Mansi

So much is being said about rape, rapists, policemen, policewomen and capital punishment - The icing on this particular discussion that should never have 'been' was the 'We the people' show on NDTV. I have always maintained a low opinion of Barkha Dutt and with this particular show, she has notched new levels of cheap entertainment previously never been attained by a news channel.
'How can you let rapists back into society?' she yelped at Rani Jethmalani who looked like coming on this show was the stupidest thing she could have done with a free afternoon.

All of us like launching off on women issues - the plight of women in what we think is a man's world. I know I do. Sometimes all I feel I really want to write about is my experience of being a woman. Were it just that, I could probably excuse myself out of this - but it's not. I have often found myself screaming and shouting on issues that concern women. To what end? None. To what purpose? None again.

Women do lead terribly distorted, sometimes borrowed and sometimes selfless lives. It is part of the framework we call society. That our sex is vulgarly groomed to perform as baby producing machines, something that fuels society itself is ironic and more or less true. In all this haze, it is very easy to lose sight of personal journeys, some even personal victories.

For example, an Indian woman came fourth in the International marathon held in Bangalore this past weekend.
For example, the mindblowing performance of Mita Vashisht depicting the life of Lalded.
When we heard of the play at first, we learnt that the theme was around women. I expected to see something on violence, rape, abuse or marital amiss depicted. I remember the last time I sat in the basement auditorium at the Habitat Center. I was audience to two plays: The first was on a woman being raped; the second on the plight of World War Two japanese brides living in the United States. Both were done very well and conveyed their message.
However to go for a performance that was about a woman's spirituality was different and special.

I go for a run every morning at a local park. Mornings are very crowded and there are all kinds of people who come every morning, like me, pursuing fitness, health, friendship, comaraderie, common interests and more times than less spirituality. We do have a Shiva temple inside our park for those who must combine thier walk with a nod at the Sun and a prayer at the temple. There are some who hold hands and chant. There is one particular man who likes to greet other people with a loud 'Hari Om'. We've passed each other by for some time now and he never forgets to wish me. I don't acknowledge him partly because I distrust old men and partly because my father bans me from speaking the word 'Om'. My father is my guru and I have not been able to even in my mind get away with that sound.
Running for me is my spiritual time. It began as a very physical exercise that freed me of my mind. Then it became something more. Running is my conscience, my inner voice. Just as the theory goes that if you exercise at 60% of your maximum heart rate for forty minutes or more, your body will burn fat for the next twent four hours - I think running exercises my conscience for the next twenty four hours too. My mind is quieter, my body stronger, my emotions are akin to foam on a receding wave (my mind waves). The days I don't run, like this day, I am all mind, all emotion - punishing my body for sins I don't even know.

Watching Mita perform got me to feel my spiritual self, the same way running does. My mind was quiet. My emotions were there and not there. My body was alert. The experience was exquisite. The story of Laldeb is indeed inspiring. Her transformation from a role of a woman, daugter and wife, to that of the very embodiment of female spirit is one where cultural meanings were foresaked for spiritual meanings. Laldeb didn't wear any clothes. She didn't take on any religion but wielded them into one giant wheel (different spokes, different religions) so like Abhimanyu bravely spun above his head. Her spirituality was not fueled by rituals or religious meaning - they were fueled by her experience of this world. In sweeping the floors of her house, in cooking rice for her family and in doing day to day chores, everything she did in honest connection with her spiritual self. She too, like most spiritual voices, spoke of the disconnection with one's mind. I remember hearing a line about the mind compared to a horse and breaking into a thousand pieces. Here's another of her 'vakh' on the human mind:
Keep your mind intent upon
the path that leads to immortality.
Should it stray from the path,
it will fall into evil ways.
Be firm with it and have no fear;
For mind is like a suckling baby,
which tosses restless even in its mother's lap.

Incidentally Deepan and I were watching a travel program on 'Capri' on Travel & Living (sadly the only channel that is still free of HINDI commentary). We learnt about the process of painting on ceramic tiles. Starting with clay, rolling it out, forming a mould and then baking it - we learnt that after it is baked, the tile reduces in size since it loses it's water. That evening, we heard Lalla speak to us with this 'vakh':

With a rope of loose-spun thread am I towing
my boat upon the sea.
Would that God heard my prayer
and brought me safe across!
Like water in cups of unbaked clay
I run to waste.
Would God I were to reach my home!

