Makeup

My mother doesn't trust women 
who wear it. She says, longer hair
is a better bet as Paul, the apostle said
they are a woman's jewels.

Why are they playing "hide and seek"?
seeking someone who is another person
because the one in the mirror
decided to wear a mask.

Why do they paint their face
black and blue, 
when the sun scorched brown
brings them back to life.

New Resolutions

A new year brings with itself a lot of hopes, much like the birth of a child. Every new year inspires us to make beginnings and bring an end to the rot and rigmarole of habits, that we have always wanted to give up.
2016 was an eventful year which was a witness to my only brother's marriage. Since, I am the elder one, the burden of responsibilities was put on my shoulders, which made me give up on my fitness goals due to the lack of time and commitment. After having bid adieu to Bombay, I have not been in shape all thanks to the unhealthy eating habits and incessant travelling. I have done my best to stick to my exercise regime but the lack of inspiration failed me.

Fair skin racism: Why we must shun it right now

A visit to the Kirana store can sometimes be a big leap towards insanity. The big cut-outs of fair women smiling at me is not a very happy sight. And the shopkeeper at the big kirana store in the central market, is the only one who stocks up the lotions and potions. While many times he runs short of a basic moisturizer, you will surely find fairness cream tubes of various sizes and types at his store. You name it and he has it, from Fair and Lovely to Garnier and even those for men. It is amusing that despite not being a country of Caucasians Indian people lunge behind fair skin. 
As a young girl I was a fan of basketball and remember dribbling the ball with my best friend at a time of the day when the sun was spewing fire. Both of us never bothered, and by the time we hurriedly paced towards the classroom for the next period, we were sun-burnt. The nastiest May heat couldn't scare us and there we were, two Indian girls fascinated by tanning. While many of our other girl friends hid in the classrooms, petrified of sun burns and skin darkening, we made sure that we hopped around in the basketball court and didn't hide from the angry sun. 

Seven steps to a healthy heart

Health is wealth but in today's times, wealth is our new best friend. We all are running from pillar to post to make ends meet. A comfortable sedentary lifestyle and unhealthy food have become our soulmates. Most of us do not hear the warning bells ringing until a trip to the hospital doesn't happen.

Two years ago at around this time, I discovered on an accidental visit to the hospital that I had put on some extra kilos. I had been a victim of persistent throbbing headaches but decided to ignore them blaming the sweaty humid heat for my ordeal. While I was intending to meet the dermatologist, I also happened to walk upto the general physician. I felt thankful at the startling revelations  that he had to make about my health, and from then I took a decision to give up on habits that were playing a spoilsport for my heart and health.

My sleeping schedule has been erratic since college and all through the long tiring hours I spent at the laboratory trying to unravel the mysteries of life, it continued. That very day I made a promise to myself to go to bed early, come what may. That also meant that even if I were to fall in love, I had to make sure that I don't lose sleep over it.

The Fallible World of Facebook and Human Relationships

I always make it a point to wish all my friends on facebook, on their birthday. It's thoughtful and beautiful to add a pinch of sunshine to someone's life, especially on a day like their birthday. A one-liner of a birthday wish can cheer up a person which is the best we can do to keep in touch with people we know and also our acquaintances. On a social media platform like facebook, a birthday or anniversary wish sent once in a year according to me is the only and best route of communication once can maintain with their facebook friends. To add to this can be the occasional chatter on issues that are burning down the world or a discussion about personal problems that we so often talk of on platforms like facebook. 

There was a time when I had 1700 friends on facebook. The idea of logging into facebook where 1700 people were keeping a watch on me, on different occasions or at the same time under the rare circumstance of everyone logging in at the same moment was making me restless. To add to this awkwardness was the hard perverted stare from a few strangers who kept a check on my pictures. Then there were a few friends who loved to pick on me when I started a thread of discussion about gender. A no-holds barred talk on gender shakes the confidence of men with fragile egos. These friends were subsequently driven away from my facebook profile. Technology didn't destroy friendships here, it exposed the real faces behind the masks some of these men were wearing. Imagine a world, an educated civilized world where thoughts about gender inequality still threaten men who do not understand the root cause of the problem, to begin with. Recently I bid adieu to my best friend who had on countless occasions towed the line and made a joke of me on facebook, in full public view, earning the ire and criticism of many female friends who thought that the guy didn't deserve to be my friend in the first place. I wonder had facebook never existed, this discourse on gender benders might have never taken place, although I do not regret letting him go. Facebook acted as a mirror in this case I guess.

