Of Glass Ceilings and Placards.....

Equality and freedom is something modern women have come to take for granted. It is a gift which requires no thanks or gratitude. It is ours for the taking. I am one of them. Like other women of my generation, I have been handed an easy life. We have never been denied the right to go to school, to work, to walk the streets alone, to laugh, talk, wear colorful clothes or make up. Showing our ankle is not a crime. This is the world I live in. Should we be thankful for these things? I don’t know – after all aren’t some of these basic human rights? Or do we need to call them women’s rights?

Let’s take a journey to Afghanistan – the beautiful country with beautiful people, a troubled past and an uncertain future. Here amidst the many mountainous valleys you will find the answer to my question. Here human rights are not women’s rights. Where Taliban or no Taliban, women are mistreated beyond belief. I was transported to this hell on heaven through a moving and revealing book called “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khalid Hosseini. It made me curious to learn more about Afghanistan and its women. A country so close in geographical proximity to mine but far removed with regards to the ways of life, and the treatment of women. Here a life of dignified freedom is still a distant dream for most women and yet they carry on bravely, some risking their lives by participating in politics or exposing the crimes of the Taliban. To me it is another Holocaust – where physical atrocities aside, the human spirit is minced to a pulp without remorse or guilt. And all I can do is read. The frustration of being powerless starts to creep in. I am an educated, working woman, juggling work and family, free to do as I please, one among the men, I am empowered. Or am I?

As the book raced through my mind on the drive back home – I feel a sense of anger. Why do the true power wielders from the other so-called developed nations, the Governments, the humanitarian organizations sit back and watch. Are they doing nothing? With this question in mind I stepped down from the car as I reached home – and what I saw left me speechless. All the thoughts on women’s rights, equality etc etc came crashing down. There on a huge glass placard stuck to the wall that contained apartment numbers and corresponding owners was the real answer. Eternia I N32 – Mr Kaushik Madhavan – I read silently. This was my home too I thought, I cough up half of that dreaded EMI, I live in it, why has my name been left out? Then a closer examination tells me I am not the only one at the receiving end of this planned omission – all the flat owners are coincidentally –Men.

That night I entered my home- feeling like a cast away. Like I was still paying rent. It struck me that, this is just a small example of how it still exists – the inequality, the injustice – tucked away here and there waiting to pounce on you like a ghost from the past. But it is sadly the present, from the killing of the girl child in villages to the discrimination at job interviews (Are you married? Do you have kids?).

Has the experience taught me to be more grateful as a woman in today’s modern society? Yes and No. Yes because I want to recognize the suffering of women in parts of my country and other countries who fight back with dignified patience, that I will never know...their spirits too strong to be broken by the injustice that is doled out to them. No, because like the women of modern society we have not been blessed with this quiet dignity. We must fight to have our way. And that is what I will do, to get my name etched against the apartment that I co-own. To others, it may seem, small , insignificant, almost trivial. But to me this is more than just about a glass placard.

Beautiful Chaos

Last Friday, I found myself in Mylapore to buy gifts as a part of the “Thamboolam” for guests who would visit my very first Navaratri Golu at our new home. Excited, I alighted from the auto - the heat and noise hit me in the face – cars, autos, the inevitable Scooties and Hero Honda’s , people and shops crammed the small street in Mylapore next to the famous Kapaleeshwar Koil. This is the essence of Chennai, Tamil Nadu – the land of filter coffee and temples. The dust, sand, heat mingled with the overpowering aroma of malli pu, smanthi pu and roja pu – the smell of faith, religion, hope whatever you like to call it. It greets you everywhere as you walk through the crowded street.

There are rows of shops - doorless and inviting - shops arranged with bangles, bindis, hair clips, handbags, mirrors, combs , ear rings and other little trinkets. Shopkeepers call out to you – almost as if they can read your mind. On the other side of the street; Lakshmis, Saraswatis, Durgas, Ganeshas, Vishnus smile at the crowd that surrounds them. These are the handpainted clay “Golu Bommais” that will grace most houses in South India for the nine days of Navaratri with their colorful presence. Bright pinks, blues, yellows and green, the colours of divinity, mix effortlessly with the sweat of the vendors pushing their carts filled with more dolls and idols. For those who like shopping indoors, there are stores (with doors) a rare sight on this stretch, that house Kuthu Velakkus or Brass and Silver pots for the Kalasam and other items useful for daily pujas.

Amidst this noise you can hear the hagglers, the ones whose sleep at night depends on the one or two rupees they are able to save. I joined in and stopped by one of the many shops. A packet of bindis encrusted with tiny colorful stones. How much? Rs 5. A pair of intricately decorated bangles? Rs 15. I decided that it was okay to sacrifice a night’s sleep and paid up. This is also not the place to window shop I realized (first because there are no windows) – pick something up, enquire about its price or how it is made? what is it made of? where it is made? and the shopkeeper will patiently answer your so called “questions” till you decide to move on. Then as you are about to leave, your steps slowly turning towards the next shop, you are greeted with a piercing look - the face of a person who has been betrayed by your feigned interest. If you have the stomach you move on, if you don’t – well you just pay up. Lesson learnt.

20 minutes later, I am done shopping, bags filled with kumkum, mirrors, combs, bangles and bindis. But I have the urge to still walk, to explore and consume the raw beauty of the surrounding s. The sweat, the dust, the pollution fades in the background, as you watch the eager faces of shopkeepers, the women weaving flowers with such ease and skill, the autos maneuvering like snakes through the crowd, the smell of mallipu and petrol, and the rows and rows of gods and goddesses that have descended from the heavens to participate in this chaos. Nowhere in the world I thought will you find this – it runs in our blood – and to be amidst it, chaos decked in all its finery is something I will treasure for a long time.