"For I have a thousand stories to tell..some unseen, some unspoken.. I am a martini with a zest for life, sometimes stirred and often unshaken"
Monday, 18 August 2014
Thursday, 14 August 2014
Moronic ways
I live a metaphor
And the world around me laughs
The chaos is pleasure
And the pleasure is often lost
For if it is nothing that can be caught by naked eyes,
Nothing is what I want to be
Waiting to be forgotten yet found
Waiting to hide , waiting to be free
Who cares about the moronic ways of this world,
Cz another moron I don't fancy to be
But still being looked upon by the world as nothing
Is the kind of attention enough I seek
I live a metaphor
Not realized & lived by all
June is summer; January winter
I will live my April in fall
- Diary of an Oxymoron
Explaining Menstruation need not be Awkward
It was a regular day at school and there I was doing regular
things. Attending classes, chit-chatting, copying notes and yes, waiting
eagerly for the day to end. Innovation was always something that my school
sorely lacked in. I always felt that the teaching was delivered in a
top-to-down manner and that the focus was on earning marks instead of
developing capacities. As a seventh standard student, I was curious, scared,
and mostly confused about my changing body and the spectrum of emotions I was
dealing with. In my circle of girl-friends, we would often discuss why the boys
in our school suddenly developed strange heavy tones in their voices, why our
bodies had suddenly started growing in weird regions in addition to a variety
of other such questions which kept popping up in conversations day in and
day out. To our dismay, we never had anyone around to discuss all this with. As
the days passed, our anxieties and curiosity kept on increasing with no answers
in sight.
Well, so it was a regular hot day at school and it was that time
of the day when all we could think about was when we would be left out of the
gates that looked like prison bars to me (because I have never been a fan of
school and studying). That was when someone entered the class and an
announcement was made. “All the girls have to report to the basement in
classroom Z,” said a teacher. While we girls wondered what had just happened,
the boys I remember were curious to know why they were not a party to all of
this. There we were then, almost half the population of the class, getting up
and going down to the basement with clueless expressions on our faces and
excitement in our minds for we had just got released from the boring
Mathematics class that was taking place.
From the third floor, as we walked down slowly to the basement,
many speculations about what was going to happen were made; injections, health
check-ups, random gifts and such were some of them. I remember very clearly
that one girl declared that we were going to be spoken about something called periods.
The word was definitely not new to me. Well, school periods were something we
always knew about but then she went on to explain about a new concept called
‘Menstrual Periods’. I began walking down the stairs wondering what
menstruation was all about. The very first day I had heard about it was the day
when several of my questions were left unanswered.
As we entered the dingy room in one corner of the lobby, I saw
the room packed with girls. On one corner was a small television set and we all
sat down as spectators in front of it. “A movie…ahh…not bad,” I thought to
myself. The heat started getting to my head as a straight-faced lady entered
the room and we were made to hush our voices down to sit and silently listen as
usual.
A ten-minute long movie showing us how to use a sanitary napkin
added more confusion to my ever-dramatic mind. I sat there wondering about whys
and whats and whose and whens. My friend, the one who had already got her
periods re-assuredly patted my back and promised to tell me all about it. For
me, the idea of bleeding every month without any reason sounded crazy. “This is
how it happens” was replaced by “It happens! Deal with it!”
The next moment, I saw myself walking back to the classroom with
a sanitary napkin provided to us as a return gift to carry back. The ‘Angels of
Menstruation’ had just informed us about ‘that time of the month’. I felt like
I was thrown into a pool with a life jacket but in no way trained to know how
to use it, why to use it and why indeed we needed to do so. With no training,
with no reason, with no knowledge about why the changes were taking places, I
found questions popping up in my head but was too scared to get the words out
of my mouth.
We tried to hide it in our blazers and some hid it by folding it
in our hands because we knew that the very moment we returned to the class,
there would be faces looking at us with questioning eyes, curious to know what
it was that made us so special that only we were invited for. It is one of the
funniest yet weirdest memories of my school days to be questioned by the boys
around me, with my school bag among many others being rummaged to find out what
was gifted to us. We had no answers; we didn’t know how to tell the boys and
indeed if we could in fact tell them anything at all.
Over the years, the memory keeps on coming and going from time
to time. When I had my periods, I was unsure and scared about everything and
the way in which it all took place. From that friend-who-had-it-first to
sometimes the-elder-sister figure, I turned to everyone for answers but the
very idea that it was supposedly dirty and that it wasn’t considered normal to
talk about it made my curious brain forcefully shut down, leaving most of my
questions unanswered.
