In the Land of Men

It was a girls' trip
A much awaited one
To shed the weight of daily life
And enter the paradise
Where the sea meets the sand
And when we finally got there
Excited
Relaxed
Feeling the holiday calm take over
We scanned the beach
Looking for a spot
Away from the crowd
Unfettered by humans
(Only inhabited by dogs)
After a quick search
We found the perfect spot
Refreshed ourselves with drinks
And made our way into the water
Empty
But for a family nearby
And as that water touched our toes
It washed away all the stress
The waves fighting the heat on our backs
As we splashed
And jumped
And swam
And soaked in that feeling
Of the perfect holiday
But what felt like hours
Was only a few minutes
Because that’s all it took
For the inhabitants to grow
For people passing by
To stop and stare
And what had minutes ago
Been our empty paradise
Suddenly became
A congregation of bodies
Or, to be more specific
A congregation of men
Staring
Leering
Inching closer
And I’m ashamed to say
That part of me even wondered
If we were the problem
If the wet T-shirt
Sticking to my body
Was the problem
Or if the shorts
Chosen instead of a swimsuit
Were the problem
If we should have dressed differently
If we should have picked a different spot
If we should have skipped the drinks
If we should have travelled with male friends
If we shouldn’t have jumped around as much
Because as their gazes
Travelled over every inch of our wet clothes
That familiar fear
And feeling of disgust
That we had become so accustomed to
That we had wanted to escape from
Came back in full force
And just like that
Our bubble was burst
Reality came crashing down
At the end of it all
This wasn’t paradise
This wasn’t our getaway
This was the nightmare
That we lived every single day
A reminder
That no matter where we went
We would always be
In the land of men.

*********

[This was a post that I had begun to write a few years ago, after a Goa trip with a friend. After this incident, her words to me were, "Ruch, I hope you're going to write about this!" It took a while, but finally managed to go back and complete it].

Crime

As the jail burst with new entrants,
A single question arose:

“What’s your crime?”
“My voice.”

“What’s yours?”
“My religion.”

Fragile Communities

When did we become those people
Who take offence so easily
Whose identity, community, faith
Is so fragile
That
A word
A question
A thought
Can shatter it into pieces?

LoveJihad

Two of them looked at the photograph.

One saw only love,
The other saw only religion.

You're Beautiful

Sometimes I wonder
If I were to have a daughter
Would I be about to look her in the eye
And say
You're beautiful
As you are
Every bit of you
Your height
Your weight
Your skin
Your hair
No matter what
You're beautiful

Would I really be able to tell her that
When I can't even convince myself of it?

Hate News

Note: Some on the information given below is paraphrased. Please see the original links for exact phrasing.

1) In 2015, a newspaper in the UK published a story about the owners of a Kabab restaurant in UK being arrested and fined after several people who ate their food became severely sick. The source of the sickness was a strain of E coli bacteria found in human faeces, which wound up in the food due to poor hand washing by the restaurant staff. The names and photographs of the owners were also released. They were Muslim. 

Was that last sentence really necessary? As you'll find out, yes.

2) Fast forward five years later. In April 2020, a post on social media began doing the rounds claiming that these Muslim men had intentionally served food that was infected with faeces to Non Muslims. Specifically, it made the following claims:

• That faeces was mixed with the food (not the bacteria, but actual faeces)

• That the people running the restaurant had two sections in their kitchen - a clean one for Muslims, and an unclean one for Non-Muslims. The food in the unclean section was contaminated with faeces and served to Non-Muslims.

Along with this, there was also a lot more Muslim bashing that I suppose has become commonplace in India today. 

For additional context, this post was put up a little after the 'Tablighi Jamaat' incident happened in India.

Why is that relevant? Because a few days later, Zee News ran a story based off that social media post, titled [English translation]: "Kabab was served with bodily waste, the mentality of Jamaatis prevails even abroad." 

And for what it's worth, the names and faces of the restaurant owners were part of both the social media post and the Zee news article. 

