Calm Outside. Screaming Inside.

I have been often accused of being calmer than they think I ‘should be’.  What they don’t see is the internal fire & turmoil I bleed through as I keep a calm countenance for the outside world. In my head, ‘What’s really the point?’

Is it hopelessness? 

Is it elegance?

Is it an outcome of a certain conditioning that rejects considering a reaction, an action?

Is it over-emphasis on a certain approach that defines ‘hard-work’ as the only way through all situations?

    This over-emphasis & conditioning, I reckon is an eye-wash. This truly is an unfair world which works on unfair principles, or better, lack of them.

    I had believed myself to be unstoppable as a young woman. Someone who could get ‘anything’ done that she set her mind to. I was that raring hot blood who wanted to prove to the world that she could do anything, anyone else could. Just, better.

    I insisted on handling my finances, my house, my living conditions and everything else myself. I insisted on gaining full control of life and doing things that were traditionally supposed to be outside the purview of a young woman. I believed if I worked hard & stayed determined, the system couldn’t throw me off. I was so wrong. 

     I insisted I'd ensure to have equal rights & opportunities as the most privileged in this world. I was setting goals that seemed achievable because I had no clue how many forces were work-in-progress to push the tide completely against me.

First Force: My gender & nationality

    I used to work in field sales earlier in my career which required me to travel distances without breaks for hours and without access to clean toilets.(May I remind those who might be confused about what this means: "Women in India don't have clean public toilets because 'MEN' don't need them.") 

This had compelled a subconscious habit of drinking little water. My mind wanted to avoid the annoyance. Silly little youthful mind. Months of dehydration gave rise to a life-threatening UTI that plagued my body & kidneys for two years.

These years forced me to opt out of work, break a long-term & committed relationship, fail in exams & be bed ridden or hospitalized during & around 8 surgical procedures.

This was when I was 25-26. When all my friends got married & vacationed in Europe.

    The system had played against my will. It broke me down. My ego & pride were put down in place. Imagine, poor public-sanitation giving a young girl anxiety & depression.

Something that plagued me longer than I’d imagined.

 Second force: My gender & religion

    Marriages are supposed to be civil affairs. Although, in the society that surround us, it is a complex obligation of not just the civil society, but religious tenets, class-reputation, gender-roles & entrenched patriarchy in both the genders.

    I mean, my health had recovered. My mind had a new perspective. I was ready to go again. This time, as a gentler person. More grateful for life and more accepting of people & their ways.

    I was happy to have got another chance at re-instating my pride. Back at work again & life going alright (couldn’t have gotten worse from a certain point, so yeah, hurrah), I was perhaps readying my heart for love once again.

    Of-course it was mildly broken a bit here & there but eventually I met someone I could completely be myself with. We fell in love.

    This time, love meant different things. It meant individuality. It meant trust. It meant ‘no-shackles’. But alas, if you are 28 year old single woman in love, you can’t stay away from the conversations of ‘the holy union’ (seriously, whatever).

    We both gave-in. We both were scared & unprepared (him, more than me). But long-entrenched figments of patriarchy, looking down upon women as 2^nd grade human-beings, shitty-family drama, unrealistic expectations & uncomfortable situations surfaced. The hollowness of the institution came to its absolute fore which doesn’t inspire anyone with hopes of a happier, brighter life.

And kids who condemn it and don’t buy into it are, plain-Jane ‘outliers’.

    Ok dude. I’d rather live on the edge of inclusivity than live chained & suffocated.

    And boom. Broken again. Confidence. Pride. Hopes. And heart.

I realize it’s not the individuals, it’s an entire collective system that works against everyone who is marginalized. For any reason, their gender or religion or nationality or sexual preferences.

It doesn’t end.

But I am kind of done.

And therefore, I stay calm when I am expected to scream. No point. I am going to save my strength to do something better – not that I know what that ‘better is’. Just differently. Purely as a matter of principle. Haha.

