Possessions

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I don’t have baubles

Or pearls

Nor assets abound

Or houses or cars I possess

I don’t have shiny shoes or

Chanel bags

No summer cottages nor ski cabins

In my repertoire you will see

I only have a heart,

With a void, if you will

To put the love of places I traveled

To carry with me for eternity

The smiles found on a journey

The glances exchanged

on a turbulent road.

Selfless Songs

Songs have the ability to understand my emotions. Sometimes they are even capable of extracting them and keeping them safe.

Time moves on, but when that one song entertwined in that heavy emotion comes on, the song almost persuades me to accept those emotions once again.

And then I do, for just a minute, let the emotions wash over me. I revisit all the pain, the sadness or the joy and madness.

Then I offer the song, the emotions once again—it accepts them. No questions asked. Until the next time the radio gods decide it's time for me to revisit those days, those  emotions, I am back in the real world. 

Dare I trust you, Delhi.

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You usher into an elevator or a car full of strangers in Delhi, and people steal their eyes away from you, scuffle into a corner, avoiding all contact. Me, I am trying catch someones eye, to say hello or exchange a smile. Do we hate and mistrust each other so much now?

It saddens me that a country that thrived on the values of community and camaraderie, has given way to collective paranoia, mistrust, and snap judgments.  The perversion of the system has permeated deep into our psyche. The poor are not to be trusted since they will steal. Why? Because our state can not provide for them. So lets shun them, and ignore them. This is the caste system with an economic seasoning. But whom do we trust really? And can we blame the poor for being opportunistic? What with the BMWs and Audis running wild on the streets of the metropolis', while some don’t even have a whole cloth over their naked body, can we really say that those who do not have a square meal on any given day, be content with their situation? 

I can only speak for myself, but I do feel that if I hadn’t eaten for days, and didn’t have a warm coat to protect me in the winters, my morals would be shaky too. Would I be able to speak of integrity, and morality, and honesty? I can’t be sure that I would. What recourse then we have of making a better society, a society built on trust and camaraderie? I want to say it should happen organically, but this idealistic view is a tad naïve. Unless our government does something to build institutions’ that provide food, shelter and overall physiological security to millions, I don’t think there is a solution. I only see an institutional recourse at this point, nothing else. Sure, each of us can do something everyday, and we shouldn’t shirk from it, blaming the governments reluctance or absence. This Hawain parable speaks to the very issue:

A man goes out on the beach and sees that it is covered with starfish that have washed up in the tide.  A little boy is walking along, picking them up and throwing them back into the water.  "What are you doing, son?" the man asks.  "You will never make a difference."  The boy paused thoughtfully, and picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean.  "It sure made a difference to that one," he said.

So note to self and anyone who may be reading this: smile away, make a conversation, break the ice, stop shoving each other in queues, and for gods sake, please don't make me feel that my non-aggressive stature is a shortcoming. Living with patience (less honking at cars, and more deep breathing), love (if someone shouts, be kind to them), and forgiveness (you know that lady that jumped the queue, forgive her, don't fume).

The tide will rise, till it does, each one of us must.

Shorter Hems, Grander Dreams

Somewhere over the Suez Canal, June 15, 2014

The last two months I spent in Delhi – the first prolonged duration since 2008, I felt I had skipped over a lot of transformations that had happened in Delhi the last 6 years. Since I don’t know that many people in Delhi anymore, my observations came from public places like malls and streets. Girls were no longer afraid to wear shorts skirts or bandeau dresses as I once had been (or still am) in New Delhi, in fear of inviting lecherous glances, and an increased probability of rape. Please note though there has been no empirical study of the victims clothing type in rape cases. Though I wish we never have a big enough sample to do this study.

Coming back to backless halters. I must salute all the women of Delhi who have decided to throw away the veil of traditional clothing and discretion with abandon, not giving a hoot to what others might say. Now that is kicking clichéd and archaic sayings in the balls which come from the gut of rotting old misogyny. Sayings like “Girls who dress like this [ Insert miniskirt/shorts or other such clothing suitable to Delhi heat here] are not good girls and our boy should not marry such girls” and sayings like “ she is a whore since she is dressed like that”.

So congratulations once again girls, for throwing a balloon of many fucks not given in this direction.

