Men need to talk more about women's issues

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I am not on a feminist agenda. In fact, I don't even have an agenda. For a dreadfully long time I have observed and what I am going to talk about is an opinion I have formed based on these observations (and experiences).

When I was in high school, I used to take the public transport from school to home and back. The school itself is located in a city - the regular kind, bustling with activity. I am talking about the 90's here. One day, as I was walking down the road (like a lot of other school kids in bunches) towards the bus stop, two men, on a scooter came and grabbed by breasts, for a split second. They raced away with a sneer on their face. 

For a moment, I was shocked. Then confused. Then shamed.

In an instant, my dignity was broken to pieces. And yet this was just one of the numerous (it bothers me to tell I cant even count) such incidents I have encountered in my life as a woman in India. I chose not to talk about this to my parents, boyfriend, friends or anyone I am close to. Well, flash news, groping is an everyday state of affairs in India - we just shrug about it and get on with our lives.

And nearly 15 years after that incident, I see this problem aggravating and spilling into other forms - savage rapes, brutal assaults and much more. Which makes this incident that I narrated seem so trivial. Every woman in India has gone through some form of abuse. Get me one woman who has not and I will tell you she has been phenomenally lucky. That would be a miracle.

I am not playing the victim card here. Hell no. There is something more deeper that has been nagging me for years. And that is the apparent apathy of men (and women) towards violence, assault and abuse targeted at women. 

About 6 months ago, I happened to have a conversation with few of my male co-workers. They were contemplating about taking an offer to relocate to the United States. And hotly debating the pros and cons of such a move. The discussion steered towards "safety" and their conclusion was that USA is less safer than India.

This made me roll my eyes, for obvious reasons. And since I have lived for a considerable time there, I was curious to listen to their side of the argument.

"Why do you think USA is less safe?", I asked

"Well, there is nothing like mugging or gun violence in India. I feel we are more in harmony here and have good family values", a co-worker said.

"OK. I give it to you. Mugging in certain neighborhoods and unpredictable gun deaths are on the rise. But tell me how much of an opportunity you have had to walk at nights here, in the city?", I said

"I have been to plenty of deserted places in the city and nothing bad ever happened", he replies

"You mean you zipped across in your bike or car? That doesn't count. There is a far lesser probability of being vulnerable if you are inside a car with your windows rolled. That is not an anatomy of a mugging or any physical assault", I replied. 

"Also tell me if you have gone to these places you are talking about with a woman companion and you felt that comfortable?", I add

"Well, women's thing is a separate issue".

The conversation stopped for me there. I blinked at him. It took me a good few seconds to understand what he meant by women's issues are separate issues. I am appalled at not just the indifference but how little men seem to know about the women in their lives. And this is what nags me to no end. 

And in a broader sense, this is reflective of not just women's issues but also other issues in society. Why does it suddenly become a gender issue when it is focussed on a particular section of the society? The same happens to, for example, the LGBT community. I recently happened to watch a Telugu movie in a cinema hall that had repetitive, tasteless jokes on gays. Hey, I love humor but I can smell an offensive/racist remark when I hear one! And yet there we were, sitting in a modern multiplex, with people from qualified and educated backgrounds not feeling the least bit offended or perturbed. On the contrary, they had a good laugh on jokes that kept targeting the gays.

So it brings me to the critical question again - why didn't the audience feel offended? Simply because they tend to compartmentalize the issue as a gay issue. 

A lot of Indians need to start having an opinion on things. I am bothered when educated Indians look at the media and newspapers reporting rapes and then pass a useless remark like "Too bad" or "This is so sad". I bet you wouldn't be just sad if it were some family member, would you?

I am not asking us to take to heart everything we see and hear. But at the same time I am appalled at how many Indian men have no clue. No clue at all the kind of things their female counterparts have to face on an everyday basis. 

So I ask every Indian man - "Have you ever considered asking your mother/daughter/wife/sister what she felt like walking down the road? Or if she ever had any such problems of abuse?". I bet you didn't even think of asking them that. And why would you? Its a woman's issue not a man's. 

For the countless times I have been told by my dad to be careful, "cover" myself appropriately, not to go out in the dark, ignore the nasty comments on road, I would have wanted him to instead ask me - "I am sure it must be hard, but can you tell me what sort of things you have/had to go through in public? I want to know."

If only.

You know that's all I ask - a patient listening and understanding from the men in my life. And why wouldn't I have a right to that? That is what family stands for. We pride about our culture and family values, what use are they for if you cannot even spare some time to get awareness and understanding of your own family's safety and well-being?

We live in an incredibly dangerous India. Where women have to go through humiliation on a routine basis and worse yet, be the victim of more serious forms of abuse. And then come home, only to be on the receiving end for more unsolicited advice from men in their family. 

This is not a feminist movement it is called "Stand up for your the women in your life" movement.

Being generous is ridiculously easy

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"Did you see that?", I ask my friend sullenly. 

"See what?", he shoots back. 

I replay how I just saw an old ailing couple, sitting on a pavement and sharing halves of what looked like an orange. As I recollect, I realize how cold I felt on the shaded street that winter evening. I couldn't help but wonder how tiny rags did any good for the homeless couple on that street.

It doesn't help much to discuss at length about such "obvious" things in India. Things that wrap me in pangs of guilt. Because we speak about them and easily forget. Like every time, I try to push out such gloomy thoughts out of my mind. But there is always a breadcrumb of trailing thoughts that follow me, eventually.

"There is so much I can do. There is so much I can give back. Then why am I not doing that?", I keep questioning myself. The feeling is unsettling at best. But I can easily distract myself through work, books or movies.

The next morning at work, I am vile about a news story that ran last night. I narrate to my co-worker about a group of cops (I think?) who defused couple of bombs in metropolitan Pune this year (with no body protection) and the government gave them 100 rupees (2 US dollars) as a reward, the story reported.

"Why? Why do we (Indians) put cricketers and celebrities on a pedestal and shower them with huge monetary rewards that they apparently don't even need, but we insult such acts of bravery? Why is a human life so cheap in India?". I seethe in anger as I eat my lunch. "I hate how we are so contradictory. And yet here we are eating a big lunch and watching a stupid cricket match.", I mutter under by breath as the match plays over a big LCD in the office cafetaria. (Two people across the table shoot me questioning glances. I was loud enough apparently.)