Our Invisible Partners of Success

I wake up at 7 am on a Saturday morning with not much to look forward to – except the amazing morning tea that is a regular joy in my life. But of course I laze in the bed for another one and a half hours just waiting for my cook to show up at her regular time. The cook knows ‘Didi’ will ask for her chai as soon as she is up and then multiple times during the course of the day. She makes my tea, makes my meal, does other random chores in the kitchen (chores I wouldn’t ever want to do or remember to do) until the other woman who does cleaning & mopping shows up. That one is skillful and silent. She does so much in the house and yet somehow manages to always remain out of my sight and out of my way. That’s how I prefer it too. I don’t have the bandwidth to listen to their stories & family drama. I mean, I value random chatter with most people most of the times. But with these, I just want them to do their job and leave.

Let me mention this - I treat them respectfully. I often get angry but never scream. But I ignore them. I treat them as insignificant people who magically need to do their jobs perfectly and leave. Besides, the skill level I am expecting is beyond the roof & it’s difficult to meet standards some maids have met in the past.

However, it’s worthwhile to note that these two are the only people I see every day, regularly. I wake up to them and finish my day with them. They take care of me, my house and my food. They are always available for a conversation if I want to have one. They adjust their timings, their family life, their convenience for me (and the salary of course).  And they kind of love me, in a weird way. They are dutiful and consider me ‘didi who lives akeli and is not scared to live by herself’. On the other hand, my relationship with them is purely task-based. Still, I don’t want to imagine a day without them in my life.

I am okay to go on without my family but not without them. These are the women who are quintessential to how I feel, what I do and what I achieve in my day. This is my biggest support group and most dedicated cheerleaders for me. If I smile, they do too. If I am upset, they ask me what went wrong. They occupy minimum emotional space while providing for so much support. And the most amazing part is they don’t even know how much they contribute to my life. And they don’t know that their output is way more than the menial tasks they are paid for.

This picture has been clicked with consent.

They ensure I can focus on my ‘important work’ or I can trash the place without the responsibility of cleaning it up. They ensure I have the free time to while away & write blogs. It’s them who really empower me to go out and take on the world. Or pamper myself with a face pack when I am free. They ensure I am served and treated well. And honestly, there’s no amount that’s enough for this kind of service (to anyone).

And yet I remain non-committal and hugely un-obligated. Living away in my imagined glory of where I’ve come in my life. And sometimes being smug about challenges I’ve overcome. Conveniently forgetting to account for gigantic & numerous contributions made by this invisible support system without which, not just free time & fun life would be un-imaginable, but also the relationships we have and workload we manage would get extremely strained.

The initial and complete lockdown gave us a glimpse of this.

I do not want to forget the things I learnt in 2020. I do not want to get back to who we were before Covid. I do not want to be ungrateful, about anything or anyone.

Hair photobombing nicely. 

Saturday Morning Ramble!

 

Mind-Space & Experiences

 

Our office begins tomorrow with 50% attendance. It’s going to be interesting to see how we ‘ease’ (read: ‘tire’) ourselves back into the pre-Covid routines. There are contrarian views about what’s the ‘right’ way forward in professional (and personal, of course) conducts. We now have the ‘WFH Warriors’ arguing about how it makes sense to do certain jobs from remote places. It’s time, money, space and stress optimized. While the ‘Optimists’ believe that getting back together is akin to getting back to normalcy. And they stress upon how certain tasks are easily accomplished in person than through screen time.

I agree with both the sides. And therefore I run the risk of being seen as a hypocrite or worse, fake. But really, I do agree with individual arguments from both the ends. They all seem logical and relevant. However it’s difficult to take sides. Arguing is genuinely futile. To each their own in this case, please.

Futility of arguments is a recurring theme appearing in so many conversations I’ve had lately. People tell me they are tired of putting across the voice that doesn’t register. They’re also tired of bearing the hurt of not being understood. And there are way too many practical things (like livelihood and maintaining social diplomacy) to consider that take up all our mind-space and bandwidths.