Teething as an Adult

Adulthood is a difficult phase of life. Life wastes away in daily deadlines at work, worrying about the future and most of all in seeing your energy reserve dwindle. I remember the times when no matter how many hours were spent in skipping, playing stapu or sweating it out in the basketball field, I didn't feel tired. Yes, I did gulp down gallons of water but I was always on my toes. As adulthood has stealthily engulfed me in its trap, I think I have become a new person. A human who is always fatigued and is looking for the slightest reason to hit the bed or curl on a couch with her favorite book. While our energy is getting spent like water, adulthood also brings with it, a peculiar problem of teething. We call it the arrival of the wisdom teeth, the hindmost molars appearing in your twenties which can be a valuable asset to you if properly aligned. Their eruption usually leads to excruciating pain and dizziness, which is exactly what I have been experiencing nowadays. 
This year had been passing away without too many debilitating health issues, until I realized day before yesterday that my wisdom teeth were tearing my jaws and torturing my sanity. 
I haven't been able to cut through my food properly since then trying my best to not chew food with my distant right molars. 

The Art of Healing your Soul

This post begins with a confession. I must admit that I was a scared cat for a good part of my life. You can comfortably call me an introvert. Introverts can't mix with human life and yes I am one of those people who worry about putting off others and press the panic button at anything that my mind may not able to come to terms with. We introverts wear colored masks to hide the frown lines that the world and the drama it creates, puts on us. For a long time, I struggled at choosing those masks and painting them with my favourite hues of emotions. With the passage of time, I am learning the trick.
An article sent by the bestie on the three different kinds of people in the world based on their negative feelings shook me up. This thought provoking article on Mental Floss  talks about three different kinds of personalities. If you happen to read it, you may get a fair idea about the kind of personality you are. I tried to wear one of those personality types, and failed to strictly put myself into any of the kinds that the author has mentioned of. For me the journey has been from a sense of nothingness to weary boredom and finally at this stage in life, I have given up on the world and can't fit myself into the shoes it has offered.
This discouragement led to anger, hopelessness and fear. I wasn't aware of those moments when I was becoming an epidemic of negativity. 
In 2013, I took to practicing spirituality. My mom was startled when one fine day, I declared that I was attending the Sunday mass. For someone who had seen the altar of the church as a young girl, this was one giant leap towards a different kind of life, one that she had never perceived to live. After endless rounds of confession and spiritual cleansing, I took a few decisions. One of the most important of those resolutions was to deactivate my Facebook profile and stay away from twitter. I think one can freeze the former while I didn't know how I was supposed to delete the latter. Perhaps, it was one of the best decisions I ever took for myself. Yes, if you have been hunting to find peace and have failed till this day, then trust me this is the first door that you  need to open, to be in harmony with yourself. I had scuttled away from social media during lent and by the time I returned, fifty days later, I was many kilos lighter and detached from the dramas that had taken a toll on me. If TV is the culprit for you, especially the depressing news channels, then try and cut that clutter from your life for sometime. Trust me, you'll thank me for having given you the advice.
A few months later, I also cleaned up my friend list, unfriending people who were there on my list because we had 125 mutual friends. We never bothered to speak and since it was scary to start a conversation with a stranger I chose to set them free. On the other hand, a few other people decided to set me free and that evened the equation.
The social media is keeping us informed and raising important issues but at the same time, it is accumulating pessimism inside us when we read about them everyday. Also, it puts us at par with people who talk about their personal lives or goals. We start measuring our materialistic and emotional happiness with their yardstick and that is the point from where we fall, and hurt ourselves. 
Remember not all fingers are of the same length, and yes research like this says that Facebook can magnify narcissism and anxiety.

