Don’t be a Man: Do the right thing

I was teaching opposites in class today, and one student gave an example of table and chair. I explained to her that they were not opposites, but rather, different types of the same category. A few minutes later, I showed them a flashcard: boy x girl, ‘Boy’ being the opposite of ‘girl’. There was something misleading about that card, but not wanting to digress back then, I went on with the lesson.

I’m going to digress now.

Is boy really the opposite of girl, or like a table and chair, are they just two types within the broader category called humans? They are different, yes, but does that make them opposites?

Logically, I can’t be both a boy and a girl at the same time. But what does it really mean to be a boy or a girl? If we’re talking in terms of sex organs, then yes (exceptions are there). But we’re also talking about living beings, displaying characteristics and personalities. Are these also opposite?

Society seems to be arguing yes.

Tony Porter in his TED Talk brought out this point really well.

“I asked a boy, how would you feel if in front of all the players, your coach told you that you play like a girl.

I expected him to say something like I’ll be sad I’ll be mad I’ll be angry or something. No. The boy said to me: it would destroy me.

And I said to myself – if it would destroy him to be called a girl, what are we then teaching him about girls?”

Seriously.

What are we teaching boys? What are we teaching men?

That to be a real man, you have to be the opposite of a girl?

That you have to choose cars and G.I. Joes over dolls?

That as a man, you have to keep your emotions in check?

That tears are for girls, not humans?

That being a girl is beneath our dignity?

How have we managed to convince an entire half of our population that their ability to ‘be a man’ depends on their ability to ‘not be a girl’?

Watch this video. The ending in particular rings a bell, because it reminds me of a stand-up comedy show that I’ve laughed at numerous times. Russell Peters made several phrases infamous, and one of them is “Be a man. Do the right thing.”

Unfortunately, Porter shows that these two don’t often work synonymously. It often becomes a choice:

Be a man. OR. Do the right thing.

Good luck with that.

Patriarchy: more than just a word

"The opposite of patriarchy is not matriarchy, because they’re both wrong."

Patriarchy is when

   -          A girl is asked numerous times while growing up: have you learnt to cook yet? (Not yet?! What will you do when you get married?!)

-          A boy is told repeatedly while growing up: real men don’t cry. (That’s a women-only club)

-          The sewing class at my school is reserved for girls (delicate work = femininity)

-          The carpentry class at my school is reserved for boys (brute strength = manliness)

-          A lone woman sits in a physics class. (It requires brains)

-          A lone man sits in a design class. (It’s a soft subject)

-          ‘Real women’ are taught to be dependent to the extent that it is beneath them to exert their strength (how dare you look straight in the eyes of a man?)

-          ‘Real men’ are taught to be independent to the extent that is beneath them to show weakness (haathon mein chudiyaan peheni hai kya?)

-          Boys are encouraged to fight back (Maa ka doodh piya hai toh saamne aa)

-          A family refuses to allow the daughter to have a live-in relationship (We don’t want the society gossiping about our daughter’s morals…)

-          A family accepts their son’s live-in relationship, but looks down at his partner (because clearly, she’s the one with the loose morals)

-          A promiscuous man is called a Casanova (ooooh!!!)

-          A promiscuous woman is called a slut (ouch)

-          The princess is always rescued by the prince (kiss me and save me)

-          The heroine is always rescued by the hero (bachaao!)

-          A son is seen as a true heir, and a daughter a burden (beta hua toh laddoo batenge)

-          Marriage is seen as the end goal for women (It's the sole purpose of our lives)

-          Marriage is seen as a nuisance for men (It’s something I have to put up with)

-          A family spends more time ensuring the prospective bride’s ‘purity’ than compatibility (can they really check beforehand???)

-          The parents are eager to get the daughter married off (syaapa mukaao)

-          Women have to physically disclaim that they are married through a mangal sutra and whatnot (Why don’t men get something in return?)

-          A woman touches the feet of her husband. (I thought blessings were supposed to be the work of Gods and elders)

-          Women continue to fast for ‘the long life’ of their husbands every year under the ruse of tradition. (If it’s superstition, then let it go. Or if you genuinely believe in the power of a fast, then why don’t men fast for their wives too?)

-          A woman has to leave her house after marriage to go to the man’s (Yehi riwaaz hai; sadiyon se chala aa raha hai. Hum kaun hotein hain parampara ko todne wale?)

-          A man who lives with his in-laws (aka the ‘ghar jamai’) is no longer considered a ‘real man’ (Uski khuddari kahan hai?)

