Save some energy!

Yesterday I went to see the film Chuskit which was being screened as part of IFFI in Panjim, in an inflatable theatre. It is a film about a girl with a disability in a village in Ladakh and how her family, friends and then her entire village come together to help her go to school and get on with her life. More about the film later. This piece is about another topic. 

The inflatable theatre seats about a 100 people and there were several air-conditioners inside to ensure air circulation and cooling. They were set at 16⁰ C and when I walked in, it felt cold. Outside, it was probably about 28⁰C. There were very few people in the audience, probably about 10, and so it did not become any warmer. At one point, I asked the attendant to please increase the temperature a bit and he raised it to 21⁰C. It still felt cold.

I was reminded again of my trip to Japan in September, 2011. My flight brought me to Tokyo via Changi Airport, Singapore. Changi is my favourite airport - if I were given a corner somewhere to live in it, I would be very happy. However, it is cold inside. I am guessing it is about 18⁰C inside. So it was a pleasure to land in Tokyo and find the airport comfortable. Being from Madras, my ambient temperature tends to be higher. And in the taxi to the hotel, I noticed the temperature on the dashboard and I asked the driver why it was at 26⁰C. I got the gist of the response from him, but had to wait for the full story from my host the next day.

A tsunami had affected the working of their nuclear power plant at Fukushima in March 2011. So as a country, they decided to conserve energy. One of the measures that they agreed on was to keep all air-conditioning at public places at 26⁰C. It is a shade uncomfortable for most people, but really, the human body adapts quite fast. Nationally they had a huge saving in energy. And an exponential sale in the growth of men’s shirts! 

Earlier, with the temperature being maintained at 18⁰C in offices and public spaces, office-going men wore jackets to keep warm. Now that they no longer needed the jackets, they had to make sure their shirts were in good condition. Apparently they had been getting away with old, faded and sometimes torn shirts under their jackets. Hence the rush to buy new shirts! 

I don’t understand the need to keep the temperature so low that you are forced to cover up or use a blanket at night. Doesn’t it make more sense to keep it at an ambient 24 to 27⁰C, depending on your comfort level and wear lighter clothes or bed linen? When I use an AC, I keep the temperature at 25⁰C. Since these are not perfect machines, I do need to cover myself up, but with a thin cotton sheet. And I wake up feeling refreshed. 

I find most spaces that have air-conditioning in India too cold - theatres, airports, hotels and meeting rooms. They should try to increase the temperature by just 1⁰C and see the difference in energy consumption. If they do it over a few months, they could reach 24 or even Japan’s 26⁰C without too much complaint. I certainly will look forward to that!

28/Nov/2018

Caste in Urban India

Growing up in Madras, I had very little idea about caste. We lived in a mixed neighbourhood and we knew that different people belonged to different religions, but caste was never discussed or referred to. The convent school I studied in told us that there were four castes and that was that. There was absolutely no discussion on the injustice or violence that this differentiation causes. Or how very much a part of life it is in much of India. When we were in the twelfth and writing various entrance exams, caste came up because of the high reservations quota in Tamil Nadu. However, it didn’t really touch me since I had no desire to become either a doctor or an engineer. And somewhere deep inside, my sense of justice said that reservations were the right way forward till the balance was regained. 

It was not until I was 25 years old, did I really face the issues of caste and what it means in another India. No, it wasn’t a pleasant experience at all – I had been accused of discriminating based on caste and it was in vain that I tried to explain that really I had no clue about various castes and their assigned positions. Nobody believed me then – today I understand why. At that time I was very perplexed since surely there were many others like me – most of my school mates definitely! 

My memories of this episode were dredged up by an article I read in the newspaper last week. It was titled “Casteism exists in India, let’s not remain in Denial” by Namita Bhandare and credited to HT Media. It is based on a study by NCAER and the University of Maryland. The final results are due out next year. 

In the last 20 years, I have managed to educate myself on issues related to caste, the Dalit movement, etc. thanks to many of my colleagues in the social development sector who have worked their entire life on these issues. I am certainly no expert on the issue, but there is a glimmer of understanding now of the issues involved. I do not dare offer any solutions to this complex set of issues – but I do see positive work from groups who work on a combination of the social, political and economic. “Revolution alone is not enough – it has to go together with the self-confidence of the individual and their growth through education and better economic status” is what some of these groups say and I tend to agree. Do you try to mainstream the Dalits or are the Dalits the mainstream and it is the others who need to be worked on? How does gender play a part in this tangle given that Dalit women are often used as tools of retribution? And the questions go on. 