                                                 Picture credit: christianpost.com

30th January 2016

Yesterday night was special. After spending an extended weekend in Delhi, I headed back to Bombay. The paradigm shift from winters to a pleasant climate is a kick in the gut. I usually prefer the Delhi-Bombay Rajdhani as it saves me the extra miles from the Mumbai airport, but this time I was in hurry so chose the latter option.
After reaching home I curled up in the annals of my comfortable bedroom, still reeling under the winter chill that had been coughed into my lungs by Delhi.
A little later in the early evening I received a phone call from my best friend. She was in Bombay and wanted to catch up with me. Unlike in Delhi where we scoot inside our homes after eight pm, in Bombay it's a different story. The people of Bombay are not bothered about others and their lives, as all of them are hurrying to reach their destinations, since travelling is an arduous activity. Perhaps because of this reason Bombay is brimming with human life even at night.
For Delhites though,  conforming to the idea of travelling at night is difficult. Even then over the years, I have punched fear right on its face and journeyed across the length and breadth of the city. 
I remember those days when I had landed in Bombay, and navigation had bogged me down. I couldn't ascertain routes or plan an outing, and had to rely on the autorickshaws and kali-peeli taxi. In Delhi, where every nook and cranny of the city is connected by metro, moving around isn't a big deal anymore.While in Bombay you need to have extra starch in your backbone to hop onto the local which drives the city. For a person who had recently landed in the city, the probability was a big no. I chose the next best option, the rickshaws and taxis, since learning routes took some time. Infact memorizing the names of places took me about two months until I could wean myself off from relying on taxis.

26 th January 2016

"67 year old republic. Oh really!" said my american cousin giving a bemused expression.
"Yes India is growing older but its young citizens are keeping her on toes."
By the time I had defended India's youthful ageing like an angry warrior we had reached Rajpath. The sun was glistening on the green grass sprinkled with the morning mist. 
"It isn't as cold as we had thought it would be." she said.
I had hoped against hope that the weather would treat us kindly and especially since this airy american cousin had landed down in the city, nail biting chill would have played spoilsport and given her all the reasons to complain.

We had reserved our seats and were sure of being comfortably seated, but even then to avoid a last minute confusion, I dragged her to the venue in the wee hours of the morning.
"Oh I thought we have cushioned seating arrangement." she complained.
"This is an open air event. Do you get to sit on padded seats during soccer matches in the US of A?" I asked visibly irritated by her snobbishness. 
"Ah ok! We'll manage." she said sensing the angry discomfort in my voice.
These american born confused desis. Ofttimes I wonder, whether they were all born with a silver spoon?"

The city had turned into a fortress with 50,000 police personnel and a whooping 150,000 paramilitary staff guarding the city. I had read in the newspaper that one police personnel was deployed after every twenty metres. With the recent Pathankot attacks, the government and security agencies were leaving no stone unturned to ensure that the city was nestled in safety.
The celebrations began with the chanting of the national anthem. This was followed by a posthumous Ashoka chakra award to Lance Naik Mohan Goswami who was martyred while fighting eleven terrorists in Jammu and Kashmir. I could see my cousin intently listening to the voice of the announcer reminiscing Mohan Goswami's  acts of daredevilry. Our brave soldiers are the only reason that we sleep comfortably in our homes and we must always be thankful to them for guarding our borders from the enemies of the state.
The first highlight of the day was the French army's 35th infantry regiment marching smartly in their uniforms. They were not stiffly marching much like our armed forces but yes most of the people present there were awestruck by their charm. There was also a french band named "Music of Infantry" that played tunes joyously as the crowd cheered them.

                                                       

