Battle of the Sexes: A Myth or Reality?

I wake up early morning to an updated Facebook newsfeed. It is amazing how useless, yet gripping this monster is. I keep smirking at some of the senseless stuff that gets shared and shake my head at all the opinions people have and think it necessary to make public. And then I found this gem [LINK] shared by someone on how Karva Chauth is all about suppressing the female counterpart in a relationship.

Now the writer, who, apparently has been married for 25 years believes she has all the right in the world to speak condescendingly to women who fast for their husband's health. While I understand her sentiment about being looked down by the mohalla wala aunties, her little quip towards the end of the article, about it being a "personal choice" doesn't really sound genuine. I know she is judging you for going hungry all day long.

Now in all this discussion over empowering women, people tend to forget one simple fact. That men and women, sometimes, when they care for each other, like to express their love by doing simple, silly things which may not mean much to you and me, but mean a lot to them. When you start telling someone their partner is trying to suppress them by making them fast (which, by the way, could be a choice the woman makes, with no encouragement from her partner), you fail to see that there is a human emotion behind all this which does not involve either party thinking, "I have to win this fight."

Every woman does not wake up in the morning hating every man in her life and with a mission to prove she is stronger or smarter than they are. And every man does not spend an entire day trying to figure out new ways of suppressing the women in his life. They both have, hopefully, nicer and happier things to think about and more pressing matters that require their attention. While I also understand that there are cases where some women are forced into it against their choice, I would not like to trivialise that issue by telling every woman who fasts that she is weak and meek for doing something she believes in or wants to do. I (genuinely) believe it is a personal choice and should not be commented on, especially not in such a patronizing manner.

Having said that, ladies who fasted, I hope you had a grand day getting pampered by someone who loves you. Even if it is just a man. (And before the feminist nazi bursts out, take a moment to realise that the pampering happens two ways in relationships. So don't be telling me "why does she need a man to pamper her?")

Time for work,

Naina

P.S. I just read the subtitle of the shared article: "It's nothing but a personification of a foolish woman who blindly does what custom dictates." Way to go, you just called the women you are trying to empower foolish in the title of an article, how are you different from the men you so hate in your head?

Bhaag Saand Bhaag (Run Bull Run)

I tried my hand at being spontaneous this weekend. Like one of those reckless kids who wind up having a lot of fun with a complete bunch of strangers in a new land.
I exaggerate.
I didn't wind up in a smokey room full of anonymous individuals making good time, I only ended up in a near stampede that really wasn't as scary as I am making it out to be.
I had just gone out on a lunch date with Mr. Ramesh where we decided to chill over a plate of chicken Xacuti and (oh my god!) steamed rice, along with an extremely ugly looking, tangy tasting, stuffed mackerel.

This scary looking mackerel from about town

By the time we were done with lunch, it was almost 3.00 in the afternoon. The heat of the day and place was making me extremely drowsy. We decided to hop on to the ever dependant Activa and head back home to chill with our legs tucked under our respective buttocks in front of the TV. Just as we hit the main road, a bunch of boys looking like they had other plans, began jumping onto their own bikes and scooters, shouting in some indecipherable language. We shrugged it off and continued down the road. After just a few kilometers, we saw this horde of men parking their scooters on the road before springing off into an open field. On investigating further, we saw a group of about 300 men gathered in the open field amidst much excitement. Curious, we asked a gentleman, who appeared to be a little calmer than the rest of the men what the hullaballoo was all about. 

 "Bull fight, bull fight."

Ooooo, something illegal. I admit, that was the first thought that came into my mind. We skittered to park the beloved Activa and see for ourselves what a bull fight looked like. Once in the field, I was surrounded by a sea of men, some holding betting money in their hand, some holding beers and cigarettes, each looking over the heads of other men in anticipation. Suddenly, there was a yelp, the air was abuzz with excitement. A few men were leading a bull into the arena. The curtain of people parted to make way for the bull and the men. Though I couldn't see very clearly, I could tell by the time it was taking the men to bring the bull to the front that the animal was showing much resistance. A similar scene was taking place at the other end of the field. The opponent bull looked much calmer and somehow, confident of its hulk and did not need much coaxing to be led to the centre of the field. Two men were washing the bull with water, for what purpose, I shall never know. Now, you have to understand that I am a tiny person of 5'4" and cannot see over the heads of grown men. However, when you are in a bull fight and you hear people scream "Run! It's coming!", you run. 

