Happy International Women's Day

I should love to continue the uplifting tone of our previous post for a few more days. I cannot though, because she has been crying. She cried yesterday for the one hour or so she spends with me, and she cried today before she stepped out of my home. I have known her for a year now and I have seen her broke many times before. I have never seen her broken though. She never said before that she wished she were dead, not even when she lost the only man who remembered how she had looked as a child, a ten year old bride. She grieves for him though he had taken to drink and beaten her with a stick reserved for the purpose every night, when he was smashed enough. Her health and that of the other three people of her household is failing rapidly. A teenage son who labors at breaking stones in the killing heat of the Hyderabad afternoon, a daughter who is young enough to be amused with fancy hairpins and works with her mother as a maidservant, a three year old grandson – the only memory of the deceased elder daughter who succumbed to medical negligence in her pregnancy two years ago.

My maid has been crying because all her children are suffering from some ailment or another and she is helpless. Her son has been running high fever for some time now; the doctors say he cannot stand the heat and the strain of such inhuman labor. Her daughter suffers frequent belly cramps, and then she cannot even sit up, much less keep her morning appointments at the several households that wait for their dishes to be cleaned.

They have already pawned all the silver she had saved up for her daughters wedding, which must happen sooner than later, because when you live in a slum where broke men come back home drunken in the nights, a teenage daughter is heavy responsibility.
Yet she says, it’s not about the money, as long as my children are well.

None of them can read or write in any language, thus reducing their chances for any other kind of indoor work next to nil. Every rupee spent on hospital expenses or medicines means a rupee taken away from weekly rations of food and travel fare. They still laughed and joked about many things till last week, not anymore. The burden is too heavy now. Yet they give another dimension to honesty when they hand back my gold earring fished out from below the dresser. Loss of that earring would have meant a little heartache to me, no more. Its value is enough to pay for her daughters pawned silver anklets, which is a shameful reminder of helplessness to her.

I don’t know what to feel. Giving her some money to tide the times over is always an option. It makes me feel gracious too. But when that money is gone, and the little child falls sick with Chikunguniya, she will be worse off than now because she still has a remnants of pride that wouldnt allow her to borrow anymore from me.
I don’t know how this will change. I have been thinking a lot about her now a days.
Let me know if you have any “teach them to fish” ideas.
In the meanwhile let’s celebrate the international women’s day.

Congratulations!!

Are you one of those people, who forward emails full of pumping feel-goodism such as “the only thing worse than an unfinished job is a job never started”? It feels so good to tell people to go out and catch their dreams, because isn’t that just what we have been waiting to do? We occasionally stare at the flat screen monitors in office and dream about the day when we will have arrived!
How exactly, we aren’t sure; we are still waiting for a few things that need sorting out first - marriage, a car, a house, a better workplace, anything. We lie down late in the night after watching some movie, which we have probably seen at least three times before, simply because they push it to our TV at prime time and we dont care anymore. Sometimes, before sleep takes over, we uneasily remember that little boy or girl who once confidently stood up and said “when I grow up I will be so and so!” and wonder, whatever happened in the meanwhile!

So when we come across this bizarre couple who have been crazy enough to decide that, everything else can wait, but not the dream, we tend to follow them closely. Especially when the dreamer is a girl. Especially when the dream entails quitting a plush job to invest twenty four months of her life for cracking one of the toughest competitive exams. Especially when, the other spouse builds a solid net of protection around this girl so that none of jeering or worried calls for sanity from well meaning relatives bump her off course. Together they toil through one milestone after another, as though a single entity, all the while dreaming the same dream.

Then one day, which couldn’t have come sooner, what with the countless nervous visits to the website, the results are out.

You know what the results are, when you look at the man, whose ebullience has somehow deified gravity, so he hovers slightly above ground. Then you know, what really a pay off is. There is no need to stop and wonder, what if, the result had been different? These two people would have still been heroes, don’t you agree? For heroism in our times lies in keeping our dreams alive.

I am not sure how big an impact the Women’s Quota bill would have on the women of this country. I am not sure whether there will be ever an acceptance for stay at home dads. I am very sure that the day there are more couples like these, the need for Women’s Day celebrations would have been obsolete.