I am not trying to get into an erudite debate here. I am trying to ask each one of us to look within. Urban India is constantly shocked at the situations that caste throws up. A study conducted in Rajasthan in 2001-02 by Unnati of manifestations of caste revealed jaw-dropping situations. In police stations, the surveyors found, two pots of water – one for Dalits and one for the others. In schools, it was the norm. Dalit children were made to sit at the back of the class. In the primary health centre (PHC), ditto. The case of the Dalit District Collector made headlines – his peon refused to serve him water! This was a decade ago. I am not sure there has been a radical change since. In supposedly developed Tamil Nadu, tea stalls still have two sets of tumblers – one disposable and the other made of glass or steel. No prizes for guessing which is for whom!

All of this is easy to debate for the chatterati. It happens out there, to others. We would never do that. Oh no, we don't discriminate. We are educated, well-informed, well-travelled; we are slightly superior really. Of course everyone is equal. 

So then let me ask you – do you have a separate set of utensils, crockery, cups, plates, etc. for your domestic workers? 

Every time I hire someone to work in my house, I go through this discussion when I offer them a cup of tea. “Akka / Didi, which cup should we use?” I tell them to take their pick. Then they explain that they are usually assigned a cup and a plate and they use only those. The first time I was a bit confused – the lady was hired to wash all the vessels. Was she saying that she would not wash all of them equally well? Is that why she wanted hers to be separate? I growled at her and insisted that she had to wash everything properly. And we had a very convoluted conversation at the end of which I slowly understood what she was saying. She was a Dalit and most of the houses where she worked were of non-Dalits. So even though she washed all the utensils, the ones she used were to be kept separate. The logic still eludes me.

Working in responsible tourism, I realised that caste is to blame for why we have such dirty toilets in India. Here is how I understand it – toilets are cleaned by a certain caste group who are fairly low on the hierarchy. They probably don't have a toilet at home themselves. Their work is considered dirty, so no one goes in to supervise them or teach them how to do it. They report that their work is done and it is accepted as such. If a person is not taught how to do a piece of work and then not supervised, it is natural that there will be some who do it well and some who do it badly. And since there is no incentive to clean a toilet, slowly those who do it well will also stop bothering. 

 One of the first tasks that I do when we set up a guest house is to teach all the staff how to clean the toilet. I am always told that this is the first time they are being taught to do this or that anyone holds the same broom and brush that they do. It is not the cleanest job to do, especially the first time, but isn’t that what soap and water are for? 

The article I referred to earlier gives the statistics on percentage of Dalits in newsrooms, corporate Boards, etc. And expresses shock at how low that percentage is. We think that if we stop asking people about their caste, the problem is solved. What we have done is just window-dressing. The problem has not even been acknowledged, leave alone understood or addressed. Caste becomes important during elections, but there is little or no evidence of serious work on changing attitudes and behaviours that are discriminatory. Yes, there are the necessary laws. But when the police station has two separate matkas, do you expect them to take discrimination cases seriously? 

Those who make policy in India live in a rarefied atmosphere. They are not just politicians – they come from every walk of life. They have a theoretical knowledge of the realities of India. They probably emerged from that some decades ago. However, today, for the most part they are totally clueless and very far removed from another India. They probably do make forays into this other world, but they are so cosseted, that the reality does not come anywhere close to touching them. The problem is that this disparity is growing wider year after year. And we continue to be in denial.

12/Dec/2014

What’s in a name?

The Bard asked that question lightly and moved on. He never dealt with a Government official telling him that his name was invalid did he? I tried explaining to the man (Government official, not Bard), that this was how my parents had named me but my application for whatever was rejected. That spurred me to write this piece. Actually I have been writing it in my head for many decades now. It is only thanks to my friend and torturer Anu, that it is being typed out now.

Let me share with you my experience of names gleaned over the last 300 years of my life. Hey, that is how old I feel most days! I freely admit that the only research I have done is into my own experience, not of any voluminous tomes or internet searches.

A name is something that uniquely identifies you. In India, it usually carries a Given name and an additional name that is either the place you belong to, your father’s name or your occupation or your caste. “Your” here means your dynasty or clan, not necessarily of you personally. So if you had a forefather born in Parlakhamadi or Thuamulrampur, then that was your surname or forename, whether you can place the village on a map or not. Some communities place their surname(s) before their given name(s) to show respect to their place of origin, father, occupation or caste. Thus, theoretically, names could have a variety of forms and lengths. And to me this variety is what made the world an interesting place. 

