Together we stand...

Monsoons in Kerala are not always romantic. Not to a 17-year-old who is trekking that lonely stretch to reach the bus station. It is a 2-5 pm first year of college examination day and at 5.15, it is almost dark. There is a figure who keeps step with her and is incessantly mouthing obscenities. She hides the tremble from her voice and tells him off. It does not deter him. She runs the last lap, the blood pounding in her chest. It is Circa 1993.

A group of carefree friends happily trade stories as they saunter. A hand comes up stealthily from behind and paws her to hurt, terribly. The pain is sudden and excruciating that she screams. Heads poke out of the windows of a nearly full bus that passes by. A few male faces break out in a grin when they realize what must have happened. Filled with rage the group of friends chase the owner of the offending hand as he runs into a printing press in the vicinity. The girl angrily storms inside and demands they let him out. Voices deny and suddenly the guy rushes out on a bicycle through the back door and as she helplessly watches, vanishes...Circa 1996

First job with one of the biggest newspaper names in the country. She is only 22. And, for the first time alone in a big city. Her boss promises to put her on par with the rest of the team, if she performs. She puts heart and soul into her niche. He is a senior stringer reputed to bargain for favours in return for stories. And, this is where she unknowingly hurts him in her zest for work. Repercussions begins as subtle comments made in soft tones - sleazy hints that it is her femininity that was landing her stories. She is shocked but ignores. Then come the carefully manipulated  manoeuvres at the least expected moments, those as if by accident, brushes against the body. This time she tells him off. He flings out his hands in 'helpless' innocence. She complains to her immediate superior, he looks taken aback. Does nothing. She thinks her time has come when she catches him red handed snitching a press invite in her name. She goes to the topmost guy in office with a complaint. The guy blatantly denies all. Absolutely nothing happens. It is a junior reporter who might leave for greener pastures Vs this old sod who has been here forever. Who gets priority is a no brainer! Circa 1998.

She has just gone into the washroom to freshen up. Some instinct makes her look up and she sees the tips of two hands gripping the air vent from the opposite side, as if to pull up. Shocked she yells, "who is that?". A sudden thud and feet that run away as she comes out as quickly as possible. She walks into the HR department armed with a complaint. She is confident of corrective action since the human resource manager is a woman too. Next day, a cardboard piece clumsily stuffed into the air vent is the 'stringent' action taken. Circa 2000

She works at the Chennai office. Her work entitles frequent email and telephonic co-ordination with a senior reporter in the Mumbai head office. Always soft spoken, helpful and polite, he builds up trust over two years. She resigns and joins elsewhere in due course.Then by chance, they meet in person while he is on a visit to the town. He returns and then the tone of his emails change. It comes as utter, complete shock and she severs contact, completely. Circa 2001

It is a busy day at work. Office is now a 15 minutes walk from where she stays, via a short cut. It is 8 pm and the lane is empty that night. She is not afraid since it is a familiar route. The orphanage she frequents during weekends to read stories to kids is just round the corner. A 'bullet' passes her with its huge chug chug noise. Lulled by the familiarity of the daily path and her thoughts she pays no heed when the bike reaches the end of the road and veers back. As it reaches her, the headlights dim and a hand suddenly explodes forward to whack her across the chest. She almost falls. The bike speeds away. Shock and pain give way to anger and then to fear. She suddenly remembers how the small children from the orphanage sometimes run out to play or on small errands. She imagines them in her place against the man on the bike. She dares her way to the nearest police station. The era of citizen friendly policing is still not on and there isn't a single woman in uniform or otherwise at the station. She lodges a complaint. It is nearly 9pm. For two evenings thence, the green, anti eve teasing squad jeep remains parked near the lane. Then it disappears. A month later, she hears the same chug chug...Circa 2002

Her nineteen year old domestic help is almost in tears. The girl is the sole bread-winner in her family of three. Her single mother suffers depressive episodes and her brother is too young. In between tears, the girl reveals how someone from where she worked as domestic help before, is constantly tormenting her over the phone.She answers the call this time and from courage that stems out of anger says, "If you call once more or do anything at all to this child, I will be at your doorstep with the cops. I promise you that. I dare you to try it just once more". To this day, she does not know how it worked but maybe it was the tone, the filmy style...but, the guy never called her again. Circa 2007.

Years have passed. The stories stay. There are many more. Some said, many left unsaid. Some acted upon, many left as is, in sheer helplessness.These stories are mine. I relive them, again, because today I had to tell off yet another person who bombarded me with derogatory messages about the women who share their #metoo stories.

Of late it is less anger and more  a feeling of let down when yet another 'evolved/educated' soul mouths privilege talk. Not everyone with #metoo stories have kept quiet. Some of us have complained ourselves hoarse, several times, to no avail. Do you know what courage it takes for a vulnerable, young girl to stand up for herself, again and again, and yet not be taken seriously? Do you know the fear that comes when you realize that your unaddressed complaints make your oppressor more brazen? Do you know what gall it takes to stand alone in an alien city with no godfathers?
And, do you even realise that some women, most women, don't even have the choice to just walk away from it all, like you and me.

What makes it so difficult for anyone to understand that 'choice' is a luxury not available to a wide majority. And, if you have it, know that it is a privilege. It is not a pedestal for you to stand up on and gloat.

