Ready to share

It's been years since I've held a pen in my hand and put my thoughts to paper. I read my previous posts today and wondered how strongly I felt about things, about everything. Has something changed? I'm trying to figure out. Over the years I'm a different person now. I've accomplished some things, made choices, experienced consequences. It's made me a better person and I'm ready to share.

Privilège

"I'm so bored ya!", announced as she sipped her coffee in the balcony, dew still settling in on the tree in the front and the water from the swimming pool felt stiller than usual. She sighed for the tenth time thinking about all the work that she has to get done that day, all those deadlines to meet, some real but most in her head. She hadn't spoken to the guy she liked for three days now and cursed under her breath why did he have to get so serious all of a sudden. But then thought to herself, well who wouldn't, "I'm awesome!". As these thoughts were about to cheer her up a more reflective thought came to her and she wondered at least she isn't dead.

Her life is perfect. She can work from home, her family is doing okay, infected but okay, not needing a hospital or the injections that were in short supply. She regretted that she wasn't there with them at this hour as ten of them including her mother battled with the disease alone in their homes. News came that a friends' mother died last night. "How could this happen?" She screamed. "She was fine two days ago!". "I could do nothing. There was a ventilator but no-one in the staff knew how to operate it." Her son replied. She had never seen a man so defeated. The staff who knew were on their way but couldn't reach on time. The medicine that would have saved her life could not be brought to her on time. This happened in a remote village in Jharkhand as she knew it and it was her first tyrst with reality. But it was happeneing everywhere. Every minute.

Was she living in a bubble so far? She pondered. Her coffee was almost over, the sun had risen, she had to get on with her work - the cooking, cleaning and office. But it never left her mind how unbearable his pain was. She trembled as she washed her cup. Had she spoken to anyone, she wouldn't be able to talk without choaking herself. But she was fine. Somebody whom the government had not forced to work in the elections just because they were givernemtn school teachers, somebody who wouldn't lose her sales job if she didnt go to work a week after being diagonosed with covid. She was fine. Priviledged. Unlike those others who were losing their lives at work, at home and on the streets as India bled.

Am I enough?

Shruti: I'm not applying for the editor's position. I'm not qualified. They require someone who's experienced in the crimimal justice system that I have no idea about.
Stuti: Come on! Didn't your paper get accepted in the Journal of Criminal Justice a few weeks ago? And what about that talk you gave to their team on ethical journalism?
Shruti: Oh the paper was just a one-off case and yeah I gave a talk, so what? They have someone give a talk every year. All of the speakers don't end up as editors there.
Stuti: Why don't you just coil up in your bedroom and write about how you're dealing with your imposter syndrome then instead of actually dealing with it?
Shruti: I am dealng with it! Now get off my back!

Imposter Syndrome. The constant feeling of not being enough inspite of data pointing to the contrary. Whether it is settling for a partner who you know isn't right for you, or not applying to that job you wanted and are qualified for but you think you're just not ready. Constantly expecting too much of yourself giving little credit when you achieve those feats. Feeling not pretty enough or intelligent enough or capable enough. Imposter syndrome affects 70% of the pepople at least once in their life. If this is happening to you, you are not alone.

An hour later Shruti was typing away her cover letter for the editor's position when she gets a call. It was her friend, Ravi.
Ravi: Hey Shruti! Want to go to a party tonite? I'm trying to impress the hiring commitee of the Journal of Criminal Justice and I need a pretty date.
Shruti: Oh! You're planning to apply to one of their roles?
Ravi: Yeah! They have an editor's position that opened up recently. What do you think?
Shruti: I think I'll apply to it too Ravi. Do you still want me to come with you?
Ravi: Haha! Sure you can. I'm not competing with you. See you at 8?
Shruti: Sure. See ya!

The negative self talk isn't all in your head. Sometimes it's an internalised form of the lack of belief in your trusted personnel.

