What is it to be an unmarried woman in her thirties in India!

I'm 31, and it's frightening. Hear me out before you think of me as some desperate damsel-in-distress.

I haven't figured out what gives me the unclouded joy that I would want to do it for the rest of my life. I was that person who was so confident that I would have mapped out all the things I want by 25 and do them all by 30. Travel feverishly, spend a lot of money, have fun, be kind to strangers, give a little of myself to the people I meet everyday, leave a trail (yeah, do all the Eat Pray Love thing before 30). 

But here am I clueless as always. Who did I fool huh? Map? It's like what Phoebe says in Friends, I don't even have a pla...(n). 

Don't get me wrong here. I'm NOT talking about my marriage or "settling down" as people call it. Yeah, and I wonder why people call that. Getting a job, getting stable in a relationship, getting married and all, shouldn't these things stir you up and get you all excited? Why wouldn't it be called 'soaring up high' or something. Oh, maybe they don't, because the excitement wanes pretty much soon and then you are back to the levelled ground and you settle down. I get it. 

So here I am, well, just to rattle on about my life and the likes of women like me. Proceed from here if you are prepared for a harangue on the treatment of 'unmarried women in their 30s'.

I am a career woman who is independent. I make friends with people who acknowledge and respect the person I am with the promise of reciprocating the same unto them. I have a predisposition to engage in an intellectually stimulating conversation any day, anytime. I am sincere in my job, and never work only for my paycheque (although it is important too). I am a responsible daughter who deems it a privilege to provide for my family and shoulder duties that come my way.

And yet, interestingly, people (not all, but definitely a lot of them) never care about these parts of me or my life. They look at me as if I were an old spinster, seated on a wooden easy chair facing the window, and knitting a scarf. I said I wouldn't talk about marriage, but that's what I am going to do.

Believe me, I'm very patient almost most days, but this is one of those days when I lost it. I know not if it's the pandemic or lockdown or just me being myself. So now, we have a list of things that bother me about this whole 'marriage' thing—

A. When random people meet me, they always start the conversation with my marriage. I cannot decipher what is wrong with these people. Why would anyone talk about a most private thing as marriage for a conversation-starter? There is weather to talk about, as the Britishers do. Or a simple 'how are you,' 'how is work,' 'what is exciting at your end' and so on and so forth. But not for them ever! Right at the start, they jump into this, this cursed topic of marriage.

B. I have friends and family who genuinely care about my wellbeing who talk about marriage to me. I understand and respect their concern and do not feel frustrated or irritated ever. What I never understand though is when a complete stranger or an acquaintance or a colleague with whom I have a purely work/non personal relationship or a person I would never meet again even by happenstance, ask me about when I would get married. They even take the liberty to indulge me in a free, unsought advice on how the bomb is ticking off inside of me and how I am never getting any younger. Take a break, people. I would not run to you for advice even when the Armageddon is approaching.

C. I have a mother who respects my choice, a sister who berates people who annoy me as a sign of support and a group of trusted friends who know how I feel and perk me up with jokes on how people are so ill-mannered and have the audacity to comment on my private life.

D. What is upsetting the most is how all this 'marriage talk' is very regressive. It is a very gender-biased thing, I would say. You are implying that a woman ought to get married and that she is completed only by a man. You want a woman to go back in time and live in a world where man was the hunter-gatherer and the woman's role was limited to the den. But what we forget is brute force was needed for humans in the Stone Age, and that made men physically superior to women. So the idea that a man completes a woman is so damn trite and 'unwoke'.

E. Being unmarried at 31 is no sign that one is uninterested in marriage or that she is making a case against marriage. It is a choice some women make and it should be, at the least, respected.

F. No self-respecting person would violate the privacy of another person. In these COVID-19 times social distancing is the mantra. We could learn a lesson or two from it. Social distancing could also mean respecting and being aware of someone's privacy and not intrude into their personal space.

G. How nobody says anything about the failed marriages they see around them, the abusive relationships, and the emotional and financial dependency that women are made to put themselves through. Not a word against the social injustices we encounter every single day. They make it seem like everything is so perfect with this world, except for the fact that some women choose to get married at an age they want to, or remain single forever. That is the reason for all the problems.