                                    Picture credit: newsnation.com

The Female Human Body and the politics of Menstruation

Nikita Azad has pulled the rabbit out of the hat. A raging, roaring debate about menstruation has been deafening this part of the planet. And its falling on the deaf ears of a bunch of self-confessed misogynists who have appointed themselves as the patrons of religion.
This is India, where talking about menstruation is forbidden and a bleeding woman is considered impure. Look at the irony, it's also the same country where women are worshiped as goddesses on Ashtami. So while women are revered as sacred their bodies and the blood flowing out of it, because of the changes that a woman's body undergoes to prepare for a pregnancy is considered impure.  Once in a month, the uterus grows a new lining to get ready for a fertilized egg. And when the body does that, all hell breaks lose and women are deemed as impure by men and women, the silent agents of patriarchy.
When I look back at times, I remember my struggle with menstruation. I was one of those girls who started menstruating early in life and was not prepared to deal with it. It came as a rude shock for my mom, who thought that she had all the time in the world to arm me with the necessary information. What followed was a cycle of events every month that involved regular visits to the chemist shop to get my supply of sanitary pads, to carefully placing it so that I don't stain my clothes and become a butt of jokes ( I did become a butt of jokes many times, since I suffered from heavy flow) to hurriedly rushing to the washroom during a period to change to escape the prying eyes of people and especially men. 
We used to secretly murmur about it amidst female friends never letting the guys around us have an inkling of it, as if they had no idea about menstruating girls.
Religion meanwhile had already played havoc in our lives. Many hindu girls used to tell us stories of how they were disallowed to enter temples while on periods and were even not allowed to say their prayers. I was told to not attend the Sunday mass and touch the bible while menstruating because as per the patriarchal church fathers I was impure to touch anything that was sacred. Since I wasn't a devout Christian, I used to happily give the sunday mass a miss while on my period. But over the years I felt like questioning these practices, devised by a bunch of men  for keeping a check on women. I decided to abruptly end this malpractice of not being allowed inside the church premises by heading to the church on a Sunday, while on my periods. Mom supported me and never reprimanded   me for this sudden outburst of rebellion. While some eastern orthodox churches still do not allow menstruating women to partake in the sunday mass, the catholic church had since opened its doors to women on their periods. 
Infact when I had posted a status update to support the #HappyToBleed hashtag some friends expressed their surprise and doubt about such practices existing in the church. Many more decided to stay mum about body politics that is regressive and oppressive. 

Nikita's open display of fearless honesty has opened a dirty can of worms. I saw quite a few women supporting the #HappyToBleed hashtag with pictures, with a vast majority still choosing to stay silent about the period talk. To all such people, who decide to brush this issue under the carpet and consider it shameful to talk about menstruation, may I pose a few questions.

1) Do you think menstruation a natural process needs to be hidden from men?
2)Do you think men don't know about menstruation and if suddenly through an online campaign they are informed of it, all hell will break lose?
3) What is so shameful about menstruation, the blood or the fact that it flows from the vagina?
4) Is it difficult for you to accept menstruation as a natural body cycle, if we forget the pain and cramps associated with it?
5) Don't you think the body politics around menstruation needs to be discussed, so that women are not shunned and shamed by patriarchy, for something that is natural?
6) Don't you think talking more about menstruation will bring to light the taboos associated with it?
7) Don't you think campaigns centered around menstruation will allow the less privileged women folk of our country to be informed about it?
8) Don't you think campaigns like #HappyToBleed will foil patriarchy to play havoc in a woman's life?
9) Do you consider yourself impure when you are on a period?
10) Should a  normal cycle be a yardstick for shunning women  from religious freedom?

A rendezvous with a Gmail helpline executive

A fortnight ago my gmail account went out of my reach. It's been ten years since I'm using it, and there have been very few instances when I might have ever changed my password. I know that is suicidal, but since the past seven years I have got used to the idea of staying logged in through my phone. I take the pains to login through the computer very rarely, which is why staying logged in through phone had become a habit.
Last fortnight was a different ball game. I opened my computer and frantically typed in my login id and password, to be denied access. Hell broke loose thereafter, since I had to send an urgent email. I tried churning my memory to remember my alternative email id's password, since I had entered another person's mobile number as the phone recovery option. This was to avoid any instances of my mobile number being sold to pesky advertisers. That precaution backfired and I felt as helpless as a child who had lost her way back home. 
This is when I happened to click on some random options in an agitated attempt to somehow recover my gmail email, which turned out to be blessing in disguise. Somehow a message was sent to the gmail helpline and I got immediately connected. 
An american lady politely offered help after greeting me. There weren't too many unsolicited apologies, much like our indian customer care or helpline numbers retort to. She carefully guided me through the process of recovering my email, by asking for the last alternate email address I remembered. I informed her that the phone number I had mentioned on the recovery page had been wrongly entered. She assured me of all possible help and after about five minutes of patiently listening to her sermons of handling our email accounts, a solution came my way. She told me that the  recovery team would forward an email to me with a link to reset the password. She also directed me to carefully fill the recovery page again with my correct mobile number.
For the tough lessons, that this episode of confusion had taught me, I filled in the recovery page with all the necessary details and finally caught hold of my beloved email account.