-          A man gives up his passion for writing to get a ‘real job’ because he is expected to be the ‘bread-earner’ of the family (If you were a woman then it would be okay, but…)

-          A family is considered dysfunctional is the man takes care of the home and kids while the woman earns the income (It’s clear who wears the balls in this family)

-          The family name is automatically assumed to be the husband’s surname (Mr. and Mrs….?)

-          Women cease to exist on family trees (because the children just popped out of the men)

-          A woman ensures that every part of her body is ‘appropriately’ covered before stepping outdoors. (Otherwise, she’s clearly asking for it)

-          Sexual harassment is called ‘eve-teasing’ (apparently making fun of someone and groping their ass in a crowded bus are the same thing)

-          The choiciest gaali is always based off your mother or sister (you’re already thinking of them)

-          Horny-ness becomes an excuse for rape (so much for the theory of evolution…)

-          Women are afraid to report rape because of the shame it might bring to the family (samaaj kya kahega)

-          A man hits his wife, because, well, she’s his wife now (It’s his birthright as a male)

-          Men are told it’s okay to hit other men, but to never raise their hand on women (because they are the weaker sex, not because it’s wrong to hit)

-          Men are asked to respect women (Why not respect men too?)

-          Women are asked to submit to men (Oh, that’s why…)

It’s clearly a sucky world, for both men and women (I’m making a big assumption here, so guys, feel free to disagree).

In closing, I’m going to paraphrase a line from the show Satyamev Jayate: “The opposite of patriarchy is not matriarchy, because they’re both wrong. The opposite is equality – a balance.”

Here Comes the Rain

I can hear it: the soft (soon to be loud) pitter-patter that sounds strangely familiar yet foreign. I can smell it: that distinct scent of dust being washed away as the parched ground finally finds solace. I can see it, the haze of short, vertical lines that manage to block the background despite their own transparency. In a few moments, I know I’ll be able to feel it too, the dampness spreading quickly through my clothes. And I’m sure I could even taste it, if it weren’t for my fear of accidentally taking in the droppings of unmentionable creatures.

Just last year, around this time, I was doing a rain dance with friends: jumping around in excitement and frenzy at the arrival of our savior who would relieve us of the heat. Whenever people ask me how I found the infamous Bombay monsoons, I just shrugged and waved my hand as though it was no big deal. And maybe then it wasn’t: I had been dropped into the heart of Bombay monsoons just as I was starting a new life. There was no time to be apprehensive; there was just so much to do! The monsoons just happened to form the setting of my story, and I took it as that.

But now, it’s been a year. I’ve been through the rains, the amazing winter and the unbearable heat. For the last one month, I’ve been claiming that I can’t wait for the rains to get here. I would get excited every time the clouds got bigger and blacker. I bought my umbrella and floaters in preparation. Unlike last year, this time I was prepared and ready.

And then the rain started.

I can’t get myself to step outside. Maybe it’s because I know what’s awaiting me, and I really don’t want to face it. Maybe it’s the fact that rain makes me want to get into a blanket and watch a movie. Maybe it’s the idea of standing under my umbrella, waiting for a bus while trying to protect my backpack, which doesn’t seem as courageous anymore. Maybe now that the monsoons are finally here, part of me is craving for summer to come back. Maybe I’m afraid that once I step out into the rain, it’s going to become sealed: there’ll be no turning back the monsoons.

Unfortunately, one thing I learnt last year is that waiting for the Bombay rains to stop means waiting for forever.

...

...

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Here goes nothing.

Please Like Me

May the Most Likes Win

There used to be a point of time when talent counted for something.

When people were hired based on merit.

When an employer looked at your content.

When your ability to sing, dance or write decided if you became a singer, dancer or journalist respectively.

When the future of your talent did not depend upon your number of friends.

Today, all that matters is how many friends you have. And by ‘friends’, I mean:

People who’s inboxes / newsfeeds you have access to

People who you can spam

People who your ‘friends’ can spam

People who basically have nothing better to do in their life than ‘like’ you and your talent.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I believe in democracy. I believe in exercising our right to vote. But I do think there might be a few things out there that require our vote bank attention more than, say, the most liked video on youtube.

Or an article submitted in a journalism contest.

Or a dance routine.

Or a song.

Or the quality of a photograph.

Aren’t there certain criteria that can be used by qualified individuals in a company to choose the best entry? Clearly not. Here are a few possible reasons why:

1. Art is too subjective. You might like what I hate.
2. It’s too much cognitive work for judges
3. Why not make use of the 6+ billion people out there?
4. While we’re at it, why not push the onus of getting voted on the contestants themselves?
5. And while we’re at that, we might as well get our name / brand out there in the open. Just as a bonus.

