Who Will Empower The One Who Empowers?

I was on field, observing a session where women gathered in their own little safe space and talked about periods. If there is something that I have learnt, it is that women have this amazing ability to create safe spaces for one another. And, it was a privilege for me to be allowed into that safe space (albeit from a distance) and listen to and watch their conversations (the shy smile, the secret glance in my direction, the nudging...communicating constantly).

This safe space was made possible by a colleague of mine, Sanjana. The ability to get into the communities, to get the women to get together and to sit down and have conversations around a topic that they would hardly ever do otherwise, is a herculean task in itself. However, to get the women to open up, to hold a menstrual cup (unintentional rhyme), to laugh about the mistakes made while sticking a pad on to the underwear is even more so. And every time I make a field visit with the 21 other Sanjanas that I work with, I am always left with a sense of deep gratitude and amazemen.

The session ended and we were walking out of the community. I struck up a conversation with Sanjana as I usually do, for a debrief of the session. In the middle of the conversation, Sanjana said, 'the women have asked me to bring sweets the next time I meet them.'

'Why?' I asked.

'It was my engagement,' was her reply. While I am not entirely sure about the tone in which it was said, I interpreted it, in my head, to be a cheerful one and immediately readjusted my tone to match hers and congratulated her. She then asked me if I had seen her fiance.

'No! Show me! Do you have a selfie!' I was doing a good job of sounding excited. She said she had no selfie, but pulled out a photo taken during the engagement. I looked at it and the immediate thought that I thought was that she could have done so much better. However, I also told myself that it was not my place to decide that. So, I gave her an appreciative nod. There was a short pause and then asked me, 'kaisa laga (what do you think?)'

'Bohot achha! (It's great!)' Generic response at its best.

'Mujhe pasand nahi aaya.' (I did not like him) I was shaken out of the generic response mode because the honesty in her response was not something that I was prepared for.

'Toh phir kyu haan bola?' (why did you say yes, then?)

Over the next two minutes, as we navigated through the streets, she went on to tell me how her parents want her married because there is her younger sister waiting in line. She also told me how she would have to relocate to a town that is far away from this town where she grew up. And finally, almost as an afterthought (although, as I write this, I think it was more from having to muster the courage to accept it by saying it out loud), she said, 'also, if we start looking for someone better, the dowry (she didn't use that specific word. She used broken words which was to be interpreted to be dowry) will start getting higher and we cannot afford it.

At that moment, I was hit by a sense of deep sadness. Here was a woman who went around trying to empower other women but was herself as powerless as an astronaut who's broken away from the space-station and is headed into the vast empty universe. How does one make peace with the decision to spend the rest of the life with someone that you don't want to, made on the basis of having to make room for your sibling and, AND, not having to give (more) money to someone to marry you. What hit me harder was that all of this was said with a deadpan face. I did not know if it was acceptance or resignation, but the lack of emotion in the confession was brutal.

What does it feel like, to be Sanjana? I will never know.

Socie-Tea, You Crazy Breed

     It was a tough day. In fact, it had been a tough month. Getting women to come out of their houses and to listen to us tell them how they need to be more comfortable with their bodies and their bodily processes was challenging enough but this time, we were out in the communities, trying to get the men to come together and listen to us tell them that they needed to take more responsibility of the health and wellbeing of the women in their lives.

     After spending about a month on field, we had found one gentleman, Mr Sameer, from the community who had shown willingness to help us mobilise men. We had an initial conversation with him about us and our work which mainly involved trying to create awareness about menstrual health and its allied issues. He seemed to be on board and we were excited to see him show interest. We were at that stage in our journeys that any man who would even remotely show any interest in listening to us was gold equivalent for me.

     Coming back.  That afternoon, when we were on the field, I could see Mr Sameer actively trying to get men to mobilise so that we could talk to them. We got two hours with the men, with Mr Sameer sitting through parts of the sessions. We ended the meeting by discussing how it is important for us men to take responsibility for a happy life of our wives and how we should make sure we support them in all possible ways. It was an emotional moment when the men agreed and spoke about how important this session had been for them. Our sessions were having an impact, after all.