Then along came technology. And regardless of current Indian claims, it came from the “West” – west of India that is; first from Europe and then from the land of freedom and promise – America as it is breezily called though it only comprises a part of the Americas. This land (USA, if you are still wondering), promises a lot, but on the name front forces you into a standard format – given name, middle name if you insist, surname – all having to fit into 40 characters or whatever the latest technology demands. No other format is accepted and tolerated. This rigid, non-varietal view is what made that bureaucrat in Gujarat tell me my name is invalid. 

Actually I am a chilled out person and wouldn’t care how my name is mangled. However, no one has a right to tell me my name is invalid. What did he raise objection to? My name followed the classic (where I come from) format of village name followed by given name. The village name (which I have since legally shortened) is unpronounceable and bewilders every spell check. That may have irked my Gujarati friend who preferred surnames (not forenames) that are simple such as Patel or Shah. He also insisted that my father’s name should be my middle name. If I really wrote out my name the way he wanted me to, I would spend most of my life just writing it out on one form or the other – it is that long. He is not alone – try to fill out any online form. There are limited characters for Given name first, followed by Surname, with a grudging middle name squashed in. 

Here is what I ask of the world – why does technology dictate how our names go? Why kill the variety that our names bring to the world? And let us go back to basics – what is the purpose of a name? It is to identify a person uniquely. How does it matter to anyone if I write my Given name first or my Surname first? All you need to add is a field that asks, “How would you like to be addressed?” or “In what sequence is your name written?” or “Which is your first name and your second name?” I just don't like this automatic assumption that my first name is my Given name and my second name is my Surname. In my case, it is most certainly not. 

I ask this confident that there are a lot more people than just me who face this problem. There are many communities in Southern India and East Asia who write their Surname before their Given name. If the population of India and China is about 2.5 billion to 3 billion, then I guess that there are at least a billion people who don't follow the standard format of Given name, middle name, Surname. Isn’t that a large enough population to want to cater to? I tried explaining this to Facebook, but I got a standard response on how a name has two parts – the first name is the given name and the second name is the surname and that is that. So Facebook continues to call me “Kv” incorrectly, confusing all my friends. 

In an ideal world I would like to use a single name – one that does not connect me to a place or my lineage or my caste; one that highlights me as me. However, I do agree that it could become very confusing since others also have my name. So I am likely to get tagged with a description which would, over time, become my Surname. (I would still insist on writing it before my name.)

In another piece I will explain the evolution of my name. 

5/Dec/2014

Democracy on the roads

As I sat in the bus, cordoned off from the sounds around me by the AC, I marvelled at the traffic in this city. It was once the garden city - a retirement haven. Today it is full of cars and houses and people. And these people are rich, expecting the privileges of the rich. They buy the best car there is in the market, never mind the cost - it could be 30 lakhs, 60 lakhs or a crore even. They have the money and they will have the best. And every house has so many cars, they park on the roads along with the pariah stray dogs that roam the streets. BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Porsche, Pariah - all same. It is politically incorrect to say Pariah these days - you call those dogs mongrel or native mixed breed or some such thing. At night these dogs, whatever you choose to call them, rule the roads. During the day, the same roads are clogged with cars. No one rules the roads in the day. They just lie back majestically and allow the cars to stand, with very little movement. 

As I sat in the bus, I wondered at these people. In the arrogance of their wealth, they buy these cars and behave as if they own the roads. The pay scant attention to basic courtesies of human society - they have the best car that money can buy, so they have to forge ahead. Who cares for the rules of the road that lies docilely below? Who cares for the law of the land - the lawmaker can be bought off with money, down to the last one of them. And so they drive, or rather urge their sarathis on. Take that little gap, go across the divider, mow that scooter down. Never mind that you are sitting in a mega chariot too big for that little gap. What ensues naturally is chaos. A chaos known as a friendly sounding traffic jam rather than by the name it really is - a traffic snarl. A snarl that engulfs you and lets you  chug along slower than the cyclist who whizzes past on the pavement. A snarl that is the great equaliser on these rueful roads. You turn up the AC a notch higher or change the setting so it gets colder insider. You believe that the rolled up windows protect you from the smog outside. Believe away.

You move ahead slowly - a kilometre takes a good 30 minutes. It doesn’t matter that your car, your vehicle costs thirty times that of the tiny one next to you. You all move at the same pace. You wince as your driver in front ignores the great potholes and splashes merrily through them. You groan as you think of the physio’s bills as the ache in your neck, your back slowly picks up. Not so your car that ambles along. Right beside that ancient Ambassador that should have retired a good twenty years ago. 

