Annoyed

I'm annoyed.

I'm annoyed with politicians, across the board, whether in power or in the Opposition, for being insensitive, incompetent, ignorant, for being worried about nothing more than their own hides. For thinking shutting down metro stations, banning protests, passing the buck are acceptable responses to the anger on the streets.

I'm annoyed with the media houses, barring one or two, for turning this into a circus, for thinking it's a good idea to chase an ambulance to the airport, for thinking they're so clever with the names they came up with for her, for being the way the media always is.

I'm annoyed with people putting up FB status updates with conspiracy theories about how she must have already died and they must have moved her to Singapore to avoid the furore. I'm annoyed with people who think these assumptions are more important than the stupidity and insensitivity we know the government has displayed.

I'm annoyed with people demanding the death penalty or chemical castration. Without first asking for a country where I can actually walk into a police station and report a molestation or rape and be taken seriously and be treated with respect.

I'm annoyed with people who are turning this into a Delhi vs. other cities debate. With people who think Delhi's not that bad. With people who think it's only a Delhi problem.

I'm annoyed that there are people who think changing school uniforms from skirts to trousers or salwar kameezes is the answer. Who think a prostitute can't be raped. Who think women shouldn't travel alone at night or wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with people who think a city is safe if women can travel alone at night and wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with myself. For getting upset again. For wanting to bash my head against the wall. For not getting annoyed enough. For not doing anything beyond ranting and retweeting others and adding to the noise with yet another pointless blog post. For not coming up with a better word than annoyed for this post.

I'm annoyed with myself for that second of worry I had while entering the metro station at 10.30 PM a week ago.

This is my city. This is my country. I shouldn't have had to have felt that second of worry.

I'm annoyed.

Yes, yes, we should have known that once I publicly said I was done about a topic, I would obviously get worked up about it again. Moving on.

More here: http://storify.com/a_traveller/when-i-wasn-t-really-done

I'm done

I don't even remember what brought it on. All I remember is suddenly feeling that that was it, I couldn't deal with this anymore.

So five months ago, amidst all the tweets of sharing and outraging, I sent out a series of tweets, which led to some interesting responses and conversations. Someone encouraged me to put them all together and I did, here.

But that was the moment for me, when I was done. I was done tweeting and blogging and sharing FB posts about how women are treated in this country. I was done outraging every time the feminist in me saw a line or a tweet or a scene that shouldn't have happened. I was done asking for safer roads, for equality, for some humanity, dammit.

But most of all, I was also done reading. I can't do it anymore. Every time I have visited NDTV's homepage in the last one year, it feels like there has been at least one headline about a girl getting raped in some part of the country. More often than not, it's been a gangrape. Almost as often, the girl's age has been posted and she's been a minor. And I'm done. It's the worst form of escapism, yes, but I can't do it anymore.

So this latest one, the one that's got Delhi all riled up? I know the basic outline of what happened, more by osmosis because everyone's talking about it. My heart goes out to the girl and her friends and family. But beyond that, I can't make myself read about it, or get all worked up about it.

I've been dutifully retweeting the more sensible posts, of course. And I could get into how all this getting riled up a, isn't going to have any effect, and b, isn't going to last. But I don't have it in me to even do that.

I've been veering between wanting to and not wanting to publish this post for two days now, but in the end, what the heck. If I never post about this again, this might as well be the last one.

Where I want to scream and yell, but blog instead

Summer 2006, family trip to Europe. This happens.

March 2009, office holiday to Spain. Got robbed twice in Barcelona.

March 2010, office holiday to Italy. This happens, colleagues speculate I was a thief in Europe in a previous lifetime, and this is karma.

May 2011, family trip to Boston, London and Edinburgh. Nothing worse than a huge goof-up over train tickets courtesy yours truly, and the fact that a very expensive set of jewelry bought specially for this trip goes missing. Unsure whether it went missing in Boston or Edinburgh, but Europe jinx seems to continue.

And now, December 2012. I'm supposed to leave for India on Monday, but my passport is stuck with the UK consulate in New York, because I'm headed to London on exchange in the spring and need a visa. There is no way of tracking progress, it's too late to cancel or switch to priority service, and it seems highly unlikely that I will receive anything back in time for my flight. The cost of changing tickets this time of the year is giving me a heart attack, and all I want to know is - just why does Europe hate me so much?

