Rapes Are Not Going To Stop.

Its as simple as this. Rapes are not going to stop. No matter how many rapists you castrate and how many women you blame. No matter how many women start dressing 'decently' (whatever that means) and how many of them stop coming out of their homes altogether. No matter what the degree of punishment is. Rapes are not going to stop. 

I am not being cynical. This is THE truth. This is the truth because clothes, location, timings and sexual fulfillment have absolutely nothing to do with rape. This is the truth because the responsibility to protect can also turn into the freedom to oppress. This is the truth because we continue to assign roles of power differently to people of different sexes. This is the truth because justice has slowly been taken over by the idea of revenge. BECAUSE UNLESS A RAPIST'S CONSCIENCE FORGIVES HIM, TRUE JUSTICE CANNOT BE SERVED. This is the truth because sadly we raise our boys differently from our girls (or non-boys). And after all of that we go ahead and solely blame the rapist for his crimes. What about the people who turn him into a rapist?

And so rapes are not going to stop. Not unless we raise our children as children and not as boys or girls. They're not going to stop unless we teach our children to start respecting people for who they are; however different they may be from ourselves. They're not going to stop unless we tell our kids that our gender does NOT dictate our identity or our actions. They're not going stop unless we completely separate the idea of 'Power' from that of Gender'. Completely. And they are not going to start unless we start applying this into our own lives irrespective of what others say or do. It's as simple as that. And yet, it isn't.

Take my word on that.

I Am Not My Gender.

I asked my class today, how many thought Barbie Dolls were only meant for girls. A number of them put their hands up. Except for a few of them who had neutral or no opinions, everyone cumulatively agreed that boys shouldn't be playing with them. In fact, when Om confessed to having played with them, they laughed. The class also cumulatively stated that girls can't (/shouldn't) play football. When I asked them why (I think they call me 'Why Didi' behind my back), the responses I got, disturbed me. Girls are not strong enough, Bhakti said. Therefore they can't kick the ball, Ekansh added. Krishna said he knows that girls can't run fast. About cricket, Swaroop told me, girls can't lift the bat because the bats are heavy.

A couple of days back, Aditi came crying to me. Harshada had apparently scorned her for having worn 'shorts' one day. Aditi also doesn't go out to play because there aren't any other girls in her colony and the boys won't play with her.

Rohan wants to play with Harshada but is asked to go and play with the boys instead. Om's best friend is a girl and he often complains about how the class is mocking him. Krishna won't wear leggings (a part of the annual day costume) because he thinks only girls wear it. Bhavik won't hold Meenakshi's hand because she is a girl. The class sneers each time I mention how well Pranjal Bhaiya cooks. Boys cant cook, they tell me. They approve of me hugging Veda Didi but hugging Pranjal Bhaiya results in either high-pitched 'HAWWs' or sneaky smiles.

As much as this disturbs me, I dare not judge them. My kids are 7 years old. Some maybe 8. They are unaware of the boxes they've been in and/or have built around themselves. Already. Unaware that this where it all starts - Gender Stereotype.

I don't want to answer the million questions about why I've been talking about these. I am scared. It's difficult. Very. Rather, I don't want them to build more boxes. I don't want to tell them that boys also cook. I don't want to tell them about girls playing football. I don't want to tell them that girls can do 'boy things' and boys can do 'girl things', This is not what I want them to take away.

What I DO want them to learn is that it doesn't matter. That there are no 'boy things' and no 'girl things'. That I am not my gender. That they are not theirs. And while on one hand I am determined to do this, there is a lot of my faith which is being put to test.

It bothers me so much. To anybody who asks me how rape, sexual harassment and Violence against women have anything to do with upbringing and family, this is my answer.

This is my answer as to why I don't believe in capital punishment for rapists. This is my answer as to why rape is more cause than consequence. This is my answer as to how patriarchy is as oppressive on men as it is on women. This is my answer as to why I felt pity more than anger when a fellow biker lurched at me today and broke into a song while I was on the bike with Veda. This - is my answer as to why I feel guilty each time I feel extremely fearful of men around me.

I want to teach my children to make correct choices because of their will. Not because of their gender.

My big plan now, is to just give them as many examples. And let them figure it out by themselves.

Amen.

Mauna Vratham

The first thing I realized that people always assume that everyone can speak. And once they know you can’t, it turns into pity.

What starts out an attempt to be more self-aware and articulate, turns into a harsh realization. Silence is deadly. To both sides, the one without a voice and the one comprehending.

Silence is beautiful. I walk into a busy market with a bunch of close friends who guide me through every step. In about an hour, they learn my signals and it gets easier for us to communicate. I am getting to self-awareness, I think, at least a point one percent of it. I am extremely conscious, I’d like to say it makes me mindful too. I speak a few syllables by mistake (2 to be precise) and one whole sentence and curse myself for the same. The others say it is okay. I think to myself it is the first time.  I will gradually get there.

People at the market smile at me after they find out, I can’t speak. I’d like to say it is out of kindness. And not pity, but I’ll never know. Some respond to me in sign language. Some don’t respond at all. But all of that, only after I have communicated with them first. If I did not, I wonder if they will know.

I falter. I trip. It takes three times the usual to make everyone understand what I am trying to explain. It takes me a lot of time to figure out, before I start to explain. At some point it gets frustrating. My friends try to be as cheerful as possible. They are always cheerful usually too. At some point, I start questioning myself as to why really am I doing this. It is so much more painful to be silent than being inarticulate ad speaking too much.

But I can speak. God forbid something happens, I can scream. I can call for help. I can sing. I can shout. This is just one evening. Or maybe there are more to come. Silence truly seems to be beautiful.