As I sit in the bus, I think that these roads are the best equalisers we have. The truest expression of democracy there is. All are same - you in your expensive Porsche and you in your Maruti 800 of 1997 vintage and me in my public bus. Maybe I actually have the edge. My bus is driven by someone who really wants to get ahead. And he doesn’t care to have anyone come in his way. So he manages to actually go faster than the general traffic around him. 

I wonder - all these people with money, why don’t they use their wealth and influence to improve the roads and the traffic so that they at least enjoy these toys they buy? Is it that they don’t want the rest of the us to enjoy it? Can they be that petty in their wealth? Or is it that they are afflicted by apathy just like the rest of us? Ah democracy - how many ways do you make us equal?

December 2017

The Nix by Nathan Hill

The Nix by Nathan Hill was a very satisfying book. The problem with reading a book like that is that everything else pales in comparison for a while after that. The book is some 650 pages long - so daunting at first glance and difficult to hold while lying down. And it starts slowly - so it took some staying power to go with the flow. It covers the life of the narrator, who is the author probably, for about 30 years. The story is told from various perspectives and includes an interesting period in the history of the USA - the student riots in the late 60s, anti-Vietnam, hippy, free sex used interchangeably with free love. The book is a commentary on the endemic corruption in the country, women’s rights (their absence really!), consumerism, environmental issues, etc. over time. It focusses on small town life, campus life in Chicago and briefly goes to New York. We get a glimpse of a small town in Norway which left me wanting more. 

Many of the lines in the book found resonance within me. And showed again that geography doesn’t really matter - we human beings have something at our core that is common globally. Or it could be just the English speaking human beings!

The book ends well - not too neat, but with enough spaces for happiness. As I near the end of a book this size, I usually go slower in my reading - I don’t want to be disappointed. This book left me satisfied. 

It has been a long time since I read a book that has been so leisurely in dealing with all the characters and going off into various tangents before bringing the many threads together again. I did get surprised several times at the turns the book took. 

I wouldn’t define the book as un-put-downable; more like it was a pleasure to come back to each day. I look forward to the next one by Nathan Hill. 

February 2018

Gifted to me last year for my birthday

Tradition!

Hi XX,

I read your piece on Karwa Chauth and would like to share my thoughts with you. 

I grew up in Madras where Karwa Chauth is not observed, but there is a similar festival called Varalakshmi Puja observed sometime in August. I am not sure if the women fast, but all married women do the Puja and then invite other women to their house in the evening. My mother never did this Puja and was constantly badgered by my aunts and blamed everything that went wrong in the house on the fact that she didn’t do the Puja. Finally mummy gave in and started. So I am not sure that all the women do it out of choice. 

She told me not to see it as a religious event but as a fun gathering of women – just like you mentioned in your article. That was when I asked about widows. I noticed that no widows were invited for this function – so I asked my mom – and she evaded the question like many other questions that I asked.

She stopped doing the Puja when my dad died. After a couple of years one of her friends invited her over for the Puja and she went over. She came back very upset. While she was invited, she was not included in any of the activities and had to sit in a corner. 

The reason I am explaining all this is this: Hindu festivities involving married women are usually discriminatory. They are not fun for all women. And the women usually don’t have a genuine choice on whether they want to do it or not. If a woman really has a choice and does it, then no one would have a problem with it. However, most women give in to pressure, usually from the in-laws, and do these rituals. 

Tradition is good, but it is not written in stone. We need to have the courage to move with the times and modify our rituals accordingly. Just like we done with our clothes or food. 

The second point is this: India has a sex-ratio of 927. The juvenile sex ratio is even more dismal – 911? This clearly points to a preference for the boy child. I always thought that the West Coast of India was leagues ahead in this and treated girls equally. However, if you look at the juvenile sex ratio on the West Coast, the trends are gloomy and show a downward trend. The fact that the sex ratio reflects how the girl child is treated means that this fact pervades everyone’s household and family – mine and yours. It needs us to change our attitude towards boys and girls and be very careful about the messages we pass on to the next generation. 

A ritual where one spouse prays for the welfare of the other is fine if it were not always the female spouse praying for the male spouse. In that one ritual the message is that the female has no identity without the male. If we need to change for the better, both should observe this ritual – then the message given to their children is that both value each other equally. 

