Empowerment

Recently a close friend had sent me a text which went like this, “I now understand what women empowerment is all about. A person like you (brought up abroad, educated, with experiences outside her own state) cannot do something that she likes because of society. I am lucky to be a man! ”

His frankness is commendable but I could not help wondering if I was really unlucky. Being a woman isn’t easy (at least from where I come from) in any way. Every day is a battle for some respect and respect isn’t something you can force out of anybody. You get judged for everything you do/say/wear and you are charged guilty for life simply because you live life the way you want it. One thing I truly appreciate is their wild creative imagination (thanks to the soap operas) to tailor gossips & rumors with the snap of their fingers and continue on shamelessly in spinning their webs to their utmost delight. And sadly here, it’s the women themselves who make your life a living hell unlike the male counterparts.

People are a total scam if they can’t get their attitudes right.

Impressions

Off late I have turned into a devotee of the works by Robin Sharma. The obsession would perhaps be due to the fact that there are very few self-help literature works to which I can relate to. It takes more than just reading philosophy and deciding to tweak a makeover.

So while listening to one of his audio features, there was a mention of an African – American woman named Oziola McCarthy. She passed away at the age of 91 after spending her entire life washing other people’s dirty laundry. This woman grew up in wretched poverty and faced one tragedy after another during the course of her life. She never left home except to buy groceries and to visit the church. She remained a spinster all her life, although when she was 87 she did tell her best friend that she was still looking out for a good man. And yet when this woman passed away, she had been honored by world leaders and even received an honorary doctorate from Harvard University.

So what was so special about her? Here’s her story. 

As a young woman, she used to deposit every dime and nickel that she received on washing other people’s clothes at a local bank. This went on for days, weeks, months, years and decades until one day when she was 87 and paid a visit to the bank. 

The man behind the counter greeted her and asked her, “Oziola, do you have any idea how much money you have accumulated into your account?” She said, “No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” 

He replied, “You have accumulated over one quarter of a million dollars. What do you want me to do with it?” Now Oziola was a simple woman and didn’t understand how much money that was, so here is what the man behind the counter did. He put across ten coins on the counter and said, “These ten coins represent your money. Tell me what I should do with it.” She pointed at the first coin and said, “I would like to give that to the church” and pointed at the next three coins and said, “I would like to give these to my nieces, nephews and cousins because I love them so much. As for the other six coins, I have something very special in mind.”         

One month later a local university received a cheque from her for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars with a handwritten note attached to it which read: I would like you to set up a scholarship for poor African-American students who still know how to dream.

This act of humanity turned around heads all around the world. Later when she was asked what her dream was, she replied, “I so dearly wish to see the first recipient of my scholarship on the graduation stage before I pass away. But that probably is not going to happen because of my advanced age.” And yet one month before she died, the first recipient of her scholarship did walk across the platform. After she passed away, the student was tracked down for his comments. He said, “Heaven couldn’t have gotten a better angel. She was an inspiration, a blessing and a treasure to the world.”   

Courtesy: Sharma Leadership International

My bed of roses

Past few months have been quite uneventful which includes my lazing over to update this space. I have been fixating myself into deep reading and I have finished over four books in two weeks (a personal record). Other than that I have been working over the still progressing, head spinning, life churning decisions of mine. And here is how a typical thought runs on its own winding over the nerves in my head.

"MBA! Time for me to do a PG." (Yaaawn).

"But which college do I choose? Screw those sinister exams. CAT, MAT, RAT, SNAP, CRAP, FMS, JMET, blah, blah, blah! Hmmmmmmmmm."

"Wait-a-minute, should I go for this?" (Fingers playing with my hair)

"I should definitely revive my job hunting strategies for now – getting back to books is scary and I want to be done with exams forever! Somebody banish them!"

"But I ain’t gonna go back to those scrawny techie jobs; remember you swore it to yourself the last time!"

