Kiddo

A long, long time ago, he used to be scared of snakes. 

One morning, the four of us went out for brunch. It was a holiday, and just an hour back, I had tied a Rakhi on his wrist, despite the mother's annual grumbling that it wasn't really a Bengali festival. We were crossing the road to the restaurant when a snake charmer approached us. My kid brother, who was already itching to take the rakhi off, grabbed my arm and whispered, "Didi, can you just protect me today from that snake? I'll take care of you after this."

He's the complete opposite of me, the brother. He's reserved, practical, and inexpressive. I'm... none of the above. But then out of the blue, there'll be an email or a gift that will make me all emoshunal, just like that.

I used to bully him when we were kids. We played our own version of the Crystal Maze, he was my unwilling student in countless sessions of Teacher-Teacher, half his birthday gifts were automatically declared to be mine, and numerous other things I would rather not tell you. Then one day, he grew up, and wisened up. And now I go to him for advice, and he acts all wisdomous and all.

He left for the US for his undergrad studies on 24th August 2007. Rakhi that year was on 28th August. I broke down that day, because I had never spent Rakhi away from my kid brother. I sent him a rakhi and a card that year. Five months later, he came home for winter break. Suddenly, in the midst of all the animated catching up, he looked at me and said, "oh, wait." He pulled out his wallet, handed me the rakhi I had sent him, and asked me to put it for him. By the time we woke up the next morning, of course, it was hanging from his cassette rack on the wall, where most of his rakhis over the years landed up.

Last year, we exchanged countries. He went back to India after graduation, and I came to the US. I spoke to him an hour back. I told him we were discussing siblings at dinner tonight, and I had told them about Rakhi, and of this incident. He responded, "oh? I did that?"

*eye roll*

He thinks my blog is quite silly, so it's unlikely he'll read this post. But I just wanted to say, again, I love you kiddo. Despite the fact that you save my number under Duddo rather than Didi on your phone.

On what counts as humour, being disappointed in strangers, and remembering my own advice

After a disastrous morning at work, I logged onto Facebook this afternoon to read this post by @daddy_san, which was the first I heard of the Daniel Tosh episode. Having duly tweeted it, I then looked at my Twitter timeline, and spent the next half hour or so in increasing levels of bafflement, disappointment, and fury.

I've said before, and I'll say it again, to me, "rape jokes" are not funny. I have never been sexually abused. I've been eve teased, and on one or two occasions, been very, very frightened about what might happen next. But no, I haven't been raped. Yet it's a topic I feel strongly about, and I'm known to get on my soapbox about it and the way it's discussed. And cracking "jokes" about it is something I have never understood.

So when I read those tweets this afternoon, I was upset - I suppose that's the best way to put it. I follow several Indian stand-up comedians on twitter, a large number of whom were going on and on about how Tosh's joke was a "stupid joke", or a "shitty comeback". But almost all of them insisted that there's nothing wrong with making "better" jokes about rape.

And then others, mainly women but some men too, started expressing their anger and disgust over what these comedians were saying. And then folks defending "rape jokes" got upset over the reactions they were getting. And the whole timeline turned into a battlefield for a while. I didn't say much beyond one or two generic tweets, which as someone said in an equally generic manner, was no more than tut-tutting, really. But I wasn't sure how to articulate what I wanted to say, so I didn't. At the time.

Now, some hours later, I don't know why I was disappointed. I don't know any of these men personally. I've followed them on twitter for some time now, and exchanged a few tweets with one or two of them. But by and large, I'm pretty sure they don't know I exist, and I don't think of them beyond the moments when I see their tweets appear on my timeline. But I think at that moment, seeing them, in one voice, defend "rape jokes", and insist that it was simply the quality of that joke that was poor, made me feel like there really is no hope for changing the mentality of how women are perceived and how rape victims are treated.

And then I went out for dinner with some colleagues, got thoroughly annoyed by one of them, sat through the evening with a migraine pounding my head, and eventually blocked out their voices and started thinking. And remembered something I had written on @tantanoo's blog more than a year ago:

I tend to get outraged if jokes are cracked over rape, or violence against women, or issues like that – because these are issues I feel fairly strongly about. It’s a completely personal sentiment.
But I don’t think my outrage has ever led to an unfollow or even debate – because there would have been other occasions, where similar jokes by the same people on a different issue may have been equally “inappropriate” but I have still giggled. Would be rather hypocritical of me to object now, simply because one is an issue close to my heart and the other isn’t.
Everyone has issues they get outraged over. Everyone has jokes which they will stretch till every bit of funny-ness in it vanishes. People need to chill, is all.
My two cents. :)

I didn't unfollow anyone today. I didn't engage in a debate with anyone either. I sat there, infuriated, and decided to go off Twitter till I calmed down. And then remembered that I need to chill a bit.