     Slightly euphoric after the meeting, we walked with Mr Sameer to his house. As I entered his compound, I saw his wife washing clothes. The rains had shown some mercy after a long and relentless month and a half of downpour, and perhaps she had been trying to make the best of it. ‘Namaste, bhabiji, it’s been a while since I have seen you around!’ I greeted her warmly but I sensed that she was perhaps lost in her world as she gave me a feeble response. I guessed that there must have been a lot of washing to do. I brushed aside my thoughts and let Mr Sameer know that I would like to leave. As soon as I said that, he said, ‘nothing doing. You have come home and are not leaving without having some tea.’ I protested. I said, ‘No, no! Please don’t take the trouble. You’ve had a long day. We shall come some other day.’

     ‘Arrey, what trouble? Not at all. Come in, sit.’ And then, he added, addressing his wife- who was still washing clothes rather sullenly,’arrey, make some nice tea, quickly.’ We went into the room and sat on the chairs and looked at each other and smiled and talked about this and that. While I did not have the courage to look into her eyes, in that moment, it was a sombre realisation for me:

Yes, a man will take responsibility for the wellbeing of his wife. But first, let her make some tea.

Striking Up a Conversation

They say that traveliing is always good because you get to meet interesting people and learn new things. Well, that was proved beyond doubt when I boarded the bus to Pune from Bengaluru.

Firstly, it was a long day and the bus was, as expected, late by about about half an hour. I should have expected the same and yet I was feeling edgy. I was looking forward to getting into the bus and letting the journey begin. As soon as I get into the bus, I see that my window seat is taken by somone else. I am very possessive about MY window seat and I immediately claim MY window seat. He moves without any fuss and as I am settling in my seat, he shows me his ticket and asks me to check because he is not good at reading. He then goes on to say that if his bag was not already in the overhead compartment (I had to think for about ten seconds to think as to what that space is called before, eventually, replaying in my head, the instructions that you so often hear when the plane is taxiing towards the runway), he would have shown me his adhaar card. I laugh it off and say that there is no need for that.

I am beginning to get ready for my solo time when suddenly he turns to me and asks,
'where are you going?'
'Pune', I say.
'Pune? I am going to Mumbai.'

I nod, hoping that that is the end of it. However, he continues chatting and tells me how he worked as a conductor on a similar bus for about 3 months before quitting and moving to selling fruits. He also tells me how he also worked on trucks along the Goa route and how that was an easy job but didn't pay much. All this while I am nodding my head and hoping that he would stop.

At this juncture, I feel obligated to tell you that I do not mean to be mean. I hold no malice towards anyone and there are times when I have genuinely tried to be a little more excited about striking up a conversation with others (no, not talking about Tinder), but sometimes, especially during bus/train journeys, I really love just being alone.

I guess this is evident on my face, because he stops abruptly and says, 'you aren't feeling bad that I am talking to you, no?' Cornered that I was, I put on a brave face (read, the Pfft Face) and say, 'no, no, not at all!'

'Ah, good. Becuase, you see, bhai, some people like to talk and some don't. You see, I am not able to sleep and you are also not able to sleep. So, I thought I will talk to you'

Ignoring the fact that he decided on my behalf that I was not able to sleep, I feel guilty for not showing enough enthusiasm about his story and I try to repeat some of the things he says so that he knows that I am listening to him (I really was!). And he takes a break for a while and just when I think that the ordeal is over, he begins talking about women and how he once saved the life of a woman who was being molested on the streets of Hubli. I fail to comprehend the chain of events, but I gather enough information to understand that she is still in touch with him. I try to make an appreciative face when he springs his next question which leaves me quite embarrassed.

'have you impressed any girls?'
'what...? Err...? No...'
'What are you saying! You would have obviously...' My brain has gone on red alert mode and it stops registering what he's saying. I am already hyper-aware of the quietness of the bus. What are other passengers going to think? Do I look like a play boy? How do I make him shut up? Why does every conversation among men eventually have to boil down to women? Before I could go off in a tangent of my internal commentary on the social ettiquettes (or the lack of it), I bring myself back to reality and  make a desperate attempt to ward off his question about my ability to impress women.

'Err... I have home...' What I meant to say was that I stay at home with my parents. But then, as I say this, I realise that staying at home has got nothing to do with my ability to impress a girl. How do I bring this back on track? How do I regain control over the conversation? Things were getting too serious, too fast!

'what? Are you married?' Bless his soul. He found me an exit.
'Yes.'
'Oh, sorry bhai.' It was amazing how being married immediately put me out of the competition. Should I have felt bad? I don't know. But at that moment, I was a relieved man.