3) Around four months later, or to be precise, this morning, my dad suddenly looked up from his phone and said from the backseat of the car, "Listen to this… Muslim men caught serving food with faeces to Non Muslims." This was followed by what I assume are appropriate disgusted reactions by my parents. The chapter seemingly closed there, but not for me.

4) And that's precisely how I ended up searching for this news to determine its truth, only to find an article calling it out for the fake news that it is. I sent that to my parents the moment I found it. I'll be honest; I felt really vindicated the moment I found that article. But as the day has passed, the feeling of relief and vindication has slowly gotten replaced with....sadness. 

I can't forget how easy it was for my parents to think this story was true. We live in an era of fake news. They both know that. And yet, their instinct was to believe it. I can't help but wonder if they would have been as quick to believe it had the headline said 'Hindus' instead of 'Muslims'. I wasn't surprised, but I was definitely disappointed.

And the really scary thing is, if they were so quick to believe this, what about the rest of the country? What about all the people who probably won't look up whether this is true or not? All the people who will read it and add it to their "List off reasons why Muslims are horrible people" and continue to go about their day?

We're in an era where hating Muslims has become the norm. I don't know, maybe this isn't new - maybe the hate was always there. But it's certainly gotten easier to voice that hate and act on it. And it's certainly gotten easier to spread that hate. 

And it seems like lately, the hate is everywhere. And more and more, I feel powerless to stop that hate.

So all I can do, as I wallow in depression, is to at least call out the hate / fake news when I come across it.

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.

*******

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.

History

As I read history

About the wars, the atrocities, the genocides

I often wonder

How did people just stand by

And let it all happen?

And then I realize

That one day 

Maybe not that far into the future

People will wonder the same thing about us.

Failure

She traveled the world.

She rescued animals.

She wrote several books.

She ran her own company.

She spread smiles everywhere she went.

But still, she was considered a failure.

She wasn't married.

Haircut

For the love of dialogue and conversations...

I think you should get a haircut soon.

What?! I just had one a few days ago.

That was a few months ago!

Yea but, I don’t think I need one as yet.

Look at your hair. It’s almost below your neck.

So?

So, it’s too long. You should cut it.

But why? What’s the problem if it’s too long?

It’s not supposed to be that long.

Her hair is so long!

She’s your sister.

Thanks, I didn’t know.

Don’t take that tone with me…

Sorry mum. But so what if she’s my sister?

I meant, she’s a girl. She’s supposed to have long hair. You’re a boy. You’re supposed to have short hair.

…

…

…

…

But why?

Enough with the ‘why’s!

I’m serious. Why can’t boys have long hair?

It doesn’t look good.

Says who?

Says everyone.

But I think it looks good.

Well, it doesn’t.

But if it’s my hair, and I think it looks good when long, isn’t that all that should matter?

If you were stranded alone on an island, then yes.

Huh?

I mean, if you lived entirely alone, it wouldn’t matter. You’re part of a society. And the society’s opinion matters.

You mean the people in our building?

No, I mean society at large. All the people!

All the people as in…all the people?!

Yes.

Including all the people I’ve never met?

I said all the people.

Why do I have to care about the opinions of 6 billion people who I’ve never met about the length of my hair?!

It’s not just about the length of your hair!

Then what is it about?!
It’s just that, the society has some rules. If we want to be part of this society, we need to follow those rules. And the length of hair for boys and girls happens to be one of those rules.

Look, mum, why does the society have rules?

What do you mean?

I mean, rules exist for a reason. What is that?

…

Rules are there to ensure that everything functions smoothly, right? To make sure people don’t end up harming each other? We have traffic rules and signals to make sure we don’t have accidents. In the same way, we have rules in society like don’t kill each other or don’t steal from each other to make sure that we don’t harm each other. In a way, the rules tell us to consider other people around us, and not just think about ourselves, right?

Yes…

With me so far?

Yes, that makes sense.

So you agree that people should follow the rules of society to prevent themselves from harming each other, right?

