The Politeness Barrier

Like the sound barrier, the politeness barrier fascinates me no end. Let me define them first. The sound barrier is what you break when you travel so fast that you surpass the speed of sound. The politeness barrier is what you  run into with some people who have honed their manners to the point that it envelopes them like a shield. You know the type- you have interacted with them for years and years and your conversations are still at the acquaintance level. No personal info breaks free. You slip them a piece of juicy gossip and are met with a disapproving silence. You ask them about their mother-in-law and they change the topic. 

These people are like formal wear. Always polished and shiny. Not a crease in sight. You can never be comfortable with them. When you meet someone with friendship potential, you expect that your relationship develops to the point of 'home pajamas'- faded, has holes, a few stubborn food stains and dangling threads. Your mother looks at you, shakes her head and mumbles to her husband about the sacrifices they made. But that's okay. It's comfy and cosy and relaxed.

I always retreat from such people, confused. Why can't you open up? Tell me everything, damnit. I want to know. Sometimes, I wonder if it's me. I've often encountered the politeness barrier in other forms as well. These are the memories that make me cringe and look at the stars- please aliens, come down and take me away. I need a fresh start on a new planet. 

One incident stands out. I was in sixth or seventh grade. There was this new male teacher, someone who I eventually understood to be a really good teacher with real interest in his subject. On Day one, he asked us to put our notebooks out on our desks, open to the last page of questions and answers. He walked around, quickly inspecting each student's book. When he came to mine, he flipped a few pages, looked at me and said, "I think you'll be a good student." I don't know what prompted that- my handwriting, the organization of my notes or my shining moon-like face (ahem!). But he said it and moved on.

A few days later, I was daydreaming in one of his classes. As people do, I was staring off into space, at a point somewhere at the bottom of the blackboard. I didn't realize it as my vision was unfocused, but Sir walked up and stood in that exact spot. Suddenly, I stopped daydreaming, came to my senses, and realized he had moved in such a way, it looked like I had been staring at his crotch. I lifted my eyes, and sure enough, he was looking at me. This is how much the Universe loves me. 

To a young teenage girl, there are many embarrassing moments, but very few that wants to make her die on the spot. My heart sank and it never recovered, especially since he never treated me the same after that. He was too good a teacher to neglect me, but I felt the shift in his attitude towards me. This is another instance of the politeness barrier - there's no way you can open a conversation about this with your teacher and explain it all. "Hey Teach, remember that time I was staring at your...." No. Nope.  

There are times when I have set up the politeness barrier on my end, hoping to send someone packing. But they're immune to it and come sit beside me and tell me about their hospital visit. I mean, come on!  Those are the moments when I would like to break the sound barrier myself- BOOM! I'm getting off this planet one way or another. See ya!

Pathetic Parenting.

I have a friend. She recently sent me a picture of her and her toddler sitting on an elephant in a popular tourist destination. Now, I shy away from telling people what I think about animal exploitation, especially in the tourism industry, because I think people these days know it is wrong but do it anyway. Money, pleasure, selfishness, whatever the reason may be, I say nothing because people are okay with being wrong, but not okay with being judged wrong.

This friend was close enough that I felt it was okay to tell her about the extraordinarily rich, matriarchal, close-knit society that elephants belong to and what a tragedy it is to separate a child from its herd, break its spirit and put it to work. She agreed with me that it felt wrong, but her almost two year old insisted and she went along. She assured me she would explain it to her child later.

Now, I admit I have no enthusiasm for her response. When in life again are you going to be standing in front of an elephant with your child, that you can impart a great moral wisdom that will shape the child's character? Your teachable moment came and went. 

This same friend drives her car with her bouncing toddler on her lap. I told her how dangerous that is, and she told me her uncle told her too how it was actually illegal in many countries. She continues the same practice, because her son would throw a tantrum if she doesn't allow him on her lap. If she had just put him in the passenger seat the very first time he got in the car, buckled him in safely and explained that it was impossible to drive with him on her lap, that child would have known that THAT is a rule.

I am disturbed and angered by many of the parents I see, not just now, but for many many years now. There seems to be a competition going on to see who is a better 'friend' to the child as soon as it leaves the womb. Everything else falls by the wayside, discipline being the first item in the trash heap. 

I find I want to say something that people would find offensive, but I don't think it is. Your love for your child is special, but your child itself is not. Human beings have been birthed, have lived and have died for millennia. Your child is part of that process. We are animals who reproduce. We are not special. Your child is not special. 

The fact that people think it is okay to do something wrong just so that their child feels pleasure is, to me, one of the most selfish, bestial attitudes parents can have. They are creating monsters, who will grow up to dominate, hurt and abuse people without thought. 

I look at the eyes of my friend's child, and I see already, that this child is cruel. Sure, he will outgrow the biting and kicking, the tantrums, and all the rest, but he will grow up to be unkind. His needs will come first, always. I do not wish to know him now, or then.

