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

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 

Thursday, 31 July 2014

Name calling

Call me crazy
That's the way I want to be
This chaos of my world
Is better than than the order of yours

Call me abnormal
That's the way I want to be
The normalcy of my mind
Is better than the notion of yours

Call me a witch
That's the way I want to be
The potions of my passion
Is better than the poison of yours

Call me a pain
That's the way I want to be
The pleasure I seek in my ways
Is better than the happiness of yours

Call me a sinner
That's the way I want to be
For the ungodly i seek in my spirit
Is better than the purity of yours

Call me today, or tomorrow
Call me present, past or future
This naming the face won't stop my soul
From being the rooted bird with a stitch-less suture

- Diary of an Oxymoron

Thursday, 24 July 2014

Fighting Female Foeticide: Stories From A Typical Day At Work

The story below is a real life experience of the author during a session on female foeticide in a village in Haryana.
This is the first of  two stories: one from a day at work in a village, and another from her own life in a city, both revolving around female foeticide & preference for sons – making it clear that the issue has nothing to do with urban-rural settings.
“They will keep on asking me to reproduce till they get a son for the family.”
—x———-x———–
In 2005, during a project in my undergrad school, I did a secondary research project on the issue of Female Foeticide and Son Preference in India. In 2011-12, I was traveling from one village to another in Haryana, conducting sessions with men and women to create awareness, answer queries, and to try changing mindsets of the people on the issue of the girl child, female foeticide, and son preference.
In these years, I had worked with a few organizations on the issue, assisted my sister on her project relating to the same, done behavior change campaigns, and developed innovative communication tools for the same. Yet, I stood there,  facing the dilemma of why, how, and when. 
The Scenario
meeting-on-female-foeticide
At the meeting to raise questions
During one of my visits, I traveled into a small village of one of the states with a terrible Male-Female Sex Ratio. I am comfortable interacting with a group of not more than 35-50 people. A small group like that is more interactive, can be handled much more easily, with a better flow of communication- especially on such crucial social issues.
When I reached the venue, I saw a crowd of 200 men and women sitting, divided by the aisle. On one side, sat the men with their turbans. On the other, were the women with their veils crossing their chin. Now this was a little complicated scenario for me. I knew that both categories of my participants appreciated this brutal form of killing and violation of the right to be born; favoring males as the carriers of traditions and family name.
 I knew that both categories of my participants appreciated this brutal form of killing and violation of the right to be born; favoring males as the carriers of traditions and family name.
The Root
The problem of patriarchy, son preference, and women being ignored has deep linkages with every cause I ever took up in the villages with respect to women’s rights and gender issues (violence, education, nutrition, dowry, child marriage etc). The problem was that not only men but even the women followed the so-called traditional methods, thereby creating more disparity.
The problem was also the lack of communication between the men and women, on any social issue. I learnt one thing from this: in order to solve any problem with respect to rights of Women (economic, social, or political ) we need to engage and bring on the same level both the genders of the communities – to discuss and understand.
The problem was also the lack of communication between the men and women, on any social issue.
So there I was, happy to realize that this was one of the most amazing opportunities I could ever have, to make the two interact. I knew the risks were huge. I could be shamed, accused, or worse – thrown out of the village for trying to break the age old systems of functioning and change  the lack of communication between the two genders. But, I realized it was worth the risk.
The Act
As I stood there, I realized that to get the best of reactions, it was important for me to startle my audience with something controversial. And I started with my story. The story of my ancestral home, where son preference was a very commonly accepted norm. I started sharing what I saw as a young daughter to how I became a woman. And as I did this, I threw in my series of snapshots and films I always worked with when interacting in the communities.
I stood there, with a microphone in my hand, amongst the crowd of men and women, asking them why, how, and when. The same questions that I had been carrying with me even after so many years of working on the issue.
Now I had known a few answers all this while. Who will light the pyre of the parents? A son is the gateway to Moksha! A daughter is a source of misery! Who will carry forward the family name and lineage? Who will feed the parents in their old age? Take care of the women?! Why go through dowry? Safety of women? Who will be the man?
The reason I stood there with those questions every time was because I knew I would end up getting a new set of answers, every single time.
The Reactions
One elderly woman turned to me and shouted out loud, saying that I have gone mad to think that its okay to not have a son. This is how she explained the cycle (translated from Haryanvi):
“The world needs men. If a son is born in the family, he takes care of the family, carries the name forward, helps earn money, and feed the members, is safe and does not need to be taken care of (body-wise). He gives dowry for the family’s daughters, takes care of the future rituals (chhuchhak, bhaat etc), protects the family lineage, gives more sons to the house, stays with the parents, lights the pyre and helps achieve moksha (salvation)…
What will we do if we do not have son to do all this? These days the younger generation is having fewer kids. We tell them to not get the foetus aborted, but what is the solution if they want a son? They have to get it cleaned before it turns older (abortion). And now tell me, why should we not promote female foeticide?”
“…And now tell me, why should we not promote female foeticide?”
An old man agreed to the above stated ‘facts’, but also explained how they never pushed the women to have only sons. Every woman agreed that they had gone through so much torture in their lives that having a son meant high social status in the family as she was the carrier.
Slowly, as the discussion garnered more comments and reactions, I saw a chattering crowd of men and women debating on why and why not. A lot of the women with daughters agreed with me, and a lot accused me of trying to change “how it has been”. I stood there smiling internally because I had initiated a major conversation that had been missing from the community, which had accepted female foeticide as the norm.
As I made them see the future of a land without women, a land with a high crime rate, a land where women handled every task that the old lady had mentioned, a lot of the protesters went silent. I had no clue how and what it was going to lead to (the session was a part of a project) but I was hopeful that I had initiated at least a thought which was missing from the majority of the crowd.
A picture of the future  is important. What happens if we keep on going like this? When people realize that it’s not healthy to go on like we are going, the fear increases and chances are many that it will change to a “something should be done” attitude. When a picture of “no women in next 5 years if you keep on killing girls” was shown, people started realizing the value of girls, daughters, wives, mothers.
The Cycle of Change
While a baby cannot be born just with an egg of the mother and needs the sperm of the father, similar is the case with rearing the child. I have seen that in rural areas in India, if a woman works, she takes part in the decision making of the house in the smallest and biggest matters, she has an opinion on the children’s future, and that opinion is heard and valued.
It is important for women in rural areas to realize that the need to change is now, and education is very important. Not just schooling but also awareness and capacity building – which can help develop the logical self, in defining and deciding what is right and what is wrong.
It is important for women in rural areas to realize that the need to change is now, and education is very important. Not just schooling but also awareness and capacity building.
It’s a researched fact that Education has led to understanding and realization of choices, which has further led to economic empowerment and sharing of responsibilities. We can say that the community heritage is a reason too, but education is a founding backbone of the process.
The implementation of policies along with training at the grassroots is crucial, too. Unless people see the reason why change is required strongly, people wont change. And for that to happen, in India atleast, a multi-pronged approach with both Behaviour Change Campaigns and policy level implementations is required.
The Behaviour Change Campaigns need to be community specific/state specific with exhaustive research (using methods like Positive Deviance) to be used to define Why and How and Whom (W’s) of the campaign with participation by the people, for the people. A simple campaign on the Community radios running in the villages can create a change in many homes.
Community Media, and Mass media need to collaborate on common guidelines-based messages that should percolate the homes through edutainment based methods (TV shows, radio programs), in a very subtle way in order to make it a casual process, avoiding rebellion by elders.
I believe and I think it is crucial that the idea should move beyond just saying and towards more doing.  We need strategic methods with constant evaluation in order to stay on track.
That day, at the end of the session, a young woman working with the police came to me. She explained her story as the other young girls hopped around. I saw hope, I saw challenges, I saw passion to make things work. I realized, I cannot give up on the society so easily. I also realized that things can be worked around, but the start has to be made now.
There are a few deviant stories around where girls have been born despite all challenges and have managed to turn into inspiring stories for other to learn from. The challenge is to find these stories and convert them into a norm instead of being an exception.
The cycle of oppression that women go through in their lifetime needs to change. I came back from the session, hopeful and positive for many more deviant stories for us all to learn from. This was not, after all, just another day at work.
This article was originally published at womens web. 