And therefore, Mind-space is my new favorite term to use in any (and all) conversations these days. It doesn’t matter what the topic is. This term finds relevance everywhere. It’s also the least explored spaces, you know. Our mind-space is vast enough to be considered nearly infinite. It’s also complex and dynamic. It changes as we do and plays games on us to make us believe concepts that do not exist in objective reality. It makes us believe in concepts of success and failure. Of love and hatred. Of right and wrong. And scandalously, concepts of the sacred and profane.

I imagine this space as a round box that contains tones of shit. I mean, lots of cool network wires sparking here and there and looking completely out-of-control. This box also has a nice-tight lid that can be used to change its environment and working parameters. It’s like an underwater secret laboratory which looks like an intelligent mess. The bridge between this laboratory and us is the lid that we can maneuver. We can control how much it opens and closes. We can operate it at different perceptive efficiencies. And therefore have different experiences or better, different perceptions of exact same experiences.

The lid operates without our conscious effort too. And if we are able to mindfully operate it, we become a part of creating what we experience. Over time and with practice we can master the environment of our minds. We can opt to perceive differently. We can open ourselves to a range of new emotions. The wider it maybe, the richer our experiences. And therefore, our lives.

I am often asked, why I chose to live and work in India while my family was settled abroad. I’ve always responded with this:

“This country lets you live and end a thousand lives each day. You see beauty next to filth. You find hope in grimmest of streets. And you find the will to live. The will to struggle and survive. And you see diversity. You see both science and dogma. And there’s always so much happening that it keeps you hooked. To the dopamine rush of new emotions. To the high that comes when we inch towards uncharted territories of our minds (and most definitely our hearts). And then of course because it’s a secular liberal democracy with freedom of speech and individual liberty.” Until recently, at least?

One sunny afternoon at Uptown Mirdif, Dubai when I decided to click nature. (There's no correlation with the content of the blog post. I had no other picture to post and didn't want to borrow from the internet.)

This post is a ramble. I am posting it for the sake of continuity alone.

Until next time.

 

Mumbai Housing Societies mandate: "Girls should study. Get a job. And marry. Only then could they make respectable tenants."

With New Year comes promise of good times. The turn of calendar is so remarkable in our collective imagination that just this one change, shifts our perspective and view of the world, more specifically the future.

Astrology peaks, people make financial plans and personal goals. Businesses boom anticipating world and local policy changes. And the preceding festive period and rest brings in good spirits. The world starts looking physically better as well. Lit up homes, some celebratory tunes and just people out and about is quite a positive feeling.

Unfortunately, in some aspects even 2021 hasn’t yet brought about any hope or promise thereof.

It’s still as difficult as it ALWAYS was for a young, unmarried woman (who also has a social life) to get a house in a respectable and non-judgmental society. The prejudices against this stereotype are plenty.

A young woman is susceptible to bring a boy home, without marrying him. They will obviously have sex (because he can’t just be a platonic friend or colleague, right?) and pre-marital sex is obviously immoral (maybe, even unnatural). Worse, she’ll bring many boys home. Different ones. But really the worst is that she’ll have both boys and girls over to party.

In aunty voice:

“Obviously parties are not good. They drink and do all kinds of shit. Even if the girl is good, she could be mishandled in her intoxicated state. And obviously all parties blare music at 3 am. Obviously all parties are loud and decadent.”

Next comes the scrutiny of age. She’s 32. Why she is not married yet? Is her character okay? Does she lack something? There must be something wrong in her to still have been single.

In aunty voice:

“Obviously girls should study and get a job. And after that they should marry a good man and get ‘settled’. Family is very important. And also the biological clock ticks away faster than one imagines. It’s all the junk food and pollution, these days.”

In my head, it’s quite clear that marriage is a choice irrespective of your character and there’s hardly a correlation between the two. I could be a nice, respectful single woman in her 30s who has decided to live independently of her family and without a husband. I could be a woman who despite being single understands and respects ‘family’. I could be a single woman who is conscious of not creating nuisance for neighbors. I could be a single woman who likes to keep her house clean and does not pile up junk.