If a juvenile elephant tries to bully another, the mother or grandmother or great grandmother will step in and stop that behavior immediately. What unbelievable arrogance it is that humans, most of whom can't even say no to their children, think they are superior enough to warrant climbing on to a majestic elephant's back and riding it. The shame.

Disclaimer: Yes, I'm not a parent. I don't know how difficult it is to raise a child. But I have been a child raised by parents, I have been a teacher, and I am a person with reasonable intelligence and common sense. So I consider my opinions on child-rearing valid. 

I am agnostic, leaning towards atheism. However, I do believe that science meets spirituality in that all the Universe is vibrating energy that responds to consciousness. I stay silent, though, when people talk about their beliefs. My thoughts churn and roil, refuting, rebutting, resisting, but I stay silent for two reasons; one, I respect each person's right to what they believe, and two, I am always ready to acknowledge that I may be wrong. 

These last few weeks, I have been struggling to be silent. I came across the page of a family whose child is battling deadly cancer on Insta. I liked a reel, and the algorithm decided I needed more. Since then, I have come across many such pages. Babies, toddlers, little kids who are fighting for their lives. Many of them lost and the pages have become memory capsules. Most of these pages are run by the mothers, who all seem to have this immense faith in God.

I swear, I start channeling Christopher Hitchens when I read the content. I do not get it. All the mothers of the kids who have passed on claim that their beautiful angel was so loved by God that he took them early and now embraces them in his heaven. It was his plan and they have faith in his plans. All the kids who are fighting like crazy are apparently waiting for the same God to perform a miracle and heal them, say their mothers. They believe in his mercy. He will bless them. 

All this is about a God who gave these babies cancer in the first place, is watching them suffer through horrid chemo and raditaion, puking and shivering from experimental drugs, tubes coming in and going out of their tiny, frail bodies, and wasting away in so much pain that they are on morphine drips. It seems to be a coin toss, whether he will "embrace" them or "heal" them. Heads, the kid survives, tails, let's go. 

I cannot understand this faith. It is so contradictory. It seems to me a kind of willful ignorance to believe in this being who gave your child a fatal disease. Grasping at straws to explain what this mighty benevolent being is doing. Explaining his actions and intentions. And he remains silent and mysterious and invisible forever. 

More, it makes me angry. When the family of the child who 'miraculously' survives says it is because of his goodness to them. "Here is the proof of his greatness! Look at my child!" What about the hundreds of kids who suffered and died? Were they unworthy? Was the six month old baby unworthy of his mercy, of a chance at life? So you're happy that God singled you out? But why did he? What kind of God does that?

Can you imagine any parent behaving that way? Yet the Ultimate parent has his reasons, so we must believe in him and have faith in him. Ludicrous! 

I see faith as an extension of hope, and I would never deny hope to anyone who is struggling to survive. But when hope become intentional blindness and faith is placed in that which is unworthy, I wonder. I do not use the word 'unworthy' lightly. But I do not hesitate to use it. It's a two way street, big guy. You want to judge and choose? So do I. So do I. 

P.S. I wish with all my heart that Brielle makes it. An amazing, beautiful little 9 year old with neuroblastoma, currently on hospice care. Her insta page is briestrongerthancancer. 

 

 Bastards! What an enlightened government we have! Why don't you do your job and ensure the funds for govt. corporations all over India to neuter street dogs, open and run shelters and get them off the streets?! You allocate meager funds most of which line your own pockets. There are ruined buildings which are supposed to be govt. animal welfare offices. You do next to nothing, and you criticize and attack kind-hearted people who feed them?! How have foreign countries dealt with the street dog "problem"? Are you blind as well as cruel and corrupt?

How many rapes happen in a minute in India? Every day kids are being raped. 6 month old babies to 60 year old nuns. It's all over the news. Why don't you ask people to keep all their men folk at home behind locked doors? Is that the solution? Bloody bastards.

Pack Attack

Odisha's gang rape case. Four of the ten males were minors. Below 18 years old. School age.

I love dogs. But I am always extra cautious when I move among a pack or spot a pack in the distance. Even if there is a dog that I know to be friendly in the pack. Because I have observed 'Pack Mentality' often enough to know how dangerous it is. A dog on its own that is friendly and loving can turn in an instant when it is part of an attacking pack.

Nowhere else do I so strongly realize how much humans are animals as when I come across gang rape stories. A few years ago, I read about a couple of girls who went camping. Encountered a group of guys also camping. Everything was fun and friendly. Then the mood turned. Two of the guys initiated the attack. Everyone else joined. In the aftermath, the friends and family of a couple of the attackers were in disbelief, because they were known to be decent, great guys. But they 'went along'.

Remember Nirbaya? The boy who couldn't rape her didn't want to be left out, so he used a steel rod.

If you haven't watched the movie Gargi, atleast read up on its plot. Insightful.

Always avoid packs, women. How many ever legs they have.