Is Caste-based-reservation a fair deal?

I am taken back to my college days, a few years ago, when I am starting to write this post. I had the aspirations to become a doctor, and opted for physics, chemistry, biology in class eleventh. The rut and rigmarole of studying for medical entrances wasn't helpful either and perhaps since I wasn't a student belonging to the OBC or SC/ST castes, I was left behind in the race of becoming a doctor. My dad didn't support the idea of paying capitation fees and getting me a paid seat, and much like most of my friends in the graduation batch I was compelled to devise a plan B. Little did I know that I would end up becoming a teacher, which is a profession I didn't want to take up in the first place. But slowly with the passage of time, I'm loving the idea of enlightening minds searching for knowledge.
For all my friends from the backward castes who are doctors now, all thanks to the cakewalk they had during admission, life is indeed a "pain in the neck". And here I'm enjoying the fruits of a profession that has fixed working hours, awesome perks and most of all paid holidays, which being a doctor wouldn't have offered me. Reservation that way, was a "blessing in disguise" for me.
But then only if, I were to be a doctor, I could have only become one, if I was entitled to a reservation. Else I might have got a medical seat only if I was the best in the lot, which I wasn't. I believe these are the reasons that initiate and impel "brain drain" from India.  Many of my friends who couldn't live up to their dreams of becoming a doctor in India, went abroad.Only because our incompetent classmates from the backward classes realized their dreams of wearing a doctor's coat.
Not because we weren't more qualified than them, but because "reservation based" quota had got them their dreams on a platter.

Naming

On those bricks
built as a bane,
was this plate clutched
garbled in gold
I saw letters rooted
like creepers crawling in vain
a language read as archaic allusion
as if plastered onto Pharaoh's pyramid.
The arrival was anticipated
and a coconut fell in salutation
when they told me
that their house was called
the land of one coconut tree.


Three houses away
their hut was known as
the land of three coconut trees,
while at a distance of two houses
along the orange mire's swamp
they called their hearth
the land of tigers,
for their great grand father
found a cub to pet
while on a spirited soldier's sojourn.


In that land, rivers have
pend poetry to christen houses
while nursery rhymes have babbled
from a four year old's lips
to reach her parents
when they baptized their abode
after their child's favourite fable.
Rambling along those shambles of soil
to kiss the horizon's hue.

What's in my bucket list?

I wonder why do they call it the "Bucket list"? They should have rather called it a wishlist or travelogue list, if I were to go about revealing it.
Mine is a weird one, which may make you burst into peals of laughter or you may end up calling me a "madwoman". Scientists are mad, after all!

1) Visit atleast 50 countries, especially Egypt, Seychelles, Pakistan, Sweden, Denmark, Netherlands and yes Iceland too. Infact go to all the countries where being a woman is not a sin. You shouldn't be amazed if someday, all of a sudden an interesting section on travel stems from this blog.
2) Head to the most exotic beaches in India, especially those in Diu and Pondicherry. Work has bound me in chains until now, and the only two beaches I've ever seen are in Tamil Nadu and Kerala.
3) Go to Lahaul and Spiti and try and spot a UFO.

Rising out of Bullying

Bullying is an evil we may have all grown up with. Infact, it is a terrifying truth that plagues the society, where in a stronger person pulls a joke on a weaker person for not being like them, resulting in a repeated rut that drives the victim to depression.
As a child I was carefree, but a strong believer of equality. For me a fair person was in no way special than a friend with darker skin. I had brown skin myself, which gave a fair skinned friend of mine all the wrong reasons in the world to bully me. His mother was a fair skinned punjabi and father a dark skinned south Indian. This wasn't a deterrent for him and he went on bullying dark skinned people for being wrapped in browner membrane. I was fed on the perception that it was penurious to have brown skin. I decided to treat my skin to creams and charms like "Fair and Lovely" only to get into the good books of this fearless bully, but it didn't yield results. I remember hiding in the darker corridors of the school only to not come in the sight of  this bully who never got tired of addressing me as "Kalicharan".