Food strike

I was informed, sometime yesterday morning, that the princess has gone off her food. By evening, things hadn't improved, so as I was driving back from a dinner, I was asked to get onto Skype as soon as possible. The connection was terrible as usual, so video didn't work out, but I was able to talk to Kyra and tell her to be a good doggy and eat. Five minutes later, biscuits had been consumed.

This morning I woke up to hear the brother had spoken to her on the phone, and she had subsequently eaten some stew and even eggs. Rolling on the floor like a madcap has also commenced I believe.

She keeps doing this, my princess. A more emotionally fragile dog would be hard to find. Whenever the brother and I leave home - which has been happening all too often over the past 6-7 years - she spends the first few nights sleeping right next to the front door. She doesn't look at us once she realises suitcases are being packed (or if she suspects a scolding is coming her way, take your pick). If the father travels, she either stops eating and/or starts throwing up at regular intervals.

After years of looking disdainfully at my room, and never entering it if she could help it (why, I have no idea), she slept there with me the first three nights of my visit home this March. But stopped entering it once the suitcase started getting filled again.

I'm not sure what brought on this latest going off the food. The brother spent a week at home recently, but left a few days ago, so it seems a bit of a delayed reaction. Given that she's turning 11 in less than a week, I'm just glad it's over.

Learning and passing

The big news of the week was - no, not Bal Thackeray's death or the inexplicable fact that he got full state honours - that on my fifth attempt, I finally passed the driving road test and graduated from a learner's permit to a full-blown driving license.

Yep, you read that right. Fifth attempt. See, here's what happened. The first two attempts were within a space of two weeks, way back in January, with the same grumpy old man. And it really wasn't my fault that when I thought I was stopping at Stop signs, he thought I was only pausing, and then these strange garbage trucks would appear out of nowhere and stop in front of me giving me no time to react and then he would freak out. Really not my fault.

The third attempt, a good nine months later (because y'know, I spent four months away from this town in the interim), I got the same grumpy old man, and I will admit, it may have been a bit of my fault because I may have pulled out of a lane a bit too soon given that there was a car coming from the other direction. So yes, okay, a little bit of my fault.

The fourth time was two weeks ago, when I finally got a break, and got a different instructor, who for some reason decided to pretty much coach me through the whole test, and then decided I don't reverse well enough. He then told me to practice reversing, and come back in one week (not one month or six months later), and I would get my license. So one week later, I showed up again, got yet another instructor this time, who didn't speak at all during the test beyond telling me where to turn. And for the first time, while walking back into the DMV office, I didn't know whether I had passed or failed. So then I sat back at the counter and falteringly asked, "so... did I get it this time?", the instructor chuckled (I swear, chuckled is the word) and said "of course you got it." HALLELUJAH.

Technically, I learned to drive in India when I was 18. I went through the usual driving lessons, any my instructors were reasonably impressed with me. But then when it came to practising, my mother got into the car with me, and screamed bloody murder as soon as I put the car into gear and went forward two inches. So then like any reasonable person, I refused to drive with  her in the car. Then the father got his driver to practise with me, and this dude, who was a moron anyway, would keep leaning over and turning the wheel himself instead of telling me what to do, and how am I supposed to learn this way I ask. By the time the father decided to take over, I was too freaked out to drive at all, and just refused to learn.

So when we discovered that the town I was going to move to business school had little to no public transport, and you  need a car to get around here, there was simultaneous amusement and consternation among friends and family. All ye of little faith, I say. So anyway I got here, bought a car, and then... pretty much let it sit there while I hitched rides with all and sundry for about three months. Then decided enough was enough, and started driving. And I have to say, it felt good to be able to get around by myself instead of having to depend on others. Who knew?

See, the thing is, despite what certain readers of this blog claim, I'm really not that bad a driver. Yes, things like parallel parking (actually, parking at all) and changing lanes on busy freeways are still a bit nerve-wracking for me, and I may or may not have a tendency to not pay full attention to everything around me. And I may be a prime example of why female drivers have such a bad rep. But if you let me get into a lane, and just stay in that lane, I'm really not such a bad driver.

So there.

Clueless

To summarize a conversation I had with a professor last week, and have been having with friends over the past couple of months, is this point: growing up is basically accepting the fact that you don't have a clue what life is about, and being okay with that.

I spent the summer hanging out with a lot of undergrad college kids thanks to my internship, all of whom were convinced they have life figured out. They knew exactly what they wanted to do or be in life, had very firm likes and dislikes, and seemed so certain about everything. Was I that sure of anything at 18? Or even 21, which is the age most of these kids were? Perhaps.

