From my Facebook wall today...

This is a sensitive topic, so scroll away if you're uncomfortable with 'women's' stuff. If not, take a print out and put it up in your work place...

Mr.Muruganantham's wife left him when she could no longer stomach the fact that he had a goat's bladder attached to his waist as he tested out a new low cost sanitary napkin he'd created. She eventually went back to him, after he went on to revolutionize clean and low cost production of napkins, making it available to rural Indian regions that had been relying on unhygienic practices such as rags and hay for centuries. He has been featured in numerous TED talks and his name is familiar to all those who applaud such passionate rebels with a cause.

But the core issue itself is something that I find still largely ignored. The feminist movement of the 1900's was so caught up in its fight for equality, we seem to have de-emphasized our differences. Equal, but different. That should have made it on to more posters.

First of all, I think a large section of the population require education on some basic biological facts. Not all women are the same, just as not all men are the same. As the numerous ads for 'enhancement' and 'elongation' blatantly scream, each person has a unique sexual physiology as well. This includes women.

What this means, to spell it out clearly, is that each woman has a completely unique experience when it comes to her menstrual cycle. Some, like in those infuriating ads, cycle and jump off cliffs with a gleaming smile, barely aware of what their body is doing. Many and I mean it- many, suffer varying levels of pain. Debilitating, in some cases. At the least, it is uncomfortable. There is also an understandably heightened desire and need for more hygienic facilities.

In a world which ignores this issue and where women have had to 'man up' to be equal, this pain, these needs get shoved under the rug. Painkillers ensure we continue on our demanding schedule without rest and what's more, with a no-nonsense smile. I'm sure we women are proud of our strength and uncomplaining 'manning' up, but is it necessary? And is it always right? Why is this issue so desensitized that we have to find ways around it?

In all the places I have worked in in India, I have never encountered any consciousness of this issue. In fact, I have had to be creative and even sneaky to deal with something so natural, yet so taboo. In private conversations with my female colleagues, I have heard many bitter complaints that are never ever voiced. From washrooms to work place policies, there are resources and sensitivities that women require, that we shouldn't not have! We should not be silent.

In times gone by, there was an Indian practice that required a woman to rest during her menstrual cycle. She was relieved of all household chores and fed healthy foods that actually strengthened her body. The enforced rest and food is something I have tried repeatedly and I cannot emphasize enough how much of a difference it makes. Eventually, that practice became corrupted with customs and in modern times, looked down upon even more with contempt. I am aware it is unrealistic to expect that in this day and age, when even maternity leave is made as short as possible, but I am saddened by how far we have fallen in sensitivity to this issue. That is the point I wish to emphasize.

The work places of today could take a few leaves out of Mr. Muruganantham's book. His earnest desire to understand led him to don shoes that very few men bother with- that of a woman's. Work places policies and resources are largely set down by men in positions of power who have never thought about this. Even when women rule, this is ignored because that is the norm.

I would like to change that norm because I am tired of manning up and I do not want to- I am not a man. I don't have to act like one.  I have sent this post as an email to my former employers already, and I am going to ask for changes in my current work place. These are the points I will put forth and I hope that the women that I know at least will start by asking for the changes that they know they rightly deserve and need!

To my current employers,

I point out these necessities -

Separate wash room facilities for men and women should be compulsory. The rooms should have nooks and shelves for hanging/placing things such as disposable bags and napkins.

The facilities should be attended and cleaned diligently.

If the staff have enforced uniforms, then a dark color should be chosen for the pant/skirt so that a woman can deal with any accidents relating to her menstruation with dignity. There should also be an option to wear comfortable clothing instead.

If the job requires being on their feet in any capacity, then short periods of rest as and when required.

________________________________________________________

I like the idea behind this post. There's so much to the life of a teacher beyond the chalkboard, especially after the bell rings and the children leave. You're a bag of mixed emotions trying to balance itself out; so tired, triumphant because of the difficult students you managed to pull in, and the moments of fun where you all shared a good laugh, a successful lesson plan, the relief at the moments of anger you squelched to adopt patience instead, the feeling of failure as you recollect the unresponsive class, the moments of impatience, the resolve to do better, to work harder, smarter, anything to make sure that you don't let yourself down, because you know that each moment in your classroom influences a child's mind and heart, and that is such a responsibility.....

A day along the river, in pictures...

A cheeky elephant fountain that I immediately coveted-

I found this temple guardian's face quite beautiful-

The ticket dispensing lady on the ferry loves her rings! -

Feeding frenzy along many of the peirs...for some reason, animal lover and vegetarian that I am, I looked upon these huge fish and could only see them as meat! Weird...