Delhi Calling

I moved back to Delhi recently. Initially, when my good friends heard about it, I was treated to a barrage of brickbats. I had always wanted to lead a single and independent life. Then why did I decide to throw that axe on my leg?
I agree that living in a new city with friends in a rented apartment or as a paying guest is the first step towards freedom. It's a kick, to have your own room where in mom won't barge in without knocking the door, but is that really liberation?
After finishing my laboratory work in Mumbai, I had got the golden opportunity to dwell by the sea. It would have been a dream come true had I mellowed to the idea.But I decided to give it a second thought.
By this time I had accustomed myself to the eternal eccentricity that life was putting me through. From doing my laundry without a washing machine to eating the soggy bland food to having no one to crib and chatter with in malayalam.

To My First Roommate, on her Wedding

Hey S,

I still remember meeting you for the first time. Mom was feeling the fear deep inside her bones, for it was the first time her beloved daughter was going to stay on her own, and I was counting the number of minutes left, before she would leave. A plethora of thoughts were ransacking my mind, most of which were revolving around the camaraderie I will share with you. You looked confident in your black shorts and pink see through top, which my sister-in-law didn't approve of. I could hear her muttering to mom, about how perilous it would be to live with you. I think everyone at home had got used to seeing me in clothes that couldn't be touted as vulgar or bold. 

Infact my bhabhi, had many times after that sent messages through my mom to shift with that malayali girl next door who wears kurtis and wouldn't pose a threat to my humble habits.

I did try my best to make friends with the other women in the place, but at the end of the day I decided that it is best to befriend the person who lives with me, no matter how shady she may seem. 

Infact you maybe amused to know that mom never raised a finger on your character unlike my sister-in-law. She always used to tell me that she found you polite and cheerful, and my roommate will be my friend in need, and not my neighbours. I know she may have turned the pages on her past while having said that, and she was doing all that talking based on her own experiences.

Thoughts on Patrilineal Virilocality

A very good friend of mine got married in her early twenties. Her marriage was being forced down her throat, since her mother was retiring and her father wanted to relocate. Although she had no qualms about a quick marriage and that too a forced one.
The first guy she met got along well with her. He was into hotel management and was working in a reputed hotel in Delhi. They both began dating each other until he lost his job. She had started liking him by then but in an Indian arranged marriage, expressing a desire to marry a jobless guy is like throwing the axe on your foot. Even then she was hoping against hope, that he would find a new job and they would end up together someday.
Because she had started planning a future with him. The guy got a job and actually a very good one. But to take it up he had to relocate to Malaysia.
My friend despite bowing to the decisions taken by her father for her marriage, always chose to stand up for her rights. She loved her job and didn't want to leave it. She also always wanted to be in Delhi, since her brother and his family were settled here. And she wanted to stay close to her natal household.
While the guy she was pursuing wanted to be an NRI at any cost. She tried her best to convince him so that he would settle for another job in Delhi. But he didn't budge.
She bowed to the pressure exerted by her family and settled for another guy brought up and settled in Delhi.
This guy was an old acquaintance. What amused me was the quick rebuttal of her earlier decision, since as a person who had closely known her mind, the other guy had made her heart his home.
Even then she decided to marry this other guy and not move out of Delhi. The only assurance in favor of this decision was that she wanted someone's shoulders to cry on, if something ever went amiss.
She wanted to be spared of the dilemma of making new friends and being a foreigner in an alien land.
Despite she settling for a quick arranged marriage I admire her for having not fallen into the trap of "virilocality".
Recently I saw an advertisement in which the intimate conversations of a couple going to get married are being aired.
One of most interesting aspects of the conversation was the guy telling the girl about her re-location to his place of residence. And the girl nodding her head and saying a "yes" with no signs of protest.
That is what most Indian brides have been doing and will continue to do. Virilocality has been etched in the aggressive Indian patriarchal family system.
In an interview held recently for Springer, I was asked the very irritating question pointing towards the change of residence after marriage. After looking at my cv and date of birth they may have expected me to be getting married quickly to avoid a "late marriage" and to not lose out on the good guys. I replied with an affirmative 'no' since marriage is nowhere in my mind. And I wonder why aren't men asked such questions that belong to the stone age?