While my observation ended, my introspection began here. I hoped that this change is not only outward, but also accompanied by a transformation within onself. A catharsis where a 21-year-old girl decides to question her parents as to why she must get married now? A change where a girl who decides not to wed is strong enough to withstand the character assassinations that may come her way just like she battled the guy who looked at her maliciously when she wore that maxi dress. A transformation where a girl makes her own rules, just like she wears clothes which she chooses herself and not ones chosen for her by the society. I hope that as the hems of skirts get shorter, the dreams grow bigger, grander. I wish that as she fills her wardrobe with her favorite accessories, bikinis, and dresses, she makes up her mind to move beyond the life created by her society, and explores the myriad of beautiful, fulfilling paths that don’t all lead to a college degree attained solely to attract a suitable husband.

Summer Haiku

I Am Not Different.

I think I read this somewhere recently: “Feminist until a girl is married”. Strangely, I think I have never felt more anger towards  the issue of female repression since I was married. I guess, one really needs to be over into the dark side to know the extent of monstrous holy mess that constitutes it’s core.

Needless to say, the moment a woman marries, she opens her life to a barrage of inappropriate questions related to her womb—when do you plan to have kids, how many, and the onslaught continues. Perhaps, men get asked the same question too, but let’s get real, woman’s fertility is often synonymous with her ability to find and even retain a groom in India at least.

However, let me set the record straight: I am a feminist, I am married, and no I don’t have any plans of bearing children. This is my choice at the moment.

I feel that everything we do in life has to be a conscious decision. Often times, some things become so conditioned, that we go on doing the same thing on auto-pilot without even realizing the purpose of the task at hand. In this age of science, this level of blindness does not appeal to me. If everything is a conscious choice, then many life decisions about education, relationships and family must be questioned and examined. Only when one finds an answer that satisfies them or appeals to their sensibilities should the path be chosen. While this is a general guideline, following it is often associated with many challenges. Since most of my critics originate from my country of nationality: India, I will focus this article to the ambit of Indian society. In Indian society, collective tendencies dominate and there is little if no room for individual sentiments. While collectivism is a brilliant thing,  and makes us thrive in the sense of community, it brings with it an ugly monster of conformity. Think of it as the evil twin of collectivism. Brother Conformity wants everyone to follow a path that has more or less been followed by everyone before. Any deviation is frowned upon, and attributed to some character flaw. To illustrate: a woman’s choice to not marry consciously would be ascribed as a flaw with her personality or the misalignment of her nakshatras.

These aspersions usually find their way to women for some reason, I guess since the collective expectation of society from it’s women is high.  The minute a deviant comes to the foreground, all hell breaks lose- she is deemed “different”, “eccentric”, “selfish”. But this is just a woman exercising her individuality, her right to make a decision and break the conditioned patterns.  I think I can hear the woman saying: my choices are my own, I am not different, I am me.

Monsoon Child

Living in Europe, I would often come across these words whenever Madrid was accosted by dark rain clouds  “ depressing”, “dreadful”, ”awful”, and the list goes on. It was cited as the number one cause for being lethargic, not wanting to work, and basically being blue (or grey in this case). Coming from hot India – Delhi, to be precise, its dust laden roads testament to its aridness, I, on the other hand have almost always welcomed dark clouds and rain with a little internal jig like this.

      http://www.funnyordie.com/lists/1d2da3358d/the-best-dancing-gifs

Anyway, I thought it was us Indians who have a penchant for this strange behavior, when people in higher latitutdes with the cold and dark are driving themselves over the edge (literally), because there is such a thing as seasonal affective disorder. People even report lower life satisfaction on rainy days! [1]

I understand that if it is cold and rainy for sustained periods, which it is in many parts of Europe, people feel their lives are restricted, and this could dampen people's plans and so forth. However, I thought this certainly wouldn’t hold for Indians! We of the monsoons, and such!

In India, farmers from ages ago depended on the south-west monsoon when irrigation facilities were non-existent. Imagine depending on rain for your survival! Besides, considering that we get majority of our rain in the summer months when temperatures are pushing upwards of 40 degrees celsius, it is no wonder we pray to all gods known to us to let it rain! It is tough to let go of that deep sense of attachment to something that resonated with joy for people in the subcontinent for thousands of years.