And now, quoting instances from my life would be so unnecessary given the tirade I indulged in. So to sum it up, it's the pent up anger that has turned me into 'A Mt. Etna' spewing out hot molten lava on those who talk about marriage to me or to anyone. I am sick of the fact that women are still treated as second-rate humans and that when there are so many important things to worry about, everybody chooses to obsess on the 'unmarried' status of women in this country. So if I sound too rude or offensive, or even seem a little overdramatic fretting over an insignificant thing, you are mistaken. It ain't a trifling thing what I talk about! It shows how our society (mal)functions; how even in the twenty-first century very little has changed when it comes to treating women with dignity (or the lack of it). How the world is a toxic environment for independent women who are brave and smart enough to do what is right for them. How a woman is always made to seek external validation to make herself feel good.

What I said so far will resonate with a lot of women (and men) who dare to rewrite the rules written down by the society.

A little support wouldn't hurt. Or even better, show the same indifference shown to other important things in this world.

Cheers to me and all the women in 30s!

To Perceive is to Live...

Ultimately, as in all experience, no clear line marks off what is "mine" from what I lived through other.

                                      - Arthur Frank, At the Will of the Body: Reflections on Illness

Arthur Frank states these words in narrating his illness experience. He comes to terms with his illness through others' experiences of their own. If all experiences, yours and mine, merge into one and can never be "marked off," what separates mine from yours is but illusory. We believe that one's store of experiences defines and gives an individual identity. We often see and perceive the world through the knowledge and wisdom we have acquired though our experiences, but we fail to understand that our perception of our own selves is made possible only through others. The self can be perceived and concretised only through others. Frank's words only disturb the complacent self, and makes one become acutely aware of the indispensability of people around us. We realise that by ". . . all experience is an arch . . .", Tennyson meant the collective experiences of men and women. If each one's experience is adding to the wholeness of human experience, each experience becomes significant and the need to validate one's own as worthier over others vanishes. This realisation awakens us to the vast sea of human wisdom in which each one of us is a drop. 

In memory of the man who taught me to love. . .

Papu (as we lovingly called my grandpa) was a man of few words, and mostly kept to himself in his period of retirement. I have heard stories of his passionate involvement in the labour union for bank employees, how he relentlessly fought for their rights, and how he had never budged from achieving his ends.

Numerous anecdotes illustrate his greatness. In the early sixties, at the beginning of his career, he once wore veshti and shirt to work and was barred from entering the office. A rebel in his own rights, he quit the job to express his defiance; he was an unpretentious man who always professed only what he truly practised in his own life. Being born in an orthodox family that upholds tradition and follows conventional rituals without questioning, Papu was different. He possessed the courage and the individuality to rise above the repressive and oppressive effects of caste and creed. He stood as a role model for us to emulate and worship. He passed on his rebellious spirit to his son, daughters and grandchildren. His wife (my Patti) is no less a rebel. Patti and Papu never discussed caste or religion at home. I have never cared about my religious identity for I never witnessed people who did when I grew up.

Papu is synonymous with love. He never hated a man nor had he wished anything bad for anyone ever. He taught his children and grandchildren to be brave and always stand up for what is right. His love sustained me as a kid and his loving memories would be my sustenance in future.

I was fortunate to have my grandparents with me during my growing-up years - they held my hands teaching me to take small little steps as toddlers; fed my mind and tummy with stories and food; strengthened and moulded me with morals to carry forward their legacy. I fondly smile with contentment as I look back and reflect on the times I spent with my Papu.

Papu was a father I never had, a grandpa one could never find, and a man who left his indelible mark on the world.

Vikram Vedha: A movie with an unconventional take on morality

It has been a while since I posted something... Deserted by the Muses, I waited for a spark that would set aflame the desire to ramble. And then, I watched Vikram Vedha. Watching a movie is an experience that never fails to set me thinking. It is not everyday you witness the paths of an antagonist (debatable) who walks a tightrope between dharma and adharma, and a cop who spends sleepless nights manoeuvring to catch the former alive cross, only to pose the greatest existential question: what is dharma/adharma? The tension in the movie escalates when you see that the cop, Vikram is lured into the entrails of a moral mess by the Betal, Vedha; and then you are even more intrigued by the readiness Vikram exhibits in letting himself be controlled by Vedha (which I find quite natural for the person he is). 

I have always found the duality of dharma and adharma riveting. The Mahabharata, the greatest of epics, also exhausts this question to an extent that the line dividing the two blurs gradually. The director duo, Pushkar-Gayathri astutely point out the aforementioned blurring of the line; only here you find a real line with Vikram and Vedha on either side. What appears white and black turns grey (if only the duality of good and evil, or right and wrong were discernible, which in most cases is difficult, the world would be a much peaceful place to live). The peaceful world of Vikram is disrupted by questions he is forced to ask himself. The cop-ego he possessed of killing the wrongdoers is punctured; he is consumed by guilt and doubt. Vedha's nonchalance, and his rumination on the concept of dharma ensnare the righteous cop to engage in a moral dilemma. Vikram's discernment of good and bad is altered by the events he witnesses; he can see the "greyness," the point where the white and the black blend. This transformation fascinated me the most about the movie. If I could see people beyond the categorisation of good and bad, I could purge myself of the prejudice that I harbour against them. Good and bad are labels we attach to humans — we do unto others what we do not want from them*. Moralising is the least thing that the directors engage in Vikram Vedha; but you see what you want, and I did. 


