming away with the idea that feminism is just about wearing what we like or living the way we like. What about our responsibility to society? Where does that figure? Why get into a marriage if you are looking for sex outside of it? Would you be okay if a man told you that? Gosh, that would be offensive! And what was that line ... 'don't be fooled if I am home by 6 pm'? I don't even want to start on all that's wrong with what that line implies...

Sex is definitely an important part of our life, but it does not (and must not) define every relationship we have or choice we make. And yes, I do hope my girls can choose to love who they wish to love, man or woman, but I definitely hope they will have the courage to end a relationship before they sleep with someone else. Casual sex is a choice women (and men) should be free to make, but it is not women's empowerment.

Let's not use feminism and women's empowerment as an excuse to stereotype men further and trample on them. Even if you believe patriarchy did that to us, 'an eye for an eye' hardly seems to be the appropriate revenge. I am all for change. But let that change be inclusive. Men are not the enemy. The enemy is a social mindset and lack of a level playing field for everyone. And we must work towards changing that. So let's cheer the man who gives up a career to stay home and look after the family's needs and the woman who conquers the world! And all of  us mere mortals in between!

Team Blog-O-Holics--Week 2--16th post--#GameofBlogs by BlogAdda

A Time to Die

Read the last part over at shiuli.com.

Jen wound the dupatta twice around her neck as she sat in the rickshaw. She pulled out a pair of black-rimmed spectacles from her nondescript black leather bag, and put them on. She loved flirting with danger, oh she did! Which is why she had decided to walk straight into the lion's den: yes, she would go to to the police cormmissioner's office and snoop around. She would pose as a reporter and no one would suspect a thing! She even had a fake ID!. 'Everything was in place,' she thought. 'The thing about courting danger is to know your risks and to play them carefully.' She smiled to herself.
She stopped the rickshaw a little way away from the police commissioner's office, pretending to go into one of the apartment complexes nearby. Once she was sure the rickshaw-wallah had gone, she quickly strode over to the commissioner's office, the Press badge around her neck giving her an air of authority.
'Oh, how he would hate this,' she thought, as an image of her 'boss' flashed in her mind. The grapevine had it that the ATS and RAW were collaborating on ousting their game. But they had no idea, did they? They just had no clue how many seemingly ordinary people with ordinary lives were actually sleeper cells waiting for the 'go' order. But he had told her to play it safe. There could be informers among us, too, he had said. And he had looked at her too with suspicion. Damn his patient and perseverant attitude! It just got to her at times. But she had to curb her impulsiveness or the Big Man wouldn't like it, she thought. Wait till she got her hands on the info about Mishra! She would bypass him and take it directly to the Big Man! That should show him!
She moved confidently in the building, trying to recall the pictures that their informer had got them. She stopped in front of a glass door, with no identification on it. This was it, she thought, her heart beating so loud she was sure anyone coming near her could hear it. She pushed the door open and walked in. She had entered another long passage, at the end of which was another glass door, this time manned by two policemen, who were now looking at her curiously. She put on a nonchalant face as she walked slowly towards them, letting them take in her reporter's outfit.
"Sa'ab-ji hai andar?" she asked when she reached them.
"Samar saab nahi hai. Lekin Inspector John D'Cruz hai," said one of the policemen. And then, as if he quickly, remembered his duty. "Aap ka ID, madam?"
"Meera," she said, brusquely, handing over her ID and looking at him expectantly as if he should have known her at sight!
The two policemen fidgeted a little, and looked at each other. Jen kept mum, knowing that her silence would only intimidate them. Finally the other policeman stepped up and took the ID, saying, "Sorry, Madamji. John sir ne kaha hai ki kisi ko andar bhejne ka nahi."
Jen raised her voice. "And now the public has to wait for news kyunki aapke boss ke paas time nahi hai? Nonsense! Maybe I should just go and meet Commissioner Rathod and ask him why his constables are making life so difficult for me. Is there a gag order here or what? The public has a right to know!"
She paused to take a breath. She could see that the mention of Commissioner Rathod had shaken them up. Before she could set off on another tirade, the policemen pushed the door open wide and let her through. Jen adjusted her dupatta and glasses as she walked in, secretly smiling to herself.