"You cannot think about everything at once", my lunchmate replies matter-of-factly.

I am furious and he does his best to calm me. We decide to take a walk and talk about it.

"We must do the really tiny things we can.", I say.

He nods in approval. "Did you see how much food is being wasted in the cafe?"

We have a whiteboard where the cafe team puts up the quantity of food wasted everyday. Data that embarrasses me. I again sulk in depression. 

He waves me aside and tells "That's the power of data. Unfortunately, that isn't leveraged to send the right signals to everyone. Do you know how many people are even taking notice of it or pausing to reflect over their food wastage?", he asks. I continue, "To bring out the real problems, we need both - data and insights that evoke a reaction from people." We both nod and sigh in approval.

Charity starts at home, they say. Do your bit, they say. But how many of us really do our bit? Yes, each of us have personal goals, commitments, promises to keep. But is giving back such a big deal at all? I think not.

I am now going to obsess over how much food I am wasting, or how much coffee I leave behind in the cup. This week I have decided to journal this. Yes, I want to quantify this. Yes, I want to be pedantic about this so I can take a stand for myself - That I will never waste food. Maybe I am selfish because am trying avenues to live up to my conscience. So be it. But the repercussions are plenty and unknown to us - for example an article that tries to demystify Why India can't feed its people put me on the edge once again. 

I think everyone knows and agrees that we don't have to be the Bill Gates of charity. We just need to our bit - our own acts of kindness and generosity. Because being generous, it seems to me, is ridiculously easy.

A Middle Class Indian's Dreams and Beyond

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Stranded at a traffic intersection in India, waiting for the traffic lights to change, strangely gives you a small window of time. Time when you are not peering at your phone. It is eerily relaxing. Until your gaze follows to the roadside troop of hawkers, beggers and homeless children. As they go about their business with the agility of a superhero, you cannot help but wonder what happens after the day ends. Where do these people go? What kind of lives do they live? 

For some reason, Indians are desensitized to the poor in a way that is very complicated to explain to outsiders. The truth is the middle class Indians perceive this in a different way - a kind of fear internalized inside them as they grew up - that they could end in poverty just like the infinite homeless on the roads. A fear that drives their dreams of a home, car, bank balance and a well paid job, that it makes them look at the poor in disgust and fear. And India has probably one of the fastest growing middle class population in the world.

Over the last couple of decades, the baseline expectations of middle class Indian parents have been roughly the same - a good college education, marriage at the "right" age, a job in a multinational company, a decent home for living and a healthy retirement plan. The path has been set in stone, from the time of birth till retirement. This kind of thinking is not new even in countries other than India. This is how the middle class milieu functions.

However, India thrives on a different tangent. A co-worker recently suggested how India is not truly democratic, secular, socialist or republic. We are a heady mix - a little of everything. Our policies and decisions are driven by an indecisiveness and our inability to take a stand. And that is a dangerous place to be in. Unfortunately, the middle class India survives unaware of the repercussions of such a dangerous phenomenon.

Take for instance a recent trend in the cities - the dream of living in a gated community. Billboards across the cities splashed with adverts of a high rise sanctuary, conveniences that rival those of the Western world - large pools, tennis courts, retail stores, 24/7 alarm systems and surveillance - the promise of an America within India. 

"You wont even have to step out to buy groceries. They will deliver them to your door. We are also building mini movie halls and nightclubs for your private parties", said a building contractor to me once, trying to sell a high-rise apartment.

"But this place has the most acute water problem", I said in reply.

"That is everywhere madam", he replied almost instantly.

In that one instant, it all came back to me with amazing clarity. No matter how much money a middle class Indian makes, we are still very much a part of India that is plagued by power outages, water scarcity, deep-rooted corruption and a serious lack of security for women. You cannot avoid the filth and chaos of India by secluding yourself in a high rise building and working out of air-conditioned luxury cars or offices. These things will come back to bite you sooner or later. And you will not even know what hit you.

Like I said, this is a dangerous place to be in. This is a bubble of a different kind. Not recession, not technology bubble. But a bubble of inequality, ignorance and indifference that will pull us all in the path of a storm that threatens to destroy the pseudo Indian economy we are building. No amount of high quality graduates, high rise buildings or FDI boom is going to save us from this impending destruction.

We have forgotten what it is to be middle class. Middle class of the 60's and 70's was not just raising the income levels of families through hardwork. It was about hardwork with honesty, integrity and self-respect that no longer exists in modern day India. We used to live a life of values and cherish our sense of community and togetherness. If our neighbor's house was attacked, we stood up and said "No this is wrong and we will fight together". Now we don't even know our neighbors.

We now take pride in doing "wrong things" - like littering the street, driving arrogantly on roads, treating women like secondary people - and giving an excuse that "Why do we care when others don't?"

The problem lies in the way we have contorted our traditional values and culture. 

If a woman wears a Western outfit, you brand her as a "slut". You say India is conservative and this is not "allowed" in Indian culture. But when the same woman is assaulted, it is her fault. Now imagine that woman was from your family. How does it change your perception now? Of what use are the great Indian values if you have forgotten to treat your own people with respect?

The problem lies in our infinite tolerance to everything and our negative digs at people who do the right thing.

Parents and teachers now teach you to do the "silent" thing. To pull yourself away from epicenter of problems. If it is not a problem that concerns you directly, you have no business getting involved. If you do, you will be victimized and demoralized by the very people who taught you to be "silent". 

The problem lies in looking only at the big picture.

How many times have you heard the "common man" in India say - "Nothing is going to happen to this country. Our government is the most corrupt and our economy is dying". Now count how many times you have failed to do your job as a citizen? How many times did you toss that cigarette or paper or coke tin on the road? How many times did you fail to cast your vote? How many times did you manipulate your tax returns? How many times did you bribe your way through things that probably could be done the right way? How many times have you parked in a no-parking zone? We look at problems at the high level and fail to understand how little problems like these amass to become such big problems.

The solution does not lie in ranting about things in social media. We need to go back to basics, to our roots. About things that were written in our holy scriptures. About doing your duty, the right way. About treating people with respect and fighting tooth and nail for your community. About teaching your children the right values. About calling a spade a spade.

Forget the government, forget the local goons, forget the trash, corruption, crime, scandals. Own your roots, the true middle class way. And make a difference. This is going to take generations to make a real dent in the top. But forget even that. Your goal right now should be to do "the right thing", in whatever ways you can. Declare war on things you know you can set right.

