Racism in India

To all the Indians who say, 'Black Lives Matter'.

First of all, thank you. I'm glad you're saying that. Support, in any form, is important.

But don't stop there. If you mean it, if you genuinely mean it, do more.

• Stop endorsing / buying fairness creams. And yes, this applies to both women and men. Changing 'Fair & Lovely' to 'Fair & Handsome' only makes it both racist and sexist. 
• Stop looking for 'fair' brides. And I don't just mean in the blatantly racist matrimonial ads that run in the newspaper. This also applies to the 'oh so subtle' ways of judging potential partners based on their fairness. But what's wrong about wanting a good looking life partner? That's an entire post for another time, but for now, go with this: why does good looking have to equate with fair?! That's racism.
• Stop preventing your daughters from spending time in the sun. We know the concern isn't a sunstroke, it's darker skin. Why is your child getting tanned such a problem? Think about the answer. It lies within racism.
• Stop complementing people for being fair. By complementing, you're suggesting that being fair is better than being dark skinned. That's racism.
• Stop de-valuing people with darker skin. We've all heard it: Did you see the girl he married? I was shocked! Such a good looking, handsome boy, with such a dark girl! This. Is. Racism.
• Stop making songs on fair skin. And for everyone else, stop endorsing them.

The above list is only the beginning. Racist beliefs, speech and actions are so deeply embedded in our lives that we barely even notice it. Granted, the racist actions are of a different level than what we're seeing in the west, but the root is the same: the belief that a fair skinned person is better than a dark skinned person. And that, is a problem.

It's said that the first part of solving a problem is accepting there's a problem. So a starting point might be admitting the racism we see and propagate in our daily lives. 

I know, the problem is bigger than one person. But maybe the solution can start with just one person.

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PS: Yes, while we're on the topic of discrimination in India, there are many other lives being silenced and threatened. All need to be addressed.

A Case of Split Identities

You know you have issues when you relate more with He-who-must-not-be-named, Greek and Roman gods, and Frodo Baggins than with the people around you.

You also know you have issues when you get more excited by Nanook of the North than any other blockbuster running around you.

It’s funny. Throughout my time in Canada, I was always on the lookout of anything that reminded me of India. Of back home. In class, often being the only brown kid in tutorials, I was inadvertently made the expert on South Asia (because, clearly, I represent all the God-knows-how-many-billion people living here). But I think I rather enjoyed that; it felt like a validation of where I was from.

Today, sitting in Bangalore, I was supposed to be reading for sociology. I was browsing through the readings, looking for the one with the least number of pages to begin with, when the words “Nanook of the North” shot out at me. The next thing I knew, I was on page 5. But seriously, Nanook of the North?! (This is a short film – possibly the first one – made on an Innuit group in northern Canada – a movie I was shown during my first year in Canada) – a movie that I can barely recall. But despite my fuzzy memory, there was something so familiar about that phrase that I couldn’t stop myself from reading further – it was as though this one article was able to connect me back to my memories of Canada.

I don’t get it. When people say I randomly switch to a Canadian accent, I usually make a face, but inwardly I feel really pleased. And when I was in Canada, I would love talking about India and what it was like ‘back home’. I didn’t want to get a Canadian citizenship and give up my official status as Indian, but now I can’t stop saying “But in Canada we did…” Never realized I like Canada so much (although, to be fair, I never realized I liked India so much either until I went to Canada).

Confused much? I think so too.

Basically, when I lived in Canada, I loved being identified with India. And now, when I live in India, I love being identified with Canada.

Sometimes, I seriously feel like Voldemort, with my soul split into multiple pieces (I mean, we can’t leave out Kuwait and the multiple cities in India, right?). I’ve left a horcrux at each location.

At other times, I feel like those Greek and Roman gods, caught between two different identities, unable to decide between them (Percy Jackson fans will get this).

Or, for you Lord of the Rings fans, it’s like being Frodo – you can’t really go there and back again, because you’ve changed so much on the journey (Yes, I’m relating Canada to Mordor. No, it wasn’t a bad experience).

I feel more connected with characters from fantasy novels and movies than the people around me.

I think I have issues.

Domicile

6 years in Dehradun

6 years in Bangalore

4 years in Kuwait

2 years in Bangalore

4 years in Toronto

2 years in Bombay

…and that’s 24

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“Where are you from?”

I cringe every time I hear that question – not so much for myself, because I personally love the answer. But I feel bad for the person asking the question, because I’m sure the answer they receive is far longer than the one they had bargained for.