'No problem.' I make a married man face.

'For how long have you been married?' Interesting question. How long would I like to have ideally been married for? 'Two years', I say. it felt nice to be married for two years.

'Nice, nice(I don't know if he said nice, nice).' He goes quiet for a while before eventually asking, 'kids?' Of course! Why did I not think of that? Okay, do I want kids? Well, I know that I do not want kids. But the reasons for that are something that I did not have to patience to explain it to him.So I just say, 'no, not yet.'

'Right. But, what would you want?'

'I don't know. Whatever comes, i will be fine with it.' (what did my wife want, I wondered)

'No, but if you had to ask the one sitting upstaris, what would you want?'

'No preference', I say (unlike while booking IRCTC Tickets. There I aways want a Side Lower. Never get it, though).

'Right. Whatever He wishes to give, you will take.' I nod. And with that bit, the conversation ends.

I see that the conductor is switching on the TV and with that I see a possible full stop to the conversation. Akshay Kumar enters the bus as Mr Tichkule (Khatta Meetha) allowing me to exit into my world of thoughts.

Before Its Too Late.

There is a series of some brilliant podcasts by Malcolm Gladwell called Revisionist History. In each episode, he takes a look at some events in history and analyses them, bringing in some mind-blowing insights and the implications of a seemingly insignificant incident on the course of history. If you have read any of his works, you will definitely know the kind of genius that he is. This is no different.

However, that is not the point (this blog article was not sponsored by Malcolm Gladwell. Just saying). I was listening to one episode where he talks about the problem with trying to finding talented individuals in the poor and marginalised communities. The question he asks is that if there are so many institutions that are willing to offer free education to talented individuals, why are there so few takers for it? Is it because there is no talent among the poor? Well, needless to say, that is not the case. There is a lot of talent, everywhere. So, where are they getting lost?

The answer, he says (which, in hindsight seems rather intuitive. But that is how hindsight works, isn't it?), lies in the fact that if you wait untill university to open the gate for talent to come in, it is too late. Most of the talent gets lost in the struggle for existence. By the time the kids reach high school, if they are not identified and taken away from their existing condition, it is alomst too late.

And when I heard that, I was instantly taken back to my fellowship days, where I spent 2 years among some of the poorest people. It was also the 2 years where I met some really talented children. But there was this one boy's face that immediately popped up in my head when Malcolm spoke about how its too late to wait for talent to survive beyond a certain age. It has been more than 3 years since I left Udaipur and I have forgotten the boy's name. But, somehow, I have not forgotten him. He is still there, at the back of my head.

As Malcolm kept speaking, I could not help but wonder, what happend to him? He was in class 5 when I last met him. He must be in class 8 now. Will he get out of his poverty and make it? For he definitely has the talent. But, If Malcolm is right (which he most likely is), his chances are slim. The stories that we hear of some fighting against the odds to make it big are mere exceptions to the rule.

I hope he is the exception to the rule.

You Want Your India Back. I Want it Forward.

Did you know that Einstein was grateful to India and India's contribution to science? I mean, he apparently said, "We owe a lot to the Indians, who taught us how to count, without which no worthwhile scientific discovery could have been made." Did you know that it is believed that Sanskrit is supposed to the mother of all languages? Even the computer language which runs on the binary codes of 1 and 0 is derived from Sanskrit! And hey, speaking of 0, if not for Aryabhatta, who was an Indian, mind you, where would the world be today?

Have you sniffed the undertone of sarcasm, yet? Well, in case you haven't, are you down with a cold? If you are, let me lay it out on the table for you. I have a problem with the 'India's achievements' rhetoric. I believe that it is overdone and invoked in almost any occasion almost at the drop of a hat.

Don't get me wrong. I am not rubbishing the achievements, Every now and then, I turn to such anecdotes and it does fill me with amazement and pride. I watched the trailer of the biopic of A K Ramanujan and it was amazing. As a part of my course, I read Indian Psychology and most of the things that it talks about is almost unreal. India was indeed the land of amazing! Sadly, it 'was'.

What I do not understand is that how can we be so proud of our past and turn a blind eye to what is happening currently? We seem to rely on our past glory to defend the present ruins that we have been heading towards.

The question is, for how long?