LGBT

Just read a very interesting blog written by a good friend and immediately thought about my first knowledge of LGBT. Before I begin, Rohit's blog is http://rohit05kumar.blogspot.in/2013/02/classroom-stories-iii.html.

I moved into a university hostel while doing my graduation. The hostel campus itself was huge. We were close to 1500 girls living in the 4 girls hostels within the campus.

My sis-in-law was a few years senior to me in college, so by default I was included in her circle of friends. They welcomed me with open arms, were very protective of me as I was straight out of school and, really cared for me. That's how I got introduced to Aradhana (name changed). Aradhana was almost 9 years my senior, but we hit it off instantaneously. She had decided to study further and was now pursuing Archaeology. She was the first person who introduced me to the Gujarati word 'dikra' which roughly means my child. There was a certain comfort level I felt while with Aradhana. I was her 'dikra'. My free time would mean me going to her room and chatting with her, hearing about excavations and new findings.

A couple of weeks into knowing her and one day when I went to her room, she took out a cigarette!!! I'll never forget the look she gave me while she was lighting it! She said nothing, just took it out, lit it, all the while looking at me through her flicks, with her head tilted to the right. Somehow, I just accepted it! Was it because she made no big deal about it? Was it because she didn't take me aside and share it as a secret with me in advance? Maybe. Maybe, that's why I wasn't scandalized. For a small town girl like me in the late 80's a female smoking was not even a thought!! Now, when I think about it, A made it seem so normal, so natural, so 'her'. Guess that's why I wasn't uncomfortable.

A was involved in an excavation project in the Kutch region of Gujarat. There were some fellows from Britain who were also involved. This meant that she would be away for months and also that she made new friends from the other country. She particularly hit it off with a particular student.

It was sometime in 1991 that A took called me into her room and said she wanted to share something with me. It's then that she told me, through the cigarette smoke, as always addressing me as dikra,  about her orientation and that she and the fellow student were in a serious relationship. She had already introduced me to her girlfriend, so I knew who the person was. For me, it was a big blow. In fact, a mighty huge blow. I was numb, I couldn't react. I felt cheated, I felt let down. I didn't say a word then and for a few months after that. I would just not take any path which would mean me bumping into her. A in her classic style of protecting me her dikra,  just let me be. If she did see me she would just smile, the warm genuine smile. It's during those few months that I realized that I wasn't upset about whom she loved, about the sex of the person. I was upset and hurt because I hadn't known  about this part of her for so long, that she had shared so so much with me but not this. And when that realization dawned, I just ran straight back to her.

Did A's sexual orientation change anything about the way she felt for me or I felt for her? No. it didn't. She was the same A to me, I the same dikra. Did A's sexuality really matter in the bond that we shared? No, it didn't. Certain things are very personal and so is sexuality. Who am I to comment or pass any judgement on that????

Those three years of hostel life 1989- 1992,  were the first big learning years of my life -  of independent learning.

Independent because, I was alone, met many people, heard many stories, experienced many cultures from within the country and other countries. My thoughts, my opinions, my reactions were based on my judgement, not about what my parents or my teachers thought. I treasure those days cause I think that's where I first learnt the importance of being objective when I am dealing with people. It's where I first learnt that I have to look at a person not through my glasses but just as a person who has her own way of living, likes and dislikes and.........her own orientations. I have to respect a person because she is a human being just like me. I should not expect people around me to do things the way I do. And, more importantly are my actions right??????? This is more from the perspective of people who are my friends. They are my friends because there is something about them which makes me comfortable, makes me want to talk to them, to spend time with them. And that's what should matter to me. If for some reason I just do not agree with a person, if we both cannot like respectful human beings 'agree to disagree', then, it is for me to decide to take an alternate route, rather than create more bad blood.

Nirbhay - a collective for our soldiers

The word 'nirbhayi' is the new word in town. It's become very popular because of a heinous and barbaric act by a group of callous, twisted men. Nirbhayi was the reason, India reacted, India fumed, in many ways she was the reason India woke up. There were violent protests, there were peaceful protests, there were demonstrations, there were candlelight prayers and marches. There were reactions of all kinds across many sections of the country - the students, the politicians, the common man, the women's groups. People were agitated, people were scared, people were insecure, people were rattled to their very core. It was as if the gruesome rape and horrendous attack thereafter had happened right in their homes, to one of their very own.