I came back to my room, logged back onto Twitter, and saw this post. I see her point about using humor to cope with a situation, and points to her for being able to do so. It's not something I think I would be capable of. 

So maybe jokes about rape are funny to some people. I still don't see it, but maybe they are. I also don't think the comedians defending the "sub-category of humour" that rape is part of were using it in the sense of being a coping mechanism, but maybe that isn't as important.

I tweeted a few days ago that either I'm not following people who perpetually outrage, or people now see outrage in everything. Every other day, I seem to see people cribbing about how other people are outraging over something that doesn't deserve the outrage. Well, today, I was part of the outrage. And I'm still not convinced that outrage wasn't deserved. But I do think we could have all done without it. I know I could have.

A dash of self-analysis

The last few weeks have been somewhat... stressful. A variety of things has happened, most of which I can't get into the details of**, that pushed me to the point of completely shutting down and going into a funk last weekend, till finally a few conversations with two or three dear souls got me out of it.

What I realised over this period, however, is just how much my upbringing, for lack of a better word, has influenced the person I am, for better or for worse.

Both the parents, especially the father, are incredibly private people. They've never liked the world knowing what's going on in our lives. It's our problem, we deal with it. And some of that has rubbed off on me. I have never been able to call a friend and say, this is going on, I need your help or even just talk about it. It takes me ages to reach out to anyone for even the smallest bit of help. And the problem is, being this way completely conflicts with the person I am, who, well, talks a lot, quite frankly. And who needs to tell people what's going on.

So there's always this urge to tell friends back home what I'm stressed about, but at the same time there's also this hesitation because, well, I can't. Or shouldn't. Sometimes I rationalize it by telling myself they're busy anyway. Or stressed about things themselves. Or don't want to hear me keep whining about things. But all makes for a fair amount of misery. And loneliness.

And then sometimes it all gets too much and I send frantic, misery-filled emails to people. Or furiously and/or tearfully type out a huge rant on Gtalk. Or just call and pour it all out. And always feel so much better. And wonder why I didn't earlier.

The other thing the parents have always drilled into me is that you really can't ever take anything for granted. We were always fortunate, growing up, that we never really lacked for anything we wanted. If the parents had to figure out ways to give us all of that, they never let on. But they always reminded us that a lot of what we had was thanks to the father's job, and you never knew what could happen when.

So when I started working, while there was no doubt in anyone's mind (particularly my mother's) that I could be extremely extravagant and impulsive with how I used my money, I also saved a fair amount. And frequently went into panic mode if I found my bank balance going below the magic number in my head that was the minimum I should always have. There was no rationale behind this number, and no amount of arguments presented by dad along the lines of how my investments also counted could make a difference. If the cash in my bank account was not a certain amount, I would be constantly palpitating.

And that continued when I came to the US. Despite living on student loans, I have by no means been the most frugal person around. But I make sure that there's always that minimum balance in the account. If not, I hit the panic button. Which usually involves calling the father and asking what I should do.

Among the various stressors of the past few weeks was the fact that there was a problem with my paperwork for the internship. And as a result, I hadn't been paid for nearly a month, despite the contract stating that I was to be paid every two weeks. And while this was troubling, it was a minor ripple compared to the tidal wave of everything else going on, because truth be told, I have enough savings at the moment to last me a while, if necessary.

At dinner with the other interns some days ago, it came up in the conversation that I hadn't been paid. And almost everyone's first reaction was to ask me if I was fine financially, or if I needed money. And I found it interesting that almost everyone at the table was completely startled when I assured them I was fine. I seemed to be the only one there who wasn't living from paycheck to paycheck.

When I would hear this from friends and colleagues back in India, I always assumed I was at an advantage because I lived with the parents and didn't have much in the way of household and living expenses. But here, as students - most of us international students, at that - I would have assumed we're all in a similar position. And it struck me, for possibly the first time, just how glad I was that I had been brought up the way I had.

**UPDATE: Two years later, I went into the details. Here.

Bein' home

In the last 26 days, I have...

...read:

• The Mine, by Arnab Ray
• The Hunger Games trilogy
• The Godfather by Mario Puzo

For someone who has read practically nothing in the last two-three years, this is quite impressive.