Patriotism is not about celebrating a World Cup win or a war with Pakistan, it is about owning our civic responsibilities every single day. Anyone who is not doing his job is your enemy and is a threat to your community.

If you are overwhelmed by the gravity of this all - think about it. As a middle class Indian, we have always had hoops to jump. If we can navigate through a tedious process of acquiring higher education, arranged marriage, preparing and winning coveted jobs, getting a drivers license, taking house loans and making our way through the US visa process etc., why can't we do this?

There is only one thing standing in our way i.e failing to live by the values we have been taught. As the fastest growing population of young and smart minded people, we are frighteningly clueless when it comes to "core values" - the only thing that can and will make a difference to what happens in this country. 

Is literacy rate the answer to everything?

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Not long ago, there was a discussion at work about the direct co-relation of literacy rate with sex ratio in India. The premise being that higher literacy rate meant higher sex ratio (because the literate did not discriminate against female child). This is not true always. In fact, it is opposite in some cases.

For eg: Haryana has been in news for a higher crime rate against women and the declining female sex ratio. The literacy rate in Haryana (76.64%) is higher than my home state of Andhra Pradesh (67.66%) and yet the sex ratio in Haryana (877 females for every 1000 males) is much lesser than Andhra Pradesh's (992 females for every 1000 males).

This data is picked up from India's Census Website and represents the year 2011.

The Ugly Truth

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It reminds me of the scene from A Few Good Men where Jack Nicholson is in a court-martial and is asked to tell the truth. And he goes "You can't handle the truth". And continues to deliver a monologue telling why exactly sometimes you have to live with the truth so ugly, that perhaps you are better off living without knowing it.

Last night, I was at a local clinic. The kind you find on a busy Indian street, neatly lined in a row of beauty parlors, neon-lit tiffin centres, medical stores, ATM outlets and the like. The clinic itself was a tiny establishment, with an assistant who was perhaps 70 year old guy himself, skinny to the bone seated on an old bamboo chair that seemed only as strong as the guy. He looked at me bleakly as I enquired, seated on my bike - "Is there a doctor?"

He looked sideways from me and opened his mouth so to speak. He was squinted. He coughed for a good 10 seconds. I fidgeted impatiently on my bike seat. Then he just nodded in reply.

In India you don't take people's word at first go. You always confirm - that's the rule of thumb. So my next impulse was to go inside the clinic and find for myself, if the doctor was around. He was. 

I ask him, without as much as a statutory greeting - "So are you going to be here? Till what time?"

He points at the clock on the cracked wall, a lizard sneaking in from behind. "9:30" he tells me, loudly,  in three languages - English, Hindi, Telugu. As I nod in return and get back to my bike I notice a few men giving me furtive glances. I am dressed in old jeans and a bright turquoise colored T-shirt with a golden print that said "Peace". You almost always get glances like that. Pretty or not, adequately clothed or not. So long as you are a woman, you will be stared at. And you almost always are immune to it.

I just continue to my bike and ride away to appear after a good 30 minutes. This time to see a long line of people in waiting. For a moment, I am infuriated. A third class, "hole in the wall" clinic with a doctor who doesn't even have a pen and pad to write prescriptions, is suddenly in demand. But statistics defy everything here. India's population density will assure every doctor an unending supply of patients looking for treatments from the common cold to body fractures.

I wait indefinitely in the line. Men still staring, but I give them a hard look and they feign looking towards the sky. I look the other way, and can see from the corner of my eye, their stares returning back to me. I mutter a curse or two, under my breath. Just a bit longer and I can go, I assure myself.

And finally, it is my turn. The doctor is now writing prescriptions on post-it notes. In between he gets up and disappears behind an old, strange smelling, floral printed curtain with a patient on the other side who has some kind of bowel problems, lying on the bed and grunting in pain. He comes back to write some antibiotics on the post-it notes. He asks me if I am married. I don't answer and almost open my mouth to say it is none of its business but just nod to say no. I want to just get out of this shit hole, I say to myself again.

He explains in three languages again about the medicines he is writing me. I look at my watch and get restless - I have a remote meeting to attend in an hour and I am not even listening to him at this point. I quickly try to grab the prescription (now a total of 4 post-its) but he looks at me questioningly and says -  "Where is the money, madam?"

I give him a 50 rupee note and head out. After scouting for medicines at 3 drug stores, I grow impatient and give up. Of all the fever antibiotics, he had to write me the least accessible ones, I think to myself.

Medical care is a big business here, like anywhere else in the world. A drug store doesn't just try to sell you drugs. They try to sell you only "certain brand" of drugs made by a "certain" pharmaceutical. So they are often trying to con you to take substitutes from pharma companies that pay them kickbacks for promoting their brand over others. But with all things India, you fight your way through it. Lets just say I had a bad day and wasn't open to any more drama for the day.

Failing to find the drugs, I am even more agitated this time. I rush back to the doctor, with the post-its in my hand, waving them furiously at the doctor's face and question him, grinding my teeth  - "No one carries half the prescriptions you have given me."

The doctor is mid-flight, half of his body behind the curtain and half out. He doesn't appear shocked, while standing firmly in front of a young guy, whose chest is in a pool of blood. That's when I look down and realized I am standing in what seemed to me like someone just spit out red paan on the floor.

That was instead a stream of human blood following the guy on the bed now. I turn now to see two of the young men (the ones who were giving me the stares about half an hour ago), one panicking and talking on the phone to hail an ambulance, while the other trembling, his hands drenched in blood.

My mouth turns dry. The doctor says to me - "One minute madam"

I step out for air, trying to take in what just happened. The 70 year old assistant looks at me quizzingly - "Did you try Vijayalakshmi (drug store)?" I am almost dazed and manage to say "No". He is squinted and tries his best to give me store directions.  I am confused and do my best to follow his gaze.

I turn back and I see "facebook" written on the back of the T-shirt of one of the men - a guy who is barefoot, doesn't carry a phone and doesn't even have enough money to give to the doctor. I hear the doctor console the guy - "Don't worry. Your friend will be OK. I know the doctor at this hospital, he will fix your friend for cheap."

I find my drugs at Vijayalakshmi. I return home with the medicines, check my emails and finish the remote call. And then get back to surfing the Internet.