Glamorous temples for the Buddha-

Stumbled upon a row of nurseries with the most gorgeous plants, and this beauty-

Celestial beings painted on the wall of a Buddha temple-

A beautiful view-

Quirky art work in a restaurant beside a pier-

The slightly scary narrow steps of a temple (Wat Arun)-

Wonderfully rustic temple architecture-

All Thai men must ideally become monks for a few months of their life. The ceremony involves going bald as well as the shaving of all facial hair, including the eyebrows, which is collected in a lotus leaf and placed under a tree.

This dog was breathtaking, standing on the counter of a shop-

And finally, friends who make my day, even the ones already beautiful-

Teacher Screecher

Since the time I lined up my teddy bears and dolls and taught my lessons to them as a child, I've harbored the dream of being a teacher. Something about the blackboard and chalk caught my fancy- they were tools that seemed as cool as medieval weapons to me. As I grew up, based on what I saw of my own friends, I slowly formed a preference for what age group would be ideal to teach. I zeroed in on the early secondary level- between primary and high school. The kids in primary were too young for me to appeal to their barely there intellect and the older ones were too far gone for to make a difference. So in between the snotty and the snooty, I thought my world made sense. My first teaching job confirmed this and all was well.

Which is why it came as a shock to me when I landed up in school in Bangkok and learnt that I would be a primary English teacher- classes 1 to 6. I was like 'oh-oh'. Didn't I mention that secondary was my strength during the interview? Yet I find myself thrown into these little jaws. Fine, I'll show them what's what.

I now am a slightly wiser human being. Class 1...what can I say about them? The chubbiest cheeks, widest eyes, so ready to smile and giggle for no apparent reason. And so damn earnest, it sometimes breaks my heart. I can barely hold it together when they smack their little chubby hands together in a high-five because they rhymed 'fan' with 'man' successfully. They're achievements are so tiny, yet their joy in them so huge...

And then there's the competition to outdo each other. All I have to do is open my mouth and say 'good' when I get an answer orally. Immediately, there's an outpouring of 'I said it first!" "No, I said it first!" "Ma'am I only said!"

Not all is perfect in paradise though. Class 2 is a bunch of devils that I would gladly send to boot camp for a week or ten. The other classes are okay and of course, fitting in nicely with my theory, classes 5 and 6 are a pleasure to teach. They can comprehend concepts, which is such a relief!

The thing about class 2 and 3 especially, that I find really tough to digest is that they don't know how to spell. What?! This is an alien concept to me because I have no memory of me at that age unarmed with spelling skills, and I don't hang out with kids that age. So, I find myself gaping in an unflattering manner in class often. It's so unbelievable that when a cherub asks 'Ma'am, how do I spell 'table'?", my mouth answers, but my mind is thinking, "No way kid! You need to get back in the womb and stay there longer coz you clearly need more development." It's a testament to my inexperience with toddlers that I expect humans to leave the womb well versed in phonics. So you could say I'm learning.

The other teachers find it funny that I have a cut off time with kids. I don't think I can be with the same set of them for more than an hour and guarantee their safety. So it may seem a strange career choice, but it does work. Classes last for 45 mins in most schools. They're safe. It's okay. Oh yes, they also have cameras in classrooms. Being monitored greatly reduces the instinct to crime, you know. I glance at it from to time like a religious man would look at an idol of his God to gain spiritual strength. It does work.

Which brings us to the other players in the equation. On my first day at work, I was warned about the politics that was common amongst the staff. In the weeks that followed, as a quiet observer, I saw it play out and I'm surprised. That a pleasant friendly woman who is so earnest about everything she does would go out of her way to talk about someone else. That a man who loves to make people laugh would be so quick at misunderstanding and misrepresenting them. But all this, I must add, happens only across the factions. Within them, they are all forgiving. And it pains me to add that these factions are all cut broadly along the lines of nationality and race.

One thing I think we must sit down and change are the classic fairytales that we tell our children-  to make sure that they know that evil is not always and just the presence of hate, but that most of the time it is an unthinking absence of kindness, compassion or acceptance. That it is what happens when you think it's okay to bend your ethics to accommodate your ambition or popularity or whatever.

I wonder at God or whatever creative force that may exist at the creation of this system- how can parents and teachers- people so flawed and so in need of growth ourselves be so completely entrusted with the upbringing of children? It leads me to another thought, this time about religion- most of us have faith in this creative force, this God. But heavens, He/She has a lot more faith- blind, reckless faith in us. Look at how much power we have! And we have the nerve to ask for stuff. If I were God, there'd be an apocalypse every other day. I'd be like, "Damn no, bitches! Where's my white out?"

So all in all, coming back to my apartment at the end of the work day is great.