My mother never encouraged me to talk about it. We were told
that we were not supposed to make it obvious when it was ‘that time of the
month’. We were told to hide our painful cramps and to deal with our mood
swings. “Have tea, and keep quiet,” my mother would say. Well my mouth was shut
but in my mind, the conditioning took place in such a way that I grew up
thinking that periods were strictly not to be spoken about and that it was a
shame that we had to go through it in the first place.
Years passed by and one fine day when I found myself sitting
with a group of adolescent girls in a slum in Delhi with their curious eyes
staring back at me, I realized how I would have looked at that time. I left
myself at the disposal of those girls, ready to answer any question, any issue,
anything at all. I started narrating my story and told them of how, over the
years, I had gone through a phase of not knowing to knowing it all. Internet,
movies, discussions, research and other avenues of information had all helped
me but I knew the challenges I had faced in my struggle to reach the point
where I knew that periods were not ‘dirty’, it wasn’t something we had to hide
or ignore and that it was a natural process which we most certainly were
blessed to go through. For me, the lack of a mentor to help me understand this
process got me to realize how I could be one for many others. That is how I
found myself answering absolutely anything that the girls ever wanted to know
about menstruation.
We live in a society where we consider women impure during their
periods. You cannot go to a temple, touch pickles or enter kitchens. We study
and function in such societal structures where life processes are taught as
mere subjects and not as something crucial to growing up. Sex Education is
good, but the manner in which it is delivered needs to be restructured. We live
in homes where even the act of throwing a sanitary napkin is to be done with a
certain amount of care and secrecy. Well, if change have to take place, it has
to start with us. I started with my younger sister, with many other boys and
girls in my house and went on to address the dilemmas of many young minds at
various other places. You have to decide where to start. Act now, or else
ignorance will only result in curious brains shutting down and in creative minds
clamping up.
This article was originally published at Menstrupedia blog
From India to New York: Going Global through Fulbright
There are many aspects of what it means to be a Fulbrighter. For instance, it changes not only how people identify you, but how you see yourself and the world. The amount of exposure to different cultures and experience that Fulbright provides is immense. The feeling of being a 2012-2013 Fulbright-Nehru Doctoral Research Fellow from India started sinking in the day I attended the pre-departure orientation. Being chosen as a representative of my country was huge. I knew that what I that my experience researching community radio and participatory communication in the United States would be different from my previous experiences in India, Nepal, and Sri Lanka, and I was very much looking forward to it.
When I attended the Gateway Orientation at Virginia Commonwealth University, the feeling of ‘going global’ overcame me, and I realized just how huge a responsibility being a Fulbrighter is. During the orientation, I learned much about the American Civil War and also from my fellow Fulbrighters from all over the world.
When I arrived at New York University’s (NYU’s) Department of Media, Culture, and Communication, I knew that as a Development Communication and Extension Specialist from India, NYU was going to be a great place to analyze global development, not just by studying what is happening within the field in the United States, but also by meeting with representatives from different countries. My Fulbright research focuses on community radio stations as models of participatory communication, and I intend to use my findings on American community radio stations’ financial and volunteer management when I return to India. Understanding the similarities and differences between Indian and American models will be particularly helpful in developing an in-depth analysis of global community radio stations’ best practices.
Living in New York City, with its hustle and bustle, noisy subways, and crowds, has helped me to gain a better awareness of what a worldly city is like. My first amazing New York Fulbright experience was when I attended a session on polio eradication during the United Nations General Assembly 2012. Meeting world leaders and being introduced as a Fulbrighter further underscored how huge the opportunity is for those lucky enough to receive a grant.
Another enriching Fulbright experience I had involved conducting research at Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Campus Radio. There, I met many student radio enthusiasts in different fields and community radio broadcasters who had been volunteering for decades. This experienced helped me to understand how deeply rooted volunteerism is in the United States and that most American Community Media Systems have been able to develop due to ongoing support from volunteers.
I have loved each and every day of my stay and research in United States. For the traveler, communicator, listener and scholar in me, this has been the best experience of my life!
This was originally published at the Fulbright Blog
Tuesday, 12 August 2014
How My School Taught Me To Be A Girl
Gender stereotypes that go on to define individuals start right in school, and must be questioned, says this deeply thoughtful post.
“pull up your socks, wear a longer skirt”
“don’t be so loud, don’t sound too bossy”
“wear a white hairband and oil your hair well”
“cross your legs. (you stupid girl), cross your legs”
“how dare you apply a deodorant again? You are such a stubborn brat”
_________
I went to a very good school in Delhi. And I start here by not being mistaken as one who ridicules the education she got from there. What my school also gave me are memories – of how my being a girl was reinforced day after day by the way I should conduct myself, the activities I should do, the groups I should join and most importantly, the way I should behave and dress.
