CATEGORY:Point of View

#HeToo Must Fast!

Last night, God spoke to me.

“My son,” She said, “Karva Chauth only works when both partners fast for each other.”

“Oh,” I responded, confused, as I wanted to discuss something else altogether.

“Yes,” She said, “unless there is equity and balance, such rituals are meaningless. Both partners must show their caring for each other. Otherwise, it is just one gender being subservient to the other, which doesn’t please Me at all…

“Fair enough,” I said, “but what about free will? If a woman wants to observe the fast and her spouse doesn’t?”

“What free will?” She said, with a hint of sarcasm in Her melodious voice. “You are prisoners of past tradition, practice and prejudice. Did you ever ask why I would ever impose such rituals? After all, I am logical. How will one spouse’s fasting impact the other’s longevity?”

“On the other hand,” She continued, “if both fast for each other, it is an expression of the love and respect you have for one another, and the sacrifice you make will make the bond between you stronger.”

“That makes sense,” I murmured.

“I always make sense,” She said, “it’s just that you don’t ask the right questions.”

“Why do such rituals exist?” I asked, trying my best to ask the right question.

“Why did Sati exist? Or child marriage? What about the persecution of widows? Or male ownership of women?” She shot back. “You men have been tilting the world in your favour for centuries. That’s why!”

“These are uncomfortable conversations,” I said, squirming.

“It will be much more uncomfortable when you put it up on Facebook,” She said, “the women won’t like it as it questions their long held beliefs, and the men won’t like it, because it upends the comfortable position they currently enjoy.”

“Damned if I do and damned if I don’t!” I exclaimed.

“All the best, my son,” She said, with a chuckle, as She faded into the mist.

#HeToo Must Fast!

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#equality #radicaladvice #freedom #metoo #genderblindness

Where her mind is without fear and her head is held high

Where knowledge is her right

Where her world has not been confined by narrow domestic walls

Where words and actions resonate with respect and understanding

Where all her tireless striving is recognized and valued

Where the respect for her gender has not lost its way
into the dreary desert sand of patriarchal tradition

Where her mind is valued and encouraged to expand
into ever-widening thought and venture

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let every Woman awake.

(The above lines are a modification of Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore’s immortal lines, “Where the Mind is without Fear and the Head is held High…”)

#Women #SheToo #GenderAwareness #GenderEquity #Freedom #Equality #Education #Dignity #Respect #WISTA #SCWO

This Sunday is Father’s Day.

It is a day that is often ignored. If remembered, it is sometimes marked by a hastily purchased practical gift that children feel their fathers yearn for. (Newsflash : we don’t)

This Father’s Day, and henceforth, I believe you should do more.

Motherhood is easily defined. It is natural, aligned with the laws of the universe, a healing fluid that flows smoothly into any orifice or crevice without resistance.

Fatherhood is a conundrum. A clumsy, awkward, wooden role that always seems differently shaped from the hole that it is supposed to fit into. Are fathers hunter-gatherers or nurturer-protectors? Do fathers resemble banyan trees or banana trees? Are they meant to be examples or exceptions? Most fathers struggle with this dichotomy throughout their lives, and rarely figure out an optimal solution.

If you analyse the two roles, not only will you find the differences vast, you will gather some interesting insights.

Mothers accept. Fathers expect.

Mothers forgive. Fathers forget.

Mothers hold their children in their arms. Fathers hold their hand.

Mothers love unconditionally. Fathers love fiercely.

Mothers support you forever. Fathers encourage you to stand on your own feet.

Mothers coddle. Fathers cheer.

Mothers epitomise home and the security and safety that this word symbolises. Fathers epitomise the world and the challenge and excitement that this word entails.

You will have noticed that every verb that follows the word ‘mothers’ is similar and even aligned. However, the verbs that follow the word ‘fathers’ are diverse and sometimes incompatible.

This complexity makes fathers the bumbling, ham-handed, insensitive idiots that we are. How much ever we try and do and say the right things, we get it wrong often enough that it seems screwing up is inevitable. So, over time, fathers retreat; either into dens or behind facades, to office cubicles or onto planes. They retreat behind gruff advice and stern forecasts, awkward man-hugs and distant hand-shakes.

For all their differences, fathers have one thing in common with mothers. They want to know that their children love them and appreciate them. Knowing this makes everything worthwhile, and erases, momentarily, their constant fears and worries and concerns and inadequacies.

So, this Sunday, do more. Your father deserves more.

Happy Fathers’ Day!

Last week, I had the most amazing taxi ride.

As I stepped in, the driver cheerfully greeted me with a “Good evening, sir! How are you today?”