...watched:

• All four seasons of Coupling
• Both seasons of Sherlock
• Both seasons of Downton Abbey, though some episodes seem to be missing from what I have procured, and also I only realised halfway through the show that it is Downton and not Downtown.
• The season finales of Community, Castle and Once Upon a Time
• Ishaqzaade
• The Avengers
• The IPL final

...eaten:

• Gol gappas and samosas at the neighborhood shop
• Genuine Indian Chinese food at a dingy street stall
• Calamari at HRC, Delhi
• Mughlai paratha at Kingdom of Dreams - could've been better, could've been worse.
• Aloo ke parathas at Jhilmil Dhaba, Karnal - with dollops of Amul butter and dahi
• Mushroom achaar and apple juice from the NAFED (now called HPMC, I think) stall at Jabli 
• Butter Chicken at Giani da Dhaba, en route to Kasauli
• Thukpa and momos in a dingy little shop in Lower Mall, Kasauli
• Chai at Ross Common, Kasauli - a charming little hotel where we've stayed when I was a kid
• Chicken rolls at Badshaah, New Market
• Breakfast at Flury's
• Pretty awesome vegetarian sizzlers in Patna's only mall
• My favorite dishes at The Monk, Gurgaon
• The mother's aloo posto, luchi-mangsho, shepherd's pie, and dosas
• The father's salami sandwiches

...visited:

• Jabli, Kasauli, and Chandigarh. With the princess in tow, because the hotel we were staying in let us bring her along, and gave us a lovely little "studio cottage" which came with a tiny kitchen where we could make her khana too
• Kolkata, to meet the grandmother
• Patna, to visit the brother

I did NOT get to:

• have Bhutta
• visit the Inayat Khan dargah in Nizammuddin for Friday evening qawwalis, followed by a meal at Karim's
• go to Kake da Hotel
• have Shorshe-bata or any of mum's fish dishes
• eat at Big Chill
• go into Delhi as much as I would've liked, or visited CP, or Khan Market, or Dilli Haat
• go swimming

It's been a good month. Short, though.

Conversations on the phone

The father and I just had a chat on the phone, while he was waiting to board a flight back from Bombay to come home, during which I tried to articulate a lot of what's been bothering me for a while now. We both rambled, and jumped from topic to topic, so I can't quite present the whole thing. Snippets that I can recall, in no very clear order are presented below. Oh and if you haven't seen Ishaqzaade but plan to and don't want spoilers, avoid the third snippet, which pretty much gives away the main "twist" of the movie.

Baba: What did you think of the Satyamev Jayate episode yesterday?

Me: Wasn't bad. I broke down while watching it, of course. Thrilled they're finally talking about CSA, and SO awed by how brave and incredible the survivors were to come and talk the way they did. But I wish Aamir Khan wouldn't lead the conversations so much. Let the people articulate things their own way na, instead of saying "so what you mean is this...?".

Baba: Hmmm. Some of the folks I met here saw the show. People don't seem to have liked the show much. 

Me: Yes well, from what I see on twitter these days, people like to be cynical because they seem think that's what's expected.

Baba: People seem to be worried "intelligent actors will now be determining government policy."

Me: But... he's not going into policy. He's stopping at spreading awareness. Which, yes, could be a complaint, but at least he's spreading awareness. Who said this?

Baba: Oh, the educated folks of Bombay. And fool editors who print such letters to the editor.

Me: Yes well, your reform is never going to come from the educated folks. They're too busy try to convince themselves and everyone else that everything happens in other homes and classes, not in their own.

Baba: Come on, that's not entirely true.

Me: Oh come on, not to take anything away from the tragedy, but one hit-and-run happened in Gurgaon, and people are organizing silent marches to protest because they knew the persons involved. How many such incidents happen with people the "educated people" don't know, and who organizes marches for them?

Baba: But then the question is, which one will hit? And make the point?

Baba: I hear all the "young MPs" were absent from the 60th anniversary celebrations in Parliament yesterday.

Me: I'm impressed the old folks showed up.

Baba: Who's being cynical now?

Me: But that's the thing no? Where do you see hope? Our politicians are useless, social reform is not happening, so what do you have that you shouldn't be cynical about? But I'd like to think my cynicism is not because I feel I need to be, but because I can't help it!

Baba: Mindsets need to change.

Me: But where do you start? We just came back from seeing Ishaqzaade, and yes, the crowd was horrible. You know what I hated the most? There's this scene where the lead pair has just slept together, and he's walking away from her after informing her that he only pretended to fall in love with her because he wanted "revenge" for the slap she gave him. There's a woman crying on the screen, Baba, and the men in the audience are hooting with glee. What do you do with such mentality? How do you begin to change that?

Baba: I think we should completely avoid the PVR in Sahara Mall. The price difference isn't worth it.

Me: Well, yes, but again, how does that change things?