.....................

Read the rest at shiuli.com: http://shiuli.com/2014/09/26/week2-post17-gameofblogs-by-blogadda/

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.

Illusion

Let them be,
Do not dwell on those brightly coloured dreams
Or open the closed door
To that treasure trove of memories
That lie dark, heavy and deep in the mind.

Precious, yet so painful,
Now that the illusion no longer exists.
So fragile were the moments we shared,
But so real they seemed,
And so full of meaning.

Now I know there was no love,
No longing. Just some wishful thinking.
But the heart holds the fantasy close,
Refusing to let go,
Still laughing at your words of long ago.

But I still hope, against all reason,
That some of those lost pockets of time
Meant as much to you, as to me.
No matter how tight you hold yourself,
Misery will be your secret companion, as it is mine.

What's with a puddle and productivity?

My friend sent me a video today in a Whatsapp group. Since the current trend is to share gory videos of the boy who got mauled by the tiger, I decided not to check it out. However, my friend then confirmed that it wasn't the dreaded tiger video, but one that even the kids would enjoy watching. As such fun videos go, it had all the elements of slapstick to it. There was a young fella merrily walking down a puddle-filled path, jumping enthusiastically into every puddle until he falls into one big pothole. The water comes right up to his neck! The poor fellow hauls himself out, does a quick U-turn and heads back the way he came.
As promised, the video was definitely entertaining. But it also reminded me of a similar kind of puddle that I face almost daily, often fall into, and struggle to get out of. Distractions: those are the puddles I am talking about. You know, like you plug in your phone to charge in the morning and decide you will just check if your friend texted you back last night. It will just take a minute, you think, and there you will be 15 minutes later, with half a tweet composed, numerous Facebook photos and statuses liked and downloading a few articles to Pocket to read later! Not to mention catching up on the 133 messages in various Whatsapp groups! Oops... was that a pothole or what?
Now these pothole-sized distractions turn up everywhere, from the short video your friend shares at work, which has numerous other interesting video links to click at the end; to the 'urgent' email from a client, which you go to attend to, leaving the major project you were busily working on! And bam! That's probably a nice time-black hole that you stepped into. Perhaps, it could be because I am a lot less disciplined than I like to be. But I am also a note-taker and list-maker. And I've been running a small experiment to see if I can put my distractions to good use and up my productivity at the same time.

Pic courtesy: http://cdn0.stocksy.com/

See, these distractions are not necessarily all bad. You know, sometimes, they inspire me to tweet something nice or give me a thread for a story or lead me to an interesting site that I now love to read. But on the whole, these little lost pockets of time were turning into a gross loss of productivity, and consequently, some self-image bashing. So here's what I did: I decided to give the distractions their own slot. For instance, if I am at work, I close my big pothole tabs, mainly mail, Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest (ah, this could have been a whole post in itself) and concentrate on the project of the moment for anything from 30 minutes to an hour, depending on its nature and complexity. Admittedly, I sometimes use my phone's timer to help with this. After the self-allotted time is done, I reward myself with five minutes of puddle time!

At home, this sometimes means turning off data/Wifi (on particularly unruly days) and tending to my plants, my kids, my book, my husband, my curry or whatever really deserves my attention at that point. (Mostly, I just keep the phone away in a corner so that I don't look at it often. If someone needs me really urgently, I'm sure they will use that least-used function in a smartphone and just call!) I save up my puddle time at home in nice, big hourly chunks that I use once early in the morning--after the elder one goes off to school, the hubby on his walk, and the toddler is (hopefully) still asleep in bed--and then later at night, after everyone is tucked in and I have had my Masterchef Australia fix. All in all, the experiment is turning out to be quite a success. I have 'gained' so much time and I also get my fun, which means I can still jump into puddles without fearing the pothole.