Far above the drone of the news and sensationalisms around women issues, this play was like a breath of fresh air. It was like we were witness to Lalla again, listening to her speak to our spiritual selves. Some days when I miss my run in the morning, I go in the afternoons. Then I happen to notice these yellow and white 'psuedo' butterflies. These are not the normal butterflies. Nor are they flys. They are an inbetween species -- small and quick. I have often wondered at this most delicate life form. They only appear in the summer, flitting about effortlessly despite the maddening heat all around them. Running by them, I used to think that were I to ever begin a venture of my own, they will be my symbol. They speak to me of a different kind of strength -one that comes from being completely true to themselves.

Being married has also been about being 'aware', 'concerned' and always on the scent of what our maids do. It's quite natural, given the domain of housekeeping (incd the kitchen) is often a KRA (key responsibility area) of the wife or the combined wives in the house.
Often, at my in-laws place, I feel compelled to inquire about their ( or lack of) maid. It's easy banter with even the most formidable of women. Funny stories are exchanged about changing times, changing maids.
There are some married couples that I look up to. The wife in one such example was teaching her maid to read and write in hindi. At first, I felt that I would want to sit in on the lessons, my recollection of the hindi script (something I did take exams for) is pretty pathetic especially the numbers. Then again, Hindi is not my mother tongue and thus the compulsion is pure interest. After that meeting, I realized, yes, I want to teach my maid how to read and write too.
A year passed by and I got to appreciate and be grateful for the learning opportunities I received at my work place. As I received, I passed on to my maid. Since I can work from home, I began to give her the option to decide when she wants to come in to work at my place (flexible hours). At some point I hope to get my Bengali friend to chart out a list of chores and have her determine which ones she wants to do on a given day. Holidays and vacations are encouraged. As I receive, I let her have her days off. I have found that she no longer dreads telling me that she's like to take a day off. She understands that I won't begrudge her day off. The other day her daughter was ill and she missed two days at work. The kitchen was a chaotic mess, more a reflection of my battle with the bulge than her absense. She came in at 5pm that day to a clean kitchen and her employer in rolled up trousers, squatting and doing the dishes. We spent the next half hour together washing dishes, discussing her child's health (with me trying to convey the word homeopathy in Hindi!!!). She was quick to lead with the washing. She instructed me on which dishes I can do and which she would do. Sometimes I find her leading irritating especially when she's convinced that her way is the right way. When my Hindi improves, I hope to share my thoughts on the rainbow of value with her - Nothing is good or bad, good or great (no, good is NOT the enemy of great). Criticism, if and only constructive need not be at the cost of one's self esteem. Then again, she is the boss sometimes and I do hope I don't undermine that with my lazy short cuts with our nutrition and hygiene.
My maid is eager to learn. We're going to start with numbers first. I have no clue on how I am going to teach her, having no experience with teaching (tuitions apart) myself. I hope to imitate my Mom who was an exceptional teacher. Yet, given mutual eagerness, we haven't yet found the time to start our lessons. I keep waiting for an auspicious Friday or Thursday (the Hindu me of course!) and yet, I know I don't want to impose the same on her, she is after all not a Hindu but a Muslim. I wonder how we can get going without a 'Om Ganeshaya Namah', something I still write into all my notebooks this twenty ninth year of my life. I feel that I should have her start her journey to literacy in the name of Allah without insulting the practices of Islam - which albeit is tricky. Most probably when we do start, it will be without these religious frills (unlike the Christian convents) and just with the more real challenges, that of language and sustenance. I understand that I will need to include literacy as a component of her yearly bonus - a component that will encourage her to go beyond being eager and naturally intelligent to hard working and committed.
This weekend, I read an article about Sri Lanka being the 'country of maids' to the Saudis. That article shook me up. Some Sri Lankan institutions, it says, is marketing the women in their country as potential maid material in Saudi Arabia. Schools, Training institutes, Grooming institutes (call it what you want) have been running to ensure that this 'second' generation of maids will be successful in meeting with 'Mama's' (a Saudi wife) requirements. A key part of the training is in identifing what can cause a 'Mama' to abuse you or even beat the very life out of you. Rape is possible and sometimes certain. Some institutes ensure that they take care of rape victims, all in private of course. Run-aways however aren't acceptable. These maids are at the mercy of the Embassy for a mercy ticket back home. A large part of the marketing agenda is to ensure that the flow of foreign currency into the country sustains and even grows.
Initially I felt queasy reading this article.
Any of us sitting at an interview are often sure to ask and even demand on what our growth prospects are. How many steps till I become CEO? Except for maids. They remain maids till their bodies are truly broken. There isn't much of a market for them to grow to an administration position. Ever seen a woman peon? I've mostly found male peons instructing maids on how to clean the floor - for personal kicks, mostly and NO personal know-how whatsoever.
My maid has an attitude. A friend actually calls her the 'don of all the locality maids' and I personally love that about her (though I wouldn't admit it to her). I am scared of her sister. She's a maid too who came in with my maid to help out when we'd just moved in. I asked them to clean the store room and unknown to me or them, the sister got a shock when she stepped on what appeared like 'discarded' telephone wire. I will never forget the way she looked at me - full of scorn and hate. She had accused me right there and then of what I, in her opinion, had inflicted on her. I remember thinking then, damn it Priya, why didn't you step on the damned wire yourself? I don't let her work for us. I have a feeling she might just kill us all one day and go to heaven laughing. "Housemaid butchers and cooks up three families! Police arrested her at her house, where she appeared to be playing with her two children"
To think that as we learn and grow, we will give back to those we associate with - and that south of our shores is a fellow country that has made house maid'ing' a business, worse than prostitution. To think of the million Lankan maids in Saudi homes, abused, beaten and raped - all in exchange for foreign currency that come home to buy a house, educate a son, pay for medical expenses of aging parents....
Sometimes I wonder what my maid thinks of before she falls asleep. What does she want to dream of? When she looks up at the sky, what does she feel about this world? Who does she have to give back to? Who does she have to get back at?