Amusingly, the interview was for their mumbai location which doesn't house my parents. Then how on earth did they get the idea of me changing places after marriage, if at all. And the possibility that I would find a guy living in mumbai itself was ruled out out-rightly.

When I am told to marry an NRI to brighten my career prospects in research, I only have one question to ask  such people. Why can't I move out to a foreign country on my own? Why am I expected to marry and why is a husband expected to be the "passport" for a foreign country? A career counselor I had consulted six months ago, told me that this was the preferred choice of most Indian women, when it came to going abroad and finding a job or going for a higher degree.

The Nairs and Menons of Kerala practised the matriarchal 'tharavad' system until it was abolished recently. In which the woman stayed at her natal household even after marriage, and the husband stayed back at his place with his sister, if he had any. If he didn't have a female sibling he was expected to move in to the wife's place. Her children stayed in their mother's natal home which was also their home. The woman's brother in this case was the custodian of the woman's wealth and for such people a family meant 'sister and her children'. Although this system didn't project the rights of the Nair woman, since she was pitted as the sister of the Nair man, this didn't fan the fantasies of regressive patriarchy that expected the woman to leave her parents and home and make another person's house her abode.
What finds favor with women like me is the "neolocal residence" in which both the husband and wife stay in a place away from the natal households of both. This type of post-martial residence is widely practised in the west.
For my sisters, who think that there isn't a choice beyond virilocality, think again. Maybe we can start aping the west with this, now that we have started following them in everything we do.
Indian marriages are themselves a very violent institution that is gendered to the core and expects the woman to re-shape her life and choices. Patrilineal virilocality adds fuel to this fire, which is an important aspect that most women aiming for equal rights with men, tend to ignore, but must not overlook.

Say it with Style

I have always been a plain Jane and I have always believed that I don't owe prettiness to anyone. That might have been one of the reasons why my dressing style was never sassy. Many of my friends complained about me dressing down to look older than my age. But then in my skin, I didn't mind being the un-stylish and ugly science researcher. Whose preferred to sweat it out at the laboratory rather than spending a fortune at the stores. Another reason could be that I defied male attention to be on the safer side. 

Wisdom dawned on me on an evening at a coffee store when I happened to meet an old acquaintance who had got divorced in the near past. And surprisingly rather than raking over the coals of a fire that had burnt her, she was dressed to kill. And that made me wonder, if I was loosing out on something in life. Colours and patterns that could add a dash of spice to your life, was the thing I was wanting.

I decided to head straight to the mall and set a forest fire to my wallet. That big hole all the shopping would leave in my pocket didn't seem to itch. 

For a woman on the wrong side of twenties, as they say, style had to sensible and at the same time chic. I invested in a lot of dresses and colourful kurtis. I decided to also give up on the old boring checks and stripes I had and went in for two classy business suits for presentations. Despite this u-turn in my taste and touch of perceiving fashion, I still stay away from saris and ghagra cholis and all such dresses that can make you trip and fall. Having welcomed a riot of colours in my wardrobe set in motion my journey of style.

My style is still very sober and intelligent. Although the arrival of colours has livened up the chest of costumes. I prefer dresses and tops in blended colours to black and white shirts now. My shoes still don't rest very high from the earth. Not more than half an inch of heels for me. I love flats and especially gladiator sandles.

Now what needs shingling are my bangs. 2014 might have arrived to decide how I must wear my hair to not look boring. Let's see what I discover in this journey of style this year.