"But then what is the other better option???" (Biting the corners of my mouth)

Imaginations on the roll-day dreaming; whatever it’s called

SNAP! "No seriously! What should I do???"

Now I think of a million ways to escape the next train of thoughts that’s on its way

Nature’s call, gotta run / Raid the fridge / Got to finish this book / Nap time! / Vigorously starts typing texts over the phone / Spiteful urge to irritate someone in the house      

Oh yes, and those taunting neighbors and relatives (relatively unknown to me) who can’t just wait to get me married off.

I would say, “You people ain’t getting rid off me that quick.”

They would flabbergast, “OMG!!! You do have someone in your life, don’t you? Do your parents know? Who is the guy? What about religion and caste? OMGGGGG!!!! ”

They never fail to render me speechless.

I would shoot back, “Now when did I say that?????”

They would then begin with their mantras on life (in Lola Kutty style) “All girls are like that now. They introduce and decide everything on their own caring the least of what parents think. We know you are not like that but you shouldn’t keep your parents waiting. Now be a good girl and no fooling around. We will help you find some good desi boys who can fly you to I-Am-Erica. We just want to see you happily married off before we go to our graves.”

I would think “Why don’t I just dig them up for you myself right now!” “#!/= @&^?%*!$~#”

I smile back at them politely like a doll wishing I could say a lot more but sadly goes unsaid.

2 decades and 4 years

Date: June 1^st, 1986

Time: 1:00 am

The day when the world celebrates the international children’s day was a perfect opening to my arrival. Mom says that I was of no trouble at all and that she actually enjoyed her time at the hospital munching on jell-o, yogurt and chicken.

Date: June 1st, 2010

Time: 10:15 am

Here I am today making a soft and quite landing on 24. There goes another year of my life. Yes, I am getting old. Can’t help sighing over how quick the years roll by with the wink of an eye. I wonder if I am ‘old enough’ to start scanning my face for wrinkles or worry over when that nasty grey is going to sprout over some unknown corner of my head or if I should get my memories regularly checked, in case they are beginning to fade. Okay! I am going overboard but the fact is it gets quite uneasy going through this day as the years go by. Getting old sucks and I find solace in scourging adulthood on the heaping responsibilities that fall upon endlessly (sometimes out of nowhere) making life stagnant, timeless and ‘un-awesome’. I love the independence and so cherish for more but running the errands are tough. I don’t deny that being an adult is fun but it gradually wears out with age and finally one decides to ‘settle down somewhere with that someone’ and then the routine starts running on its own as though time has jinxed itself. Baah!

Just a funny memory made me smile right now. I was at kindergarten and it was my birthday; the only day I wouldn’t have to wear those pinafores. So, I got chocolates for everyone and as per tradition, had to stand up front listening to friends sing to me. I remember going through the dilemma (yes, at such young age) if I should sing along with them. It was my first time under the spotlight and I couldn't remember other kids singing on their D-days since I had my eyes locked on their chocolate boxes and lips desperately trying to sync in with the others. Eventually I made up my mind and started to sing! Funny part is no body found it odd. Thank God those kids weren’t so bright then unlike now.            

            

Anyway it’s been two decades and four years here. Truly a pleasure in a million ways. It’s Happy Birthday to me! “Wink!”

The Buck Stops Here

The sad state of affairs with the IPL was something that was expected to happen sooner or later. Any person would ponder to look on to the other side of entertainment and realize the huge amounts of bucks flying around when our own governments are going nuts on how to shelf down the food prices. Not only has there been a betrayal of public trust but also how corruption was written all over and no one recognized those signs.

Enough has been said on the IPL issue but take a step back and look onto some of its positive side, something which I happen to read lately. Last year’s IPL in South Africa gave in a huge boost to its economy during the bad times along with the good work of promoting the country’s tourism and infrastructure. Schools in each of the host cities where given scholarships and other opportunities which uplifted and brought back lost hopes to the students. The games then were a fine example of entertainment through cricket and community recognition as a social cause.