But that is true isn't it? The word rape sends shivers down everybody's spine, men and women alike. Women because there is the deep fear and the dark and dreadful thought that it could've been one of us or one of our dearest. Men because it could've been their mother, daughter, sister, wife, close friend. That's how close rape is to us.

What is 'nirbhay'? It is a Sanskrit word which means dauntless/fearless. Nirbhayi was indeed a fearless girl, she fought till the very end for her life, she fought trauma when she gave her statement, she fought to the very end of her life. Nirbhayi thus has become a collective for the many women who suffer, who have been abused, who have been hurt, who have been scarred by some inhumane men who don't deserve to be called human beings!!! 

Recently, two of our soldiers too met with a brutal end in the hands of our neighbours from Pakistan. What was done to them was barbaric and heinous too. But sadly India reacted but mildly, India fumed, but only individuals, India didn't wake up, it continued to slumber. There were next to no protests, no prayer meetings no candlelight vigils. There were reactions but not across many sections of society. A very small percentage of population was agitated, scared, insecure, rattled. After all, this could never happen in our homes, it could not happen to the nearest and dearest of the majority of our population.

This also is true isn't it? The death, killing, torture of a soldier does not send shivers down many spines. After all, they are soldiers, it's their job, it's what they are paid to do.

When every Indian Army officer joins the defence service he takes an oath, a very solemn oath. It's a credo which says, ' The safety, honour and welfare of your country comes first, always and every time; The honour, welfare and comfort of the men you command come next; Your own ease, comfort and safety come last, always and every time'. Each time I remember these lines I get goose bumps!

I doubt if I need to go further into explaining why I consider 'Nirbhay' to be a collective for our soldiers. The credo says it all. These men continue to do whatever they are asked to do, in the most difficult of terrains, with their families miles away, with salaries which are a far cry from what they actually deserve.......and they do it dauntless, they do it fearless.

Where I stand

I had to interview a few post graduates today for a particular post in the organization I work in. Have interviewed many people to date. My experiences have been varied but very interesting. Every person is so very different, no matter what the age, what the background, what the education. Each person is so unique in their own special way. There is always something to learn while talking to candidates.

Come to think of it, there is so little time for a person to interact with you, share their thoughts, opinions, ideas and experiences with you! However, in most of the the interviews I have been amazed by the depth of reasoning, the thought, the honesty, which is so evident! Invariably my thoughts are that the younger generation is most definitely so much more aware of themselves, of what they want to do, of where they stand, of where they want to go. It is almost like crystal clear clarity!!!

When I compare where I was when I was their age (close to 20 years back!), the distance seems like light years away. At their age, I wasn't so aware about the various options, about the systems and processes, about the governmental agencies, their role. In fact I doubt if I knew what being analytical  meant!! It truly was a carefree life as far as I was concerned. I studied, had a whole lot of fun and never ever did I even think about what I visualized the future to be. It was more as if I was flowing in the stream and that my life would but naturally take the course it had to!! I don't remember ever wondering or questioning what I'd do, where I'd work, how much I'd earn, what my leave entitlement would be, whether I'd need to sign a contract, what the growth opportunities would be, what the induction would cover, whether I was entitled to travel reimbursement. And yet............. I worked, did well, earned reasonably well and above all enjoyed whatever I did. Was it pure luck? I don't know. What I definitely do know is that if the interviews were anything like what they are today, I doubt if I'd ever have gotten a job!

That brings me to another thought which often crosses my mind........did I miss out on anything, do I lack in any way. Well, I am happy just the way I am. I am thrilled that I enjoyed my youth to the hilt. I'm privileged that I was oblivious to the rat-race. I'm content with what I am, with where I've worked and with what I've done. Every place I've been in has been a learning ground and I've enjoyed every moment of my 'professional' life thus far!

