Bane of Intellect!

There she was, wondering,

Beguiled at the simple joys of life.

A twinkle in her eye, and longing deep within,
She was snapped to reality with the pangs inside.

Desire, as she may, the banality of life,
Destined, she was, for the singularity of elite.

Choose, she had to between life and success,
Burdened, she was with gratification of prospects.

Run of the mill, she struggled to be,
Achievements, of hers separated her from reality.

Endowed, thought people was she,
Submerged, under a sea of aspirations was she.

Scared, she would underachieve,
Forgot, she, what she really wanted to be.

Standards, to be met of the society,
Plead, she would, to just be!

Intellect, her virtue was supposed to be,
Creativity, denied to her, would be.

Diligence, of hers would pay off,
Freedom of spirit, never offered a bite of.

No partner good enough, every relation an impediment,
A life she had, replete with triumphs, but no sentiment.

Expectations, her own, clashed with dreams,
Torn apart, between her potential and yearning.

Faced, she was with the eternal question,
Heart or mind, where lay the greater satisfaction....

Inspired after reading the book "Girl in Translation" by Jean Kwok, this is me thinking out loud, about society's expectations from people of intellect, of setting each person in a pre-defined mold, and how a lot of the times, women have to pick between a career and a family life.

Ordinary men or Superheroes?

Exactly one year ago, I was traveling with my parents to New York, with a connecting flight from Atlanta. We had had a horrible start to the trip, with overnight delays and a detour to North Carolina, due to thunderstorms. So, we were nothing but relieved to reach Atlanta and get on track for New York. When we alighted from the flight and walked through our gate, it really did feel like an achievement to have finally reached half way through to our trip, after two long days. As soon as we started walking, we saw a big crowd at the terminal, loud cheering and clapping. And we were quite taken aback, to say the least. I mean all the passengers on board our flight had had a rough night, but how would have these other people known?One look back, and I realized what the applause was for. There was a big group of young soldiers, possibly returning from foreign postings, and here were complete strangers who were cheering for them. We could hear the words "Welcome Home", "Salute to you, Soldier", and "America is proud of you"! My father was quite surprised to see this and just said, "Why can't we honor our soldiers like them?".

Of course, we went on to have a long discussion over it, and we realized that even though Americans despise their country going at war, as much as Indians do, they do not lose appreciation for their countrymen. They do not undermine the fact that it is these young men and women, who did not chose to participate in war, but had to follow orders. People who chose to make a career in armed forces do so, to protect their country and fellow citizens, not to inflict atrocity on others. So, why is is that a country like India forgets a major war, like Kargil and its uncountable heroes? The war, like any other, was unnecessary and brought on by factors, best, not discussed here.

But, the fact remains that it is this militia that saved a lot of civilian lives from being targeted by the infiltrators. It is easy for people to debate over why wars happen, why can't we leave peacefully, etc. But, what is so difficult about remembering the sacrifices made by so many? For whatever reason, wars and violence are part of human nature. Then, it becomes equally important for people to value the handful who risk their lives, knowing well that one day they would be involved in something as complicated as war. The reason I say, it is complicated is because there are so many angles to killing the enemy, than just sending a bullet through another person. The question that always comes up in my mind is 'Can any training in the world actually prepare you to shoot another fellow human being?'. You can be trained to be strong, physically; possess endurance and skill, intelligence and alertness. But, can you actually be trained to be guilt-free and emotionless?

I have some friends in the armed forces, and I wish they never have to make that decision of whether to listen to their heart or follow their orders. I cannot even imagine what it must feel like to be faced with a combat, and actually having to use ammunition on a live person, for the first time. Because they are just like us, people who like pleasant things in life, who want to cherish the small joys and who want to be with their loved ones. They feel pain and pleasure the same way we do. Then how are they expected to transform from being movie buffs, cricket lovers and jolly personalities to protectors of the nation overnight? How are they expected to carry the burden of leading so many men, and protecting several others? Of course, they are trained and they know what they were getting into in the first place. But, can you actually prepare someone to walk away from their wounded buddy (as they are called in Army Lingo) and put the mission on a higher pedestal? How can you train their mind to be untouched by emotion and keep going? How can they find the courage to walk in the line of fire? How is it possible to keep your anger aside, forget the way your fellow soldiers were treated and yet, treat the enemy's fallen with respect? What are these men made of?