Monday, 21 July 2014

बिखरे हुए लव्ज़

पंख भले ही न हों मेरे दामन में
पर उड़ना सीख लिया है
कौन कहता है ज़रूरी है की कोई हवा चले
उड़ान भरने के लिए हौंसला ही काफी है

नसीब की बातें न करिये आज
ऐसा न हो की खुद पे से विश्वास ही उठ जाये
हाथों की लकीरों का क्या कुसूर
हिम्मत तोह बिना हाथ वालों में भी बहुत है

एक ज़ालिम समाज है
जिसको कोसते कोसते हम थकते नहीं
और एक यह ज़ालिम दिल है हमारा
की सवालों के जवाब में खुद को चोट पहुचता है

कुछ लकज़ आज फिर हैं बिखरे हुए
जैसे वक़्त ने सवालों का डिब्बा है खोला
दर्द है की सिमट नहीं रहा
और कमभक्त ढक्कन ही गायब हो गया है

रुकते नहीं हैं जो समय के यह पल
वैसे ही थम नहीं पा रही है मेरी उलझन
कुछ तोह मेरा कुसूर ज़रूर होगा
वरना ऐसा ज़ुल्म? हाय तौबा

रौशनी जो आज दिख रही है
वह है किसी बादल के गरजने की चमक
अपने आप को समेटे रखना है
एक दिन तोह उजाला भी चेहरा दिखायेगा

- Diary of an Oxymoron

Strolling thoughts. Lingering Lines!

Just below the charminar lies a very tiny old Hindu temple. While the mosque nearby resonated Allah musicals, loud chants attracted Hindus.

Iftaar food on the streets and chameli flowers beaded in threads all lie there together. I wondered why so much police strolled the area.

Was it because it was a Hindu festival in ramazan month or because of the historical not so friendly friendship between the two religions.

I saw anxities on the faces of many. I saw happiness too. I saw poverty as limbless beggars approached travelers. I saw richness too.

I saw so many distinctions. But what shined the most in this land of confusions was the loss of humanity. Ppl were running away.

Running away from realities. Realities not that the govt has constructed for them. But realities of their birth. Not religion. Not land

In the bright day n loud music, in the crowd n chaos, the monument stood their witnessing yet another chaos. I stood there doing same.

How was then I different from the four pillars of charminar? Not old enough like them but as meaningless as it could be for any action.

Bricks, stones, heart, humans, all hav slowly turned synonymous. Witnesng events not so pleasant. Scared of conflict. Scarred by conflict

I wasn't alone there. I realized how everyone was beaded together by history and future. Even if they disliked. Trying to break free..

The chaos turned silent n I kept walking. Just another futile day of realizations and helplessness. That's how I romance with chaos!

- Diary of an Oxymoron