Strong women, really?

My new workplace although cordial and interesting and at times fun (in case the boss is reading :P) is located in a terrible area. My hopes of beautiful big glass covered concrete structures, spanky canteens with vending machines and exhaustive menus, parking lots full of shiny expensive cars, rubbing shoulders with suited booted people and dreams of wearing smart heels to work came crashing around me the day I went for the interview. Being the wise (and tolerant) girl that I am, I concentrated on the things that mattered and I liked them.

It has been a month now but still the worst part of my day is going to and coming back from work. Today, after exiting the office premises I was walking down the road looking for an auto, with my eyes on the road watching out for pits, cow- shit, stones, dogs, banana or egg peels which could sprain or fracture me or worse, when a white car came to a halt a foot away from my feet. I looked up expecting (and hoping for) someone known thoughtfully offering me a ride. Instead a strange man, not much older than my father, with bloodshot eyes and pan masala  in his mouth was behind the wheel. As my eyes met his he shut his one eye forcefully, which I realized was a very crude attempt at winking. He then jerked his head to the left; an unmistakable gesture which meant “chalti – kya”. I was filled with disgust and a strong need of hurling something at that @$$#0[& shook me. I clenched my fists and the gritting of my teeth became painfully audible. I forced myself to look away and staked off trying hard to suppress the waves of anger which hit me afresh each time man in the white car blew the horn while driving slowly beside me. After a few failed attempts of catching my attention, he sped away. I took a couple of deep breaths (they always work for me). Almost instantly the rage and hatred were replaced by an even worse sensation. Fear. Suddenly, I was sharply aware of my surroundings. 

My heart was beating about a frenzy in the ribcage. I eyed every passing vehicle suspiciously, took unnecessary detours to avoid doubtful looking men. Just a couple of minutes had gone by when a motorbike overtook me, slowed down and then stopped at the side of the road. I was surprised at my own reaction when skipping the anger my mind fast – forwarded to the fear stage. A cold shiver ran down my spine. I had goose-bumps all over. My breathing was ragged, eyes wide and throat dry. I realized I had stopped walking and was staring at the man while clutching my bag protectively to my chest. The man was staring back. Ten seconds later a woman crossed the road, both the men and the woman sat on the bike and it zoomed away. Feeling utterly stupid I hailed the auto and began counting my breaths to calm myself.

If it sounds too dramatic, then imagine going through this torture every other day. And no, I am not complaining about the area around my office. It happens everywhere. From the slum areas to the poshest localities, most independent, strong willed women can’t help feeling vulnerable in such situations. Sadly, there is nothing which can be done to change how we feel about it: angry, disgusted, fearful; unless the lechers start feeling shame and respect for women.

K

Can't wait no more

A sad poem I penned down during a low phase. Re-read it after a long time. Even I was surprised to find that I ended it on a sad note. Sometimes a sad end is best for a better beginning...

I've been waiting, as you asked me to,

but for how long?

I've been looking for a happy ending

to my love song.

But the memories, even the happy ones,

don't suffice,

How will, without you,

I go on.

I'm fighting a war with time,

for too long.

I'm too weak to make it move faster,

it's too strong.

Time crawls, I count seconds,

the wait never seems to end.

I told everyone you'd come for me,

don't make me go wrong.

Last night, in my dream,

you came along.

I'm worried, and scared,

I won't last long.

Your memories in my dreams,

have blurred now.

You're slipping away and

I can't hold on...

DIY

Sitting alone at McDonald’s I was satisfying my craving for junk food and sipping my iced tea. My eyes were glued to a book I was supposed to be reading for an office assignment (‘Profit at the Bottom of the Pyramid’, no offence to CK Prahlad, but don’t even try to read it unless you aren’t forced to!). The girl sitting on the adjacent bar stool took a last sip of her coffee, carefully dabbed her lips with a tissue, picked up her expensive though ridiculous looking tote and walked off. As a knee – jerk reaction called behind her, “Hey, you forgot to pick up your tray!” For my uninvited comment she gave me a dirty look, a shrug of her shoulder and stalked off.

NOTE: For those who find it difficult to comprehend the purpose of my reflex action, allow me to explain. McDonald’s is a self – serve fast food joint. According to their protocol, you place the order at the counter, pick up your tray and when you are done, you trash the leftovers in the bin and stack up your tray your self. 'Your self' being the important words here.

Not a very complex exercise, right? Wrong. We all like the self serve restaurants but we seem to have a problem with their ‘do – it – yourself’ policy.  And everyone seems to know that. Why else did the worker at the joint not make a face picking up that woman’s tray of leftovers and dunking it in the bin? Why else do most self – serve joints recruit people for picking up used trays of food?

Granted, India is country which gave us history books full of royalty, but isn’t it a bit snobbish to think that we might still have a bit of blue blood in us? At another instance I was enjoying a Sunday brunch at a friend’s place. As lunch was served, my friend said one word at least a dozen times. No it wasn’t praise for the food. It was ‘Sheila’. And this time it wasn’t ‘Sheila ki Jawani’ that I was amazed at, but her agility and patience. Sheila is his maid. (Pardon me for that poor attempt at joking but I just couldn’t miss the opportunity: P)

Do we consider ourselves so high up in the society that it feels derogatory to pick up our used utensils? When I asked my friend, he confessed that it isn’t being snobbish or used to the royal treatment, it is just being lazy. Perhaps India is the only country where small time entrepreneurs thrive by making working and non working models and charts and science projects for students. I am also rather sure that not many countries can boast of a system where washing clothes, cutting vegetables, cleaning cars, even filling all sorts of forms are means of earning a livelihood. Of course this snobbish behavior or laziness contributes to the Indian economy and employment scene. But if you were expecting a political blog, you have the wrong link.

Whatever may be the excuse behind not grasping the meaning of ‘do – it – yourself’, this behavior is unacceptable and demeaning to those who finish those menial jobs for you. But if the message still fails to sink in, an advice: next time avoid self service joints. That will save you the lecture and dirty looks from at least a couple of people.

Cold regards

A pissed me!