All these unsettling thoughts bother me every time I watch a war movie. The Kargil War was an important landmark in Indian history, and it was necessary for our generation to understand that freedom does come at a price. The ailment of Independent India is that people have taken their freedom for granted and refuse to hold responsibility for anything. This war was a good reminder that a few chose to put the country and the lives of others above their own. As grateful citizens, the least we can do is to remember the valor and sacrifices made by these men and their families. It also means, that we do our bit and contribute to our country's progress and improvement, in every way we can. It could mean picking up garbage from the streets, minimizing child abuse or promoting literacy. Because it is for the country's future that these soldiers defend it from enemies. If we cannot secure a decent future for the country, their effort to defend the country goes waste.

The Kargil War had a casualty figure of 527 Indian soldiers and that is a huge number for a senselessly instigated war. We have to realize that there were a lot of soldiers in their early twenties who were juxtaposed into the war scene, having just received their first posting. I am not sure if experience helps and prepares you for war, but definitely the rush of youth could blind you and could you catch you unawares. Since, this war was largely covered by the media, there were multiple stories of engagements being called off, marriage plans postponed, and what not. Whether it was fair to have personal details of these soldiers being discussed, is a debatable topic. But, what I think it did, was give a face and a name to the unknown soldier. The war cry devised by Capt. Vikram Batra, "Yeh Dil Maange More!" is etched in our memories forever. What happens is, everybody knows a war is being fought, they mourn for the martyrs and eventually forget about it. But when there is a name attached and a story to tell, there is a personal connection. It becomes easier to identify with the person and then it becomes a personal loss. It is important to sense that feeling, because then the war means much more and hits home. 

Since this war was a highly televised one, the public became aware of the sacrifices these men were making; some even having to call off their weddings. It became evident that these men were overcoming huge personal losses and yet, braving the enemy. I knew then, that it must be tough to survive the extreme cold, but only when  I moved to a place with temperatures of -50C, that I developed a new-found respect for these men. It is torturous even to stand outside, with the biting wind, leave alone, get into a hike. It is thanks to the electronic media, who familiarized the public with the treacherous terrain and the dizzying altitude. The daily updates also introduced us to the lives of these soldiers in the face of extreme conditions, be it the tight rationing of food supplies, the unbearable cold or the lack of entertainment. It was also the acknowledgement that at such times, small joys meant a lot, and receiving letters from complete strangers was definitely among them. 

It has been 13 years and a lot of people have forgotten these heroes and their families. We have to remember that putting up names on marble memorials is not enough. Every once in a while showing gratitude and honoring these soldiers is important. For us, 527 is just a number, but for the families, it is 527 brothers, sons, fathers, husbands lost. And that is not something they can forget. So, why should we? After all,we were saved the trouble of defending ourselves, because of their acts of courage. To all the Vikram Batras, Saurabh Kalias, Anuj Nayyars, Vijayant Thapars and many unnamed heroes, 'We remember you, we are proud of you, we salute you and we appreciate your efforts and we are here because of you'! And to all the countrymen, who have forgotten the Kargil War and its heroes, who remember the 1999 World Cup more than the War, here is a rude reminder; it is not Sachin Tendulkar, but these soldiers who won us the bigger battle. It was disheartening to know that when today's youth were interviewed on Vijay Diwas, they had no clue whatsoever, of these war heroes, but were well acquainted with cricketers, celebrities, etc. I have challenged myself to pay tribute to all war heroes on this Vijay Diwas and find out more about the 527 men who lost their lives protecting our beautiful country and no longer let them be 'The Unknown Soldier'. How will you pay tribute?

Some resources that helped me find more about the fallen heroes and the stark reality of war:

A soldier's diary - Harinder Baweja (at Amazon)

A soldier's diary - Harinder Baweja (at Goodreads)

Dateline Kargil - Gaurav Sawant (at Goodreads)

Dateline Kargil - Gaurav Sawant (at Amazon)

The capture of Point 4875 by Captain Vikram Batra

Wild, Crazy and Fierce: Who, me???

"Late at night my mind would come alive with voices and stories and friends as dear to me as any in the real world. I gave myself up to it, longing for transformation." - Jo March

For anybody who knew me when I was growing up, they would know for sure that Josephine March was one of my greatest role model. She was that one person I was in awe of and yet, felt like someone I could relate to so much. Like her, I would wake up in the middle of the night with the excitement of the adventures I had embarked upon with so many new friends. It felt like I was on a novel journey everyday, because unlike many others, my mind would constantly be conjuring images even during short afternoon naps. And all this was before I had even read Little Women, the greatest book ever written about how there are so many different types of species in the spectacular creation, called women. 