Hyper Understanding

I saw a post on Instagram today in which a man narrated a relationship scenario and in the end, quite respectfully, asked women to chime in so that he could get insights into the age old problem- understanding women. To be fair, he talked about a specific aspect, namely, relationships being broken because the woman 'outgrew' her man. But I think it's a smaller aspect of the larger issue- men stating that they don't understand women. 

To me, it is quite clear. There are obvious differences because of biological gender, physical abilities, societal roles, cultural expectations, family dynamics and professional environments. These shape the outlook and attitude of men and women significantly and the impact is felt differently by the different genders. But these issues are all out in the open, something everyone is aware of, understands to a degree and tries to change positively. 

But there is an undercurrent of tension, something simmering below the surface that rarely gets talked about or acknowledged. I am talking about the 'Anger of the Oppressed'. 

When colonial rule ended in various countries across the globe, the newly independent did not snap back into prosperity and development like a newly released rubberband. It took years for physical changes to manifest. It took longer for the emotional and ancestral pain to heal. I must correct that- it still has not healed.

Take a look at the comment section of any video or reel in which a foreigner comments on some aspect of a third world country. Mention the British crown jewels to an Indian. Talk about children working in mines to certain Africans. You will see what I call historical anger or rather, 'The Anger of the Oppressed'. This is the anger that simmers long after the fires of revolution have been extinguished and freedom attained. This anger has memory, it is defiant and it is vigilant- never again will my people be crushed.

I draw a deep parallel between the freedom attained though Independence Revolutions and the freedom attained through the Suffragette Movement. (I will use the latter term Movement to represent the systematic fight against patriarchy that was and continues to be waged across the world).

What men sense and are afraid of, rightfully so, is this anger. That the women before us had to fight at all, that they suffered for centuries, that we still see pockets of oppression in so many sections of populations based on culture or religion, that on a day to day basis, we still encounter men who want to put us in our place, that still, still, we fight tiny tiny battles that constantly drain our emotions and energy within our homes, everyday.

Not loading the dishwasher or doing the laundry seems so trivial to men. But for women, it triggers a spark of that simmering fire- Why do I have to ask you? Why don't you do it? Why is it my role? 

The origin of those questions come from one single question- Why am I your slave?

I will stop generalizing now and I shall speak my truths- 

I am hyper independent. It is a part of my defense system, the one that ensures I will not be oppressed again. I will not be my mother or my grandmother. 

I am hyper vigilant. I must ensure at all times that I am not being sidelined, persecuted, unfairly treated or mocked simply because of my gender.

I am hyper cautious. Somehow I am not comforted by the "not all men" line, since one is enough to maim or abuse me, and that one does not come with a forehead tattoo.

I am hyper aware. Man, I have let you into my life, yes. But even a smidgen of patriarchal superiority in any of your thoughts, words and actions would hurt, would make me question your character and the nature of the relationship. It is a rot that can only grow.

I am hyper woman. I carry with me the weight of the Movement, the bravery of the women who came before me, the determination to justify their sacrifices, and above all....

...to clearly say, "I will never be shackled again."

The ashes of any form of freedom struggle take time to settle. Decades, centuries. I hope this helps some men atleast understand some aspects of women. That understanding will bring tremendous emotional intelligence and growth, it will solve so many problems within relationships and it will bring about something women so desperately need and have never asked for - healing. 

 I just read the story of Nida Merchant, a solo Indian traveler who had a harrowing experience at a Cambodia port where she was eventually denied entry. She was lucky to escape unmolested.

As a single Indian woman who has lived in Thailand, I'd like to chime in.

Travel, in general is a very subjective experience. If you're a white man, it's a mostly phenomenal  experience. I see so many videos of white men having the time of their lives, especially in Asian countries. This is because they are generally treated like Gods. The hospitality is enough to bring tears to your eyes. "What a warm, wonderful people!" the guy gushes, vowing to return as soon as he can. I can go to that very same house and chances are the people there call me a whore and tell me to get out. 

Lol. 

Racism is rampant in a lot of these countries, and I include India in that list. Thailand as well. I have felt unsafe many times. I have been discriminated against many times. Only by living in a protective bubble, was I able to navigate my life in Bangkok for two years. You won't hear too much about it from most Indians settled there. They have families, they stick to their Indian communities, and they have established a few contacts that gets them what they need. For a single, brown woman who doesn't speak the language, the story is very different. As a tourist, you can go on for months without any problems because your contact with the people is minimal. But if you're there for work, with the necessity to interact with them, there are mindful precautions you must take. 

Of late, I have come to the opinion that Indians are better off in India. Sure, it may be dirty or unsafe, but it is familiar, and you are armed with the knowledge of how to survive. For better or worse, you at least have the security of belonging. No one can tell you to go back to where you came from. You can stand on the street and shout for help, and people will understand and come to your aid. You don't have to desperately call your embassy and pray they answer. 

Travel, explore, do what you will, but if you're any shade other than white, know this- the world can seriously be unfair to the un-fair. So be prepared.