If we look at how these rituals are observed across India, there are a lot of variations across castes. However, that is another debate. The way rituals are observed are also changing with time – this I learnt speaking to my grandfather and my mother’s aunt. I found that surprising initially since the usual response to a question on why a ritual is done a particular way, is “that is how it is”. So for the longest time I thought all this was written down somewhere. However, that does not appear to be the case. Which means that we can also modify rituals to reflect today – like for Diwali a lot of people use candles or electric lights instead of mud lamps with oil and cotton wicks. 

October 2017

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, a sour spinster aunt went to stay with her two lovely nieces (princesses actually) and their (fairy) grandmother. None of them knew what to expect and all were excited at the thought of this unusual family gathering. The (fairy) grandmother was less fairy and more grandmother - all cliches, with white hair, rounded spectacles, a stoop and a shawl in any weather. When she wanted, she turned into a fairy - beautiful and straight and proud and created magic - in the kitchen, usually, but sometimes without. 

The nieces were small (figuratively speaking) and petite and cute like puppies and kittens usually are. In reality they towered over everyone and knew their mind and did they speak it! Do I need to describe the sour spinster aunt? She was round and short and wore loose clothes and of course spectacles. Her redeeming features were the twinkle in her eye and a booming laugh that could be heard two streets away. She had an easy sense of humour and a deep sense of irony and these saw her through her boring life. 

On the first day everyone wanted to please everyone else and so it passed quickly. There was ice-cream and waffles and French fries and every forbidden food amidst much laughter and giggling and hugging. The nieces pretended to study and the aunt and the grandmother were happy that peace reigned. They all happily watched as much TV as they wanted to. 

As expected, all that ice-cream in that cold weather ended in a fever. The atmosphere became a little stretched. The nieces couldn’t understand this new world where there were no rules. The sour aunt spread her sourness. The fairy retreated and the grandmother emerged. The smiles were strained. No one slept well that night. And it rained non-stop. 

The next morning the tired parents returned to a topsy-turvy order. Fatigued, they set things right and fell asleep to wake up at noon. Everything was back to normal. The nieces grumbled, but they knew this was the way their world should be. Rice and roti and vegetables and sambar and rasam and curd for a meal was just as it should be. The TV firmly switched off was right when exams were not too far away. Children should study and play - but each had its place and could not take over the other. 

The sour aunt sighed with relief that the house still stood. The grandmother receded and the fairy came up again. All was well with the world. It was normal. Two tired parents sat with their children while they did their homework. Outside it was Sunday and the world partied; not they; they had a destiny to fulfil. 

December 2017

I stayed with my nieces for a couple of days. When I was leaving, the younger one Anjali, asked me to write a story for her. This is that story :)

An honest review about Kabali

I will go and see a movie because it has Rajnikant in it. I don’t need it to have much else. Just let it have the man, his mannerisms and his lines and I am entertained. However, I hope this is his last movie! I said that after Lingaa as well and I say it again.

Kabali has a story – a good one really. It is set in a milieu that many Indians don’t know much about. It could have resonated with migrant communities from across India who go to a strange land and help to build it up and yet have their rights routinely being trampled upon and being treated as “outsiders”. 

After the expected start, what I realized was that the Director seems to have been overcome with awe at directing Thalaivar. Most of the actors, and there are really too many of them, seemed clueless. It was typified by Dhansika, who acts as Yogi, a contract killer who turns out to be Kabali’s daughter, repeatedly asking, “Ennapa?” (What, dad?) In the movie she is asking him to gauge his mood and thoughts, but to me it sounded like she was asking him to tell her what to do next since the Director certainly didn’t seem to be helping her. The same is true for Dinesh Ravi as Jeeva – every time the camera pans to him, he seems to come alive; else he is totally without expression. Perhaps a good Editor could have salvaged the movie still, but that doesn’t seem to have happened either. The one person who seems to have enjoyed himself as much as Rajnikant is John Vijay as Amir. 

I read several reviews which mentioned Radhika Apte for her performance. Again, all I saw was this vivacious lady wearing the most beautiful saris and smiles, spout motivational lines to Kabali. She looked reconciled to the situation and hence avoided the confusion that Dhansika and Dinesh Ravi had etched on their faces. 

