Small Town Girl of a Big City

And it seemed dead, for there was no woman in sight for miles... It gave me the chills, my home town was haunted now. Everywhere I saw it was men and more proud, vain men. One of them couldn't stop staring as I sipped my can of beer sitting comfortably with a cousin. I asked him to please not lech. His reply was full of unabashed glee, "Aap bura mat maano please, magar maine aaj tak kisi ladki ko sharaab peete nahi dekha." It shook me out of my senses. It not just saddened me at the grave social conditions of the so-called fast-progressing society of my town but gave me a peek into why Bareilly is only full of men, especially on the streets. That took me back to 13 years ago.

13 years ago, I had recently shifted to my hometown, my birth place, my matrabhoomi (or whatever you may call it) from Delhi. It felt sort of nice to be back to the small town life in Bareilly, UP after being all crazed up here in the capital. I remember, as a 13-year old girl, I was never conscious of what I wore or how I looked. So during one of those oh-so-regular power outages on a hot July afternoon in Bareilly, I was about to step out in my extremely comfortable "long" skirt for some fresh air. I was stopped by this distant cousin (at whose house I was staying at and who happened to have known the place better than me). I didn't understand why she asked me to change into something decent like "full jeans and no capris". I laughed at her first and told her to chill as it was extremely hot and I was comfortable in my "Delhi clothes". She responded very gravely about how dangerous it would be for me if I went out dressed like that.

Little did I know that she would be proven right within exact 2 days. A disgusting recollection and a sad demise of my childhood innocence when I found a rowdy illiterate pervert's filthy hand on my bare leg. It took me sometime to realise the horror of it all. As I was enjoying the evening breeze on a rickshaw-ride with my mom through the roads of Bareilly in my so called "Delhi shorts", some man was following us and had had his hand on my legs for a quite long time while I was not-so-blissfully ignorant about it. And I screamed! I screamed for I felt violated for life. He ran away. No one could do a thing about it. Instead people asked my mother to teach her daughter to dress "decently". And that was the end of a freedom of blissful ignorance that I had been enjoying.

Since that day I had been careful to cover my arms and legs while stepping out of the house even for groceries. As a teenager, I wanted to see the world, I was ambitious, wanted to be a part of a cool "Delhi-like" social circle. Unfortunately, that was too much to ask for in that small town. Forget drinking, going to a restaurant with your friends was looked down as something "too modern" which only spoilt girls do (I am 26 by the way and I am chronicling the years 2001- 2006). Talking to boys was a strict no-no. Even in a co-ed convent school it was frowned upon by the authorities.

Then came the senior school years, when all you are supposed to do is STUDY your ass off! So I did. Study in school, study at home, study in your sleep and also go for 4 different subject tuitions on my bicycle and later a tiny scooty. Do all this but ensure to be inside my house's periphery before 6 pm (none of it was instructed to me by my parents). It was a norm that all followed. Girls moved about on their two-wheelers scared. Scared of hordes of bikers, scooterists, even cyclists following them around the city.

GOD FORBID, if you let your hair open and be seen on the street like THAT. You'd be gawked at, like you were a piece of meat, lewd remarks branding you as a slut, and many times groped and molested (I speak of this from personal experience). I once made a mistake of wearing a sleeveless shirt with a group of 8 women from my own family. A college-going student couldn't keep his hands off and behold another groping right in front of the family as he sped away on his I-am-a-hunk-I-grope-random-girls-cos-my-dad-gifted-me-shiny-bike. I was left aghast and scarred. I made up my mind that very instant, I will not stay in this town where girls are mere objects. Where I am constantly threatened to fend for my safety and dignity. Where going to a market alone after 5 pm seemed like a wretched thought. I had made up my mind to head back to that safe place, that awesome city I had known since childhood. I came back to DELHI.