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you need something extra to get you going. Sometimes when you're out shopping, you need something more than just money in the purse and a list in hand. As a woman, I need other women. I need women with whom I can sit down and chat about just nothing. I need women with whom I can go running with. I need women who'll hold my hand when I am in the hospital. I need women who'll help me 'get away' from my family - short trips to Delli Haat perhaps, longer trips to the hills.

I crave for female companionship!

Listening to Melissa Ethridge this morning, it reaffirmed what I sorely miss in my life - the space for women!

I am not referring to the fairer sex that populates Delhi. Women who are married to their husbands and nothing else. Others who use their work as an excuse to run away from every relationship they know, big or small. Or some women who need other women to help 'free' them from the clutches of their children, husband and in-laws, only to then go back and embrace the whole lot again!!
I am thoroughly disappointed with the women in Delhi. Never before, have I encounted such an enslaved lot.

A friend of mine some months back gifted me a book by Erma and I remember feeling this deep sadness and creepy loneliness despite all the ingredients of good humor. Being a housewife, the subject of almost all of Erma's stories, is an incredibly lonely affair. Even in a country in India, where a wife not only marries a man but also his parents, sisters and extended families. Typically a housewife will probably have no time to do anything. And yet it's just another job, isn't it? Where's the time for her? It's not about going to a spa or getting your hair cut. It's more than that.

It's about having meaningful, passionate relationships with other women.

Both my husband and I spend a lot of time on the Internet. Yet, he has far more women friends than I do. Yes, it's true. Women seem to only want meaningful relationships with other men. If for just that reason alone, we should abolish the practice of Valentine's Day, then I'll support it! Too much is made about the relationship between a man and a woman. Moreso in the sub-continent, because as I earlier wrote in an article on marriage, for Indian women, marriage is a BIG DEAL. It's their time to get those expensive parlor treatments, clothes, jewellery, shoes (lots of shoes!!!) and still manage to have a gala time all around. So most women, in and out of college tend to focus on just one sex - the wrong one!!!

When's the last time I walked down the street, arms interwined with another woman? When's the last time I could sit back and listen to a woman speak her mind? When's the last time I walked into a room and caught the attention of women?

Why is it that women in Delhi do their best to ignore other women? Why is there all this competition? envy? fear?
Why do women here want others to be just like them? Why are they always asking about their husbands or in-laws? Can't a woman have anything else to talk about?

I don't need a support system. I don't need a woman support team - please! I made my choices with marriage and with work and no, I don't want another woman to crib to or cry on!

I want to celebrate in being a woman - a woman who's not a wife, a mother, an employee, a sister or an aunt. I just want to celebrate being me. I want to celebrate other women too. I want to hear their thoughts that has nothing to do with the many roles they play. I want to be able to go out with a woman and have fun.

Perhaps, this outpour precipitates the arrival of a very special woman - It's a time for celebrations - but each time she comes by and leaves, I am left with the same emptiness that Delhi does nothing to heal!

I am tempted to go in and analyse Delhi women, the way they are brought up, the value for their mothers vs their Dads - - their lessons with money and spending it (two totally different things) : But I think all the analysis will just reconfirm what we already know and at the end of it all, I'll just feel a tad sadder and want to dip into some chocolate. (Yes, I blame my fat on women too!)