Right? I could be, no? There’s at least a statistical probability?

I want to tell you why I’m ranting about all of this today. I’d basically finalized a place in Worli (after looking at least 40 odd houses with 10 different brokers of almost the entire stretch from Khar to Colaba). Then this house’s society committee decided to interview me on zoom. It was all okay until then. Funnily, they wanted to interview my parents too!

Grossly shocked and saddened that a bunch of old men who were suffering from less excitement in their lives decided to turn this into a primary school interview by asking my parents to join the Zoom call.

I checked with my prospective owner on the side and he confessed that he’d told the committee that I was going to live with my parents after Covid chilled down a bit. Once again, I was shocked and hurt. I didn’t want to lie. I was paying a bomb. And brokerage. And I was being interviewed like a powerless 12 year old.

Then they shared their laundry list of restrictions, which is as follows:

1.       Before entering the building premises, I’ll get my covid test report of up to 48 hours prior. Only if I test negative, I’ll be allowed to move. “Okay, fair. No problem”

2.       Any cook or house-help I keep, would also need to get her covid test done. “Umm, weird because they’re asking for it just during greh pravesh not every week or every month. It didn’t make too much sense but I wasn’t going to argue here. So okay, whatever”

3.       I could have visitors only 1 day in a week. This pissed me off “It didn’t make much sense and it wasn’t a standard protocol anywhere”

4.       I could have a maximum of 4 visitors at a time. “Yeah I don’t have huge gatherings in general but what if sometime there are 5 or 6?”

My primary concern was #3. It was totally unacceptable. It made me feel really suspicious that I could be the only single person staying in a building dominated by Marwari households. I spoke to my owner and he said he’ll handle the guards. He’ll pay them off or something so visitors to my flat wouldn’t be recorded in his register. “Creepy, no?”

Anyway, the committee approved me after speaking to us and knowing a bit about our reasons to move and background etc. I sat with a sunken heart and feeling a strange feeling about moving in there. Mom and friends also counselled to let it go and find something else. They were right. I had to drop out of this plan. I was back to square 1. I was pushed back by 2 weeks.

When I confronted my owner with the concerns, he said stuff like “hum dekh lenge”, “hum hai na”, “koi check nahi karta”, “kiske paas time hai itna”, “humare bhi to log aate rehte hain, no one says anything”.

I was like “Uncle listen up, I am sure they don’t bother you but at the same time I am also very certain that for atleast the first 3-4 months, I’ll be in strict scrutiny about my conduct, lifestyle and schedule. Plus you’ve lied to the committee and by complying with you, I’ve become a liar myself. This is too uncomfortable for me to build a life around. I wouldn’t live in peace”

Then, uncle says this “If you are not comfortable, you can vacate after 3-4 months.”

I wondered how he dare say this so casually. “I am paying a month’s rent as brokerage. I am taking the trouble to shift and re-establish my life. How can he be so nonchalant about the process?”

A friend rightly said, “Bemaan aadmi ka koi moral high ground nahi hota”

Anyway, I’ve found something else now. In a new-ish tower which will not care about my identity. Which will let me live a non-characteristic life in the eco-system of the building. So I guess the matter is shut.

But really, I wish we see societies and culture in this beautiful city of Mumbai open up to youngsters who leave their homes and build their dreams here. I also wish that all migrants like me honor and respect the narrow common spaces that we share with such a diversity of people.

This needs to go down in the task-list for sure.

2021, hope you’ve taken note.

Marine Drive, Opp NCPA, the setting sun of 2020. 31st Dec - 6:30 pm

 

No Running Away from what's going to come at you!

Today was a particularly well rested day. Also a day, I made lunch by myself after a break from cooking for months. I’d forgotten that while cooking is definitely a task, it’s also indulgence. It is after all a creative output that nourishes the instinctive need of humans to manifest their genius. Okay, so I guess I’ve really glorified my cooking today.