Exactly.

Okay, then who am I harming by growing my hair?

Well……maybe it’s not just about harm. Many rules came up for practical reasons as well.

What do you mean?

Historically, men were supposed to fight or work in the fields and things. It would have made practical sense to keep their hair short. It wasn’t about preventing harm to others, like some of the other rules.

That makes sense.

Thank you.

I mean, it makes sense if I were going to fight. Do you see me prepping for war right now?

I didn’t say that’s the reason for it now!

Then what is the reason for it now?

It’s just a practice that has continued.

Even when the reason is no longer valid?

It’s become a norm now, hasn’t it? That’s how most things around us work. I don’t really see the point in challenging the rules.

By that logic, we’d never challenge any rule. Nothing would ever change.

That’s a little extreme…

Seriously, do you actually believe that we should continue to follow society’s rules just because that’s the way things have always been done? That the rules should never be challenged?

I’m not saying that all the rules of society are great. Some are already harmful, and they need to change. But there needs to be a proper reason to change it.

For example?

Well, take dowry. It’s been a societal practice for many generations, and has led to the abuse and death of so many women. So that seems like a very good reason to challenge this rule and to push for a change.

Yea.

But growing out your hair – what reason is there to do it?

I want to do it.

That’s not a reason.

Of course it is. Being told that I have to keep my hair short makes me unhappy. Growing my hair will make me happy. Why isn’t my happiness a good enough reason to go against a rule?

That’s hardly the same thing.

I’m not saying it is. But at the end of the day, if a rule makes someone unhappy, isn’t that enough of a reason to change it?

Perhaps, if everyone felt that way, then yes. But I don’t see all the other boys in your class trying to grow their hair.

That’s like saying if one woman was abused because of dowry, but others’ weren’t, she shouldn’t push for any change.

The two situations are completely different.

In the extent of happiness and misery, yes. But they are both still about happiness and misery.

Misery is a strong word for a haircut.

Fine, unhappiness. How does that change anything?

Look, you keep talking about change, but it’s not an easy thing. You think the first push to challenge dowry would have been simple? There would have been a lot of resistance, people pushing back, even adding on to the abuse. But that cause was strong enough for people to continue taking a stand against it. Now, if you were to grow out your hair, you’d face a lot of resistance too. Of a different kind, yes, but it would be there. Everyone would make a big deal out of it. The school would not allow it. Your classmates would ridicule you. Is the length of your hair really worth all that?

If I said yes, would I then be justified in growing it?

Really?! You’re telling me that having short hair is making you so miserable that you would rather be a laughing stock or a thing for everyone to point at and comment upon – just to be able to grow it?

No.

Exactly. That’s what I thought.

I’m saying that I see no reason why I should not be allowed to grow MY hair, when it will make me happy, but would bring absolutely no harm to others.

I just told you the reason. Everyone around will make your life that much harder.

That’s a reason for why it would be difficult for me to do so. Not why I shouldn’t do it at all.

I feel like you’re starting a revolution in this house.

It does feel like it, doesn’t it?

A revolution for hair. If only Gandhi could see you right now.

Correction: A revolution for personal choice.

Fine. Do what you want.

Really?

Well, in another few weeks, your school is going to call you up to have this exact same conversation. So we’re really just talking about a few centimeters of hair then. I can live with that.

What makes you think I won’t be able to convince the school?

You know what? You actually might. Now that would be a conversation worth getting a front row seat for.

Thanks mum. I can just picture you sitting there in the parent-teacher meeting with some popcorn, enjoying the show!

Just let me know the date and time!

So we’re good here?

I think so. Wow. I can’t believe we spent all this time arguing about the length of your hair.

My thoughts exactly.

That Thing Called Nationalism

People often ask why we study history. Of the many reasons, one is that it has a way of creeping back into our present lives in the strangest of ways.

Then...