As a kid, I used to complain often about moving around (by grade 2, I had attended five different schools. And no, I wasn’t kicked out). Being socially awkward, it took me a long time to get comfortable in my new surroundings and make friends, and it seemed like every time I managed to settle down, it was time to move to a new place again.

Somewhere along the line, things changed. Or I changed. Because the last few times I’ve moved, it’s been out of choice. I spent four amazing years in Toronto, making friendships that I know will outlast me. Yet by the end of college, I was ready to leave and go back to India. Similarly, my two years in Bombay were better than I could have even imagined, but towards the end, I wanted to move to something new. That kid who loved normalcy and comfort and hated change suddenly became the one eagerly packing bags and changing homes every few years.

A while back, I was filling out an application that had a section for ‘domicile’. I had no idea what that meant, and actually had to look it up. Apparently, it means residence. Abode. Home. Dwelling. Etc. Not something I can fill out in the 3-centimeter space that the form provided. It’s definitely not a one-word answer.

Sometimes, I think it still bothers me – not belonging anywhere. Not staying anywhere long enough to become a part of a group of friends that’s closer than family.  Last night, I watched over 40 people take time off from their work day to come home and celebrate mom’s birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it – that feeling of knowing that you’re surrounded by people who would be there for you no matter what. I do have family and friends like that all over the world, but that’s the thing: they’re all over the world. And Facebook and Skype can only do so much (and yes, that includes smartphones).

But it’s a fleeting moment of doubt, because at the end of the day, I have thankfully never regretted my decisions to move till now. I’ve been happy at every place that I’ve called home, regardless of the longitude it was at. And to be fair, two months ago I was with friends in Bombay; two weeks ago with family and friends in Canada; today with my parents in Kuwait, and in another two weeks, with more family and potentially more friends in Bangalore.

Can’t complain J

Besides, from what I've heard:

Home is where the hugs are.

And there are hugs all around!

Ruchi Mittal, officially 24 years old, at home with all the hugs, signing off!

The Morality of Indian Sex

When we talk about consensual sex, whose consent are we talking about?

·         Why is it immoral to teach children about sex, but moral to ostracize those affected by STDs?

·         Why is it immoral to show sex on camera, but moral to force people to take part in pornographic videos?

·         Why is it immoral to share breathing space with a prostitute, but moral to force others into the same profession? 

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·         Why is it immoral to celebrate Valentine’s day, but moral to beat up people in order to prevent this?

·         Why is it immoral to have consensual sex before marriage, but moral to be raped after marriage?

A few years ago, when I was doing a research paper in my third year of college, I spent a few days poring over archives related to South-Asian sex and rape. I think I can honestly say they were the some of the most depressing days of my life. The reason? I realized at that point that for a vast majority of Indian women, sex is not about making love or an act of pleasure: it’s a painful chore that they have to endure according to the whim of their husbands. Painful because it was often in the form of abuse and rape. Of course, the government would never call it rape, because once a woman is married, her husband apparently has full rights to do with her as he wishes. A study mentioned that people see marital abuse as “ethically permissible.”

Sometimes I think that in India, marriage is merely a stamp assuring society’s consent to sex. Funny, you’d think the consent of both people involved would be given some priority as well.

Discovering Pakistan

I’m obsessed with Pakistan. And no, I don’t mean I want to throw missiles at it. I’m obsessed with wanting to visit the country, with wanting to change people’s perception of that nation, and more importantly, I’m obsessed with the notion that just because I’m Indian, I’m not going to blindly hate Pakistan.

Of course, that kind of obsession is nothing sort of blasphemy in this country. How dare I pick Pakistan over India? Well, don’t force me to pick then.

It’s not easy for someone to understand why I’m so obsessed with our neighbouring enemy, because it’s not something I understand myself entirely. So in an attempt to understand, I decided to re-visit my life.

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I was a kid. I can’t even remember how old, maybe seven or eight. I just remember a typical match between India and Pakistan, where my entire family gathered around in Bangalore to cheer for India. I remember looking around at them, taking in their passionate love for India, and even more, their passionate hatred for Pakistan. And I remember thinking to myself how unfair it was that there was nobody around to support Pakistan. So I loudly proclaimed to everyone around that I would support Pakistan in the match, quite enjoying their looks of shock and outrage.

And that’s what I did. For that game and every game that was played thereafter. I think I was just supporting the underdog. But I had no idea that I was starting to walk down a path that I would never turn away from.