Sometimes, I’m amazed at my own privileged thoughts and behavior. I’ve ended up making a big deal about cooking ‘daal-chaawal’ which is pretty basic and people, all over the world cook elaborate meals every day of their lives to feed themselves and others. I mean, my cooking would have been somewhat noble if I was cooking for someone else. Cooking for self is selfish enough to not qualify for any kind of nobility.

That reminds me of that one month when I cooked three meals and two snacks a day while taking care of my covid-hit parents back in September and October. I took leave and dedicated myself to take over the daily chores of running a household and caring for the sick. I must confess that it was extremely daunting and difficult to care for covid-sick parents while attending to the daily and un-ending needs of cooking, cleaning and washing. My ‘gharelu’ avatar really bloomed and I was surprised to have been able to manage it one way or the other.

However, the constant stress of chores while also ensuring my own safety as well as the emotional trauma of uncertainty that covid brings with itself really tested my patience. Also my father was a stressed out pressure cooker ready to burst any given moment. Covid had really brought down his spirits and he was not just fighting a physical illness but also an emotional battle.

From what I know of him, he was probably planning a life for his family just-in-case he didn’t survive covid. Also the fact that we were in Dubai, away from our roots and family made things worse. My parents (read dad, not mom) were constantly plagued with a ‘what-if’. What if they’d have to leave this world without the gestures of ultimate farewell? What if their kids did not make a good life for themselves? After all, their daughter was still unmarried and son still studying.

Mom, Me, Dad

This anxiety often manifested itself in outbursts of both emotion and aggression. I found my father losing his happiness each day as he grew angrier and more frustrated. It often resulted in certain outbursts on me and my brother for no valid reasons. I would absorb most of it quietly, telling myself of his situation. I tried to stay calm and positive. But I often cried at nights. For unexplained reasons. I often worried myself sick. I often stayed up all night despite the physical exertion that days had demanded.

More importantly, this phase helped me empathize with my father and his possible childhood experiences. I often found myself angry at my father for being impatient. For being angry. Sometimes negligent but more often than not, highly idealistic. Ideals that only ‘he’ cared about. And ideals that had more to do with other people than ourselves. Ideals that were many a times selfish. It brought me to a point that I had no other option but to understand. His reasons and his outlook were most likely an outcome of where he came from. The poverty in his childhood. The sick and narrow patriarchal setups of Uttar Pradesh and Rajasthan. And of course the default privilege which comes with being a man in this world.

I tried to visualize how his childhood must have been. Needless to say, it was way more inconvenient than it was for his children. He must have been in constant competition for bits and pieces. He must have been in constant judgement of being the youngest child. He must have been overshadowed, criticized and most likely said no to. He must have been denied love and respect. Of course these musings are not just a figment of my imagination. I know things about my family which help me corroborate and build a past situation that I was physically never a part of.

But what’s truly interesting is –

1. Our childhoods and upbringing decide who we become as people

2. Unfortunately, it’s not just our childhood but also that of our parents

So basically there’s no running away from what’s going to come at you. What you make of it is important. And there’s absolutely no need to hurry to understand this. I mean it’s dawned upon me after almost living half my life. It’s a process which may or may not happen with everyone. But really, this year has been quite a teacher. They say Saturn is a hard taskmaster. It will whip you until you get moving to a direction which is your calling. In this particular case, I think it’s whipped me to move towards empathy and forgiveness. Two qualities my mother armed me with when I was dealing with negative emotions this year.

The year is now closing soon. Although it might just mean a turn of the solar calendar and nothing more. But a man (and a woman) has got to hold onto hope, right?

This reminds me, that I’ll probably order dinner now. Since I’m so tired of all the cooking and cleaning. Ha-ha, just kidding.                         

Exciting times call for saying goodbyes!

Life’s been pretty exciting of late. I am moving houses! It’s almost become an annual ritual. Moving houses thrice in 2 years is not a mean deal in general and not at all so in Mumbai. Yet, the journey to find myself a house took me from Chembur to Bandra to Parel to Colaba. I’ve finally found something I kind of like in Worli. The quest has been inconvenient especially because this is the holiday season we’ve all looked forward to. Anyway now that the hunt is almost over, it’s the emotionally difficult time to pack my bags and say goodbye.