They called us terrorists; we called ourselves freedom fighters

They called it a mutiny; we called it a war for independence

They jailed us for sedition; we proudly called it our right

They shut down our press; we called out their fear of the truth

They massacred us in our gatherings; we learnt to make bombs

They killed our citizens; we killed their soldiers and officials

They hanged our leaders; we praised them as martyrs

They said we were part of them; we said we wanted nothing to do with them

They said we were divided on what we wanted; we agreed, but knew that we didn't want things as they were

They said we couldn't survive on our own; we asked for the right to try

They asked for obedience; we asked for freedom;

They called us terrorists; we called them oppressors.

Now...

We call you terrorists; you call yourselves freedom fighters

We call it an act of terrorism; you call it a war for independence

We jail you for sedition; you proudly call it your right

We shut down your press; you call out our fear of the truth

We kill you in your homes; you learn to use guns

We kill your people; you kill our soldiers

We shoot your leaders; you praise them as martyrs

We say you are a part of us; you say you want nothing to do with us

We say you are divided on what you want; you agree, but know that you don't want things as they are

We say you couldn't survive without us; you ask for the right to try

We ask for obedience; you ask for freedom

We call you terrorists; you call us oppressors.

100 years have passed

They have changed

You have changed

We remain the same

Except

I'm not quite sure who we are anymore.

The Train Tracks

This is going to be one of those posts
The ones that never seem to end
That may not have a clear point to make
That does not follow a rhyme or meter
That's a prose pretending to be a poem
Or perhaps a poem pretending to be a prose
I'm a little confused on that
But that's okay
Because it lays out the theme rather well
Of this unending post
Which technically hasn't even started yet
But strangely
Started a few weeks ago
Or perhaps it's been several years
I'm not quite sure
Like I said
There's a little bit of confusion