Without looking back. 

When I did, however, reach a safer location and look back, the animal was nowhere to be found, and people had begun to reassemble at the periphery of the field. After much insistence from me, Mr. Ramesh and I headed back to our spot. The bull was back in control of human idiocy and was being coaxed back to the battle ground. We, like others in the crowd were getting bored of all the waiting around and decided to head back on the road.  I saw some money exchanging hands and sniggered because I had seen something obscene that was supposed to be unseen. As we got on to the Activa, all signs of sleep forgotten, I started yapping about how I wanted to blog again. Mr. Ramesh, thinking himself rather witty suggested I name this post Bhaag Bhains, Bhaag after the Bhaag DK Bose song. I responded a little sullenly that I couldn't really do that since I didn't actually know what had happened. In order to provide fodder for my post, we decided to ask someone. My first investigative piece, if you may. *smiley face*.

Our interview lasted 30 seconds. 

"How often does the bull fight happen?"

"Very rarely."

"Is it planned?"

"No."

"How did so many people show up? How do you know it's happening?"

"Phone. Everybody comes."

"So may people with a phone call?!"

"Yes."

Man walks off.

We witnessed a bull fight that almost happened. I am not sure I would have liked it much if it had happened. 

As the Great Bard once said, All's well as ends well, I conclude this lengthy one right here and bid you goodnight.

Adieu

Naina 

Back to the Hills

It’s been a while since I felt like writing. Now that school’s out and I am sitting on a job offer and the only thing on my mind is to unpack Punjab and pack Bangalore in my overstuffed suitcases and cartons (how I hate all the packing and unpacking), I have taken a sojourn to the hills. While I attempt to find peace in the two cottages with the spectacular view in the depths of Hemingway, I can’t seem to be able to spend more than ten minutes at a stretch reading For Whom the Bell Tolls. Mum and I took an early morning walk, taking in the unusual freshness in the air with a tea spoon of chill that is omnipresent here. There were tiny little pink birds fluttering around, hopping on the mountainous slopes chi-chiing away without a care in the world. For a place that is supposed to be fighting incessant forest fires (as per our very dependable media), there seems to be nothing that could possibly disturb the peace of these little ones.  I get reminded of the sparrows back home that have gone missing over the past ten years. Clichéd, but sometimes, I yearn for those simple times when Nim and I would spend an afternoon giggling in bed, with mum fast asleep in the next room, listening to them sparrows outside with a bit of the sun trying to force its way in through the not-so-thick curtains hanging on our window. Back then, family vacations to the hills were frequent and in hotels, with daily walks to nearby spots, when I would try to outpace dad while pretending I wasn’t tired at all and could keep up with his stride forever. Today, as dad and I sit nursing aching joints, that pair feels like it existed in another time, on another planet. As always, Nim’s presence is being dearly missed.

While I sit on a couch contemplating what to write, I hear mum and dad fighting over who needs to bathe first. Neither budged.

It is now time to return to the present. I should probably take a shower and get dressed so we can head out someplace. My undying desire to find a grassy spot with the wind rustling the blades for a picnic remains unfulfilled. One day, I will find my spot, sit with a book and a picnic basket and enjoy a lazy afternoon in perfect company. Oh yes, I always pictured a red and white checkered sheet underneath me while I laze around. I think I read too many Enid Blytons as a kid. It has ruined my perception of reality as an adult. Anyhow, if school has taught me anything, it is that everything is possible if you put in the right amount of effort. I intend to make this picnic a success someday.

Back to the hills,

Keep calm and move on.