Rajnikant was himself – of course his on-screen performance is a mix of Billa, Muthu, Annamalai, Padayappa, Baasha et al. They are all alike and yet have a little something added on. His age showed clearly on screen. His movements are much slower, but his style remains. I remember going as a wee lass to see Billa after pestering my dad endlessly. That good impression continues. I was entertained by Kabali as I was by all his other movies. I wait for his lines – each movie throws up a new bunch of them. Kabali didn’t have as many funny lines as some others did. But it had my personal favourite – Thalaivar joking about his dark skin and how it doesn’t matter. Acting? No, I don’t watch a Rajni movie for great acting – I watch it for non-stop entertainment.

One thing that struck me was Dhansika’s role. I think this is a first for a Tamil movie in the last three decades at least – a female lead who is a contract killer, has short hair, wears pants, and is generally badass!! Yes, in other Tamil movies there are female leads who have short hair and wear pants – but somewhere they meet the hero and then they “reform” – they become good Tamil women – definitely growing their hair out and moving on to a salwar kameez if not to a sari. 

Kabali has good music – both the background score and the score are catchy and Neruppu da will be hummed for some days to come.

My advice as a fan – Rajnikant should retire gracefully at this point. He is already a Legend. He will continue to remain one for me and thousands others like me. He shouldn’t tarnish his image by doing more films like Kabali. When they show one of his old movies on TV, I still sit and watch it. But with the newer ones like Enthiran or Kochadiyan, I change the channel without a pause. He may still want to act, but then he has to choose the right movies. News reports say that his daughter Soundarya approached the Director, Pa.Ranjith after Rajnikant appreciated his previous movie, Madras. I guess paternal feelings are strong, but really Rajnisaar will be better off going with his own instincts – his last three movies are sufficient examples.  

Will loyalty take me back for one more Rajni movie? I guess it will, but really, I hope this is the last. At least of this genre!

India's Daughter - My take

Dear XY,

I am going to share my thoughts with you about “India’s Daughter”.

Let me first give you my feedback on the film before getting into anything else. I totally liked the film. It is difficult to enjoy the film, but that is because it is so well made. It relies on a narration of events and keeps away from hyperbole; given the topic, that is in itself impressive.

The film goes over the life of Jyoti Singh, whom we all know as Nirbhaya, her gruesome death and its impact on India. Many people are interviewed through the movie including 

• her very strong mother, 
• her supportive father, 
• her tutor and friend - Satyender, 
• the driver of the bus in which the rape took place, Manish Singh
• the parents of two of the rapists, 
• the wife of one of the rapists, 
• two Supreme Court Lawyers who fought on behalf of the rapists, 
• the police officers in charge of the investigation,
• two of the women who took part in the protests at India Gate
• Kavita Krishnan
• Sheila Dixit

The film captures all of them speaking calmly about the events. While Manish’s interview has been blown up out of context, Satyender’s interview has not been mentioned at all in the press. The two sets of interviews were in total contrast. One young man has had little education and opportunity and his views reflect what many of our politicians openly state. And the other young man is educated and has used that education to his advantage as is clearly reflected in his views. Watching the documentary clearly brings out this contrast. 

Manish comes across as lost and defeated. He says things in a monotone and it is clear that he is parroting what he has heard others say. In no way does he come across as a representative of India! Or as a person whom other would-be rapists are listening to!

The shocking thing in the film was to hear what the two lawyers had to say. I was really stunned. My parents’ families live in the 16^th century, but even they would not have such views. I was also surprised that these men actually aired their views with such confidence. I would have thought that yes, they would hold these views, but would try to tone it down in front of the camera. I wondered how the women in their families survived. I would have loved to hear from their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters. I still think it would be a great interview idea – especially with their mothers.

The pleasant surprise was the parents – both were strong and yet positive. They had not become bitter because of this disgusting incident. Their question, as must be that of all rape survivors and their families, was why justice takes so long? Why in the name of justice does the rape survivor have to live through her hell repeatedly? And India doesn’t have an answer to that does it? Is anyone even trying?

I am very rarely patriotic. I prefer to live by “Vasudaiva Kutumbakam”. I always think of myself as a global citizen. Yet watching the spontaneous protests around India Gate, I felt pride that I live in India. Here is a country and a city known for its apathy, and here were all these people out on the streets, in the terrible December cold, braving police action, protesting. Name one other country where this has happened on this scale. And name one other documentary that has highlighted this. 

I have been a feminist since I can remember. IRMA was the first place where I felt obvious discrimination. And I have always fought it. In 1994, I underwent a gender-sensitisation training and I was filled with hope that in twenty years things would change. A film like this highlights the fact that we have miles to go before we sleep. That we are still preaching to the converted; that yes, change is happening, but at such a slow pace that it is unacceptable; that the backlash to the change is happening faster than the change itself. The increasing rates of violence against women in India could point to a growing understanding of the issue or the need to protest or even point to the backlash to the change.