Ravi: Thanks for the wonderful evening Shruti. I saw that you were speaking to one of the hiring commitee members. Did you put in a good word for me?
Shruti: Yes I did, however they didn't seem to want to talk about...
Ravi: I know. I wouldn't either. With you around, I'd want to talk about you too.
Shruti: Let me finish Ravi, he seemed interested in my work actually.
Ravi: Oh! Of course! That's what I meant too. Good Night Shruti
Shruti: Good night Ravi

~~ Few days later ~~
Shruti: This is Shruti Singhal. I am joining as an Editor today. Where do I report?

And sometimes you need people to not believe in you for you to believe more in yourself.

Are Humans Monogamous?

Let's just forget society for a while and all its rules and moral preachings and delve directly into what we see, hear, feel. And if possible let's get into the subconscious and maybe our evolution history. Or.... Let me tell you a story.

There was a man and wife living happily. The man didn't have much time for his wife so she found a companion in another man with whom she would talk, just talk. One day the man told his wife he would be out of town for two days and that she should visit her friend if she wanted to during that time. He loved her more than the so-called society allows. She did. He came back the very same night and spent the time with himself. He thought about her ~ the details of her dress that she wore, her nervousness of this unanticipated rendezvous, the desire in her friend's eyes. As she got close to her lover, his own reaction surprised him. He got turned on. The next day when his wife came back, he could tell they just talked.

The first thing that came to my mind when I came across this is, why did he send his wife and then get turned on by imagining physical intimacy between her and another man? But I'm gonna resist myself from delving further because what I am writing today about is far more important.

The woman was indeed attracted to her friend... Even when we are in a committed relationship we do stray in our mind all the time. In fact I would state that at any given point of time there will be one love of your life and one current crush. Whenever u will hear songs, u will think of both. Whatever turns you on, you will imagine yourself with both, one at a time or together depending upon your level of kinkiness. Whenever u will watch a movie, you will think of both, you will want to hold hands with both.

But the Lover of her life was her Husband... The only difference is, your crush will keep on changing but the love of your life will be the one man who will rule your heart, who will make u cry and laugh, who will make you beg and rule, who will make you helpless and ecstatic.* Now I understand what that freak** meant when he said I am totally helpless, it's you who has to think.

Let me clarify that I don't condone anybody cheating on their partners. Quite the contrary. Just like the woman in the story exercised her discretion and understanding of her relationship with her husband and came back without losing her husband, I am in favor of exercising similar discretion in all our actions. But I strongly advocate that we as a society have missed to teach our children the truth about attraction. Today we have confused adults who think something is wrong with them if they get attracted to someone else. They live in a frustration that the society calls them characterless whence they express any such opinions. We must for our own awareness realize there are so many things the society didn't tell us. This is one of them. When we get there not only will we lead more fulfilling lives, we would have made life easier for homosexuals, wife-swappers (though I am against using the term), and different communities who have to hide.

*I talk for women here for the sake of simplicity. Applies correspondingly for men as well. **More about the freak later

In case you did read till the end, thank you.

Wedding Blues

My name is Amina and I'm getting married.

This is how I started introducing myself to people - even those who already knew me. Getting married to my childhood friend was so unexpectedly blissful that I couldn't have dreamt of it. But after rejecting so many potential grooms, Ashish came as fresh air to my dreary existence. He kind of understood.

Back at school for a large part of my life I have been what most people call a 'tomboy'. It was a hassle to wear a different T shirt everyday. Accessories are something I'd leave for my girl-friends. I'd hang out mostly with guys, some or the other guy would like me; I would have my on set of infatuations. Life was simple, until...

My marriage got fixed. Suddenly everyone is concerned about my weight. I can never seem to get my hair right or buy the right clothes. Am I expected to put-on make-up now? My well wishers don't let me go out without being covered from head to toe. The pollution would get to me otherwise they say. I didn't even have so many well wishers when I had a plaster on my hand for forty days. But now all my family and friends take care of me in terms of what when and how I eat, practically how I live.