The incident is now a faint memory. Life goes on. And that my friends is the ugly truth.

Tubelight ka Chaand

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A little boy called Tubelight and his obsession for the moon (chaand)

This poignant short film explores the dream of one little boy through the underbelly of Kolkata. 

And his dream to capture the moon. Is it possible then to pursue a lofty dream as that? 

This video serves as a great metaphor for "Follow your dreams"

No matter how hard life is, no matter what the obstacles, no matter how people may judge you - make your dream your obsession. 

Because obsession leads to single minded doggedness to pursue your dream and make it happen, no matter what. To dance in its tunes and sing in its praises, no matter what. To love it unconditionally and to want it more than anything, no matter what.

So what if it is the moon that you want? :-)

Moms are crazy

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Mothers are all slightly insane  - J. D. Salinger

After today I would never hire my mom to put my shoe laces together. Like never, ever. She just took the one end of it and pulled it all the way through all the lace holes. Like she was knitting from one end to another end. No criss-crossing, no symmetry of things, no nothing. That cost me a precious 15 mins of gym time.

I know what you are thinking right now. Before you get all sensitive about it, let me remind you how many corny jokes you crack on Rajinikanth. And still you love and respect him no? Admit it. Now it doesn't sound that much bad eh?

I still love my mom. But shoe laces...nothing doing.

Ok perhaps, that shoe lace fiasco was partly my fault. I happened to finish a half-marathon recently (bragging rights in your face!) and the last leg of 7 kms was in heavy rains. In the typical lazy fashion, I just set the shoes aside after the race and assumed it would all be ok. The next day, I wear the same pair to gym and the guy at the farthest corner of the gym gives me looks. Yes, they stinked like I left some dead rat in them. Once back home I casually mention how dirty they were and they have to be left up to dry and all.

Lo and behold, the next day, I have them all dry, shiny and smelling like perfumed. Also found two naphthalene balls in each of them. Moms and their infinite capacity for unconditional love never cease to surprise me. Soul-stirring stuff, if you ask me.

But then she had to do the shoe laces all wrong and "unimpress" me. Haha.

Like the day when she silently gulped down the last can of Red Bull in the fridge and spent the rest of the night watching countless hours of TV as a result. And left me seething - I was counting on the Red Bull to keep me awake to meet an important deadline. Of course, then we made truce and bonded over a cup of South Indian filter coffee. For the record, she assumed Red Bull was some kind of "cool drink" that tasted like Benadryl, but she was too thirsty and hot and didn't mind the pungent taste. Her verdict - "It was better than Pepsi." Ouch!

And then there are times when she throws curveballs at me, like these -

"I thought they would show a tiger in Ek Tha Tiger." (Touché, mom, Touché.)

"The banana stand guy has become friends with me. He gave me a dozen bananas for less today."

"I heard Priyanka Chopra is dating ShahRukh Khan now. But he is married no? What kandravi (word in Tamil that means ugly)"

"How to download Kolaveri Di song from WWW?" (She always refers to Internet as www - world wide web as if that is some championship like WWF)

"You mean they give free Marie biscuits at your office? Can you get one for me?" (Why do moms get excited about the small stuff? Why?)

"Neighbor aunty told me that her son bought a new car. I told them my daughter works in America." (Umm what?!)

"Why did you pay 750 rupees to run? What will happen if you run without paying? You are running on the road only no?" (When I told her about my half marathon)

"Kannu Paturdu (somebody cast an evil eye on you)" (When I fell sick one day and asked her if she had a fever tablet)

Moms are like that - crazy and lovely. Hence proved.

Home is where the heart is

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I step out of home early on Sunday mornings. Sunday is the time to buy vegetables from a nearby farmer's market. And at 6 am it seems rather early. But I have to make myself useful to mom. 

I somehow manage to get out of bed, slip into flip flops and reach the front porch. I dust my two-wheeler, roll a big jute bag and try the automatic ignition (that mostly fails. I was supposed to recharge the battery). 

As I drive I see a guy taking a leak on the street. He also manages to speak on his cell phone at the same time. What can I say - it is not a pretty sight. I need to keep an eye on the random buffaloes and stray dogs on the road. I stifle a yawn. 

It feels warm already although it is only few minutes past 6 am. I see paper boys hustling about on their bicycles. I see delivery guys carrying open cases of milk packets. I see the old folks walking, military like. I try to take a whiff of the air. It feels stuffy. I remember as a kid (during one of those hated early morning walks) the smell of fresh morning air. Unfortunately, that is a thing of the past. Now, the air is always thick, a combination of rising dust, pollution and gas. I park my vehicle at a "No Parking" zone. One of the rare times when you are sure there wont be towing activity of any kind. 

I am a noob at bargaining - I don't even try. I can already see vegetable vendors relishing the sight of me. A few extra rupees that I "giveaway" without putting up a fight. Later at home, I am (always) told - "Those 5 extra rupees could have gotten me half a bag of assorted leafy greens." And those 5 rupees over time would become big enough to buy a quarter kilogram of chicken meat. You know, the conversation amplifies like that in magnitude. I have learnt to just nod, accept my flaws and promise to try the next time.

I also have to go to a designated store to get some eggs. Apparently the eggs are the "biggest" here. Don't ask me why they would be "biggest" only there. That's what I am told to do. Never question the middle class counsel. They are almost always true.

The few trips I made to India from USA, I never stayed long enough to understand how much I had become sensitive to the environment in India. But now, after months of living in India, even after all the traffic and heat and dirt and open sewages and power cuts and a million other things that affect me on an everyday basis, this feels like home. 

Allow me to explain a bit later. But first some more insights (or rather jogging up memories of those who have already experienced the Indian lifestyle).

A service provider will never guarantee you his services even if you pay the dues and even if you pay him a tip. He will rather fix it for you if you abuse him, verbally. And after all that verbal exchange, if you offer him tea, he will happily sit and talk with you about local politics and how the petrol and food prices are affecting everyone. Yes, Indians are full of contradictions like that. 

A service technician will come (minimum of ) 4 hours later to the appointment time. And that after a swamping him with phone calls where he will tell you "baaju mein hoon madam" (I am almost there by the side of your home) and yet he has not even stepped out of wherever he exists. You rage, grumble and get angry and upset at his audacity to lie at your face, blatantly. And when he does show up, it's probably close to dinner time.