That's a video I made for my family to see. I share it here so that I may draw your attention to the bath tub. I point it out not just to gloat that I have one, or even because I'm Indian. (We check out each others houses thoroughly when we visit, even the bathrooms.) I point it out for more spiritual reasons. If it is possible for a human being to have an object soulmate, meaning just that- one object destined just for you, then this bathtub is mine. Some divine voice whispered in the manufacturer's ear at the time of its creation, "She will be born, make it perfect" and then gave the man certain specifications- the chief of which was the measurement of my butt. I swear, you can make me sit in it and fill one half of the tub right to the top without even a drop of water leaking through to the other side. Like some human dam. It's way too short lengthwise, but since it doubles up as my clothes washing tub, I'm actually grateful for the dimensions. Like I said, soulmate. I grew up thinking my object soulmate would be a bike, but age changes you in mysterious and pathetic ways. Though I haven't given up hope yet. For the right bike, I'll cheat on the tub. Don't judge me...

So, to my friends who ask me how life is, this is it. Snotty kids, soul searching sessions and bottom fitting bathtubs. Perfect :)

Peace, my friend.....

People represent hope. That's a big part of why we cling to each other, even though we know deeply how alone we are and that when we leave, we go alone. Some might say it's love, but anyone who's been in a relationship that they want to last forever knows that it's hope. I learnt that someone I'd kept in a corner of my heart has passed away and it is devastating. I thought about what it was- what it was about you that you instantly lose when they leave your life, and to me, the answer is hope. The hope of the laughter you thought you'd share for the rest of your lives, the stories you were going to share, the memories you've made together that you could always go back to with a 'Do you remember when...', the hope of hearing a voice that lifts your spirits, the hope of talking about how life sucks just so you know someone else understands, the hope of simply being alive together.

When messiahs and spiritual gurus tell me to 'live in the now', I grasp the concept for what it is, but it is this beautiful, inspiring, smiles-giving hope that always looms in the way and I wonder how it is possible. I was told that it's not true, that it's all just expectations, just selfish desires but what's wrong with that? It's hope.

That's maybe why it hurts so much. People leave. Hope still stays, reminding you of them.

(Rest in peace, Lasheen.)

Back in Bangkok

I've been thinking a lot about the ideal of the romantic lately. Not romantic love exactly, but the kind of idealism we impart to all aspects of our life. Like spiritual growth. If life is a journey towards expanding, and accepting people for what they are is a part of that, then in moments of inspiration, I find myself so enthusaistic to do so that I sit still and can almost feel myself simultaneously absolving and absorbing the world. And then I actually go out into it and the illusion shatters. The self-satisfaction one feels when one is ready to forgive the evil man is suddenly gobsmacked when it faces an even worse enemy- the stupid man. Not as in less intelligent, but as in less evolved. Especially the ones that cannot laugh at themselves or the world.

What is it about pompous people?! How can a person exist without an inclination to humor? I made a joke recently, a small harmless one aimed at a co-worker I knew only by name. He responded with an offended "What are you saying?" It fell flat. Do you know why jokes fall flat with people like that? It's because they take the five foot pole out of their ass, beat the joke with it till it's as flat as can be and then shove the pole back in. This pole also works horizontally to keep people from getting too close to them. It is a multi-purpose pole.

I'm glad kids don't have it. It's why I like teaching them. You've gotten to them before they grow the pole and there's a slim chance you can make sure they don't. This is my classroom-

Teaching is a roller coaster ride. Good sessions and average ones keep you going up and down emotionally, but there is always, always humor. And times when I have burst out laughing...

"Ma'am Poornima, he called me a bad word!"
"What was it?"
"He called me Poo-Poo girl."

"Chuti, you need to add -ing to make sing into the present continuous tense- singing."
"No, ma'am."
"Why not?"
"Because sing already have 'ing'"

They laugh themselves silly for the oddest reasons and they make you see this invisible humor somehow. The weekdays rush by in a flurry of lesson planning- I create activities and games that make learning English fun, with a smattering of that pesky grammar.

The weekends rush by even faster as I explore with friends. I did a quick search for offbeat locations and zeroed in on, um, uh, a phallus shrine dedicated to fertility.

Yup. Now, stop snickering and being all judgy so that you can gawp at these!....

Bows and ribbons don't help, not really-

Dildo offerings. I was speechless-

 This has got to be the most bizarre thing I've ever seen! Unfortunately, my brain instantly named it. Meet 'Double-shooter'. Please don't try to shake hands....

Know your vowels, people. BELLS....BALLS....oh, what's the use...

Coz sequins make everything pretty :) -

Pongal 'O Pongal

I believe festivals are important because symbolism is part of how we express ourselves. Sometimes, its a conduit, sometimes an outlet. Pongal is a festival steeped in respectful symbolism. It is rooted in the land, which is why it has truer and deeper meaning in the villages where people still mostly live off the land. Spread out over four days, the festival is an expression of blessing and gratitude- a day to pay homage to the sun which nourishes life, a day to thank the creator of animals and plants, and the most sacred animal of them all, the cow. A day to burn old things, a metaphorical act of hope to bring in the new, and a day set aside to visit and revel in people- to enjoy the bonds that tie us together.