Congratulations Niyati and Paresh!! We need our heroes…

Happy Holi

Happy Holi, dears.

Let the evil and ugly within ourselves be tossed into purifying fires. Cleaning the slates once in a while is what our times need the most.

A hurtful relationship that makes you brood or a cunning plan to outdo your colleague, let is pass through the cleansing fire once. I am sure it will make us better people.

Tomorrow, we will colour the world in the anticpation of Spring!

I bow down to thee

Of late I have been catching up on reading quite a bit. Thats the one thing I never get enough of. Every time I think about all the wise and beautiful things that have been written over the ages by so many gifted architects of our shared culture of humanity, I feel as if time is running out. After all, there will be only so may years and so many days and so many hours that I will have to enjoy this bounty, and there is too much I have to catch up on.
Every now and then I stumble upon a gem hidden in the clutter of the world wide web. I am not sure why I wasn't aware of this remarkable piece of writing earlier, but I am so glad I found it.
It is by Joyce Maynard, written when when she was 18.

I am thankful, I discovered it.

Here is an excerpt:

Every generation thinks it's special - my grandparents because they remember horses and buggies, my parents because of the Depression. The over-30's are special because they knew the Red Scare of Korea, Chuck Berry and beatniks. My older sister is special because she belonged to the first generation of teen-agers (before that, people in their teens were adolescents), when being a teen-ager was still fun. And I - I am 18, caught in the middle. Mine is the generation of unfulfilled expectations. "When you're older," my mother promised, "you can wear lipstick." But when the time came, of course, lipstick wasn't being worn. "When we're big, we'll dance like that, " my friends and I whispered, watching Chubby Checker twist on "American Bandstand." But we inherited no dance steps, ours was a limp, formless shrug to watered-down music that rarely made the feet tap. "Just wait till we can vote," I said, bursting with 10-year-old fervor, ready to fast, freeze, march and die for peace and freedom as Joan Baez, barefoot, sang "We Shall Overcome." Well, now we can vote, and we're old enough to attend rallies and knock on doors and wave placards, and suddenly it doesn't seem to matter any more.

My generation is special because of what we missed rather than what we got, because in a certain sense we are the first and the last. The first to take technology for granted. (What was a space shot to us, except an hour cut from Social Studies to gather before a TV in the gym as Cape Canaveral counted down?) The first to grow up with TV. My sister was 8 when we got our set, so to her it seemed magic and always somewhat foreign. She had known books already and would never really replace them. But for me, the TV set was, like the kitchen sink and the telephone, a fact of life.


Go read the rest here:
http://joycemaynard.com/Joyce_Maynard/E__18_looks_back.html

Thank You Joyce!

Being Her

That the ancient takes

more living space

inside her, than the new,

Is it true?


That she has loved

Babes unborn yet

longer than she knew

is it true?


That she’d crossed for love

a threshold strange

life in those walls she blew

Is it true?


That she sees too much

and feels much more

while you think those drops were dew

is it true?


In the choices she made

And the dreams she doused

Was naught but love for you

That is true.

Forgiveness

Forgiveness

I wish I knew this before
That when you smiled and stared away
It wasn’t insouciant hardness of heart
Rather too much guilt, too much pain

I wish we all knew this before
So we could peer down deep in our souls
And find the apathetic torches
With which we immolated yours

We didn’t know this before;
But now we know too much of past
The past we created in odium, yours as much as ours,
And we have this future now, we gape, aghast

I wish myself away sometimes
Feverishly dreaming of beautiful places
As if the gurgling springs, innocent meadows
Would somehow grant me what only you could’ve…. Forgiveness
=====(c)========================================

Delusions

So many times to breath for the first time,
To have gone through the same old new chos
Religious, Godless, confused myopic,
Breathing, secreting, cobwebs of thoughts

Will I ever learn and be done with it,
What they call as Wisdom of Stars,
Or in every birth and every death, start afresh,
Like a blank page, innocent? Ignorant?

Somewhere on the brink of dawn or dark,
I know, I knew, the reason and the answer
All I know now, is that, I have known, many times,
And I will know again, for a brief eternity

In the moment, momentous only to me,
when I cease to be

====(c)============================