And where in the world would you find unified hatred against queue system. Jumping the lines is so common in India it exasperates me. No matter where you go, right from a 5 star restaurant to the local movie ticket counter, people always want to get ahead of you.

So does this still feel like home? Strangely, yes.

The first month I was upset. I was really really upset here. I couldn't get half my errands done here. I found everything ugly, disoriented and chaotic. My moods got so uncontrollable as if I was PMSing. I was constantly grumbling. I would look at the homeless people and children begging at the traffic lights, tugging at my jeans, prostrating at my feet - they would do anything to get a currency note from me. I would look around and find people going about their normal routine. 

Why aren't any one of us concerned? I would think to myself. Why are we so insensitive?

And yet I forget this is where I was born and brought up. That I lived in the exact same circumstances and I didn't feel necessarily this upset then. So why this change now in my belief system? And why now after months, I have become insensitive as well.

I have no clear answer to this. But what I believe happened is I made peace with a lot of things here. Indians have heard so many false promises before that they have sort of moulded themselves to fit in this confusing grid of Indian life. Those who are rich live a rich lifestyle, those who are middle class go as far as their reach can go, and those who are poor, well, they don't have the privilege of making a choice. 

The first thing I learnt after a confusing first month was to let go things that are not in my control and stop getting upset about random stuff. The second thing, if anything can be outsourced (i.e delegated), I do so immediately. There is always labor, ready to fix things for you, at a nominal price. Third, if I want to have fun, I really can have fun. It takes time and planning but it is possible.

And last, but the best part, you are in the proximity of your family and loved ones. There is nothing more calming and fulfilling than that in this world. 

I use my smartphone less, I spend more time with family, I hardly watch TV, I celebrate every Indian festival, I debate local politics and government policies. I feel special because I have a decent lifestyle, I have a congenial workplace, I have delicious food, I can read Indian magazines and newspapers, I can have pickles, papad and breakfast food anytime of the day, I can talk about all things Indian without trying hard to explain. Ridiculous but true. In a way, I feel humbled, privileged and accomplished. And it feels good. Because this is what feels like home, smells like home and looks like home from the time you were born and lived here.

Of course, it is not love all the time. There is nothing romantic about poverty, corruption, scandals and other prevailing issues in India. Yes, we have an overwhelming number of problems here - something I wouldn't have acknowledged years ago, when I hadn't stayed outside of India. I think living in USA for half a decade has given me a fresh set of eyes; to take a hard look at the problems here and really focus on where I can provide value.

This is home. This is where the heart is. And this is what will matter.

Girl, Interrupted

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Yes, I sort of liked that movie. But I am not going to talk about the movie here. However, you are free to draw parallels between the movie and the below post, as you please. You will see the connection (well, almost)

So here I am, all alone, solitary, single (well, not exactly, I am committed but not quite the official news). Now come the good parts about it. You are free to do what you like. You are free to while away your time. You are free to look silly, do silly, talk silly. You are free to lock yourself up and daydream and curse and get envious about everything and everyone. You can cry foul when things don't go your way - you know like, how I am a single girl, independent but still the society is callous to me, sort of thing)

Good parts end right there though.

In come the talking aunts, girlfriends, neighbors, acquaintances, storekeepers, janitors, gym trainers and so on and so forth (without any gender bias, please feel free to count men also). You get the drift. And they all freely talk about the single most hotly debated topic in the Indian milieu - My marriage.

I mean forget the slumping economy, the surging food prices, communal violence and disturbing scale of scandals in the country. Leave all that aside. Let's focus on the most important crisis - my marriage. 

Of course, they are all just concerned about me. #sarcasm

A typical conversation even with a close friend starts with a "How are you? Long time" and jumps abruptly to "Marriage ka kya hua?". It feels like a Himesh Reshammiya song ringing in your ears all the time. "Oooooooo....marriage...oooooo". (Yes, I know you know. Just wanted to sound dramatic)

Of course, my close friend is concerned. Lets say hypothetically I do marry, ok. Then what? Will it be "Babies ka kya hua?". This is like a never ending sequel. Remember that movie Lethal Weapon? I could never keep a count of the sequels of that movie and I just gave up one day. Same thing I will do here - give up and pay no attention to any sentences with keyword "marriage". Blanket rule.

Even if I go to grocery store, the guy who checks the bill on my way out looks at me weirdly. I secretly think even he is wondering about my marriage. The other day, the bank guy asks me the same. Asks me if I have a joint account with my husband. No, I do not have a husband FYI. But I can get me a fictional husband, if you like. Anyway, I don't believe in this joint account business (yeah, I am sort of like that. A girl with a strong set of beliefs. Ok, actually, it was because of my dad. He kept saying right from when I was 4 years old - never keep a joint account, b****** will take all your money and run off. Classic. He just drilled that thought into me, didn't even wait till my puberty. So the other day as I watched Satyamev Jayate episode on domestic violence, mom goes wide-eyed and tells - "See, dad was right". Mom and dad don't have a joint account btw. Nice trusting couple there.)

I have one doubt though. People are visibly upset when they know I am not married, and happen to know my age (which btw, I will not tell you because then you will ask me about marriage). Why are they upset? Shouldn't my parents or I be the one who should be upset?

Frankly if you ask me, it is easier to file taxes being single. I don't even know what's with that dependent healthcare and joint taxes bullshit. And I am not looking forward to figuring that out. As if I have less paperwork to do.

And after all this, I go home one day and I see mom I immediately blurt out "marriage". She honestly thought I said "drainage". (Mom has a hearing problem. Too many Sun TV serials have taken a toll on her. All that yelling and drama in those serials I tell you).

Although it would be weird if mom and I wanted to play a game like that - Chalo, lets play "marriage marriage" today.  Only barbie dolls in a dulhan's dress would be missing (btw do they make that? That will make an interesting gift to someone I know).

Yet another day, I was in my "Why God, why me only?" depression mode because of some unexpected happenings. At tough times like that, I open youtube.com and search for "feel good movies". (Btw, the search results for that phrase suck. And I always see two ads, no matter what the keyword search - Hangouts on YouTube and Dhanush is back with his new single. How are they relevant to my search I don't know. This is heights only :-/). Frustrated, I opened the hindi movie, Hum Aapke Hain Kaun. That movie has been my friend in the harshest of times. Only later, I realized that movie is all about marriage, baby cermonies and funeral. Irony. More depressed I got.