Since the very beginning, I used to wonder why oiling my hair and putting a white hair band was a more important issue than me coming to school. I mean, common, we all know that there is no scientific proof to showcase how great a student who regularly oils her hair, has pigtails, and socks up till knees, is. But I saw everyday how often our female teachers ridiculed the girls who challenged any of these rules. I have strong images of the events that took place during school days in my head.
Once, I was called out by my teacher after a regular period in the class and yelled at for not sitting with my legs crossed. I was told how I was being a bad girl, inviting boys to lurk on me. I was not just yelled at, but thereafter was always looked upon with suspicious eyes. As a young girl in standard 7, it confused me how my sitting down unknowingly with legs open was a reason for my teacher to judge me as a person.
In another year, I was the class monitor. And often, told to indulge in the things I didn’t like but my class teacher did. One not-so-fine day, she was out there measuring the length of the skirts every girl wore in the class. And with a compass in her hand, opening the seam of the skirts from the bottom, if found not adhering the school/class norms.
I was asked to get hold of my classmate’s arms while my teacher openly un-sewed the seam of her skirt from the bottom in front of a class of 50 students. Scared of being punished, I did as I was told. Ashamed of how it all happened, I still sit down and wonder how the length of skirt, and public humiliation, was a symbol of discipline. How my female teacher never taught the boys to not stare at our legs but told us to hide our skin. How this all was a way of making us better adults.
Meanwhile, as years passed by, I questioned marks as much as I questioned the ways the system worked in the school. Over the years, I saw our teachers giving sore eyes to the girls who were seen talking a lot to the boys. Those who were too outspoken were shunned as rude and undisciplined. I never was a very brilliant, high-scoring student. I never knew why my mathematics teacher always found a way to shun the girls in front of the ‘talented’ mathematics genius boys our school was full of.
She would often tell my mother how I would never make anything meaningful out of my life because I scored less in mathematics. Never appreciated for the other subjects I was good at. Acceptance in my school for being what you are was always low. A lot of the teachers appreciated the brilliant “rote-heads” who puked everything they were taught verbatim on their exam answer sheets.
A lot many times I sat there wondering why my class teacher would often tell me to be little less outspoken and little more committed to learning. Learning which meant less creativity, innovation, and passion. She never understood that to me, mathematics never gave any excitement.
In my last year at school, I became the head girl – the one responsibility that was only given to the top scoring girls in the school. Leadership, after all, was only linked to those who were either teachers’ favorites or scored high. I never understood why and how this happened but I do remember the smile on that one teacher from my school who always pushed me to pursue my dreams, cherishing my creativity.
When I stood there on the stage, our school principal proudly putting my Head Girl badge on my shirt told me, “You better study well. This badge does not mean you don’t study”. That last year at school I was told again and again, silently and loudly, in front of many, that I was rude, stubborn, with attitude, and bossy – because I had a responsibility to carry. Marks never excited me. They made me sad, because for me, they were how my surroundings defined failures and success.
When I completed my school, I got admission into one of the best colleges in the city. Happy to share this information with my teachers, when I went back, I was told how unlucky and average I was because I didn’t get admitted to any engineering or medical schools like the boys of my class did. “This course is futile for you”, said the mathematics teacher. I smiled, because I realized I was out of this cycle of constantly being reminded that being a girl meant being less.
Along with carrying out cherished memories from the school days, I carried a burden of gender stereotyping. It was not that every girl conformed to the socially acceptable roles that the school defined for them. But the way they were either accepted or rejected created a lot of confusion and imbalance in the minds of many who wished to differ from the norms.
Sex education was never given. Neither were we given any counselling during our adolescent days. Those girls, who talked about it, became the talk of the school. Instead of talking about equality and respect, we were taught to keep our instincts off in the name of conduct. Those girls who had short haircuts were taken to be like boys.
A lot of the reports have suggested that children learn gender from being constant subjects of society’s expectations. I don’t think that putting pressure on children to conform to the traditional expected roles that society has made for them is what will make them better humans.
While the girls were given this, I am sure there were a hundred boys who wanted to cry but never did. Those who wanted to say they appreciated pink, but were ‘demeaned’ and ‘laughed on’ to be girly. ‘Boys will be boys’: we can never know what psychological impact this statement causes on the ego of the boy who turns into a man in few years.