The situation of women in worsening though – a good measure of this is the Juvenile Sex Ratio which has actually been declining over the last four decades; even in states like Kerala which have traditionally had a positive sex ratio. What this says is that India values its women less and less with each passing decade. This is shown in obvious behaviour in some parts of the country where a woman is treated as less than human. In other parts of the country, lip service is paid to politically correct statements, while technology is used to quietly eliminate the female foetus. 

These are all things I have not thought of in many years. The film made me sit up and think. It made me realise that all is not well with this country; that economic growth will not automatically do away with gender inequality; that I need to do something, contribute in some way to easing this problem. Of course, I am a nobody. But I do believe that the ocean is made up of many drops and each drop counts; that I have to do my duty, my bit, regardless of the result. 

The film steers clear of party politics making the very strong statement that this is really above all that!

XY, you had posted on Facebook that this film is part of a conspiracy to degrade India at a time when it is doing well; that this Government is not being allowed to function.

I believe that this film would have been equally banned by the UPA as well, for very similar reasons. And that would have been a mistake as well. A ban only serves to highlight the object. And in this case, the ban actually did a disservice to the women’s rights cause, because the debate moved from the issue at hand to conspiracy theories.

I am sure there is a global conspiracy to downgrade India. But don't you believe that this country is greater than all these petty efforts? Do you seriously believe that a film made by a foreigner will cause other countries to look down on India? One German Professor is racist and you believe that is “global” response? Come on, you are more intelligent than that!

I don't believe in conspiracy theories in general. I believe that if you work hard, it shows and the world respects you. If you consistently take positive steps it is bound to show you in a positive light.

 I believe that India is losing respect because of the shenanigans our so-called leaders indulge in at the national and global levels and have been doing so for at least two decades now!

Yes, it would have been great if an Indian journalist had made the movie – but the fact is s/he didn’t. So let us not be racist and say that the film is bad because it is made by a white British woman. 

Yes, tourism numbers have been going down. Not because someone is trying to degrade India but because of the reality that India is unsafe and disgustingly dirty. 50% of tourists to India visit Agra and the Taj Mahal. I went there last year. I was thoroughly put off – you are harassed on all sides and the garbage was simply everywhere. A zone around the Taj Mahal has been sanitised, but then foreign tourists do go beyond that.

In Goa, numbers have been going down because of the garbage and the looting by taxi drivers. Sri Lanka and Thailand offer the same experience at a comparative price, in much cleaner surroundings and with politer service providers. While language may be a problem in Thailand, Sri Lanka is simply perfect. I felt ashamed on my return from there!

Put aside emotion. In today’s world of technology, is it possible to ban anything? Didn’t the GOI make complete fools of themselves by trying to do so? A dignified response would have been to say that we are not obliged to respond to every dog’s bark☺. The film would have died a natural death or it would have been watched by a bunch of toothless feminists like me. This has nothing to do with NDA and UPA – the State made a mistake in banning the film. Full stop. 

Remember Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses? It was his worst book! (Yes, I have read all his books.) And yet because of the fatwa worldwide and the ban in India it sold way more than it should have. Why didn’t we learn from that?

XY, watch the movie – if only to see how much more this country has to progress; if only to feel pride in our live democracy; if only to watch Jyoti’s parents and learn how a girl child should be brought up; if only to see how there are positive young men like Satyender out there. Just watch it da. And then rant against it.

20 March 2015

Further reading – Google Nandita Haksar in Navhind Times and Madhu Trehan in Navhind Times

The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino

This is a very satisfying murder mystery. It kind of happens in reverse, which you will understand once you read the book. Perhaps because it is translated from the Japanese to English, the language is a bit heavy, and I had to pause between each chapter. The story is about a single mother and her daughter who kill the mother’s ex-husband when he harasses them too much. A neighbour who is interested in the mother helps them to cover up the murder using his mathematical brain to work out all the alternatives precisely. He coaches the mother and daughter as to what they should say when and how they should behave. The twists and turns the story takes took me by surprise. And I hope I don’t give away anything by saying this, but the ending really is heart-rending. True love can make us do some far out things!

The book also gives an idea of life in Tokyo and goes beyond the cliches and stereotypes about Japan. Overall a book I would recommend for those who like murder mysteries.

I was reminded of the Tamil movie Papanasam and the Hindi movie Drishyam while reading the book. 