So, if you haven’t already, start hoarding up as many contacts / followers as you can on Facebook / LinkedIn / Twitter / whatever virtual connection is out there. You never know when your future might depend on the click of a button: on your ability to be ‘liked’.

And here I was thinking that our obsession with popularity was a hormonal phase that we left behind in high school. 

It's a 'people' thing

And so it is, that after 22 years, 11 months and 9 days, I have realized something vital about myself: I don’t like being alone.

Take a minute to step back and rake through your memories. As you’re raking, try to pull out the best ones – the happiest, the funniest, the ones that make you smile. Now, keeping these in the forefront, sift through the ones that automatically float forward and ask yourself this: are you alone in that memory, or are you with someone?

Odds are, it’ll be the latter.

At least, that’s usually the case with me. My happiest memories don’t involve an A+ on a paper, or an email offering me an acceptance letter. They usually involve a scene with other people, rolling on the floor, laughing so hard that I can feel my stomach cramping up and the tears flowing uncontrollably down my face.

John Medina, the author of Brian Rules, has an interesting take on the reason humans have evolved as a species: it was because of our “learning to cooperate and forming teams with our neighbours” [http://www.brainrules.net/survival].

Although I doubt Medina was walking down memory lane when he came up with that particular brain rule, I can’t help but connect the two.  We as humans seem to have an innate desire to communicate – whether through words or actions – our thoughts and emotions. It’s what helps us understand one another and build relationships.

Since I don’t have the authority to speak on behalf of the entire human population, I’m just going to speak for myself:

I like talking to others.

I like listening to others.

I like I like eating with others.

I like drinking with others.

I like playing with others.

I like laughing with others.

I like being with others.

I don’t like being alone.

Education: What is the Point of it All?

The “Smart” kid.

That was me. The one who followed instructions. The one who answered questions. The one who always got the marks.

And this is me now. The confused one. The lost one. The one searching for answers – for a purpose.

For the last one year, I have been teaching a class. I have almost declared that I want to continue in the field of education. After all, it is such a noble profession. What could be more important that educating a child? Nobody has questioned the decision. Nobody has ever asked me: what is the point of education?

It was the one question I knew I would never have to answer. It was also the one question I never could answer.

What is the point of education?

So that I can quote Shakespeare.

So that I can tell you the exact date that Hitler displayed his massive army to the world.

So that I can solve for x.

What is the point of education?

So that I can go to college.

So that I can get a degree.

So that I can get a job.

So that I can get money.

What is the point of education?

So that I can get married.

So that I can have kids.

So that they can follow the same cycle.

So that my grandchildren can follow the same cycle.

What is the point of education?

So that when I lie in my grave, or feel my body burn to ashes, I have the comfort of knowing that I had  my grandchildren, my kids, a marriage, money, a job, a degree, college, the value of x, the date of the Nuremberg rally, Hamlet’s soliloquy.

I repeat, what is the point of education?

-------------------------

I few days ago, I met and started working with a group of novice teachers – novice, I specify, because none of them have more than two years of teaching experience. They’re a group of unique individuals, with more differences than similarities. But they have one common cause that brought them together; a burning belief that education has a purpose: a purpose to understand self, others and life.

Self. Others. Life.

Three things that I think are worth knowing – or at least, worth attempting to know.

What is the point of Hamlet’s monologue? None, except that it helps me, as a person, understand the power of introspection and reflection of my own actions.

What is the point of knowing the date of Hitler’s Nuremberg rally? None, except that the context helps me see the impact of misconceptions and persuasion in the lives of the people who share this planet.

What is the point of knowing the value of x? None, except that it shows me that when faced with a problem I don’t know the answer to, I just need to begin with the things that I do know and work my way through [source: Gaurav Singh, 321].

Education is not about the marks; it’s not even about the content: it’s simply about what you can do with the content. It’s about what you learn.

Unfortunately, we live in a world that cares more about results than learning. Results can be measured. Learning cannot. Teaching, for that matter, cannot.

And so, we as Indians continue to pride ourselves on our ability to retain information beyond the point of saturation. And others in USA continue to pride themselves on having some of the best teaching institutions when it comes to student achievement results.

No one cares if I learned something today that made me question myself, understand the people around me, or probe life for further answers.

Why? That should matter.

What shouldn’t matter is whether I followed instructions. Whether I answered the questions. Whether I got the marks.

Whether I was the “smart” kid.

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.

*******

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.

*******

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?

*******

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.

*******

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.

*******

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.

*******

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.

*******

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.

*******

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.”

*******

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.

*******

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.