Naina

Rural Visit: An Interview with Keshav Ram, Owner of 16 Cows and Some Land

So, it's been a long time since I posted anything worthwhile here. I know it's not as if anybody is waiting to read the blog, but still..
This piece of work is not something I wrote strictly for the blog, but something I wrote for an assignment for my Rural Marketing course.
Thanks to Professor Harish Bijoor for compelling me to write this! I personally love the interpretation. :D

***

I spotted an elderly man squatting in the middle of a field run over by grazing cows. Another, much younger man, sat a little further off watching the cows as they lazily chewed on the browned wheat strands. As he saw me approach, he stared at me warily, wondering what a city girl like me could be doing in this part of the world. When I reached where he had been peacefully sitting, I greeted him and enquired after his health. He looked a little skeptical. When I asked him next what he was doing sitting there by himself, he looked a little reluctant to talk. He began asking me who I was and what I was doing there. Jaggi had to intervene to let him know we were only “researching” there. I don’t really know if Keshav Ram knows what “research” means, but the word of a fellow sikh seemed to satisfy him. He visibly relaxed a little and told me to ask what I wanted to know. I repeated my question to him. He told me he had come there to graze his cows. I had trouble understanding his dialect and had to ask him often to repeat himself. He began to enjoy the process of explaining what he was trying to say to me with loud hand gestures. Somehow, this routine made him more open and forthcoming and he began to look upon me with more warmth. I asked him what his daily routine was. He told me that he brought the cows to graze daily at around 7.00 – 8.00 in the morning and returned home by about 11.00. When I tried to probe him about what he did the rest of the day, all I could get out of him was bas, kuch nahi. It appeared to me that the man was very content in his life just sitting and watching his cows graze. He did not seem to have any needs or wants in his life besides the roti, kapda, makaan. 75-year old Keshav Ram had moved to this village from another village 2 hours away about 20 years earlier after his wife had passed away. He had been a farmer there. He has three sons who live with him, while 2 of his sons help him take care of the cows and the dairy, the third one goes to the shehr to work. While I was speaking with Keshavji, two of the cows suddenly decided to take off. Keshavji jumped to his feet with great agility after them. He had only bounded a few steps when the younger man, who I later learnt was one of his sons, took over and brought the cows back. Keshavji returned to his spot next to me and continued his story. Two of his eldest sons were married. There were five children in the house and each of them went to a government school that was located across their house.

The family owned a total of 16 cows that they used to milk and make money out of. When I asked Keshavji how much milk the cows gave per day, he said very simply in Punjabi, “the cows give milk depending on how you treat them. Sometimes, we get 10L. of milk and sometimes, none at all.” The men would bring the cows home by 11.00 am, after which point, the wives would milk them. Later, in the evening, the brothers would deliver the milk to households in the city. In case the quantity of milk on a particular day was not enough, they admitted to adding a little water to increase the quantity.  

During my interview with Keshavji, I came to understand that the man was probably not really contributing to the household activities in any significant way. The family probably made him take the cows to the field just so he would have a routine and some sort of “job” to do each day. From a city dweller’s perspective, I find it amazing that the old man was so content with his life and was happy being idle all day. When I asked him if there was anything that bothered him in the village, he shook his head and told me he had everything that he needed right there. He pointed out to the land that he was sitting in and said, “All this land is mine”.  When I asked him how much of the land he owned, he just spread his arms out and said, “All of this.” I figured this is what retirement probably looks like to the elderly in villages after they have spent their youth toiling away on agricultural lands. Keshav Ramji was perhaps flourishing in his solitude and inactivity.

The Journey

It's been a while since I last posted anything. I have some stuff lying in my drafts that need time and effort before any of it comes even close to being presentable. This tiny thing popped up during REM. Hope you like it.

The story of all our lives. My take on various relationships we form and break during an entire lifetime. Some last,some don't. I am thinking of G'n'R singing November Rain in my head right now.
C'est la vie.

***

We met,
We spoke,
We smiled.
We became friends.

We laughed,
We kissed,
We sighed,
We became lovers.

We moved,
We got busy,
We ignored.
We became distant.

We fought,
We cried,
We broke up.
We are strangers.

Naina