“Great, thanks! And how are you?”

“Oh wonderful, sir. Every day is a great day! I am alive and well. My family is well and happy. We are not dependent on anyone. What more can one want?”

That made me put down the newspaper I was unfolding.

“Wow! That is a great attitude!” I said. “Do you feel like this every day?”

“Of course! Why would I not?” he replied, with a happy smile that I could see in his rearview mirror. “I am doing what I want to do, and enjoying it. When I am done, I will go home and see my family, who I love being with. Tomorrow, my wife and I are going for dance classes for senior citizens, which we enjoy very much!”

By now, any weariness I may have been feeling after a full day’s work had evaporated. I felt a surge of energy.

“You have a wonderful attitude”, I said, “Just meeting you makes me feel recharged. What a great way to be!”

He glanced back briefly, flashed a smile, and then said something that I will remember for the rest of my life…

“I believe, sir”, he said, “that every day I am alive is a gift to me from God. I also believe that what I do with each day is my gift back to Him.”

I sat frozen as his words washed through me.

“I am not going to waste the gift He has given me”, he continued, “nor am I going to give Him anything less than the best I have to offer.”

“So, I relish every moment. I treasure every day. I use it the best I can.”

We continued our conversation, but the rest of the ride, his words continued to swirl in my mind. When we reached my destination, I thanked him.

“What an amazing approach to life!” I marveled. “Thank you for sharing this with me…”

He grinned cheerfully, bid me a good night and drove off.

As I walked through the darkening night, a sense of ineffable wonder and joy pervaded me.

“Every day is a His gift to me. What I do with the day is my gift to Him.”

I took a deep breath and smiled with anticipation.

As I gazed at the ceiling, I thought about how, even in a household of just three people (including our helper, Rosie), failures can happen. A shortage of beer, a lack of AA batteries at a critical moment in a Netflix original, even a perilously close brush with an absence of toilet paper. How easily and quickly can a simple administrative issue degrade without continuous attention.

If this can happen in a household, how much more prone to failure is the situation in companies! Hundreds of people, thousands of tasks, constantly shifting priorities, continuously evolving environments. A myriad ways to fail!

And thus, I realised, the insistence on and the absolute necessity for systems and processes. These are the bedrock of an organisation. Processes ensure that nothing falls between stools, that day-to-day activities happen consistently and efficiently, that human oversight is minimised, if not eliminated. Whether the systems are based on antiquated ledgers or whether on modern software, these are what anchor us in a constantly shifting tide.

Yes, sometimes we complain about cumbersome procedures or never-ending documentation, but these checklists and templates and flags are what keep an organisation running smoothly, delivering service, satisfying customers, earning income.

She sits sobbing, her body curling into an almost foetal position. Her face is strained, her hands clenched, her body wracked with fear, anger and shame. She feels violated and vulnerable, having experienced what every woman does a countless times.

I sit close, wanting to soothe her, to tell her that I care, that I empathise, that I understand.

The words don’t emerge.

How can I presume to say anything?

I have never been groped. Or elbowed.

I have never been undressed by hungry eyes.

I have never been told to sit with my legs together.

I have never been told to behave like a lady.

I have never been spoken to while my breasts have been fondled visually.

I have never been pinched, and expected to believe it is a compliment.

I have never been told not to drive, so that I can remain faithful and not wander.

I have never been told that I cannot leave the house without a male escort.

I have never been owned.

I have never been bartered.

I have never been sold.

I have never been murdered by my father to protect his honour.

I have never had my clitoris sliced off by a rusty blade to prevent impure thoughts.

I have never been widowed, and had my head shaved and told that I am an ill omen.

I have never been raped. Or violated in any manner.

I have never been told that my brother needs to eat first, as he is a boy and thus, is more valuable than me.

I have never been sacrificed through an abortion because I lacked a penis.

I have never been burnt alive because my parents did not fulfil my husband’s wants.

I have never been told that it is my fault because of the way I dress.

I have never been asked to leave the room so that the men could sip on port and smoke cigars.

I have never been called a bitch because I refused a pass.

I have never been called a slut because I did not.

I have never been deemed unclean once a month, every month.

I have never been stalked.

I have never been considered a cost.

How, in Heaven’s name, can I even be worthy of her? Of her heroism, of her grace under pressure, of her ability to withstand the fears and terror of always being prey, of her courage every time she walks into a room full of libido, of her tolerance and acceptance of the unfairness and illogic of life? How can I speak, when I have never imagined a minute in her skin?

I sit there, impotent, silently cursing the world of men…