So, imagine my amusement, when I read about this girl, who sounded like me. Once I had read the rest of the sequels, there was no looking back. I was so sure, I wanted to be nothing in life, but Jo March. And to this day, I don't know if I tried to mirror myself to her, or I was already in her shoes. All I know is that, when I was younger, all I would think was "What would have Jo done?".

And it is not that there weren't any similarities: both of us longed for an older brother, loved books, were a little awkward, maybe not very lady-like, our best friend was a boy and the most obvious one, had long hair. That made me really believe that her story was the guide to my life. Josephine March was the first woman that I truly believed was a dynamic lady, and for the staunch feminist that I am, nothing was more impressive than that. Her fierceness, her passion, her free spirit, her wonderful words, her wildness, everything just felt like stepping stones to an exciting life like hers.

All along my childhood and teen years, I have thought a million times how much fun it would have been to have such great sisterly time, such magnificent capers with a friend like Laurie, to travel to a new city, and establish your self. I wanted to be a part of all those crazy adventures and be so spirited that life would never stop being fun. I wanted to be so passionate about something that nothing apart from achieving it would matter. I wanted to break the cliches of womanhood and be a rebel. One fiery statement from her held the crux to so many misconceptions in life. Equality, nobility, rationale all tied together in such a simple reply:

"I find it poor logic to say that because women are good, women should vote. Men do not vote because they are good; they vote because they are male, and women should vote, not because we are angels and men are animals, but because we are human beings and citizens of this country."

Needless to say, Little Women and its sequels formed a very early impression on me of women in their varied forms. And not just women, but the different personalities which are not necessarily good or bad, just so different and unique in themselves. Jo is not very fond of her sister Meg's husband-to-be, who is such a gentleman, but according to Jo is "as dull as powder". The uniqueness of characters and yet, the way they blend together just speaks so much about perceptions and judgments, based on who we are and what we like. 

And among the many lessons imparted in this wonderful book, the best I learnt were from Jo, She was that one character I wanted to be like, made me want to be part of all the drama in a book. She made me believe that passion does drive you towards greater satisfaction and more importantly, that it is okay to be different. I would not say I was a tomboy, but I was definitely not interested in shopping or dressing up. And I felt something was missing because my mother and sister would bond over those things. I would rather go horse-riding or play a sport or even watch a serious talk show. Some of my closest friends were boys and I was much more comfortable with them.  And I did not know what to think of that. But, it was the Jo inside me who told me it was okay, that my family would love me for who I was. Sometimes, I wanted to be a tomboy so bad, I would wonder why my name couldn't be shortened for a boy's name. Childish as that sounds, today I see the real characteristics that I loved about Jo. And as much as I like my individuality, I would love to be Jo and hope to borrow her goodness: be as invigorating, feisty, intelligent, generous and loving as her. 

"I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean to astonish you all some day.” 

It was Jo's love for writing that unknowingly transcended the pages of her book into me. Although, I want to do something new everyday, one thing has stuck with me and I think I might have found the means to astonish my loved ones :) If I don't write something that is on my mind, I get restless and finicky and the minute I am done, I am jumping up and down. Though, I do not have a Writing Cap like hers, my husband would very likely describe me like Louisa May Alcott described Jo:

"Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and fall into a vortex, as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace.” 

― Louisa May Alcott, Little Women 

Some other books that made me want to be a part of them:

Mallory Towers and St. Claire's

The Help

The Famous Five Series

Doctors

James Herriot's Books

These books and many more are my greatest treasures, and writing this blog, just makes me want to go back and relive each of the stories with those wonderful characters. For all the book lovers, I am sure there is a book that means a lot to you and a character that inspires you. What character would you want to be?

The dynamics of oppression

So, think about this! The British oppressed India and many other colonies for decades. Blacks were suppressed by Whites; Hitler subjugated the Jews, Brahmins looked down upon the lower castes, and this tale of segregation and oppression could go on. And if you look closely, oppression is one feature that has transcended the barriers of race, country, caste, gender and what not. It is gut-wrenching to process the fact that it does not take long for the oppressed to become the oppressor.

And what is more disturbing is that this chain reaction continues and has been ever existent in humanity. What changes is the pretext under which the oppression is conducted. Anybody who has read “The Help” or “The Color Purple”, or for that matter any book on segregation scenarios, would have noticed one underlying theme to it. Of course, everybody expects the white-black discrimination, but what takes you by surprise is the casual mention of black men abusing their women. What is also shocking is that the children in such households grow up witnessing all this, and fine tune their minds to recognize who is stronger in a certain situation. Between a white man and a black man, the white man is; between a black man and black woman, the black man; between a beautiful white woman and a Plain Jane, the pretty one; between a white woman and a white child, the white woman,  and so on and so forth. And these very children grow up to become the adults who decide which part of the discrimination spectrum they want to be in, either they are discriminated against or they are the discriminators.