Thankfully, I found respite in an amusing climax scene in the movie Life in a Metro -
Konkana Sen runs to Irrfan Khan's marriage to confess that she is in love with him but the man interrupts and says "Lekin petticoat, blouse sab uske naap ka sil gaya hain. Itna late kyun bol rahi ho?” (But the wedding dress has been stitched to the bride's measurements. Why are you confessing so late?).

Even the latest library book I checked out, had an entire section dedicated to relationship and baby advice. I picked it up thinking it was a business book (They sold it as a book that applies business theories to life.  Also it had 5 star reviews on Amazon. Got pawned there. Honestly, who wouldn't be tempted to read a book whose title reads - How will you measure your life? Ok maybe not you.)

But seriously, a single Indian girl can take only so much. Enough is enough.

*Insert an imaginary picture of me standing in temple yelling at God angrily about the injustice*

Someone asked me this week about pros and cons of relocating to India after living in the US. Remind me to write this rant in my reply to that enquiry.

Is everyday a Groudhog Day?

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"Happy Independence Day" is trending on Twitter. Happy Independence Day India!

However, nothing has changed. You find the same news about scams, crimes, exploitation, poverty and a million other negative things sprinkled with some Independence Day special programs on TV (like the Prime Minister's national address, parade and some patriotic songs). Tomorrow comes and we are back to the grind. Life goes on.

But I thought to myself - Lets be a little less cynical today, shall we?

So there I was standing in the shower. Another day, another epiphany. 

Remember the movie Groundhog Day? For those who haven't watched the movie (you must watch it btw), the lead protagonist Bill Murray relives a day over and over again. In the movie, that day happens to be what Americans celebrate as the Groundhog Day. Bill Murray realizes that he is not accountable for his actions since the day repeats all over again the next day. Since he wouldn't suffer the consequences of what he does, he goes about breaking the law, mistreats people, tries to seduce a woman by finding her interests and so on. After several days he realizes that he can actually use this opportunity in a good way compared to the manipulative way. He starts learning the names of people in his town, takes piano lessons and eventually wins his girl over because he has become a better man.

So why all this summary of a movie you ask?

I think the movie delivers a subtle message - 

Over the years, we have been experiencing some form of the Groundhog day. The headlines of the day may have been a little different, but the news stories are essentially the same - political turmoil, challenging economy, increased corruption, lack of governance, decelerating infrastructure, energy crisis and a plethora of such negative news. 

Most of us have become insensitive and apathetic to the situations and circumstances in India and have completely shut us off from the proceedings. This is a rather dangerous reaction from Indians. 

Things are not going to improve on their own. Like Bill Murray we have the opportunity to change our behaviors regardless of what is outside our control. We constantly complain and hope that someone else figures out a way to make India a better place. What we don't realize is little actions lead to a revolution of sorts. Yes, there is hope. Without hope there is nothing. We must hope for an India that we want her to be. And we must make those little changes in our behavior and actions and bring about positive changes in whatever we do (this can be as minimal as fulfilling the duties of your job). On a larger scale, this makes a massive difference. Don't listen to the naysayers. Haters will be haters.

Treat every day as an opportunity to give back, to make a positive dent in your community. This is the true essence of independence. Treat this as a gift, an opportunity within your reach.

Ask yourself - Are you using your freedom to do the right thing and make a positive change? Remember, it does not have to be a Groundhog day for you. 

Chasing the Monsoon

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The intention of this post is to just give you an idea of A Day in the Life of an Indian Monsoon. If that doesn't interest you, you might as well chill out and listen to some rain (awesome site no?)

"Here", says my mum as she props a small plate of bite-sized vadas beside a pile of books on an old chair. My house is minimally furnished and at times like these she finds it really frustrating to find a resting place. I obediently pick it up before they either turn cold or drop from the the edge of the chair.

Outside the slightly ajar window I see heavy rains continuing. "Yet another weekend, lost to the rains", I think to myself. The window is only slightly ajar because of mosquitoes that are unavoidable. There is a green carpet of bushes outside swaying in the wind and soaking down the rain, a crookedly parked line of motorbikes on the street, steady streams of water merging and flowing down a narrow ridge, an old abandoned rickshaw and a wayward dog finding comfort underneath it. Quite the room with a view, I have got. 

"There is going to be a powercut in 30 mins, so if you want to take a hot bath, this is it", forewarns my mother as she enters and leaves my room quickly.

Monsoons in India bring their own share of woes. Going out in the rains mean a lot of things - enduring traffic jams, making sure your phone is well-protected from the rains, dodging the water puddles, timing important errands so you don't get "caught" in the rains.

What can possibly be romantic about Indian monsoons you ask?

Yes if you are sitting in the confines of a shelter, preferably with a hot cup of chai and good company - a book or a person. Or perhaps just lying under the sheets and catching an old flick.

Rains in India seem to have what I call the "standstill" effect. They bring a lot of things to a grinding halt - whether you like it or not. You are forced to work under constraints. You are forced to "take a break" and look around you. Everything is so interconnected to the predictability of rains. 

And although I quietly mutter under my breath, I know that I didn't quite have a weekend plan either. My weekends are mostly filled with errands. So I impulsively put on my shoes and running tracks. I decide I want a jog in the park today. A park that takes atleast 45 mins to travel to. The heavy rains having stopped encourage me on this dogged pursuit. I spend a good 20 mins searching for my bike keys. I still don't find them. Undeterred I pick some of my library books I want to drop on the way and set out to do so with my friend. 

No sooner do I reach the library, it starts to pour with a vengeance. Damn it! Of course, I am not that worried because the library is probably the second best place to be stranded (after home) for me. We look around for a place to sit but some old ladies have occupied them already. We contemplate about going to a coffee shop across the street but the ominous rains seem relentless and not in a mood for a break.

As we stand there craving for something hot, from nowhere a guy walks in armed with a thermos flask of tea and small plastic cups in his pockets. We ask him for two and he promptly pours them. "6 rupees", he says. We search for some coins but he decides he is ok with a 10 rupee note. 