Unsurprisingly when IPL came to India, none of this even happened. Because everything here has to be tagged in with glamour, Bollywood, parties, ego clashes, cheer girls and Page3. Oh! And yes the big bucks on the roll. Cricket is no more a game. It’s another one of those emerging businesses where you embroil to make ‘easy money’.

Source: The Hindu

Bachao!

Yes, that is what I would scream out when a movie turns out so sour that I end up strangling myself for watching it. This is usually what I would do in general but if it’s an exclusive ‘treat’ from bollywood, then it gets uglier. I’ve been watching bollywood grow (or degrade) through the years since the day I have learnt to understand the language. In the late 80’s and early 90’s, the movies were so caught up in unraveling the twists and turns in the very popular and monotonous theme of ROMANCE, either woven out by a cheesy writer or partially or completely borrowed from the other film fraternities.

Every movie had an incredibly audacious hero by the names Raj/Rohit/Aman/Rahul/Vijay (sometimes with a sidekick called Mitto or Bittu or Chintu) who had fallen in love with the gracious Pooja/Tina/Priya/Sapna, with one of them from a super rich clan and the other clamped in poverty. The plot usually works out on how the couple fights on tirelessly till the end against the tyrants with wild names like Rocky/Tiger/Vicky/Robert and with the inclusion of the infamous dialogue from the lead female “Mujhe Bacha Lo!” every time the villains eye her. Oh and how could I go past without a mention on the sizzling songs where the lovebirds run around (yet managing to get the music notes a 10 on 10) with a 100 or something dancers out of nowhere amidst the rain, snow and the ‘holy smoke’.    

Ok, I quit with the mockery but I simply cannot help it. Today bollywood in its utmost glorified version has a mass appeal all over and I wonder what has happened to the world.  Movies that kill me are the ones with huge numbers rolling by their side and the ones that I get impressed with turn out to be among the lowest of the lowest in the box office. Inspite of being a part of today’s Gen-X, I find appeal in watching the wonders of Nasseruddin Shah and Om Puri and off late Paresh Rawal. Why are filmmakers so hesitant to portray the messages that are important in the real world? And why do actors go on signing such blunt movies that makes you want to throw a brick at them? Movies like Parzania, A Wednesday, Road to Sangam make it to the limelight once in a blue moon and yet are over shadowed by the supercilious and glamour-obsessed film industry and its audiences.

Bride at 9, divorcee at 10

That is the title that caught my attention from an edition of The Times of India. Out of curiosity, I checked out the article. What I read after that was shocking and sick to the core. The story of Nujood Ali strangely resembles the Khaled Hosseini fiction: A Thousand Splendid Suns. I couldn’t help but write something about the ordeal that left the 12 year old Yemeni rot for over a year.

Nujood Ali, a regular school going girl from Yemen, who loved math and Quran classes, was forced into marriage at the age of 9 to a man old enough to be her father. She was raped on the first night of her wedding and regularly abused by her in-laws and so called husband, until she ran away two months after the wedding. With the help of a relative, she filed for divorce and was granted freedom later in the year becoming the youngest bride to legally end her marriage. With that she made headlines all over the world and was declared ‘Women of the Year’ in 2008 alongside Hillary Clinton and Nicole Kidman by Glamour magazine.      

Today her story is being told through her memoir "I Am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced " composed by a French journalist and is appearing in about 19 languages world over. She and her sister are attending a private school at her hometown with the funds she received from her book. She says with a smile, "All I want now is to finish my education. I want to be a lawyer."

I simply couldn’t stop imagining her plight and how disgusting and insane people can get. It’s great to know how successfully she fought her way out through the agony but it’s heartbreaking to realize the pain in her at the time when she should have played with her dolls.

We all have been truly blessed with a roof above our heads and satisfied with our never ending desires to carve out our lives better than the others. One thought of what girls like Nujood go through, is enough to make our stomachs turn over.       

http://www.glamour.com/women-of-the-year/2008/nujood-ali-and-shada-nasser