Over the years, the reasons for oppression have changed, but the pain, humiliation and fear have simply traversed the generations. Although, the racial oppression is almost in oblivion, there are others that have come up. The most prominent, being the one between the rich and the poor. Although, discrimination is not expressed as openly as before, there are subtle ways through which the strong oppress the weak. And strength could mean power, money or some other ridiculous parameter. Oppression does not necessarily mean physical abuse, it could mean limiting the freedom of another person, it could mean having different standards for yourself and the other person, it could mean treating the other person as though he/she does not have human needs like you.

When you expect your maid to show up for work 7 days in a row, never to take leave and get upset with her if she does, it would be bordering oppression. If you get weekends off, and you have paid sick leave, how are the rules different for the maid, just because she might be weaker than you, in terms of money? When you look down upon people in a certain country, turn your nose down at them, you think you are too good for them, you might very well be in the mind-frame of oppressors. The roots of oppression arise, when the feeling of being unmatched and unparalleled sets upon a person or a group. The complacency of being much better prepares the person to suppress people without any guilt, because the feeling of being special justifies their inhuman acts, according to the oppressors.

So many of the dictators in history are debatable, but all of them were sure they were the best thing that could happen to the world. Hitler thought he was doing the world a favor by getting rid of a weaker race. And his self-proclaimed supremacy justified his abusive methods, in his eyes. During colonial times, the British, the French thought they were spreading out to the third-world countries and lending culture to them. In the process, paying no heed to the rampage caused. This ignorance was brought upon by the illusion that the world needed the English language and culture for betterment. A very common trait of oppressors: assuming that everybody else is needy and in search of a guide. Taking the liberty of deciding what is best for the oppressed class. New laws were introduced in colonies, presuming that a better life would be presented to the citizens. But, never were they asked for their opinion. Then, it might have seemed like a favor to the supposedly backward, but it would still be categorized under oppression.

When human rights are violated, it is oppression of humanity, and that is the common link between the different types of oppression: racial, gender-based or economic. Equality is a principle humans have never actually abided by. What I fail to understand is the fact that one man's weakness becomes another's source of power. And the fact that this starts reflecting at a young age is alarming. The advent of bullying could very well be a reflection of the need to gain primacy by quelling someone. The need to satisfy our ego is a deep-rooted necessity, and it is going to take much more than seminars on discrimination. Each person has to think for themselves and try to erase the lines, the imaginary lines Kathryn Stockett talks about in her book. With diversity becoming a common feature, it has become easier to accept different people as they are. It is essential for people to realize that a difference is not good or bad, it is just what it is: a difference. And different is what brings flavor to life!

The theme of the oppressed and the oppressor has been evident in myths, stories and movies, but it is time, we found ourselves a new topic to write about. Oppression of all kinds, be it on animals, children, women, blacks, poor, weak, lower castes is unfair and uncalled for. And one thing that humbles me is the reminder that I might be qualified to be the oppressor in one category, but I might also very well have to assume the role of the oppressed in a different category. So the elimination of these borders and imaginary thrones for the strong, would be in the best interest of humanity. Whether the oppressor is at fault or the oppressed is wrong for tolerating, is another discussion altogether. But, rather than debating on that, the new Mantra to globalization should be the desire to make people comfortable in their skins (both literally and metaphorically)!

Some weblinks that throw some more light on the theme of oppression:

Goodreads Book List on 'Oppression'

Racial Discrimination and Oppression - Oprah Winfrey Show

A Fallen Petal...

Photo Courtesy: http://costeaandreamihai.blogspot.com/2010/06/lonely-girl.html 

It had been almost 6 months that I had lost my best friend, my confidante, my mentor, the one person with whom I could always be me, with whom I felt most confident and happy. It still did not feel real and all I kept wanting was to go back and get her to be with me. Why had I let her go? How had I not known her importance in my life, when I had her? These questions haunted me day and night. I was not myself without her and no matter how hard I tried to be happy, the tiny pangs of guilt and sorrow kept pinching me.

I was on the verge of falling into the depths of depression, so deep as to never be capable enough to rise out of that. And yet, it did not feel like I was facing depression. Like every other person facing depression, I was not yet ready to accept that I was treading on a path, revival from which was impossible. I thought it was okay to feel sad and numb and motivation-free all the time. Was it not my fault that I had let her essence slip through my fingers? So why shouldn’t I be punished? Maybe this was destiny’s way to get back at me and hand out to me what seemed only fair at that time to me.