The origin of the word monsoon is not that surprising to people in Asia atleast. Monsoon arose from the Arabic word “mausim” which basically means weather, which of course is a commonly used word in Northern-India “mausam”. Hell, we even have some Bollywood movies with that name.[2]

In India, we also have a raga in Indian classical music known as Malhar. This raga is often associated with rains and monsoons.  I remember as a kid, watching a movie where Tansen, the court singer for Akbar, was asked to sing raga Deepak to light the lamps in his court, but on doing so, Tansen started to burn from inside and then someone had to be brought to sing Malhar, to bring rain and cool his body.[3]

Whenever I am in India during the monsoon season, I always come across kids, so many of them dunking into makeshift pools and dancing in the rain. Everyone has a smile on their face, no matter if they have to wade through knee-deep water (myself included). So collectively, the Indian conscience revels at the site of rain clouds and monsoons and rain!

      http://www.theguardian.com/news/2013/jun/13/the-best-news-photographs-of-the-day

As I am writing this, I am listening to raga Malhar by Pandit Jasraj, hoping some of that magic would rub off here in Hong Kong and make it rain. I do see clouds in the distance.

I think this song from Lagaan, set to the exquisite music of the genius A.R. Rahman, embodies the sentiment that people often experience at the prospect of rain.

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[1] http://theconversation.com/here-comes-the-sun-how-the-weather-affects-our-mood-19183

[2] Picture Sources; Wikipedia.org, videomasti.net

[3] I did need to check Wikipedia to make sure this story was not a figment of my imagination. FYI- it wasn’t.

No Celebration for Me.

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I don’t care much about these Hallmark holidays, but considering International Women’s day is touted as something much more than that, I was willing to give it another chance. Until I got an email from Jet Airways, Body Shop, Aldo and every other brand asking me to spend my money on things, aka shopping. So, true, brands need consumers to buy them, but sending emails on the pretext of a women’s day – a day to ostensibly celebrate achievements of women,  and bombarding me with discounts that could be sent on any other arbitrary day too, had me a bit irked to say the least.

I saw countless pictures and posts on Facebook and Twitter extolling the self-sacrificing, brave spirit of women. Maybe there is something to it, these days, when we post random quotes and pictures, and thank the women in our life, and then conveniently forget all that transpires the rest of the year.

In order to celebrate all that a woman has done, she needs to be accepted and acknowledged in the mainstream society. She needs to be understood and accepted with the same mores that apply to men.

Here are instances when our society has failed on that front:

1. A little girl goes to play football with the boys in the neighborhood since she doesn’t want to sit inside and play with dolls- and she gets teased and made fun of by the boys.

2. A girl decides to not marry and is judged either to be promiscuous or a spinster (depending on how she is perceived by the society)

3. A woman decides to be assertive in office and is henceforth known as “Bossy”

4. A woman decides to pursue her career instead of her husband, and is constantly made to feel guilty by all around her.

5. A woman gets called selfish if she decides not to have children.

6. A woman must earn less than her male partner or be less qualified than him – is the “conventional” wisdom. If not, his ego may not be able to handle it. This will not translate into marital bliss. Is what is prescribed in our society.

7. Assumptions that all women like babies, kittens, clothes, gossip, spas and such.

I feel many of these instances I described are stifling for men as well. What if a guy wants a kid, what label does he earn? What if he likes spas? By apportioning one end of the spectrum for a certain gender, we preclude the other gender from those engaging in those behaviors or activities without attracting a raised eyebrow. That is unfair.

Can’t we envision a genderless world, where blue and pink are just colors and not identifiers for a baby boy or baby girl.

Where girls playing football, and boys playing with castles and dolls is not only accepted but encouraged? I think until we achieve that ideal, I am not celebrating any International Women’s day (or Men’s day for that matter).

Nowhere. Everywhere.

As I sit here in the dead of the night, like it always transpires with me and my insidious inspirations, I realize, I am sitting on the cusp of a big change. It doesn’t unfaze me in the least. If anything it makes me feel curious, excited, and a thimbleful of happy.

Just a week back I was in Madrid, packing four years worth of life in garbage bags and suitcases. Throwing some, sending some across the seas onto another continent. I said goodbye to precious memories, and special friends, and a city which had embraced me like I was it’s own. When I close my eyes to this day, I can imagine walking down my street- Calle San Vicente Ferrer, upto Tribunal in the bleak winter sun. And this memory will remain me with me for eternity. For even though my mind is here, my heart often wanders onto those precious streets of Malasaña where I found  love, friendship, but more importantly myself. 