Teaching a girl that shorts are for boys, cross-legs is for girls is not how she has to be taught about femininity. Similarly, teaching a boy that to be loud and sporty means to be masculine is equally wrong. Girls are pretty and quiet and boys are sporty and loud, does not make a good impact on the ‘power dynamics’ that we as children grow up with, into adults in this society.
I know times are changing. I know schools are changing. But I do feel that there is a majority of educational institutions that have conditioned girls and boys to grow up as they are in this present era, patriarchal victims and criminals. What is education? Shouldn’t it be more than mere learning from books and getting marks? Do we promote equality from the start? Gender equality?
I was lucky my college shaped a lot of my present being. But do we have such structures for the rest to re-condition this gender stereotyping they gain in homes and schools? Just food for thought!
This article was first published on womensweb
That Bright Darkness
Is it a crawling snake
That i can see with my eyes shut
Or do I need to use a shiny rake
To polish the loose ends of my senseless gut
The darkness around is darkness inside
That resonates every now and then
Sooner or later I will have to decide
To embrace or reject it from within
The birds have stopped chirping now
And the trees stand unshaken
All I see is a raised up brow
With hoards of words waiting to be taken
The sudden rush brings joyful trouble
In this dark painful body of work
Eyes rubbed again to rid off the bubble
Trying to shed of the inside Berk
Creaks of the window are in pain
Without the wind playing a role
The glass is lost & wood is in stain
Nobody looks at the unattended pole
Pages flying in the head
Are they a figment of imagination too
Lying on desk, sitting on bed
Asking why when the question is who
The snake crawls near
And starts growing in size
Bravely face it without any fear
Or wear a veil and disguise
No sign of light, but fire within
Cz fear is lived to reach freedom
Don't burst the thought yet with that pin
Prematurity here would be just so dumb
The darkness around is darkness inside
For fire originates in you
Convert it in light and let it reside
In words long lived, even if a few
Is it a crawling snake
You can continue to question forever
Or puff the snake & his venom
And cherish the poison in you, in you..
- Diary of an Oxymoron
That i can see with my eyes shut
Or do I need to use a shiny rake
To polish the loose ends of my senseless gut
The darkness around is darkness inside
That resonates every now and then
Sooner or later I will have to decide
To embrace or reject it from within
The birds have stopped chirping now
And the trees stand unshaken
All I see is a raised up brow
With hoards of words waiting to be taken
The sudden rush brings joyful trouble
In this dark painful body of work
Eyes rubbed again to rid off the bubble
Trying to shed of the inside Berk
Creaks of the window are in pain
Without the wind playing a role
The glass is lost & wood is in stain
Nobody looks at the unattended pole
Pages flying in the head
Are they a figment of imagination too
Lying on desk, sitting on bed
Asking why when the question is who
The snake crawls near
And starts growing in size
Bravely face it without any fear
Or wear a veil and disguise
No sign of light, but fire within
Cz fear is lived to reach freedom
Don't burst the thought yet with that pin
Prematurity here would be just so dumb
The darkness around is darkness inside
For fire originates in you
Convert it in light and let it reside
In words long lived, even if a few
Is it a crawling snake
You can continue to question forever
Or puff the snake & his venom
And cherish the poison in you, in you..
- Diary of an Oxymoron
Monday, 11 August 2014
Monster under my bed
I know a sleeping monster.
He lives in my head
Always comes to haunt at wrong times
From under the bed
He eats on my soulless flesh
And drinks my thoughts alive
Gets lost after making me habitual
N wakes me up by laughing aloud at five
Comes and goes, in head and in heart
I often sit back and wonder
Why did I give him the right to live in
My life and cause lightening thunder
The sleepy monster with words so sharp
And a charming giggle to flash
If u ignore he makes u feel wanted
Being attended he throws u down to trash
Sleeping monster, or sleepy monster
I m tired of ur charming scare
I need to breathe without the shock
I think I have had enough of my share
- Diary of an Oxymoron
He lives in my head
Always comes to haunt at wrong times
From under the bed
He eats on my soulless flesh
And drinks my thoughts alive
Gets lost after making me habitual
N wakes me up by laughing aloud at five
Comes and goes, in head and in heart
I often sit back and wonder
Why did I give him the right to live in
My life and cause lightening thunder
The sleepy monster with words so sharp
And a charming giggle to flash
If u ignore he makes u feel wanted
Being attended he throws u down to trash
Sleeping monster, or sleepy monster
I m tired of ur charming scare
I need to breathe without the shock
I think I have had enough of my share
- Diary of an Oxymoron
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