"Quite the angel", I tell my friend. As we sip the hot tea, we contemplate things around us. Old lady struggling to get downstairs (the library is on a building's second floor) with two kids who speak in US accent. "Must be NRI's", we tell each other. One of the kids, a tiny girl, scans the bookshelves like a pro. She decides on a book or two and leaves as her driver comes to pick up the family. 

Directly behind their SUV parked on the road, I see a poor grandmotherly lady strutting down the road, carefully avoiding the puddles, with nothing but an old plastic bag covering her head like a shower cap. On the same road, I see young guys on bikes taking a smoke and enjoying the rain nevertheless, middle aged ladies sharing an old ripped umbrella, an auto-rickshaw guy looking out for his next customer and a neighborhood bakery doubling up as the rain shelter for the day.  

No, there is nothing romantic about monsoons, if you choose to think so. And yet, there is still something contemplative about the monsoons in India. Either way, life goes on in India. 

As I walk down the street to my home, an emaciated looking boy in threadbare shorts, tries to sell me  a printed design umbrella. I ignore (as I do with beggars on the streets) and go past him to enter my home. I look back to see that he has done the same - walked across the street to try his luck with another resident. 

No sooner do I enter home, mom gives me a deft reminder - "You still have to find the lost keys to your bike". As I said, life goes on. 

The cliche of fairy tale romance

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"So how do I look? Do I look like the floodlights?", I ask my boyfriend, on no particular occasion. He nods in approval. 

I was wearing a beaten-to-death jeans and an equally ancient men's t-shirt that doubled up as my nightwear. Clearly my nails weren't manicured (I have never had a manicure btw) while my boyfriend sported a set of perfectly shaped nails that could put a well-groomed girls' to shame. And yet, my boyfriend says, I look like the floodlights. 

Yes we get it - Love is blind.

But I have an itch to scratch today. Plenty of rom-coms later, I am left with a feeling that I have been set up for failure. Nothing in real life mirrors those stories of happily ever after.

No, really. As a couple, we are either running errands, strategizing commute routes, envying other couples, debating work-life balance, discussing dad's health. What ever happened to the promise of a fairy tale romance? Welcome quarter-life crisis.

Catching a movie (mostly terrible ones) is the closest thing to romance in the modern day. 

#facepalm

The other day, we bought flowers as a wedding gift for a friend. That was the closest I have been to "smelling roses". Pun intended, btw. "You never bought me flowers", I try to take a dig at my boyfriend, winking at him. "Do you even know how they look, like, put together nicely? They have this way of arranging and wrapping them, they cut the ribbons with their fingers...", he goes on to explain me.

The florist girl interrupts - "Which roses you want? Bolo." And I stare back blankly. Frozen. My boyfriend is quick to respond "Red ones, a few yellows in between. Actually, whatever you think fit." I look at him suspiciously. Umm ok, he knows more than me about flowers, so what. But they never showed me this side of things in the rom-coms I watched.

#betrayed (yet again)

"Daisies are the friendliest flowers", I say to him, as the florist gets to work. "From the movie You've Got Mail", I add quickly sounding triumphant at my knowledge of rom-coms. He seems, not strangely, unimpressed. 

What? No chivalry?

I am not bowed down by this apparent lack of chivalry in my relationship. I decided I will give back to the world, you know, a bit of chivalry, a bit of courteousness and a bit of old-fashioned charm. I am all for giving back. Needless to say, that didn't work either. Holding one of the double doors at a local hospital got me strange stares from people. An old woman gave me a confused look "Isn't she a little too young or unconventional to be a doorman?".

"Anna, you forgot the (bike) stand" or "Boss, indicator lights are on" are the closest calls of courteousness I have experienced on Indian roads. Yes, Indians are like that, full of contradictions.

Hmm, this whole thing needs some serious research. (Puts on my imaginary thinking hat)

I mean seriously, I could tell my boyfriend that sometimes he sings horribly while he thinks he sounds like Udit Narayan. But I wasn't taught like that you know. My parents fed me a healthy dose of rom-coms. And then he is always telling me Brahmi, Balaiah, Senthil, Vivek jokes and spamming me with Mashable and Techcrunch links from his Google Reader. This is the limit only.

Where is the romance? I want romance. (Refer below video at 2:50 for perspective)

Maybe I will shake him up today and say "I am a fine lady - treat me like one." Although I need to dress like one. Hmm, scratch that. Too much work. 

Of course, unlike ladies, I will agree this trend is partly my fault. I clearly haven't prepared him to a life of chivalry. Spoiled him rotten from the day I offered to split our bills to standing in the queues for filing his taxes or buying movie tickets for both to carrying his jacket. But a lady can take only so much no?

I think I will surprise him today by asking flowers. No, I will have to then think of what to do with those flowers then. Too much stress. Maybe I will shop a lot with his credit card. Hmm, no patience with trial room lines, unresponsive sales people and having to choose..Too much decision making. Stressful again. Maybe I will order the priciest dish in the priciest restaurant? But, but, but I like only food at those "all you can eat" and cheap dhaba and tiffin centre like places. 

Uff, so tough this is.

Ooh, what is this. New mail from boyfriend. Another (predictably) Techcrunch link:

Avocado Founders Unleash Guacamole, An API Just for Couples Apps

No, I am not even making that up. A few weeks earlier, we were discussing the trivia behind naming a mobile app (related to couples) as Avocado. Ok since you have read this blog so far I shall share the trivia with you. Avocados grow in pairs, hence the "fundoo" name for the app. The closest to romantic discussion we have had in months. This is not even funny anymore. Hmm. 

But really an API, an entire toolkit for all apps geared towards couples? A platform for couples? I wouldn't have imagined that in 2001 when I was writing my first Hello World program in C language.

Ok, in that case, I am declaring an open forum for romance related counsel. This will be like Oprah Winfrey of Indian Romance Counseling. I will have grassroot workers go to schools teaching the basics of chivalry to young men. I will write software to push notifications on your mobile phones, so you can read unsolicited rom advice crowdsourced from all of web, while you are doing important things like laundry or playing Angry Birds. (Yes, you can thank me later) And I shall open source the API too (remember I believe in giving back?)

Posting this soon before boyfriend requests censorship. Once its out on the Internet, there is no looking back.

Update:
New mail (with some video link) from boyfriend reads in the subject: "wot are these suits? they are flyin off gennnnn". Labeling it as "Unread and Important".