In the current state of affairs and how they've been since 7 years since I relocated to Delhi, today I ponder how was that life different from this? Yes I have had the best years, met the best people, built my career in Delhi, yet today I am reminded of those dark days of that small town. Those dirty hands trying to pinch me from every corner of "Bada Bazaar" to the same hands that I used to dodge in DTC and Blue Line buses on my daily commute here in the capital. I blamed all the eve-teasing, molestation and assaults on the size of the town. I stand corrected today. Any place is as good as its people. Misogyny, chauvinism and gender discrimination are nobody's prerogative, they are a cherished treasure everywhere now.

GROSS! *PUKES*

When Beeba Trended before the World Ended!

7th December I knew and had remembered was the day a good friend of mine was born 25 years ago. I had planned, like a good friend I would text him at 12 am since he would be home celebrating with family and call him up the next day to wish by singing Happy Birthday in my nasal twang (let's just skip that) but Twitter had other plans for him!

I rarely do care about Twitter Trends and I tweet anything and everything. But then a dear common friend of ours mentioned this to me on Facebook where I had reminded him of the said person's birthday, "EPICNESS happened, he is trending on Twitter!" I didn't believe it at first. I was like "ummm, ok let me see." And to my amazement, my dear friend who goes by the handle @beeba_puttar was TRENDING on his BIRTHDAY across INDIA. He is no tweleb (twitter celeb), no fancy ass photographer, writer, director, social media strategist, stand up comedian, janitor of the UN. And that was another reason why #HappyBirthdayBeeba trending on #1 spot bamboozled me.

This didn't stop here. People changed their names to #HappyBirthdayBeeba (causing a lot of confusion since 40 people had the same name on twitter),  #HappyBeebaDay, Yo Beeba, HBD BEEBZ, Beeba ki Beebani and Just In Beeba (my own twitter dedication), it took a crazy turn. People got inquisitive especially when they saw the top trend #HappyBirthdayBeeba, constant jokes, wishes, leg pulling, one liners, rants all flooded the twitter nation at once. Indeed it became a party. A virtual 'Project B' party that's what I think. That's when I understood the real strength of twitter.

People wanted to know who this Beeba guy/girl/phantom was. KARTIK CHACHRA (@beeba_puttar) when finally recovered from this Pan-India attention on his birthday was overwhelmed beyond belief. He told me, "I wish I could tell my parents about this but sadly they wouldn't understand the meaning of it all." 

#FacePalmMoments

But he knows what it means. A guy as funny as him with a decent following on twitter becoming this rage on his birthday, no, people, it is not a small feat.

Also he is a momma's boy hence beeba_puttar (and no he is no stinky Belieber if that's what you think, his life is ruled by Metallica only)

Kartik, my boy, birthday ho to aisa! Tera pagal pun sabka deewana pun ban gaya. #OkBye

Screenshots of the insanity that took place between 12 am till 6 am when Beeba Trended!

Daughters, Women and Anger

"Nurse: Mubarak ho, aapki bahu ki ladki hui hai!

Mother-in-law: Oh! Pakka? Chalo koi baat nahi. Agli baar hee sahi!"

"Rapist: Galti uski thi, usne jeans pehen rakhi thi, mujhse khud ko roka nahi gaya.

Judge: He is right! What was she doing on the road at 7.30 pm anyways? She must be a whore!"

"Scriptwriter: Sir, is jagah gaane ki zarurat nahi hai, yeh out of story ho jayega.

Producer: Bina item song ke aaj kal, public ko majja nahi aata. Jab tak screen pe jhatke na dikhein, koi nahi dekhne aayega film."

Yes, yes! I hear it every day, everywhere. I switch on the television, pick up the newspaper, surf the net, I see it, I know it. This was never a woman's country and it still isn't. Hating to admit I am terrified of the society and the deteriorating psyche of the people. I take my writer's liberty here to make it a rant blog but all the while ensuring that each and every word I write stands for nothing but the truth.