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Five years ago, I stepped onto the York University campus, having arrived fresh from India. Walking around, I came across a statue of Mahatma Gandhi at the library, and instantly felt a surge of pride. Then, walking outside, I came across another statue that made me stop suddenly with a frown on my face. It was the statue of Mohammed Ali Jinnah. I didn’t understand what it was doing here. Wasn’t he the man responsible for the partition of India and the subsequent massacre? Wasn’t he the biggest villain in Indian history? What were these people thinking, placing his statue – a considerably large one, at that – on campus?

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A few weeks later, a friend of mine, introduced me to another group of first-year students. I was really apprehensive and shy about meeting people in this new country, but one glance at the group and I sighed in relief. The dark hair, the skin tone and the unmistakable language gave it away. I felt myself relaxing without even trying to. Turning to the girl standing next to me, I asked – India? Without missing a beat or faltering in her smile, the girl who would soon become my closest friend in college shook her head and said – Pakistan.

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Towards the end of the first year, the Pakistani Students’ Association screened a movie on campus called “Jinnah.” By this time, my circle of friends included a mix of Indians and Pakistanis, so I was comfortable enough to admit that I really wanted to understand this subject more. Who was this Jinnah person really? And why was he called Quaid-e-Azam? I needed to solve this quandary before I could understand head or tail of Pakistan. Moreover, I told myself, if Shashi Kapoor – a famous Indian actor – was a part of this film, it couldn’t entirely be Pakistani propaganda, could it?

So I went to watch the film. And it turned out to be a film that left me feeling like I had just been punched in the stomach. It showed me a version of history that I could never have imagined even existed. It made me realize just how biased my own history classes had been. Of course, the film itself was far from unbiased. But it managed to imbibe in me a mindset that has not yet left me: that there can be more than one side to a story.

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Just before I started my third year, Jaswant Singh, an Indian politician, was expelled from the BJP party because he wrote a “controversial” book on Jinnah. His book was even banned in the state of Gujarat. Regardless of the contents of the book (which shockingly did not put the entire partition blame on Jinnah), that event really shook me. Banning a book? Firing a person for speaking out in a different light? Was this the same country that specifically gave us all freedom of speech in its constitution? I’m not saying Indians should forget all their history in a spur of the moments and turn 360 degrees in their thoughts, but not allowing people to voice out their thoughts because they went against the accepted public view was plain dictatorship. It didn’t exactly increase my faith in this nation.

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During my fourth year, I shared an apartment with the aforementioned Pakistani friend. One random day, I can’t remember why, but we were going over the map of India and Pakistan. And very soon, we got into an argument. We were pointing to the same area on the map, but she kept insisting that it was called Azaad Kashmir, while I resolutely said it was Pakistan Occupied Kashmir (POK). We were sure the other person was wrong, because this was a fact that we had both grown up with, so there was no way we could be wrong. Finally, Wikipedia solved our quandary. Both of us were right. It was the same area – just called by two different names, depending on the nation we belonged to.

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The end of my final year in college was marked by the cricket world cup, where India and Pakistan met each other in the Semi-Finals. The tension brewing on campus was quite palpable. My roommate and I decided it was time for us to act appropriately as rivals, and so divided up our house into Azaad Bathroom and Pakistan Occupied Kitchen.

Not wanting a massacre, the match was screened in two separate rooms on campus. Yet they were close enough for me to jump back and forth. Every time I entered the “Pakistani room”, I was met with waves and cheers and half-hearted jeers. I think it was in the midst of throwing insults at each other with big smiles on our faces that I realized I felt more comfortable in this room than the other.

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Just before I left Canada to join Teach for India, another Pakistani friend of mine said to me, “I know there will be at least one classroom in all of India where the children will not see or hate Pakistan as the enemy.”

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Since I was teaching Std. 2, I told myself these kids were too young to be discussing heavy topics like India and Pakistan. So I ignored the subject altogether.

Six months after I started teaching my Std. 2 kids, one boy came up to me with a drawing and started explaining it to me proudly – “Yeh India hai. Yeh Pakistan hai. Aur yeh India Pakistan par missile daal raha hai.”

I had no reply for him.

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My friend and I had been planning a trip to Goa for a while, yet it kept getting postponed for some reason or the other. Last week, he told me that it would have to be pushed further back, because he had just got his visa for Pakistan and was planning to visit there. He seemed really apologetic. So I said to him, “Dude. Chill. Goa or Pakistan? No competition.”

Just before we hung up, he said, “Ruch, you realize we’re probably the only two people in India who would think that?”

I wish we weren’t.