A month ago
I went running with a cousin
Well, he was running
I was jogging in between my breaks
In any case
We went down the road
And reached the train tracks
And instead of turning back
He turned left
To run along the tracks
On the gravel
That pile of stones that you see from the train
And it was a gorgeous path
Difficult to run on
But with a thrill of its own
Occasionally crossing the tracks
Or even a bridge
Keeping an ear open
For the rumbling of a distant train that never came
And some time later
As we sat under a tree
Catching our breaths
Enjoying the wind
Taking in the shade
I said casually
"I've never done that before"
"Gone running along the tracks?" he asked
Nodding slowly, I added softly
"Or even walked along them"
And he looked up
Surprised
Shocked
At the absurdity of the statement
And I couldn't blame him
It sounded absurd even to me
And this was my life we were talking about
I had never walked along train tracks
Why?
I just hadn't
It had never occurred to me
I mean, sure
Sitting on the train, staring outside,
I had always wondered
And yet
Never when I was on solid ground
You see
It was out of the path
In fact, it had no path
So I'd never wandered
Or strayed
Yet all the time
I couldn't help but wonder
Why Frost had never mentioned
That the road less traveled
Was reserved for the guys
That they could bike around the country
Alone
And I couldn't walk five minutes to a friend's house
Without worrying my parents
That they could hop on to a truck
And go wherever it took them
And I couldn't walk the street at night
Without stressing over every passing gaze
That they could run freely along train tracks
While I had never strayed from the well-built road
And sure
This isn't any absolute
I know girls who travel alone
Who wander alone
Who walk without fear
Well, in fairness
I know one
The others I've just heard of
Because while it's not an absolute
There's no denying they're few
And that's messed up in its own way
That we've managed to raise a population
Of which half is doused in fear
But blaming this screwed up society
Is hardly a novel response
Or even a useful one
When the problem is more within me
And today, as I was listening to a friend
Talking about taking a month long trip to Shantiniketan
I couldn't help but think
I want to do that
I want to be able to do that
To travel alone
To be with myself outside the walls of home
To hop on to any bus
Destination unknown
People unknown
And just wander
To go on a road trip
With or without a guy
With or without company
Not because I mind the company
I love it, I really do
But it needn't be a pre-req
To hitch a ride on a passing bike
Or in a truck heading out of state
Even better, on top of that truck
No plan in mind
Where the music and my thoughts are enough
To go where it takes me
And walk on the unbuilt roads
And meet the gazes of strangers
Talk to people I don't know
Travel the road less taken
Quite literally
And yet
Caution calls out
Warning me
Telling me the things it has always told me
Don't go out alone
Especially not in the night
And stay on the main path
It's not safe out there
Especially for women
And this makes sense too
After all
Safety isn't a joke
We all read the papers
Watch the movies
Hear about the rape
Hell, most of us have been molested
Just walking down the street
So it really doesn't seem all that crazy
This idea
Of wanting to be safe
And I get it
I really do
I wish I didn't
But I do
I want to be safe
I don't want to be hurt
Or be a cause of hurt for others
But I also want to live
And people say
At least some people do
Life is outside the comfort zone
Outside that safety net
And so
There's a constant debate in my head
One side telling me to just go
That it's all in my head
That it's easier than I've been told
And I won't know until I try
And this other side
The one that obediently sent regular updates
As to my whereabouts
Says it's not worth it
That it's the idea I love
That this isn't who I am
I'm not Cheryl Strayed
I don't wander off the path
I love being around familiar faces
I love my comfort zone
Far too much
And while that's true
The comfort zone is addictive
The call of the wild grows louder
Maybe I'll hate it
Maybe I'll love it
But I won't know until I try
So go, why don't you
Stop complaining
And just go
As the wise Nike said
Just do it
Make a choice
And live with it
Either way
Stop complaining
Life isn't meant to be lived with regrets
But how does one know
Which choice will lead to regrets
How can you know before hand
Whether to jump off that plane or not
Whether that chute will open or not
There's only one way to find out
But it requires trust
Not just of myself
But of countless others who I don't know
And as I'm rambling
I've realized I'm going on a tangent
Earlier I had written
That it's a choice
Between wanting to live
And wanting to stay alive
But I've scratched that bit off
Because the more I think of it
It really isn't that
Living or staying alive
It's not so black and white
This isn't a about a trip
Nor a single life-altering event
Nor the boasting rights of having traveled
Nor the thrill of experiencing the unknown
It's about every single moment
Of stifled choices
And raging fear
That has enveloped me
Since the day I was born
The desire to not lose my options
By virtue of a few different organs
The desire to be able to take a local bus
Late at night
Alone
Or to walk the streets of the neighbourhood
Without heartbeats raising
With every passing gaze
It's not about figuring out what I want
And sticking to that choice
Though I agree
That that's important too
But it's more than that
It's about wanting a certain kind of world
And trying to help create it
One where the things I do or don't do
Are based on my interests
And not on my fear
A world where I have that option
The one that Frost spoke of
All those many years ago
Of choosing the path less travelled
Or perhaps one that doesn't even exist
Or even the one everyone goes by
Because it seems the most interesting
Of walking along the next set of train tracks that I see
Simply because
I can.

Nouns versus Verbs: The Great Debate

A: Do you like to write?

B: Absolutely!

A: So you’re a writer?

B: Oh no no no no. *waves hand modestly*. Nothing like that.

************ 

As the title suggests, this post is about the great debate between nouns and verbs. In case you’re racking your head in an attempt to figure out which particular debate this one refers to (given that there are probably so many of them), I’ll mention right here that the one I’m talking about might not exist (at least, it seemed to draw a blank with Google).

So, I’m going to start it.

And while this particular topic might have been inspired by dousing myself in grammar over the last few months, it actually has little to do with it. In fact, it is about something far more important and difficult to grasp: life itself (*cue gasping and cringing*).

Now, without further digression (there’ll be plenty of that later), let me put forward my motion for this debate:

Nouns suck. Verbs are awesome.

There.

For those of you who are not familiar with the technicalities, here’s a quick grammatical overview: nouns are words that, among many other things, show who or what a person is. For example, a child, Peter Parker, female, teacher, etc. On the other hand, a verb is more about the things a person does. For example: walk, talk, run, sit, teach, etc.