                                                                                                Picture (Top): Musicians Perform at C/ Fuencarral, Madrid

 I am in another continent now, Asia. European charm has been traded in for the oriental grace and efficiency in Hong Kong. As I write my thesis these days, I miss my other homes. Guangzhou, Delhi, Goa, Madrid – in no particular order. I miss the peculiar smell of fish and fenny in Goa. I miss the musty car park smell of the basement in Guangzhou. I miss the burned embers of tandoor crackling in the winter night, mixed with smog, assaulting the senses with a smell that is quintessentially Delhi. And the distinct wetness in the air during
monsoons and the thrill of an unseasonal rain that beckoned all the children of Delhi out onto the streets. Home is usually synonymous of the country and city you lived in or the place where your parents live in. Often these two coincide. Many times they don’t.

I often wonder – What is my home? Delhi? Yes, I did grow up there, but I don’t have a home there anymore. My grandparents do live there, but my parents don’t. Is it Hong Kong? My parents live here, but I haven’t ever lived here and I won’t in another couple of months. Madrid? No, not since I set sail a week ago.  Does that imply I don’t have a home anymore? Maybe. Does that bother me? Not in the least. “Settling down” is a term that didn’t manage to endear itself to me. So this phase of abandon and being without an anchor as such should be right up my alley.

    

Picture (Top-Left):Gurudwara Bangla Sahib, Delhi
Picture (Bottom-Left) : View of Hong Kong from the Peak, Hong Kong  

Maybe there is a reason I don’t have a “place” to call home. Perhaps since hypothetically every place could be my home. Why must I limit myself in a geographic sense? (1)

Perhaps, I am looking at it all wrong. Maybe as Emily Dickinson said it “Where thou art – that– is –Home.” (2)

Combining (1) and (2) above: I am here, right now, this moment, this is home. This is nowhere. This is everywhere.

                                                                                   

Drink the Damn Chai

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I am not the biggest fan of the “loud” ostentatious culture of Punjabis here in Delhi (my family included). We are indeed boisterous (very), flashy (sparkly/blingy) and over the top friendly. But when we offer you that beverage for the 20^th time, we really really want you to drink it. And we mean it.

Punjabi culture is showcased often in Hindi movies, and perhaps that is how the rest of India sees us – tandori chicken eating, whiskey drinking, dancing brutes.

Most of it may be true for many of us, there are exceptions too. For instance, I know many families who prefer seekh kebabs over tandoori chicken.

Anyway, the point is that – we may like our loud Djs in shadis, dancing uncles and our “shoo-shaan”  (shosha) but we mean well. 

I mean most of us** Punjabis were refugees less than 65 years ago. We came here with just the clothes on our backs and if we were lucky, our family members. We build our lives from the camps in refugee settlements. We had to prove ourselves in a new land, a land far away from our home in Multan or DI Khan or Rawalpindi. We had to compete with each other for the packs of “rotis” given to refugees, which were limited in supply. We had to fight to get an allotment of homes in the first refugee colony in Delhi. This made us feisty, no doubt, but it made us adventurous too. It made us strong and resilient.

When we gush over you and ask about your well-being we aren’t being fake. No one asked us these questions when we had nowhere to go. So just tell us that you’re doing ok, and don’t berate us for being loud.

And when we offer that chai to you again and again, take it. We aren’t showing off our tea making abilities. Back in the day, we didn’t have any chai, and maybe we just want you to share our happiness.           

** us/our grandparents/ancestors

Radiance of our being

 With Aam Admi Party (AAP) and Somnath Bharti thronging the airtime on major news channels, somewhere in the background the issue of race was touched upon. There was much furore caused by the alleged presumption on part of Mr.Bharti when he was allegedly acting on complaints by residents of Khirki village against certain Uganda nationals. What transpires on these allegations in the end, is not the point of this piece of work. Many articles have since then come up about the racism prevalent in India (you can read one here) and while it does ring a bell, and makes me nod my head acknowledging that there is xenophobia that pervades our nation, it also gets me thinking.

I think xenophobia is a very real problem in India, but I think discussing this is essentially premature­ – us getting too far ahead of ourselves. Perhaps it is important to address a topic closer to home –the discrimination prevalent and entrenched in our society itself.

Indians love fair skin. It’s not completely random though. The ancient Indians were Dravidians who were much darker skinned then what we see today. Of course the fairer-skinned Aryans coming in from north-west and pushing the Dravidians south ensured that North India was predominantly lighter skinned than South.