As I prepare to move to another city after having worked in an organization for close to 7 years in various capacities, do I know what I'm going to do? No, I don't. Will I work there? I don't know. What I do know is that I'll be happy and content wherever I am - be it at work or at home!

Obituary

Obituaries - how are they perceived? Certain obituaries seem as if the family is really grieving, some are more like news capsules, some like memorials. Can we judge what the family is feeling, what is the relationship they shared with the deceased? No, we cannot and we should not.

At a training session today we had to write our own obituaries, about how we would want people to write about us, about what is the mark we would want to leave behind, that people would remember us for, what is it that we hope to achieve so that people remember us. Was it an easy task? Initially no, but once I got down to writing it, it was fairly simple. This is what I wrote

It's been over a year since you've been gone,

But no, you've not gone, you're still there!

You're there when we see the flowers grow on your plants

You're there when we pass a bakery

You're there when we see colourful paintings on the walls of our house

You're there when we refer to your handwritten recipes

You're there when we see the many photographs you've collected and written about

You're there whenever we see colourful bangles

You're there when tea is poured out of the teapot

You're there whenever we see children

Above all you're there when we look at ourselves in the mirror.

You never really will go.

We miss you.

I wrote this from my husband and son's perspective. They matter the most to me. I don't know if I would want them to write about my qualities, my achievements. I would much rather that they remember me just the way I was when I was around. 

Pappa

Pappa turned 75 day before yesterday. Glorious 75. Glorious because he is healthy and happy. Healthy enough to play a round of golf everyday, happy enough to socialize, go on picnics...............Nothing can give me more peace of mind when it comes to him than the knowledge that he is healthy and happy.

My parents live alone, my brother and I in two different places. Their being healthy means a lot.

I feel happy when I think of Pappa, happy because I know he is fine. When I talk to him, there is so much to catch up on - how his game was, any pars, who he played with. What their plans were, were they going to a friend's or relative's house or were they just staying home. We discuss the latest happenings in our world, we talk about the fish he bought. We talk about just about anything. I cannot imagine things being any other way. The childhood phrase 'my daddy strongest' still holds true for me - true even when he is 75 and me 40. He will always be my pappa and I will always be his little girl!

Pappa taught me to earn my privileges right from when I was very young. He was in the army.  We always had many helping hands at home. We called them 'bhaiyas'. Technically the bhaiya/ sevadar/ batman is detailed for the officer, to ensure that he is fine, that his uniform is set, the shoes polished, the decorations 'brassoed'. However, generally these bhaiyas end up doing many things in the house, one among them being polishing all the shoes in the household. I remember there was an instance when I was dressed to go to school and had unpolished shoes on. Pappa asked the reason for my turnout and when I responded that I was wondering if bhaiya would polish my shoes. Pappa didn't say a word. I went to school with the unpolished shoes on. After that day polishing all the shoes - Pappa's, my brothers and mine was my duty. I really had no choice. White shoes used to be 'blankoed' those days, it was a messy affair, I hated it, yet I did it. I learned how to polish black shoes and how to use a flannel on them such that they shone to the point of reflecting! I learned that for brass to really shine it works best if you apply 'brasso' keep the object/decoration in the sun and then rub it gently with a very soft cloth - preferably flannel. I also learned that to get the black shoes and the brass to shine the hosiery vest worked just as fine if there was no flannel. Above all I learned something called dignity of labour and also more importantly that just because something is my father's be it a material good, money, privilege it certainly does not imply that it is mine as well to enjoy.I learned that I had to work hard to earn it all.

I remember the first songs Pappa taught me - Bachelor Boy and Que Sera Sera. It would be a sing along session. Even now when I hear these songs I associate them with Pappa and they continue to be very close to my heart.

If there is one thing I could hold back it would be time, time in terms of Pappa and Mamma growing older. But each time I see him after a gap of a few months I realize that time is ticking. He is greyer, eyes sunk in deeper, hearing a little more strained. There is nothing I can do about it, I'm helpless!!

It is a frightening thought. I cannot imagine a time when I will not be able to pick up the phone and say "Hi Pappu'.