Afzal the Goat

As told to me by friends, with some masala added :)

While going to Panjim that morning, we saw a baby goat sitting by the main road and looking around quite placidly. The zooming traffic didn’t seem to bother this kid who seemed quite interested in what was going on. It is unusual to see a baby animal by itself and we would have stopped to enquire if we had had more time. Since we were in a rush, I soothed my conscience by thinking that the owners are probably around which was why the kid was sitting demurely rather than bleating and rushing around aimlessly. 

In the evening, as we drove back home, I wondered if the kid would still be there and I knew that if it was still there, we would have to stop and rescue it. My husband and I were quite tired and I was kind of hoping that it had gone home by this time. However, it was still sitting there, exactly where I had seen it in the morning. And now it was bleating as well – I couldn’t hear it over the sound of the traffic, but I could see its tiny mouth open and close continuously as we inched closer to it. Reluctantly I pointed it out to my husband and asked him to pull up. Between us I don't know who has the bigger heart when it comes to animals. I thought I was bad till I met him! I actually prefer animals to humans and so it is natural for me to notice them as we travel each day.

We had to make a steep turn to the other side of the road to get close to the kid. As we brought our Scorpio to a halt, I could hear the piteous bleating and I got down without waiting for the vehicle to stop fully. The kid was wrapped up in some kind of cloth bandages which had gashes of red on them. I was feeling terrible to see the poor mite in such misery. I went up to the kid slowly so as not to startle it. Patidev also joined in and pretty soon we were surrounded by a crowd. We didn’t want the kid to move thinking it to be seriously injured – so we kept our distance and were discussing what to do when a boy pushed through the crowd and reached out and touched the kid. It bleated even louder then, but before we could react, the boy had pulled off the cloth from the goat. We saw with relief that it was snow white with a bit of black on its nose. The boy explained that he had seen the goat in the morning and thinking it would feel cold had wrapped it up in some spare cloth – which had been used to wipe red paint! I guess we are so used to expecting animals to be mistreated, that we had jumped to terrible conclusions immediately.

We discussed with the crowd about the origins of the kid amidst many jokes about tender mutton kababs and the like. No one seemed to know where it came from. On the back of the kid something was written in black, probably with a piece of coal. I was by now cradling the kid in my arms and I tried to read the word, but whichever way I turned, the script was unfamiliar to me. I would have loved to take this little beauty home; only our three dogs would have made all the tender mutton jokes come true. 

The only option was to take the animal to the International Animal Rescue Centre and then hope that the owners would come forward to track him. The crowd agreed with our decision and we headed back to our Scorpio. A car slowed down seeing the crowd and then stopped by us and asked us if the kid was ours. We explained what had happened and asked if they knew to whom it belonged. The driver said that he had seen a house with many goats in his colony but couldn’t remember which one it was exactly. He offered to call us the next day with the details as he was headed to the airport just then and could not delay. So the kid, named Pichku, by then by me, was all ours for the evening. 

I put him onto the back seat of the Scorpio and offered him some water in a bowl. Thanks to our dogs, we are well equipped to deal with minor animal crises. Pichku sniffed the bowl, turned away, thought better of it and came back for a drink of water. He must have been tired after being out the whole day. I was wondering whether he would eat some biscuits when the input-output process of all babies was completed – he peed on the seat! We had been a little worried about him till then; this simple natural reaction made us burst out into laughter and we were sure he was in good shape. Goats eat anything; Pichku proved this by eating the biscuits and then trying to eat the wrapper. I had to quickly grab it from his mouth and got a bleat of disgust in return.

We dropped him off at the IARC after convincing them that we would definitely come back the next morning for him. In our experience these things always sort themselves out and we were not too worried. There was, of course, always the option of tender mutton kababs!

Sure enough, the next morning, the car driver called us to say that he had found the owners and gave us their address and phone number. We decided to surprise them and land up unannounced. We went to IARC and picked up Pichku who had apparently slept through the night quite peacefully. Pichku again did us the great honour of peeing on the seat. We reached his house and as soon as we opened the car door, he jumped out bleating as loudly as he could. This was obviously a home he recognised. An elderly lady and a couple of children came out and thanked us for bringing him back. She said that the badmaash always strayed from the group, but usually came home by evening. 

While we were relaying stories about Pichku, suddenly one of the children piped up, “but can’t you read, his name is written on his back – Afzal!” Another mystery solved and another animal rescued. So life goes on...

13/Feb/2015