I went through all the phases a person faces after going through a loss: denial, retaliation, sorrow and finally acceptance. Very soon I realized that overcoming these phases to be at peace is not as easy as it looks and each person takes a different amount of time to go through each of the phases. The first phase of denial was the most painful one because I was still under an illusion. I kept trying to get her back, trying to find ways to revive her. I truly believed she could make a comeback, and be with me forever. My family and friends were patient at first, and did not stop me, hoping that this would pass soon and might help me come to terms with the reality. But, soon enough they realized how self-destructive my actions were becoming. The paranoia and obsession of bringing her back was taking me far, far away from reality into the land of dangerous hallucinations.

Once my family knocked out my split thought process, I was angry at them for dragging me out of the imaginary world of harmony. I was angry, upset, agitated and disgusted all the time. I had to find someone to blame for my loss, so that I would not feel guilty. And who better than caring friends? In life, all of us deal with rough times in the same way, using our loved ones as punching bags, hoping they would still care about us enough to ignore our foolishness and still want to stay around. In retrospect, I feel lucky to have been blessed with such wonderful people in my life, who never left my side even when I was at my worst and they let me heal at my pace.

Pretty soon, I got tired of being angry and harboring mounds of bitterness within me, and I gradually moved on to being sad and teary-eyed. It was emotionally draining for me and I felt exhausted all the time. I had realized that no amount of anger was going to bring back what I had lost, and it was best to accept the truth. But acceptance doesn’t come so easily, you have to feel the heat of having burnt your hands, taste the salt in your tears, let your throat dry up, witness your skin feeling torn and parched, and hear the sound of your heart breaking every day. When you have hurt yourself as much as you could, pondering over 'what could have been', and you can longer find strength within you to answer the questions, you give up. And you are left with nothing, but to move on to accepting reality.

I hate having to quit and not having answers, and it broke my heart every miniscule moment of my life, not being able to find out, why I had been dealt this unfair hand. I had heard people surrendering to God, and finding answers there, but I couldn’t find words that would soothe me even there. I rapidly, started losing faith in him too. But, I kept thinking what it was that He was hinting at. And I couldn’t help, but wonder, what was it that I was expected to do. Was I supposed to make a path for myself and find a way to make peace?

This was when I tried everything possible to help me find my way, I was not going to quit anytime soon. My friend would have wanted that. She hated seeing me down and out, and fragile. She could not have tolerated to see me paralyzed by destiny and being kicked in the rut. She would have wanted me to stand up for myself, and not be cowardly enough to blame fate. I held her hand, and embarked on a journey to appease her, and redeem myself back. She loved flowers, every single petal, with fragrance and color that she saw around her. I decided I would find our great memories by designing a small, but pretty garden. I signed up for online mentoring programs, where I could be with little kids and help them with homework and projects. This was one of the best ways to feel her presence, since she loved kids and teaching was what brought her the most pleasure. I indulged myself in art and unearthed my dust-covered art supplies to go back to one of the things that we had bonded over and found penultimate pleasure with. She loved travelling and learning new things, so I vowed to explore every nook and cranny around town, that held any ounce of history or diversity. I found myself falling in love with books again and depending on the local library to be my Knight in Shining Armor. I knew it had been on her bucket list to be able to read lots of books. I was hoping through my tryst with books, I would meet her halfway.

My best friend, who was everything to me was my soul, it was ME! 

I lost my job 6 months back! That day, a part of me died; knowing that I couldn’t go back to work for a few more years due to some unavoidable circumstances. I missed my job, I missed my teaching endeavors, I missed my students, I missed having to read through their essays, and grading papers. That piece of me was amiss, and it took me a long time to overcome the huge loss, but in the process, I discovered that there was a lot more to me than just my job. Yes, I was a Teacher, but I also was an artist, a nature-lover, a book fanatic, a blogger and more so, a person to whom their family meant a lot. The past few years have been rough on a lot of us, and there must be many others like me, who lost their jobs, but if you cannot do anything about it, the least you could do is to be fair on yourself and try to rediscover yourself. Although the loss of a family member is harsh, if you lose yourself, there is nothing else in life that matters. You are incapable of appreciating anyone or anything in life, if you feel incomplete. I have vowed that I am not going to let that happen again, and even if I lose one part of myself, I am determined not to let that bring me down because one loss could mean finding many more different facets of my personality.


This post was submitted to the Short Memoir Contest, entitled  "Overcoming Loss" on Biographile.