Me: Did I tell you about the FirstPost article where the writer wondered why the women who'd been forced to have abortions continued to agree to have "conjugal relations" with their husbands?

Baba: Does this writer have any idea about what India's like?

Me: Uh huh. So there seems to have been such uproar that the editors took down the article and apologised, saying they are aware all women don't have that option.

Baba: Well, at least they have some sense.

Baba: Well, I have to switch off now. So you're going to Delhi in the evening? By metro?

Me: Yep.

Baba: *silence*

Me: Chill na, if I get late coming back, I'll take a cab.

Baba: Oh, okay.

There was more, a lot of which I can't put together coherently. Heck, I'm not sure this was coherent. I went to the mother to chat after I ended the call, and her first words, as happens rather frequently, were: You're worked up again. Now what?

I told her a bit about the conversation and she wanted to know if I was upset because there are problems, or because I don't know what to do about the problems. 

There's a good question to ask myself.

A tourist at home

I spent two weeks in Hyderabad in March, with 30-odd classmates of various nationalities. I had written, before going, that I wasn't sure how to answer their questions about India. What I hadn't anticipated was the discomfort I would feel visiting India with a group like this. Not during the project part of the trip so much, but more during the sightseeing portion.

I didn't like being a tourist in my own country. And I don't mean visiting Hyderabad, where I had never been before. I mean being part of a group of foreigners, for lack of a better word, that was visiting India, and by default, therefore, being treated like one.

I didn't like being bought a "high-value" ticket at the Taj Mahal so that I could escape the long queues to get in. I definitely didn't like being told to hold my ticket unlike everyone else, because y'know, I look Indian. I didn't like that my classmates could get away with doing head stands, but I had to keep waving my high-value ticket to prove I could go peer over the railing in the courtyard.

I didn't like how we were taken to tourist traps for shopping where 100 grams of spices or tea cost exorbitant prices. I didn't like that we were taken to a highway shop where chips and soft drinks were ten times their MRP - although I am quite proud of the fact that I found a roadside stall just outside that stupid shop, and bought stuff there.

I didn't like the whining about the crowds and the queues that began among my classmates halfway through the trip, particularly when people started getting close to exhaustion and stress on their projects. I didn't like the constant defensiveness I felt, and the way I had bite back the urge to retort.

It wasn't all bad, no. Most of the folks, especially my team, were extremely comfortable trying out new food stuffs, exploring random shops and areas, getting off the buss and walking through Agra to find a place to eat. I loved how curious they were about the tiny things, things I probably haven't given a second thought in years. I loved being able to explain things to them, introduce my country to them.

But there was a lot that made me uncomfortable. And part of me wonders if I'm overreacting. I've taken a step back, waited more than a month, to when I'm finally back home in India, to publish this post. And the feelings are still there. So maybe I'm not. I just wish I could explain it better.

Nomenclature

For years, I've watched Shabani Azmi give interviews, and in every single one of them, she's got on her soapbox about how she's not an actress, she's an actor. Because y'know, you don't call a female doctor a doctress, so why should acting be any different. 

Which, okay, is her point of view, and she's entitled to it. But it never really resounded with me despite all my rants on gender equality.

Then, this season of Castle brought in a new Captain for the precinct. Captain Victoria Gates. Who, in her very first episode on the show demanded to be addressed as either "Captain" or "Sir". Never Ma'am.

As as the season has progressed, with every episode that the rest of the characters on the show persist in calling her Sir rather than Captain, my discomfort with the idea has increased. 

There's so much else in the whole fight for gender equality, that to me, focusing on something as silly as nomenclature seems... pointless. More than that, I don't see why women feel the need to downplay the fact that they're women in the effort to be treated as equal. And that's what this feels like.

There's enough to fight for. Picking your battles is a great concept, but those battles should have some meaning. And ensuring that you're addressed the same way men are holds no meaning for me. Because, at the end of the day, how you're addressed has nothing to do with how you're treated. And that should be the focus. Period.

Chai and tea

This is a PSA for everyone who is confused about the difference between chai and tea, as well as for those who think they know the difference. Particularly the latter group, actually.

Because there is no difference. Chai is the Hindi word for tea. Tea is Chai. Chai is Tea. C'est tout.

The world is coming to an end when Indian hotels now look at you and ask if you want tea or chai.

Calling it chai tea is stupid and redundant. Calling tea-bag tea, tea and masala chai, chai is confusing and ridiculous.

Call it regular tea and spice tea if you want. Or regular chai and masala chai. BUT STOP MAKING IT SOUND LIKE TEA AND CHAI ARE DIFFERENT.

Okay bye.