I remember doing a workshop on counseling skills a few months after I started college. On the first day, the workshop moderator made us all line on one side of the room, and told us he was going to read out certain statements and we would have to go stand on one side of the room or stay where we were, depending on whether we agreed or disagreed with those statements, or go to the center of the room if we weren't sure. The statements he read out dealt with topics like abortion, infidelity, divorce... you get the drift. With each statement, once three groups would be formed, the agreeing and disagreeing groups presented their arguments and tried to convince people from the other groups to come over to their side. I was one of the youngest participants in the workshop, so of course I knew it all. I remember being the only person who refused to budge from my taken position on at least two of those statements. On one of them, I think it was everyone else on the other side, me on my side. And I was so convinced I was right.

Today, nine years later? I know I was wrong about at least one of those statements. The other, I'm still on the same side, but less certain about. I'm a bigger believer in the power of the context, rather than having one opinion to fit all situations.

Coming back to business school a month ago, I knew I was going to go through the recruiting process again, be equally stressed about it, and have all the drama carry on. But it was different this time. There are no SYs to provide guidance, look over my resume, to listen to me vent about my panic. I'm the SY this time round, and there are all these FYs coming to me with questions, asking for advice, showing me their resume, and as one actually put it the other day, "I need to come to you and vent."

The one SY I had vented to the most last year came to campus a couple of weeks back and I asked him if he had been as clueless as I am right now when I would ask him stuff last year. He asked me what I thought. Our conclusion was that the trick is to pretend like you have all the answers.

So I have interviews starting tomorrow, a lingering cough which won't go away, and mild levels of panic. But I think I've managed to come to the point where I can fake enough confidence to make a very close friend tell me this afternoon that I look happy.

Because I don't think it ever goes away - this feeling of having no clue what you're doing, that everyone else is miles ahead and way smarter, the wondering what life holds for you next.

But I feel a lot more grown up since I had the realization that it's okay to have that cluelessness.

Chat conversations

My Gtalk status yesterday morning was whining about how the Indian Embassy won't pick up the phone. So of course, the mother had to ask.

Mother: Why do you need the embassy?

12:37 PM The princess is asking  me: for my passport to become machine readable   can't apply for schengen visa otherwise  Mother: The princess says OK, Didi 12:38 PM She sighs too at my constant absurdities  me: :D 12:39 PM Mother: Somehow these sighs of hers makes me feel rather immature at times, don't know about you though 12:41 PM me: why would I feel immature?   I'm not the one being sighed atMother: That's a very good point, girl!

One hour later:


Mother: Was just thinking it's a REAL good point!   You think I'm mad too! 1:19 PM me: huh?  Mother: Mad along with being immature?  me: what are you talking about? 1:20 PM Mother: nah, just thinking  me: you're definitely sounding like you've gone mad

I love the mother, I do. Who else would be such a constant source for entertainment?

Happy Teacher's day, Mommy!

Self-justification

A long, very long time ago, I used to say that if I'm not married by 30, I'll adopt a daughter. And people would laugh and say, "oh, you want to be like Sushmita Sen." And I would roll my eyes and say, "no, you moron, there are other women in the world who've done this, I didn't even know she was planning to when I decided this."

Well, maybe I wasn't quite as rude, but you get the gist.

Anyway. Then I grew up a little and realised this wasn't a very good plan because see, kids annoy me. They do. They annoy and terrify me. Especially babies. They terrify me, and they're like dogs because they sense my fear and therefore start crying when I come anywhere near them. Which terrifies me even more.

Although I probably get even more terrified by those strange babies who don't start crying when they see me. Who just stare at me or chuckle at me as if I'm supposed to say something very intelligent or noteworthy and I have no idea whether I'm supposed to stare back or look away, or how long I need to stare back before I can politely look away, because dammit, there are no rules for this sort of thing.

And then these babies grow into kids, who range from being cute to little monsters who think they're SO much smarter than you. My aunt, whose three kids are all at least a decade younger to me, thinks I'm very good with kids. Statements like this are designed to make me simultaneously burst out laughing and have palpitations. And more than an hour in the presence of any kids makes me supremely uncomfortable.

So anyway, while marriage doesn't seem to be anywhere on the cards in the next few years, it is fairly certain that neither is that adoption, because I'm not stupid and I wouldn't to me or that poor kid.

But. Some time ago I suddenly started following all these blogs and people on twitter who talked about their kids all the time. Very beautifully, at that. So beautifully that the occasional "what-if" thoughts started creeping into my head. And then a few months ago, I was at a professor's home for dinner, and I don't know who would do such a stupid thing, but his two-month old daughter was put in my arms. And I froze and stayed absolutely still till someone took pity on both of us and called the kid's mother to take her away from me.