Even after being born in a liberal, educated family where they welcomed the birth of a girl child, gave us endless love and encouragement in life to achieve whatever we wanted to, there have always been times where my mother (of 2 daughters) was never spared the trouble of being taunted and questioned. From the postman to her own siblings and relatives, everyone made sure to let it be known to her that she is, in fact, an inferior mortal to have had borne "TWO DAUGHTERS & NOT EVEN ONE SON?" I used to laugh at those people when I was younger without understanding why they asked such funny questions. It is only after growing up I began to understand the discrimination and prejudices that were served left, right and centre to a family of only daughters. After all we are just "bojh and paraya dhan" for our parents. No LOLs!

Hailing from a science background, I know it isn't neither a female's fault nor is it in her biology to even decide/determine/choose the gender of the baby she might birth. But let's keep the technicalities aside. We all must have heard this before plenty of times, but those who were born with the anti-woman mindset, well they would continue drowning little baby girls in milk or the holy river.

Now whichever high pedestal sitting defender of the law of an idiot warned women to not wear "provocative clothes", should pay heed to this point. Just like any other working girl in the city, I end up wearing clothes covering me from head to toe (thanks to the Delhi heat, protection of hair and skin is mandatory). I step out of the house with my nerdy glasses, full sleeved loose kurtas, baggy jeans, covered feet and a massive tent like head scarf sans make up. I do not commute alone post 8 pm no matter whatever the circumstances be. So please to tell Sir McShitbrains, why am I still subjected to constant eve-teasing/stares/lewd remarks on the road at 11 in the morning on a busy street?

For obvious reasons you will put it on me somehow on me and my dressing sense or with the same ease with which you brand every female in the city as a "prostitute", you may just tag me as just one of "them".   

A country of urban foeticide and female infanticides, our dear media has left no stone unturned in objectifying women either. And thanks to the latest "role models" like Poonam Pandey and Sherlyn "Shocking" Chopra, it is just all the more spectacular that the media and masses have accepted them as future inspirations for girls of this country. They are branded as "empowered women". How can I thank you more? For teaching us rape-infested society that all you need to become successful is to strip down to your birthday suit and behold!

Now I may be bordering on being orthodox but I am also paranoid. Paranoid as a woman, paranoid as a daughter, paranoid as a female employee, paranoid as an aunt, paranoid as a future wife and mother. In this country, in these times, on this day I rant and then I go quiet! 

But it will not stop here. It shouldn't stop today. The voice and the pride that I enjoy to be where and what I am will not be silenced after one angry blog. 

Oh also, a very Happy Daughter's Day on a Sunday!

Because I am proud of me and my amazing little sister!

WE THE PEOPLE

We the people, from the greatest ancient civilisation that exists no more. We the people, with a glorious past of invasions, colonisations and independence. We the people, who finally got the privilege of being a part of the world's largest democracy, handed over that power back due to ignorance.

Firstly, we have to steer past this tag bestowed to us by the world of being a race of "humble, hospitable and honest" people. Let us get real! Idealistic patriotism is not just redundant but, truly, doesn't hold any relevance in the present scenario. Here there is a vast difference when I talk about India, the country and Indians, the people.

For instance, we are a generation of instant gratifications living in the times of newsflashes. Our daily agenda is to wake up, read the papers and dismiss the government's lack of efficiency, blame it for the rampant corruption and crimes and then step out for work forgetting it all in a millisecond. For obvious reasons, we have to work and support our families, earn livelihood and pay taxes. We enjoy complaining about traffic, sanitary conditions, politics, weather, family issues and the list goes on. We celebrate every Indian victory in cricket like it is a festival bigger than Diwali. But amidst this chaos and humdrum we call life, little do we realise the undercurrents of national decay we are facing. Some of us are a little more aware to practically see it, but most of us take a look at an issue as a stand-alone incident and move on.

The advantages however of living in the times of honour killings, rapes, human trafficking, social media and monitored freedom of speech is that it turns any thinking individual into a cynic. If it fails to do so, every other person becomes an online activist instead.