It's not travel anxiety, It's 'Things I Hate About Travelling'

I have a friend who tends to get, shall we say, anxious when she has to travel. I'm not sure why she gets this way, but weeks before a trip is due, her tweets will be full of everything that could possibly go wrong. And a few more disasters besides.

And, to add insult to injury, she once told me how easy I make travel seem. I mean, I am the one who meets disaster every time I travel. Who hates travelling alone, because I always worry I'll either forget something or lose something (although, to be fair, most of my travel disasters have happened when I've been in a group).

But then I thought about it, and I realised that in all fairness to her, I've never really talked about my travel stress. My tweets when I'm travelling are more along the lines of people watching and annoying airline people. So here, just for her, I put forward to you, all the things that stress me out when I travel. 

The thing I hate more than anything else, truth be told, is travelling alone. Which is how most of my travels have been for the past year, and I'll tell you why exactly it sucks. Because you have to lug your luggage with you everywhere. You want to go the restroom, or get something to eat (which in the case of O'hare is half a freaking mile away), or just check the latest flight status. You have to leave that precious seat next to the only functioning plug point, pick up all your luggage (because y'know, travelling light never does happen), and take it all with you. And then worry that you've left something behind, but don't know what it is, but you're sure you left something behind. Plus there's no one to really share all the little annoyances and quirks that you see in people around you that never really come out right when you relate them to people later.

And then there's security checks at airports. Which I loathe because they bring out all the clumsiness in me. Is it just me who thinks everyone else going through the process of taking off shoes and pulling out their laptops looks so damn self-assured and graceful while doing it? I seem to go all thumbs when it's my turn, and I always feel like everyone behind me is cursing how slow and stupid I am.

Which brings me to my biggest pet peeve: Perfectly groomed women. You've seen them. Heck, you probably are them. Colour-coordinated wardrobe, walking confidently in their five-inch heels, hair perfectly straightened, pulling their very stylish strolleys behind them. No matter what time of day or place it is.

My approach to catching early morning flights, especially when I was working, was usually getting into the most comfortable outfit I have, landing at my destination, and using the airport's washroom to do my minimal amount of make up etc. But there are all these women who surround me at the check-in counter even at 5 AM in the morning who look so put together that it is thoroughly intimidating. Not to mention those women who look as fresh at the end of an exhausting, crisis-filled day as they did in the morning. Me? My kaajal smudges within minutes of being put, no matter which brand (except Bobbi Brown, my latest discovery. Ladies, doesn't smudge. Truly.) or which season it is. How do they do it?!?

I enjoy travelling, I do. I like seeing places, visiting new cities and towns, trying local food. I like watching people as they travel, I love watching the skyline of a city as a flight takes off or lands, or fields and towns go by from the window of a train or bus. I do enjoy all that. 

It's just that the process of getting to those moments is so very draining and stressful, that you very often forget what lies beyond what's happening. Which I suppose could be said of life in general.

So there you are, R. Everything that stresses me when I travel. Now if only I haven't given you new things to stress about.

NB: The title of this post is totally stolen.

where I go into outrage mode again

Exams always did make the blogger in me come out. Allow me to outrage for a while.

• Rape jokes are not funny. Calling a cricketer a "rapist" who "raped" the opposing team with his match-winning performance is not witty. Creating and sharing a picture of the vastraharan showing Malinga as Draupadi and Kohli as Dushasana is not amusing. It is lame and pathetic and disgusting, and tells me you're an asshole.
• Why is sharing stories from Gujarat 2002 being labelled as "spreading hate"? You hold your candle marches and "never forget" campaigns every year for those who dies in 26/11; why are you so resistant to remember those who were killed ten years ago in Gujarat? I'm appalled by some of the reactions Dilip D'Souza got when he shared some experiences for his visit to Gujarat in 2002 (Which, if you haven't read, you should. It's horrific, you will not want to, but you should. here:  https://twitter.com/#!/search/%23DDGujDiary)
• Why do Indians have this "kisi ko nahi batana" attitude all the time? I've always seen it at exam time, right from my college days. It took me a long time to realize that unlike me, who never studied and therefore meant it when I said "maine kuch nahi kiya", everyone else had finished the course twice over and were "revising" when they said the same thing. And it's hilarious how the Indian folks here in B-school do the same thing. And not just about studies. I asked a classmate if he's running for club president for the Indian student club, for Pete's sake. He said no. And when the platforms came out, there it was, his name, right up at the top. Why do people have to be so devious?
• Also, while I'm at it, Indian dudes in Amreeka trying to hit on women when they're drunk is both hilarious and embarrassing to watch.

There. I'm done outraging for now. I suppose I should get back to Corporate Finance. Sigh.