See, here's the thing. The only time any maternal feelings arise in me is when I think of my princess. People whip out their phones to show off photos of their tiny tots' antics, I whip mine out to show off the gorgeous creature that Kyra is. I am somewhat known for having ticked off a lot of people who have been telling me about their kids or nieces or nephews by exclaiming, "oh, how cute, my dog does that too!" Because she does, dammit, and I don't see why people have to get so offended by the comparison.

I also may or may not have cried a teeny-weeny bit a week ago when the mother showed me on Skype to the princess, who yawned, got up and walked off.

I've also learned over time, the hard way, that you really never should say never. So maybe kids will happen someday. If for no other reason but that I have these really awesome names I want to give them even if everyone else says those names are stupid.

But for now, I'm going to read those blog posts, sigh wistfully for just a second, and then move on to the next outrage-provoking piece of news that makes me wonder why anyone would want to bring kids into this utterly stupid world.

After all, that, if nothing else, is definitely a good reason to ignore any biological clock that tries to start ticking.

Of squirrels and their stripes

The story goes that when Rama and his Vanara sena were building a bride to get to Lanka, a squirrel appeared out of nowhere and decided to help them, by taking one tiny pebble at a time and adding it to the bridge. The monkeys and bears of the Vanara sena saw this and started mocking and laughing at the squirrel, because y'know, how can that tiny thing help?

Rama, on the other hand, in his infinite wisdom and kindness and all of that, picked up the squirrel to thank it and and stroked it, which led to stripes appearing on the squirrel's back.

I had read this story years and years ago, but it came back to me last year when I came to the US and was startled to see these non-stripy squirrels all over the place. And now, every time I see a squirrel, I remember this legend.

Squirrel. It's a fun word. And a fun animal to watch.

Stressful ramblings

The phone rang on Friday evening, but stopped after one ring. I realised it was from the father, and promptly called him back, thinking something must have happened for him to call me so early. Only when he picked up did I realise it was actually past 8 PM, and therefore a fairly reasonable time for him to call me.

I don't know if it was the stress of the week, or just my subconscious catching up with me, but I ended up startling my father by bursting into tears out of relief.

Aurora, Colorado, two weeks ago. Pune, five days ago. And then Oak Creek, Wisconsin, this morning.

None of them impacted me at a personal level. Not even in a minuscule way like Delhi and Mumbai in 2008 might have. But they all make you wonder, what is wrong with people and the world?

Close to a year ago, there was a bomb blast in the Delhi High Court. This was less than two months after I had moved to the US, so even though very few people I know were likely to have been close to the site, it freaked me out no end. And then I had a conversation with the BFF, which helped put things in context. A bit.

me: how do you deal with it?
everytime something happens back home?

BFF: I remember a line from a "poem" we read in class 6 or 7

do you remember the atomic bomb shelter announcement one?

there's a line in it that goes something like 'there will be casualties... statistically it is not likely to be you'

and so I use stats, and work out how much I need to worry based on distance

so GK, CP, Sarojini, Saket etc. means worry

saket would mean xtra worry cos mum's there

MG road means worry

malls means, unlikely you need to worry but check just in case

me: I love you
I am going to save this conversation
and keep coming back to it
and someday
when I've internalized it

BFF: :)

me: I will blog it

BFF: ok :)

I am happy I helped yay :)

I wish I could remember that poem, it was eerie.

but that line was so reassuring it stayed

me: happens that way

I try to apply that these days. Pune meant some worry because the godfather's family and sundry other family and friends live there. Wisconsin and Aurora were scary at entirely different levels, but more for the mother than me. Other events, across India and elsewhere, have been worrying and frustrating because it's just so hard to get information that isn't juvenile and completely screwed up in the way it's relayed by the media. I had to email the brother a few weeks back, because I couldn't find a single report, article or blog that helped me understand what exactly was happening in Assam.

I've mentioned earlier, I think, that some years ago, after another blast in Delhi, a friend called from Mumbai to find out if I'm fine and mentioned that he had actually made groups in his phone's contact list - one for each metro city of the country. Made it easier for him to react and find out about family and friends every time a blast happened.

The way the world's been over the past few weeks, and longer, it seems to have become increasingly important to be able to do that - reach out to people.

Oh and because the BFF is awesome, if you recognize that poem, tell us, yeah?