(*An antithesis of Luke 6:31)

Come what may…

Isn't twenties a great phase in life? I also engaged in that illusory belief until reality shook me out of my complacency. Being in my late twenties now I know better. 

My entry into twenties was surreal and was filled with countless dreams and aspirations. My days were ridden with bucket-lists of this and that and motley of things to be done before I celebrate my twenty-fifth birthday. Writing, reading, travelling, cooking, and many more… Here am I turning twenty-eight, and still wondering what worthwhile had happened in my life at this juncture. I am not cribbing and whining that things didn't go the way I presumed; but I can't deny the twists and turns that sprang up. Disgruntled though I may sound, I am quite happy the way things panned out. I have eventually realised that happiness is a state of mind, and as much as I seek it outside of me it further evades my grasp. 

Coming 2017, I look back at the road travelled. Bumpy and bone-breaking as it might have been, the rides were/are (past though they be, they lead to my present) memorable and I wouldn't trade them for better days. 

I always feel amused when I read Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken,” for ironically, the road not taken remains the offbeat, untraversed path in my life. The road taken by me conforms with the traditional view that people have of professions — teaching (at college). Isn't teaching the most preferred profession for a woman? It is surely not the road “less travelled”; and undoubtedly not the road that I wished for. Yet, it is a road that had revealed to me the happiness that lies in teaching. Enthralled by the sheer joy of teaching, I think it almost impossible for me to take the other of the “two roads.” I simultaneously possess the wisdom that life may continue to throw surprises, and I am prepared to take them as they come. In all likelihood, it could even help me find the way back to the long-forgotten road that I wished to take.

Wishing myself an eventful 2017! 

How about some 'me' time?

Whenever I feel lost, and wish to reclaim the "me" in me, I rush to the nearest cinema theatre -- the darkness of the hall helps me find some light within me. As I am ushered into the hall by the vague-eyed lanky guy, a tide of calmness washes me over. I know not what that makes me feel addicted to this experience of watching a movie alone in the midst of strangers, however paradoxical it sounds! There is an odd sense of belongingness one feels to oneself amidst people one wouldn't meet again in life; I know what you think -- that I'm crazy! May be... Strangers freak me out; being an introvert I have never felt comfortable dealing with people. I might pass off as a friendly person, but it is possible only with great efforts on my part. Yet, theatre is one place where I completely feel at peace with strangers. I like to have a person seated beside me, so close that you think it is discourteous to look into the eyes of the person, and spend the rest of the two and odd hours in silence. A lesson on the ephemerality of life and relationships (I'm fighting hard the impulse to sound like a yogi)! A young chap, a middle-aged woman, a thirty-ish fellow, an empty seat -- I've had all kinds of partners in my movie rendezvous. You feel some karmic connection with these people whom fate shall never bring into your life again. You laugh, you cry, you are at the edge of the seat! They laugh, they cry, they are at the edge of their seats! You wonder what separates an individual from the swarm of people around one? It gives way to more philosophical questions that you forget to sneak out of the movie hall to grab some popcorn to munch. You ask yourself if you walked into the hall intending to watch a movie, or raise such existential hullabaloo, that are so frequent in your late twenties. As you walk out of the hall, you know you haven't seen the visage of the person who spent two hours seated next to you; rather you chose not to. As you walk out of the hall, you see hundreds of people, yet you know that you strode into the hall with grace befitting the Queen of England and took your rightful place. You didn't bother to know who sat next to you, you cared not about what they thought of you, you asked not what they expect of you, for only you existed those 120 minutes of your life. You forgot the world around you, and for good. However egotistic, or narcissistic it sounds, it sure does make you feel significant. It makes your presence indispensable for just a while. It gives you an escapade from the jolting realities of life; to believe that your life is every bit perfect and is absolutely under your control. You wish you avail this newly found wisdom to help you on those days when you feel miserable and wretched and sulky.

And then, the movie is over, so is the escape to the wonderland. You go out to catch an auto, haggle with the autowala to feel absolutely normal and sane!