Where I belong

I have had the good fortune of being brought up across the length and the breadth of this vast country that is India. I also have the good fortune of continuing to live across various locations after I've settled into matrimony.

Pappa was in the Indian Army and my husband is in the Indian Navy. Being in the armed forces means postings every few years. Through all these years of my life - forty so far, I have lived at many places across India and, from these stations visited many more places.

The places I've lived at are many. Pune, Delhi, Jhansi, Bangalore, Cochin (now Kochi), Agartala, Baroda (now Vadodara), Bharuch, Surat, Bombay (now Mumbai), Lonavala, Vasco, Vishakaptnam, Chennai. That's many places and, few places I've lived in more than once!

For many people I meet it's hard to fathom how I can cope with so many moves. Probably, having lived in a particular house, a particular locality, attending the same school, having the same circle of friends, visiting the same markets/stalls/malls all their lives, it does make it hard for them to imagine a 'gypsy' life as many have told me. For me though living in the same place, the same house all your life is something I cannot fathom!!!!!

This brings me to the question of where I belong to? Try as I might, I can never ever pin point any one place which I say is where I belong to. Every place I have ever lived in has been special for me. Never have I felt 'different' in any of these places. Never have I felt that I don't belong. Each place has been a wonderful experience, a learning experience, an enriching experience. Each place has played a huge part in moulding me, in shaping me into who I am today. Above all being in each place has made me realize with pride that I am AN INDIAN.

I am fiercely proud of being an Indian! My heart fills with pride when I think of the diversity which exists in my country, and when I talk of the diversity, it's not the diversity I have read about, it is the diversity I have experienced! Every place had its own cuisine, its own favourite snack, its own style of dressing, its own special sweets, its own language, its own popular mode of transport, its own popular eating joint, its own distinct market places. Amidst all these varied, distinct features of each place there has been this one common spirit, this one binding thread - that of these places being part of this country called India. Was it my coping mechanism that I looked at these places as an Indian, I don't know. What I know is that I've never been out of place in any of these places, I've always belonged!!!!

For me it truly is 'Incredible India'!

Where I'm from - May 2007

I'm from the heat, the 'loo', the hailstones of Jhansi,

From the long-distance trains chugging by,
I'm from the 'ber' tree swinging......
And watching out for the cobra nearby.

I’m from the hide and seek in the old battle tank,

From the ‘jugnus’ of summer evenings………….

And the smell of water sprinkled on roads that are tarred.

I'm from the 'seven-tiles' of Bangalore

From the Sunday School at church.

I’m from the pyramids on the SFX sports field…..

And the roller skating at the park!

I’m from the SFX music room………..

The whole class singing to Miss Pinto’s piano tune.

I’m from the drives on my dad’s Bajaj scooter

Singing ‘Jamaican Farewell’ the song they so love!

I'm from the seventh floor

Of  Fernsons, the first multi-storied of Cochin.

I’m from the Chinese fishing nets at Fort Kochi

To the boat rides to the islands in the sea.

I’m from the necessity of being able to speak in Malayalam

Wondering if I truly belong………..

Trying to find an identity in the many family gatherings.

And really ‘knowing’ the big Jacob family!

I'm from the lone house in Narsingarh at Agartala

Knowing that  the smuggler’s are at work at night.

I’m from the barter system at the Bangladesh border

From a house of cakes and pets and many fruit trees!

I’m from the long bus ride to the KV in Kunjaban

Being taught by the Sinhas and the Yadav’s.

I’m from the girl guides- camping, travelling and………. believing in me!

I'm from the blue BSA cycle at Baroda,

Riding alongside the red 6065 RX100!

I’m from the yapping sessions at the MSU canteen……..

And the ‘cutting chais’ on the Fatehganj pavements!

I’m from the glorious times at 6 PG hall

With a Kenyan, a Sudanese and an Indian as roomies!

I’m from the secret visits to the NDA canteen

And the many phone calls and letters which then meant existence!

I'm from a childhood of different places, people and languages

Of different cultures, foods and experiences!

I’m from an adult life of even more varied cultures, foods, experiences

Of different places, people and languages,

But all in all………………….

 I am ME !!