There are very few festivals that still retain their original intent and have not been totally swamped in the religious rituals which have overtaken and even blurred the very reason for celebration. Pongal is one of them. Since it is a celebration of nature, it is also my favorite.

We headed to our village, laden with gifts of clothing for the workers. I had a few extra things. Isn't my shiny fan toy beautiful? But alas, it wasn't mine for long...

"Listen, you people. I bought these shiny fan toys for myself. I love 'em. I want 'em. I don't care if you're a little human or a big one, just KEEP YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OF 'EM, I SAY!" - that's the gist of what I said and I was happy.

A few seconds later...

This is why I fear for the world- where's the honor in this act, hmm? I'll keep an interested yet suspicious eye on the child's future career especially, for sure... Moving on,...

Maatu Pongal, the one for cows is the most important of all the four days in the villages here. We celebrate  it with passion, I'd say. So, here's an account of how that day went down. First, here are the stars of the show getting their make up on-

Next, the stage is set up. On an open flame, pots of rice and grains are cooked.

Meanwhile an archway is constructed using the branches and leaves of trees that are auspicious- neem, banana, sugarcane...Under the archway a miniature cow dung temple is put together. It's a square partitioned into four smaller squares and filled with water, tender coconut water, milk etc. Flowers adorn it and the smaller lump of dung placed in front of it stands for the God Ganesha- it holds his favorite grass- arugam.

The stone leaning against one of the posts making up the arch represent the God Shiva. It is believed in the village that on the days of pongal, the Gods do spot inspections of the households and farms and see that we aren't mucking up things down here. I'd like to have a word with them about the other 361 days.

Once all the preparations are done, the feast is laid out and camphor and incense are lit. The entire family stands around in a few moments of silent prayer. I was thanking everything I could think of. Then people walk around the arch banging plates with sticks shouting 'pongal o pongal'. The din is simply awful, but people enjoy it anyway.

Then one of the cows is led under the archway. As she crosses it, she must step on the cow dung temple with her right foot- which signifies a good year ahead. That's something about our culture- a reverence for the right limbs while the left are shunned; poor poor side! Anyway, the production is quite riveting. And  funny. The guy leading the cow will be perspiring as he tries to maneuver the creature so that it literally puts the right foot forward. People around him shouting instructions, all tense. He backs it up, encourages it forward, this way and that, and finally, it's done right. There's a chorus of 'aaaaahs' and everyone smiles at their assured good fortune in the coming year.

The after party- once the praying is done, the cows get to feed on the cooked rice, mixed with ripe bananas and jaggery.

Then the humans get to eat. After that, we just laze around, talking and laughing, enjoying the rarity of having diverse members of the family together.

This villager stopped by for a brief visit. The reason I mention him and took pictures is because his conversation was amusing. He was talking about jalli kattu, the Tamil 'sport' that is called 'bull taming'. The amusing part was how animated he got as he recounted one year in particular. As you can see from the before and after shots, his hands started flying and ofcourse, the wastee (lower garment) had to be folded in half. So for the story.

He was a lad when the headman of the village, an extremely affluent and therefore revered, powerful man, brought in a bull renowned for his viciousness. It was taller than a man and horns so sharp they could cut cloth. It was so intimidating that when it turned its head to on side, the people gathered to gawk at it would take a few steps back in fright, even though it was secured with ropes. To this bull, as is the custom, many threads bearing gold and silver coins were tied on its horns before the jalli kattu. Men were prepared to try their hand even though no one had tamed this bull for years. But one man was more than prepared; he oozed confidence. It was said that before he left his village, he went to the police station there and told them that he would return victorious, so he wanted the Government to keep his prize money ready. He approached the affluent headman and told him he would tame the bull. The headman told him, "If you do so, half the gold and silver coins tied to its horns are yours."

So the jalli kattu started and the bull was let loose. It trampled and maimed men as it ran. But our hero was a strong man. He ran alongside the bull, out of its reach, then suddenly he leaped onto its back, his hand found its horns and he managed to wrap his legs around it and lock them in place. In this way, they ran till the bull tired and he was able to tame it. He led the bull to its pen and triumphantly went to the headman. He told him, "I cannot find anyone who will approach the bull to retrieve the coins now. You take them and give me my share." So the hero did so and was praised all around. And that's the story of the toughest bull ever seen in these parts and how it was tamed.
 (*I despise any sport in which animals are forced to participate, this is just a recounting of a story that caught a villager's fascination)

Signing off with...
The newest arrival on our farm-

Cleaning up weed plans in the groundnut field- a worker and Mom