On their own, the two seem fairly harmless, but I’ve recently come to realize that the former has destroyed more dreams and lives than one could fathom (okay, maybe the ‘what will others say’ might take the trophy for that, but nouns are a close second).

The first problem with nouns is that they stop people from fully claiming the things they do. A friend of mine really enjoys sketching (and is quite good at it), but when asked if she’s an artist, she’ll shake her head vigorously. Another friend who will dance at the sound of any beat refuses to call himself a dancer. “I like to dance,” he says. “But I’m not a dancer.”

And yes, I get that most of these words – teacher, dancer, cricketer, writer, artist – have a connotation that suggests a level of expertise, and so are kept mostly for the “professionals”. But the result of this professionalization is that the verbs, which are accessible to and enjoyed by every other person, suddenly need an external body to certify them as being good enough to be nouns.

This closely connects with how we view everything we do in our lives, and even more so with that one thing that our lives seem to revolve around: our careers. These nouns have associated themselves with a question that has haunted me (and I’m assuming others) for a large part of their lives:

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

For those of you who’ve had a clear answer to that question from the day you were born, I guess it really isn’t a problem. But for the select few who’ve felt beads of sweat begin to form the moment these words threw themselves at you, the following might be a relatable struggle.

A: What do you want to be when you grow up?

B: Uhh…well….I guess…I dunno….a doctor maybe? I’m not really sure though.

Although I’m known to all as that confused soul who can never quite figure out my career, I’m starting to wonder if the problem isn’t in my lack of clarity (though the indecisiveness really doesn’t help); there is just a slight chance that the problem is actually in the question: the expected answer is a noun. It’s a bloody noun that will define the rest of your life. How on earth is a high-school student (or anyone, for that matter) expected to seal their entire fate through one noun?

Imagine if the same question were replaced with a verb.

A: What do you want to be when you grow up?

B: Uhh…well….I guess…I dunno….a doctor maybe? I’m not really sure though.

A: Well, what are some things that you would want to do?

B: Oh. Let’s see. I want to write stories, dance, teach, learn filmmaking, study biology in more detail, swim in the sea, travel all over the country, cycle to another city…

A: Okay okay! That’s sounds like an unending list. Which of these do you want to get started on for now?

See the difference? Verbs.

As an individual, there are so many things that I enjoy doing or would want to do, yet somehow, when it comes to careers, it’s always about “becoming someone”. Sure, occasionally the career counsellors would try to simplify things for us by saying, “Why don’t we begin with the things you enjoy doing.” Yet we’ve always been told to choose one thing out of this list to make a career out of, and relegate everything else under the heading ‘hobby’ – something you enjoy doing but will never actually have the time for.

And there’s something really messed up about this, right? There are so many people stuck in careers they don’t want to be in, because at some point in their hormone-crazed years, they (or more likely their parents) decided who they would become, instead of what they would actually want to do. Of course, there are responsibilities, and I’m not trying to diminish their importance. But we read stories of that guy in his mid-forties who left his fancy corporate job to start up a new venture, and we applaud him for his courage, and this reaction only reiterates that what this guy did is not the norm – that actively pursuing things you enjoy doing is not the norm. That change is not the norm. That diversity of interests is not the norm. That the thirst for different kinds of experiences is not the norm. The norm is that we choose who or what we want to be at the age of 18 (or, apparently, even before you hit puberty), and we spend the rest of our lives becoming or being that person, no matter where our interests might want to  take us (I really think that “being” shouldn’t even qualify as a verb).

All this because of nouns.

I mean, sure, society and individual choices might have a little something to do with this, but they’re nothing compared to the nouns. And that is why, we really need to reduce the importance we give to nouns, and began looking much more seriously at verbs.

I’ll end my piece by re-stating my original words of wisdom:

Nouns suck. Verbs are awesome.