What is this obsession with fair skin and slim body? It seems to be a rampant disease that marriage spreads to the families of the groom and bride. This is where all education comes to a halt- phrases like beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder are proved to be nothing but a set of words. Every moment as I pick up the latest make-up or restrain myself from not eating my favorite pie, I supposedly become more beautiful to the people I don't know and I don't care about but am trying to impress. Yet with every passing event I feel more fake and less myself; I lose my inner beauty I once took pride in.

My name is Amina and I'm getting married.

The Silent Protest

I stood there looking at the thin air before me.

I never thought it would require courage on my part to take that route of protest for change against the system. It took me courage. Not because I was afraid to stand up for what I believe in but to steer through the insecurities of my loved ones who with all their might tried to talk me out of it. It took some time and energy which I do consider a waste to assure them I'll be fine and so will the rest of us who were coming along.

I reached the venue where I was greeted with curious glances of fellow citizens wondering whether I was there for the same cause as they were. The first thing that struck me was the entrepreneurs whose business was in full form that eve. Tired and hungry fellow travelers ate to their fill and drank to beat the chilly winds. As I stood looking at one such tea-stall vendor, I was asked by a fellow citizen, " Are you here for the protest?" He had the look of empathy and consideration I had seen before. My eyes lit up thinking, This is it! while I said with a hint of enthusiasm in my voice, "Yeah!". He beckoned us.

Apparently we were the only people apart from the organizers who had reached the venue on time. We stood there while the crowd became thicker and the wind became warmer. When everybody had their cup of tea, the candles were lighted. Involuntarily we jumped towards the lights with some apprehension in our movements. The whole world seemed to circle around that candle.

We felt awkward. We felt scrutinized. We felt helpless against the wind that extinguished our candle again and again. But we took it like a challenge - to show the wind we will light our candle no matter how strong it blew, to show the society we will bring the change in it no matter how rigid and rotten its belief system is.

By now I had shifted the focus from my own awkwardness and self-scrutiny to the on-lookers. We got multiple reactions. There were people who were rushing past us since they were obviously too busy to notice 50 people starting at them with candles in their hands. There were folks who noticed us, wondered what we were upto and passed. There were folks who were indeed interested enough to slow their vehicles to take a good look at us. The auto-rickshaw pullers assumed we were looking for a ride and beckoned us. Some pedestrians joined us. It made it all worth it. There was one particular reaction that I still remember, a fat guy dressed in white in a big white car saluted us as he drove along. I didn't feel pride, just indifference at his and other peoples' guilt. Somewhere we are all guilty of letting the state of work become so deplorable. Somewhere we are that fat guy dressed in white who's too occupied to come out of his car and take the chance of his clothes getting dirty.

We need to put an end to violence against the fair sex. And we need to chose our own way of doing it. It will make our clothes dirty and the candle wax and flame will burn our hands once in a while. But it will be worth the pain.

Talk to one person and convince them to treat men and women as equals. Help one person understand what that equality means, even if that one person is you yourself.

And as I said, devise your own way of bringing about this change. That Saturday, standing on a street with a candle is what I chose.

It's not enough, but it's a step.

Miles to go Before I Sleep

Dr. Syeda S. Hameed
I know not if she's a doctor or a Doctorate but I still feel like calling her Dr. I feel in-debt to her for what she did and for what she didn't do that may inspire many to "do". At this point, a statement from a friend haunts me night and day in an attempt to jerk me out of my complacence ~ "You have lots of work to do". He said this as a conclusion of a tale he narrated from his life. It was a plain statement, but to me it was an appeal, a wake-up call, a reminder to my purpose. And so was Dr Hameeds' book: "They Hang".

As every Gudiya, Dilshan, Maimun, Sajoni, Bela, Lakra appeal to me, I hear their cries in my own sobs, I feel their pain in the contractions of my breath, I experience their helplessness in the numbness, the suffocation of my own secure home. And I lift my head in the darkness gaping at the white lining in the distance.
Times are changing? Yes. Is that enough for you and me to sit back and relax? Hell NO!