I’ve been particularly bad at saying goodbyes. Letting go is a life-lesson which is majorly work in slow-progress. Every time I leave a place, people or situation, I feel some part of my life is coming to a still or worse, an end. Stepping out of comfort zone has gotten difficult and I can feel my inertia weighing me down more than it has before. I blame it on experience and caution it brings. 

But then again, even as a child I cried every time I returned from my Nani’s place. And wept when friends and relatives left. It pained me to move schools. It pained me to let go of teachers I loved. And it was a kick-in-my-gut when I left home. And each time since, whether it’s returning from a week long break or a 2 month annual vacation, leaving home’s been the most difficult emotional task I’ve undertaken.

Although there’s a side of me that’s glad about it. I think it’s allowed me to spread my wings in lengths I’d choose and the confidence to steer towards unknown directions. And to let me fall in love with the most unsuspecting situations (and people, khee hee).

The other day, a friend and I agreed on how sexual tension in a given situation keeps things going. How it just makes any equation more exciting. How it can be the sole reason for people to do things they’d otherwise not do. This tension, which sometimes goes through a metamorphosis and becomes love (no clue what that means but to each, their own interpretation) is probably the strongest force for human beings to commit an act which is outside of their general behavior.

It manifests itself strongly not just when one is falling in love. But also, when one is heartbroken. One of the things I randomly believe in is that pain and heartbreak changes you far more intensely than the pleasant phases of early sexual tension and falling for another. It just pushes you to question everything about yourself. It’s golden time for correction, re-organizing your life and moving towards becoming the person you chose to be.

Not everyone feels so strongly about all of this though. Mostly even I don’t. After all, it’s just one of those things we don’t want to acknowledge. It’s super convenient to stay emotionally unavailable to yourself. It’s possible to live a life without giving these conversations a chance. Conversations that we have with ourselves.

Just like the one I am having now with this blog post.

It’s 27^th December. 4 days to go before a new year arrives. Not hoping for hash brownies to drop from the sky but still giving myself a break with a dash of optimism for 2021.

Let’s see. Let’s see.

After a full day of 'Mehnat' to find 'Chatt'

Bye 2020! (Merry Christmas & Happy 'Tulsi Jayanti'

 

25^th December was almost always supposed to be just Christmas. However, after 32 years of being a Hindu in India, I discovered that 25^th December is apparently also ‘Tulsi Poojan Divas’. Got a whatsapp forward on one of the larger family groups claiming this ‘Tulsi Jayanti’ and why we must celebrate and revere the ‘Tulsi Maa’.

Funny, how Hindutva is getting insecure about its share of voice on Christmas. And also hats off that they are relentless and always manage to come up with a crappy sensation that gains instant traction across the hateful hearts of so many of us.

Anyway, today was a good day. I woke up early and met some extremely positive people who beamed with natural kind happiness. The fact that people can look and convey ‘healthy’ is very inspiring. Got home to enjoy a lazy afternoon with poha and chai. Also received three Myntra parcels which I’d ordered for myself as Christmas presents. More so, bought some lipsticks and shadows which cheered up the consumer in me.

Typing this down as the night arrives and I listen to the good old ‘Coke Studio Pakistan’ and ‘Tajdar Junaid’ as friends come down to watch movies and have dinner.

Can’t believe I’ve managed a happy post. So unlike me, especially while typing blog entries. Confusion, question and uncertainty can result into exploring your darkest corners, facing your shit and then learning to live with it, each day, stronger. It leads you go through a skimming sieve that makes you flow through a tornado blowing immense amount of dust, off you. And bringing you to a world that is bigger and full of possibilities. It leaves you feeling that you’re ready to once again, put yourself out there in the world in the pursuit of your dreams and hopes.

Merry Xmas!

Bye, 2020.