Relationship tips for a believer in Gender Equality

Relationships are the best teachers. Only if you are willing to learn.
People come and go and they leave you with lessons. A relationship heading south and finally becoming history is a tough task master.
It bends and breaks you, until giving up on it is the last resort. Even then we are left with a thousand questions when a loved one bids farewell.
Why did it have to end? Who's mistake is it? Who tried to sweeten the pot filled with venom?
Such questions plague our mind for quite a while. We either take the high road and call it quits amicably. Or we draw some bad blood and stage a drama to get them back.
My last break up was in September. The second relationship I ever had in life ended much like the first one. It struck like lightening, the truth. Since it didn't take him more than three weeks to take a decision about us. When he took a decision the "us" parted ways as "I" and "him". Though we didn't date each other since the two countries we lived in, didn't give us many opportune moments to meet, I remember him for always admiring me for being a self respecting woman. And I hallucinated, building my castle of dreams with his half baked words.
I do not hold him responsible for going away and taking a decision that didn't have me. I also do not want to point fingers at myself for not dancing to his tunes.
When it ended, of course I was left gaping in the sky. The reasons may have been varied, many of which won't even make sense. It took me one and half months to bounce back.
And that was the time when contemplation told me of a lot of things.
For a self respecting woman who calls herself a feminist loudly and clearly, relationships aren't a piece of cake. And then in aggressively patriarchal societies like India, it is not child's play, to find a beau.
What can a woman like you and me, possibly expect ourselves to be, when we look for our other half. I thought I'll write down those pointers somewhere and this is what made sense to me.

1) Never give up on your basic principles in life. Even if that means, sharing the housework or cooking, stick to it. Life shouldn't change for a woman because she got married.
2) If you do not want to change your surname, just hang on to that decision. It isn't a legal necessity as many perceive it to be. Talk it out, your decision to keep your paternal surname much like your brother. If you do not want to hyphenate it, please do not.
And if you want to change to a new surname, please go ahead. It is your name, after all.
3) Keep your job and do not under any circumstances, try to give it up, because you are expected to do so for the husband's career. Earning your own money is the first sign of liberation for many women. And having your own money will be your only umbrella on a rainy day.
4) A joint account sounds like a very romantic idea. But your own money must be handled by you. Maintain a separate account other than your salary account, and put up a bit as an investment. Invest in a savings account, or shares or mutual funds. Or if you plan to buy a house along with him, get the papers written in your name making you an equal owner of the property. If something goes amiss, you will have proofs to tell him about your share in the investment.
5) If you have decided to move on with him to his place of work,  or to his birth place, along with his parents. Make sure that you have a few friends to lean on to. Friends you know from college or school or workplace. Friends who know you more than knowing him.
Yes, it is a very mushy idea to call his friends yours, but if your ship starts sinking, no one but your own friends would be there to help you. It may not be a very great idea to expect his friends to understand your side of the story.
Re-locating to a new place that is new for you as well as him, is the best idea for women like us.
6) Have a kid only if you want to. You didn't come on earth to birth babies. If you do not need them, announce your decision to him, before you enter into a marriage.
7) Do not let your mother-in-law be the decider of your destiny. Hold the strings of your life in your own hands. Everything from managing your finances to the decision of having kids, to the smallest of decisions should be yours and his. Do not let any member of the family like your mother-in-law or sister-in-law pull the strings for you.
8) Always have time for a hobby and if possible indulge in an activity that interests both of you. A friend of mine was recently showing me the pictures of her kitchen garden. I was happy to learn that her husband was contributing equally to the cause of bringing up a garden.
9) Keep in touch with your family. Talk to them whenever you can, and if possible everyday. Also, stay in touch with your siblings. Living in the same city as them would be of great advantage. Else atleast make sure, to not let the chords of your relationship be broken.
10) Place yourselves before anyone. Remember, if you can't love yourself, you may never be able to love anyone else. Aim for a relationship that doesn't put you at a lower pedestal. 
In case, of abuse of any kind, try to talk to him and if that doesn't work after a warning or two, just walk out. Nothing is more important than your or your self-esteem. Being a woman shouldn't take away the sense of importance from you.


Yes, relationships are tough and we all learn a lot from them. Getting the permutations and combinations right, isn't always that easy. But that doesn't mean that you have to adjust more and fall on your knees to make it work, because you happen to be a woman and a wife. 
A fallen relationship should teach you to rise and not fall deeper into it. The trick is to move on, and look for a self-respecting human who exactly knows what it is to respect another individual.
Relationships complete an individual. We must strive to look for a person, who will be our best companion for life, and a relationship that is an equal partnership. It is the boat of life, that needs two people to oar at the either sides to keep the balance.