As another girl in the capital, my greatest relief is to reach home safely after work or any outing. My greatest achievement is nothing more than a day of unscathed self-respect caused by some uncouth co-passenger, a passer-by on the road or people known to me. The unjustness of this society, discrimination towards women, especially, isn't new. I may be hailing from a liberal, educated family who doesn't interfere with my affairs but instances can be cited where I observe these prejudices, this unfairness of basic attitude from both men and women and me being treated with disrespect by someone or the other at all levels. People being judgmental with their biased morality is an almost daily occurrence.

Forget the government banning social media sites and arresting cartoonists, forget the police blaming women for living like normal people and walking around in the clothes of their choice, forget about political leaders with over 2000 pending charges of arson and mass murders roaming scot-free, it is about 'we the people' before even considering to talk about the system.

We the people of the largest democracy in the world are doing nothing but letting the power slip away from our hands. The power to guard our rights doesn't lie with us anymore. The list of social and moral crimes is endless before even coming to talk about federal felonies.

Keeping one's city clean is no big task. We all want cleaner sidewalks, hygienic living conditions and nicely lit streets. It is just a simple matter of not littering or spitting. Talking of great historic civilisation of the same people seems laughable as one looks at the absence of basic civic sense. But beyond this, no amount of preaching works. 

But being a cynic doesn't really prepare one for optimism. Now does it? 

The Death of Conversation

Chatter-chatter-chatter; going on because it doesn't matter!

Tweet, Tweet, Tweet; find you hot but you're not so sweet!

Run, run, run; where are you going? thought you were the one!

Blah, blah, blah; What's wrong with you dude?

Only months ago I was lamenting on the fact that there are one thousand friends, acquaintances or people I have made eye contact with, but there is hardly anyone with whom I can sit over a cup of coffee and talk. I don't want a puppy listener but someone whom I can have a real conversation with. An argument would all the more hit my intellectual G-spot. But sadly that was all the lamenting I could do.

So being highly and now reluctantly addicted to the social media. Twitter now more than Facebook, all I see floating around are random jokes, sarcastic jibes, quirky and shocking one-liners, sheepherding of humour as I would like to call it. One original guy leads the way for the herd of hundreds of followers to imitate him. Since short-lived and quick appreciation is the greatest gratification in this trend. I personally follow some of the wittiest and funniest people ever and with follow I don't mean just clicking on the 'follow' tab on Twitter, but trying to know these funny and interesting fellows more closely and personally.

But again I am not limiting my argument to just these fantastic comical people but just about anyone and everyone, online and offline. The 'Conversation' being my real pursuit here, I am not averse to gossiping and idle chit-chat anymore. In this desperate need, I am willing to count it all under the ambit of my ever-eluding "Conversation". Time, the real devil, is one of those luxuries not everyone can afford or enjoy. Being on the run is the need of the hour, and even I do oblige. But when you sit down after a long day at work or a long weekend of drinking and getting hung over, you are obviously not left with much in your system.

Forget talking to your mother about your day, forget bonding with your siblings over dinner, forget discussing your future plans with your dad, forget chatting with your friends about that guy you've been ogling for a while, forget telling your spouse how important they are in your life, all we care about are things that are mere distractions. Random, irrelevant, gratifying or combining them all - fun.

Where does my beloved 'Conversation' fit in this fast-tracked life? We talk, we hear and we move on. We don't think (unless we want to sound spectacularly hilarious to the world online), we don't analyse, we don't psycho-analyse; instead we like this spot behind our monitors and we need Dutch-courage to communicate. We want to be heard and applauded but we are not willing to stop for one moment, make time for ourselves and others, we just don't want to have any conversation. We want to embrace randomness and we proudly do it. But in this endeavour, the real casualty is the intellect. And that my friend marks the death of the 'Conversation'! R.I.P.