PS: My better half who reads this account as I finish, suddenly pipes up, "What about those young children. The ones who perhaps are abused by their very own. Do these people say that these little children too had the choice to just walk out of the situation? He is so right!

Respect and peace to every survivor out there #Metoo

Why my Feminism and the Sabarimala ruling mismatch!

My paternal grandmother was a formidable, Nair matriarch. She ruled her terrain with an iron will. She had 6 boys, my dad being the youngest. One of my earliest childhood memories is of the huge family get togethers we had at her place during Onam and Vishu, the huge sumptuous sadyas (traditional feasts). The pecking order at her place was set - the children first, the menfolk and then the women. As the youngest in the huge brood of cousins, this did not really strike me until once, when somehow a few more of us turned up for lunch and she ordered that the boys be given priority over girls in seating for lunch. I vividly remember 6 - 7 year old me marching upto her and saying, " Ammoomma, unless you seat us kids altogether, I refuse to eat your lunch. The boys are no better than us". She was taken aback for an instant, then smiled. We got to eat together and then on many other occasions she told me, as a compliment, I'm like her. This also meant I got an extra two rupee note as Vishu Kaineettam (cash given as traditional gift to younger ones on Vishu).

I tell you this story to say I'm not anti-feminist. I do not hold onto archaic values just in the name of tradition. People who know me brand me as outspoken and persistent on gender parity. But, I oppose the current Supreme Court order on women entering Sabarimala.

Before you raise those cudgels, let me also tell you, I do not buy those stories of Lord Ayyappa being a brahmachari and hence averse to women. Neither, do I believe that a woman entering the temple will invoke divine wrath and an apocalypse. I will not simplify or downgrade an entity I believe in as part of my faith, into a vengeful, threatening monster.

I oppose this because it is part of a belief system close to my heart. The same as the one that makes me light an oil lamp at sunset, the same as the one that makes me put my palms together as token of repect when I say my prayers, the same as the one that invokes spirituality when I smell the fragrance of camphor, incense sticks and jasmine flowers. I oppose this because I do not in anyway see it as something that either harms my rights as a woman or improves my status as a human.

It definitely is not the same as the caste system that divided humanity into sects and deemed some as untouchables. It does not dehumanise me, it does not marginalise me. It is definitely not the same as the Sati or the dowry system. And, definitely not like the landmark legislation set rolling by the Channar Lahala. It does not empower me.

I oppose this because I see the whole episode as a drama orchestrated by people who understand none of the sentiments/emotions associated with the belief system. If they did, then they would've completed a pilgrimage of Vaishnodevi and all the other temples before they zeroed in on Sabarimala. They would've been aware of the existence of 'Attukaal' and participated in the annual festival that exclusively celebrates womanhood. They would've been aware of the Chengannur Mahadeva temple with its celebrations revolving round the Devi idol that menstruates, visited the Khamakhya devi temple. It is the same as the system that calls upon the Muslim to namaz five times in a day. The same as the one that calls Christian women to become celibates and dedicate their lives in service as nuns. It is part of my belief system.

And, for any worthwhile "social change", as the SC order supposes to be a harbinger of, to hold water, it should be a cause of celebration for atleast a considerable percentile of the population it proposes to save. As I see it, this ruling neither improves my condition as a woman nor does it address the more burning misogynistic attitudes that sideline my existence. It does not make me feel any more safe or empowered at my own hearth, my workplace or in the society I live in. All it does is sideline, shove, cajole the public eye from what really matters!

Of Santas and gifting joys

When I was small, I had a personal Santa. Well, mine did not come   just at X'mas. Neither owned a reindeer sledge  nor sported a huge paunch, white beard, and the red gear. And, my Santa was
 'she':-D. She was the one who initiated my transfer from picture/comic books to regular books (8 O'clock Tales by Enid Blyton, I remember), got me my very first, own perfume bottle (a roll on Yardley lavendar), introduced me to moisturising lotions other than Pond's Cold Cream - the staple at home, got me my first offbeat, trendy coloured Pattu Pavadai ( a pista green) etc etc. She was also the first woman I admired for her easy and elegant style, that inspired respect not attention. She was also the first person who absolutely refused to give 10 year old, fat me (I was as plump as a cushion and a huge foodie) my 4th dosa and woke me up at dawn to 'learn skipping' and trim down ( I tricked her by going upto the terrace and making big stomping noises instead of skipping). She was also the only adult relative who thought of sitting me down and advising me to 'save' when I got my first job at 22 (Well, I thought I had a long way to go, missed acting on the advice and here I am, still the same).
As an adult, somewhere down the line, I too got the hang of giving surprise gifts to people. Sometimes, just because I thought they needed cheering up but most often, just because it gave me the "Giver's high". Now, I've slowly started tapering down this habit because I began to realise it only gave rise to a sense of entitlement, atleast in some people.
Very recently, just out of the blue it struck me that the one person I've never gifted anything to was my Santa! It also made me realise that in a way, I too had taken it for granted that it was always the Santa's responsibility to gift. But, why!!!
Time relocated my Santa to Canada way back in 2002. We dont meet often these days. But still, when I close my eyes and think of the handful of people who really mean something to me, she features on the list, quite prominently. And, it felt wonderful to return the happiness and send my Santa a gift for her 61st (or is it 62nd) birthday. She just received it and the joy is all mine. Advance Happy Birthday, dearest Uma athai!