(Unless you have to actually teach these things. Then, verbs will make you want to re-evaluate every decision that led to you standing in front of 40 confused 3^rd graders staring at you blankly while you attempt to explain tenses and rules).

Trust

I dream of a world

Where I could walk down the road

Any road

At any time

And feel no fear

Meet the eyes of others

Randomly passing by

A smile on our lips

And trust in our eyes

I dream of a world

Where I didn’t hesitate

To help those who ask for it

Where I could roll down the window

Stop my car

Offer some money

Give a ride to a stranger

And not wonder

The entire time

Whether I’m the one

Being taken for a ride.

I dream of a world

Where I can travel by bus

The only woman on it

The only man on it

And not fear

Fear for my safety

Fear for my life

A world where every other person

Is just another passenger.

I dream of a world

Where strangers aren’t feared

Where people aren’t doubted

Where gazes aren’t avoided

A world where trust isn’t naivety

Or something to strive towards

But rather

A world

Where trust is.

Just is.

******** 

I've shared this quote before, but it's something that keeps coming back to me again and again.

"...teach them not to fear. Fear is good in small amounts, but when it is a constant, pounding companion, it cuts away at who you are and makes it hard to do what you know is right." 

- Inheritance, by Christopher Paolini

The Creators

Hey you...yes you. The so-called creator. You think you're so great, sitting there, smugly, in all that glory, staring down at your handiwork? 

Well, let me tell you. You've got competition, buddy. That's right, there's a new player in town. And anything that you can create...I'll match and raze.


You created land...
I created boundaries

You created water...
I created dams

You created animals...
I created arrows, spears and knives

You created plants...
I created chemicals

You created air...
I created smoke

You created the forests...
I created the axe

You created bodies...
I created clothes to cover the shameful work

You created blood...
I created ways to burst it from its vessels

You created voice...
I created words to use and misuse

You created eyes...
I created the prejudice

You created death...
I created carnage

You created me...
I created you.

Respect Your Elders

“I’ve never really understood this whole “respect your elders” thing. Personally, I think we should respect everyone unless they give us a reason not to, regardless of their age.”

Respect your elders

It’s what we were always told

Respect your elders

No matter what they do

Respect your elders

Even if they are wrong

Respect your elders

Even when they hurt you

Respect your elders

Even when they disrespect you

Respect your elders

Why?

Because they are your elders

So?

Respect them

Huh?

They know more

They’ve experienced more

They are right

Even when they are wrong

But doesn’t respect have to be earned?

No, they are your elders

But shouldn’t respect be deserved?

Doesn’t matter, they are your elders

What about people younger than - ?

Stop it. Just respect your elders

What does age have to do with - ?

It does. Respect them

So by surviving, they’ve earned my respect?

Stop asking, start respecting

Respect your elders

It’s what we were always told

Respect your elders

No matter what they do

Respect your elders

Even if they are wrong

Respect your elders

Even when they hurt you

Respect your elders

Even when they disrespect you

Respect your elders

Because they are your elders.

The Cord

Hey there little bro

Happy birthday!