As the caste system began to spread it tentacles in ancient India, darker skinned became associated with menial, hard labour – ergo the lower class, and a lighter complexion was often symbolic of higher castes.  The Britishers followed, the ruling elite, the fairest of them all. Their power, position and appearance became something to be aspired for. Given this historical and sociological perspective, it is understandable (though not acceptable to say the least) that Indians are obsessed with fair skin (for the most part).

Fair and Lovely cream, manufactured by Unilever is the most popular cream in India for skin lightening (I can’t vouch for its effectiveness of account of never having used it). So popular it is that now there is a Fair and Handsome cream manufactured by Emami and endorsed by a top Bollywood actor –targeted for men! Corporates behind these brands often argue that if one uses makeup to feel and look good, then looking fair is a choice too, and something that people should not be denied. While I have to give them credit for this ingenious rationale, I must say I am not buying it (the argument or the cream). 

Source:   Data for native populations collected by R. Biasutti prior to 1940.

One would think that a country with such shades of skin from white-peaches complexion of the people from Kashmir and Himachal, to the wheatish color of the dwellers of the northern-plains, and the dark and caramel complexion of the people from south, and many many shades in between, we would be more tolerant and accepting of this myriad of shades, but instead, capitalist propaganda feeds of our insecurities and archaic social traditions to forward their own interests. Yet, it’s not all a commercial argument at the end. Men and women seeking out matches on portals for marriages want someone who earns well, is understanding and sweet, and oh of course, Fair! And may shame fall upon the family that gets a dark daughter in-law! Tch tch! 

In the light of all these biases, it’s no wonder that we are xenophobic. And mind you this is a shade-y xenophobia. Indians will embrace all things white (Americans, Russians, British, etc,), take photos with them outside Taj Mahal. But the darker of the lot? No sir, we don’t like foreigners.

But why should we? When we can’t tolerate our Indian neighbors who speak another language and look a little different. Is this xenophobia or just ignorance? Are we confusing darkness of the skin for darkness of the soul?

“Gori hai kya”(Is she fair?), “Kaali syah jaisi hai”(she is dark like ink)

With thoughts like these bouncing of the mouths and walls of homes, how can you expect a young girl to grow up to be a self respecting woman or your son to respect and appreciate different shades? Maybe before we ask companies to stop selling these skin-lightening creams, we should look into our own homes, and tell our children and mothers that color is a color, and just that.  Indeed, beauty does not know color. I think amidst all this talk, we often lose sight of what is important­– the radiance of our being and not of our skin.     

PS: I have to acknowledge the work of "Dark is Beautiful Campaign" (you can read about them here)

     

            

10 Endearing Things about my India

1. Bhelpuri, Pani Puri and Aloo chat is a valid form of dinner.

                                                                                       Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/74852128@N00/3107779760/

2. Wearing a dupatta and bindi with jeans and a tee shirt is the coolest Indo-western attire.

    

                                           

                                                Source: http://www.glamcheck.com/bollywood/2013/01/03/bindi-styles-indian-women/

3. How people become your best friend within an hour of meeting them

                                                            Source:http://arunoday.blogspot.hk/2010/05/free-hugs-and-maa.html

4. How giving a missed call is an acceptable form of communication                         
                           

                                                              Source: quora.com

5. All men driving buses, autorickshaws, serving chai and other sundries automatically become bhaiya – brother.

6. Bollywood and cricket unifies the nation more than any other thing known to Indians

                                           

                                            Source: http://cricketmademecrazy.blogspot.hk/2012/07/interesting-facts-about-sachin-tendulkar.html 

7. Nothing happens without a song and dance. Nothing.

                                   

                                      Source: http://chandrakantha.com/articles/indian_music/nritya/bollywood.html

8. Gujjiya on Holi, Halwa on Ashtami, All forms of Mithai (sweets) on Diwali. 

 

Source: http://shailbalasingh.blogspot.hk/2008/09/gujjiyas-kajuriya.html

http://whatscookingmom.in/gajar-ka-halwa/

http://zeenews.india.com/entertainment/gourmet/recipe/recipe-kaju-ki-burfi_1094.htm

9. How a mosque, temple, gurudwara and church can all be found within a one kilometer radius.

10. An evening ripe with the smell of the tandoor in the distance, a nip in the air,and ghazals by Ghalib playing  in the background.

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