But is it? In some corner of the world, there is someone for whom this is not just one evening, or twelve hours. For whom this is the way of life. She may not have friends. He may be in deep trouble. She may be crying out loud without a voice. He maybe singing full of love without a sound. Every single day of their life.

I don not now if this has made me self-aware. Or articulate. I don not know if this has been transformational. But has this evening changed my life? Yes, I believe. Yes, it has.

I am loved. And I wish the same for everyone. Voice or no voice.

Peace.

This and That

A friend of mine is a little upset about her unsupportive parents. I told her what no one would dare to. Let them be.

I know it hurts when your parents don’t support you particularly when you plan on do something right. But my mother told me this when I was a baby – When you are doing the right thing, do not hesitate; do not be influenced by anybody, not even me. Well, she didn’t exactly quote the same line, but I am sure this is what she meant.

When I say it is right for you to defy your parents for doing the right thing, I am NOT saying, that they will understand someday. Maybe, they will not. Maybe, they will never. But in your heart, you will not be guilty. You will know you have made them proud. Let them not understand. Move on.

A lot might take offence when I say all parents don’t understand. Well, they are just plain lucky because they haven’t come across such parents. Plain lucky or in denial.

All parents want their children to be happy. Let’s be honest. They struggle, they sacrifice, they work hard - earn a living, all of it for the apple of their eye. But yet differences arise. The differences are not between the parent and the child but between their definitions of happiness. The parent wants the child to be happy the way they want it to be. The child wants its own happiness. Problem. Father thinks child will be happy if he becomes doctor. Child thinks he will be happy a teacher, doesn’t want to become a doctor. Mother thinks child will be happy if she is settled and has a family. Child thinks she will be happy when she establishes an enterprise, marriage is not a priority. Parents think chocolate will make the child happy while all that the child wants is a candy. Problem.

It is incredible how sometimes our parents get influenced by whole of the world than us. They listen to the neighbours, to the magazines, to the shopkeeper, to stupid serials, to the stranger they met at the bus depot, and form opinions about us. Just like we listen to our friends and people we think are friends, to the idiot box, to self-help books, to facebook stalkers, to that guy who committed suicide, to our nanny, and form opinions about them. This way both parties listen to everyone except for each other till the self-created difference arises. And then they blame each other till the difference turn into a problem. And this is how the emotional drama begins.

And then comes the self righteous phase. I have been through this phase myself but haven’t suffered much. I learnt how to deal with it. My mother was quite a rebel herself as a kid and all I had to do was listen to stories from Naani and blackmail her. Of course I knew my limits and I know deep down inside her heart my mother knew I wouldn’t cross them too. We still do this, its like a little game for us.

Also, I know less about restrictions, my mother always lets me make mistakes and then learn from them, rather than bombarding me with lectures beforehand. She is smart, she knows that once I have made a mistake, she will have the upper hand. And I always fall into this trap. Yes, I end up learning, but damn me.

Some parents understand, some don’t. Some will, some will never. I guess I am plain lucky, my mother is a child psychologist (and happens to know me inside out, even things I don’t want her to), I learnt all this stuff about parenting from her only. Just that she wouldn’t explain the same to you this way. I know I am little uptight, and a lot of the above hardly makes sense, but forgive me if you got offended, this was just a little epiphany I had.

Also, no matter what, your parents are humans too. When I was a baby my mum explained to me how she and papa were capable of making mistakes just like me. Just that they were more precautious because they are supposed to be setting examples.

Coming back to no matter what, your parents are humans too. So in spite of everything including their precarious notions and your stupidity, talk to them and make them talk to you. And listen.

Remember, she is your mother and he is your father and they love you. It is very simple, just love them back. Try, and you will know why I wrote this.

P.S. – this is something I realize time and again everytime I look around. There are just so many incredible things you’ve taught me silently. I am so damn lucky, thank you Maa.

Photo source : http://cdn.indulgy.com/R8/X6/m6/62346776061590205k3xs5DOac.jpg

Away from that place, called home.

Do I miss home? Do I miss my city? How have I adjusted so easily?
I am tired of answering these questions about a hundred times. Its obvious. Some people ask out of curiosity. Some people some ask out of concern. And some, simply out of awe.
Yes, they are surprised at how I have managed to move on so easily. Leave my home behind. Adjust.

The truth is, I haven't moved on. And that is what has helped me perfectly to adjust. To adjust to a  completely new environment. To a completely new life.
We only miss those things in life, which we leave behind.
I haven't left anything behind.

In a poetic way, I could say I have carried memories and thoughts along. This time, its that and much more.

Lessons learnt. With mistakes. Through experience. During arguments. Within problems. And solutions. I have carried every single lesson I have learnt in this short life I have lived so far. And, I continue to learn.

Relationships. Family. Friends. Crushes. Though that does not really qualify into a relationship!  Snapshots, mementos. And love.

Passions. Priorities. No, they haven't changed. I'm still a nerd. Or whatever you've judged me as. I am still growing up. The legacy of 'T'. Decisions have been altered. Goals have not.

Habits, I'm not gunna mention them. You know they are NEVER going to change. I might add few. But the ones I have, remains forever.

Finally, nature, I'm still a stubborn, mushy, spontaneous, stupidly smart, blunt at my sweetest, self-obsessed pacifist. I eat a lot. Talk a lot. And I'm impatient. Ironically, tolerant. And 'Diplomatic'. I am still the 'Pie'. To the wind. And many more. I can stare at the moon for hours. I still have butterfingers.

I'll change. In fact I am changing. Evolving. But carrying forward the good of my past to the future. Maybe some of the bad too. But do you care enough to know?

In spite of all these, you ask me if I miss home!
In simple words, I don't.  Because I carry it with me, wherever I go. The world, is my home. The reality, my life. The dreams, my vacations. And the ultimate best, my destination.

Looking forward to a fulfilling life in Delhi. Amen.