Although, I suppose

Big bro would be more apt

You were, after all,

Born a few seconds before

I remember how eager

You were to get out

To take that first

Breath of fresh air

And as you left

That cord

The one that held us together

Snapped

And blood

Oh my god

So much blood

It spilled everywhere

Yours

Mine

All intermingling

All wasting

All flowing out

And as the blood overwhelmed me

Blinded me

You began to look different

No longer the companion

I had known all this time

I remember screaming

Asking you to stop

But somewhere

I couldn’t stop myself

And in that moment

I knew things had changed

Several decades have passed, brother

And you’ve hurt me

More than I could have imagined

Though if truth be told

I’m sure I’ve done the same

No sooner than we had taken our new breaths

Than we were fighting over the same toys

Crying new battle cries

All the while

Rubbing the scar on our sides

The one that got ripped

When you pulled apart

Or was it I

Who pushed you out

The scar that still bleeds

From time to time

Sometimes

I look back to the days

Before we were born

When we were one

Playing

Laughing

Dreaming

For a future

That had looked a bit different

Because this future

The one that’s become our past

And our present

This wasn’t what we had dreamed of

It’s been far too long

Living in this hatred

And I’ll admit

I never understood

That ripping us apart

Was actually

Your first breath on your own

A breath I resented

I was angry at you for leaving

Since you tore me in half

Angry at myself

For not being able to stop you

But it’s been 68 years, little bro

68 years

You realize how long it’s been

Since we played together

Laughed together

Dreamt together

Of a future

That’s different from our past

And our present

But I get it

Too much has changed

The hurt is too deep

I don’t ask for love

I don’t ask for the old days

But perhaps

An end of the hatred

An end of the hurt

And a moment

Where both of us

Can wish ourselves

A happy birthday

And actually mean it.

We, the Racists

You told me stories

Of Dark forces and Dark Lords

And all the while I thought

But…

You told them to avoid the sun

For fear of becoming dark

And all the while I thought

But…

You sang songs

Praising the fair skin of women

And all the while I thought

But…

You came to me for marriage

And looking at my skin, turned away

And all the while I thought

But…

You said fair is beautiful

You said fair is lovely

And all the while I thought

But…

You told me they were racists

Enslaving those of darker skins

And all the while I thought

But…

We, the Racists

I’ve been trying to think of a more creative and subtle title for this post, but, really, nothing seemed to sum up my opinion as well as this phrase. In case it’s still not clear enough though, I’m just going to come out and say it directly:

I think Indians are the most racist group of people I know.

The last time I mentioned this in a class discussion, I was met by some horrified, angry remarks. I get that they’re not easy to digest, but before you lash out in retaliation, take a few minutes to process the words.

No, I’m not saying Indians are the only racist people in the world. I grew up on stories from the west of the dark evil queens and the fair innocent princesses. Even some of my favourite sagas have built their entire plots on the basis of the dark side of the force and the dark lord (though, to be fair, Harry Potter does also have an extremely evil character that prefers pink and frills).

But Indians take this obsession with fairness to such a great level that it’s ridiculous.

From the moment we’re born, we’re judged on the basis of our skin colour (amongst various other things). We’re told again and again to ensure that we either don’t become darker, or else do everything within our power (and often beyond) to lighten the skin. We spend half our lives watching celebrities sell us fairness creams, and the other half applying said creams.

Why? Because fair is lovely.

And this doesn’t end in childhood. In their long list of “wanted qualities” in marriage advertisements, the need for a “fair girl” will surely be in the top three requirements – possibly competing with a particular caste and an intact hymen. People who come to the wedding will often congratulate the groom’s family for getting “a beautiful and fair bride.”

Why? Because fair is lovely.

One argument that these advertisers and fairness cream manufacturers make is that they’re not creating the racist attitude – it already exists. They’re just responding to the need of the masses and helping out the people who need such products.

It’s not like they have the power to affect or shape minds.

It’s not like people will care when their favourite celebrities endorse fairness as a better way of life.

It’s not like anyone will ever make the subtle connection from “fair and lovely” to “dark and…?”

On the brighter side, it's not just "fair and lovely" anymore. Thanks to our extremely sensitive and considerate media and manufacturers, we now also have a ""fair and handsome"! After all, "mard ho toh mardon wali cream lagao!" [a whole other issue that I'll stay out of for now].

Granted, we don’t exactly put people into slavery for having darker skin, but that doesn't mean we're not guilty of racism. Were just less overt about it. In India, the racist sentiments have been so subtly (and often not-so-subtly) embedded in our minds since birth that we don’t even feel the need to question them. It becomes a way of life, such that we can comfortably watch advertisements on how using a fairness cream will ensure that everything falls into place in our lives, while we condemn and criticize “those racist American bastards” for their oppression of the blacks.

Hypocrisy, anyone?

It’s amazing how far we can go to convince ourselves that “we” are such a great nation who are above  all that.

We, the people.

We, the Indians.

We, the racists.