The Gamification of Social Issues (or What Satyamev Jayate show can do differently)

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Every Sunday at 11 am there is a (scheduled) power outage in my neighborhood. There is also another  prior to that at 6 am everyday. I choose to speak selectively about the Sunday hour because that's when Aamir Khan's show Satyamev Jayate (the show name means - "truth alone prevails") is aired on about 6 TV channels simultaneously.

Sure, a genius move you say. Airing it on atleast 6 channels (both local and ones on cable payed channels). That too Sunday at an hour when you are hopefully not outdoors or working. What are the chances, huh? So you bound to sit and watch and mull and brood and (even cry with Aamir) about the social issues in India.

Only, you didn't anticipate the following:

- There could be a power outage at the time (sad but true. It is easy for me to stream it over Internet later in the day, but I doubt anyone else has the resources or inclination to do that)

- You could be still sleeping. Ask my techie friends. No one gets up from bed on a Sunday until noon.

- You simply don't care. Sure, the first episode or two moved you, you were angered, you teared up and then that's that. You went about your business after the show ended. "Meet you for coffee or movie  late evening? Sure", you tell to your friend over the phone. That's how quickly the pace changes in India. Where everything from getting your home plumbing repaired to servicing your bike is unpredictable (your handyman might not show up, or your bike servicing guy doesn't do his job right). You fight your way through stuff. So why would you waste your time and mind over a damn show? You have your own problems to deal with at every passing second of your life here.

- Someone in your home wants to switch to a different TV channel while the ads are running and then you find another channel that is "interesting". Oh they are playing Salman Khan's "Dabbang" on Sony MAX. Let me see that for a few minutes. That turns into an hour. No more Satyamev Jayate.

- And many more such reasons..too many to list here.

It makes you wonder, what has gone wrong with Indians? Why don't they care anymore? They are busy building farms (FarmVille) or checking-in to joints virtually (Foursquare, Zomato..) but have no time in their lives to spend an hour on a show that discusses social causes?

Lets take a deep breath here and think for a moment.

What drives people? Emotions, shocking truths? Perhaps. That's why the show became a desi version of Oprah Winfrey. The problem is that probably worked for the first two episodes. And strangely we got "accustomed" to that too. Shock value has a short term effect. And then it meets its death.

So why is Farmville more attractive than an emotional, teary-eyed show?

Perhaps the producers at Satyamev may consider Gamification. No kidding.

“In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun, and – SNAP! – the job’s a game!” - Mary Poppins

And that my friends, is the essence that drives gamification.

Half of the country probably spends half of their time on phones (my ballpark average). Your traditional SMS's might reach out to the masses but there's no hook and bait in that. You need people with resources and bandwidth to first get involved and give their full attention when you speak about social issues.

- Make a mobile app that showcases the issues. Something that people can tap into and listen to instantly.

- Show what is happening in their local neighborhood on the app. People (still) deeply care about what is going on in their neighborhood because it directly affects them and their family. They don't have the downtime to think about the nation's problems. 

- Show a way they can contribute to "fix" these issues without getting too much in the way of their work or daily chores. Make that actionable through the app.

- Anyone who does one of the above three should get some kind of "loyalty" or "contribution" points. Yeah, it is sad how THAT works. But the important thing is THAT works. People get motivated with virtual "incentives" like that. They go bonkers sharing, tweeting, messaging their newly owned popularity on the Web. So go ahead, feed their egos. Nothing wrong with that.

So to the producers and crew at Satyamev Jayate - Make it count. Don't let your hard work go wasted. Because, unfortunately, truth alone doesn't prevail in India. 

Rainy day reminiscences

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For many of us rainy days conjure up mushy memories of coffee, hot food, conversation, curling up on bed and watching the rain and perhaps dancing/walking in the rain for the slightly adventurous.

The bubble breaks there.

For the daily commuters in India, rainy days are unpleasant, mostly unwanted, dreadful days - that start with silent pleas to the rain gods to stop inflicting more rain and end with grievances like endless traffic jams, dirty puddles, road rages and other shortcomings (such as your vehicle struggling to keep up with the floods on the roads)

And today happens to be one such day.

"I shouldn't have worn my Nike shoes today", I tell A, suddenly aware a little later, that it is such a first world problem. Ashamed, I stay mum for some time. Not too long before I break the silence with one of my other trivial grievances (such is human nature)

"Why does it have to rain only when we head out?", I mutter under my breath.

Meanwhile A is trying hard to dodge traffic and find tiny gaps in between a fleet of cars, bikes, cycles, cattle, beggars and hawkers at traffic lights etc. Yes, India is diversified like that - even on roads. At one instance, the traffic poured in a single file. Frustrated, we inched along, only later to realize the larger part of the road was hoarded by free moving herd of buffaloes.

Looking at A navigate tactfully, I think to myself, "He is doing such a good job. I probably ought to shut up and quit whining."

Like some sort of a circus trainer, he gives me forewarnings - "Lift your legs high" - as we enter a big flood on the road. A has also mastered the art of reading and predicting the cloud movement. He yells (over the traffic noise) to me, "I think that part of the town is probably already getting heavy rains."

I sigh. By this time I am not too pleased that we have wasted so much time on the road. "This is such a mess", I think aloud. And as if to slight my unheard objections, a heavy downpour comes down on us, forcing us to make a pitstop at a local bookstore.

For close to an hour we stand under the tiny shade of a five floor building and look at the rains that show no signs of giving up. This wasn't going to be a pitstop after all.

A suddenly notices sparks from atop the building. "Look at that", he whimpers to me.

"It looks like Diwali patakas (firecrackers) ready to burst but not quite there", I chuckle.

"Doesn't look good", A says seriously. "Maybe we should move."

We look at it, necks craned, for about 15 mins and then we forget about it. Returning to focus on "the rains" again. Such is the pace of life in India. One grievance giving in to another and then another. Welcome to the Indian grievance lifecycle.

"Hey why don't we just head inside the bookstore?", I look at A briefly and then race through the rain to get to the first floor.

A understands but does not share my passion for books. He often reasons about it this way - "I have no time or inclination to read those fat books. And anyway you tell me the gist and trivia behind them. So I am ok."

I make a steady walk through the book aisles, looking up staff picks, latest bestsellers (I let out a tiny cringe at stacks of Fifty Shades series) and then reach my favorite section on Indian fiction. I run through some trivia for A and by this time he has already taken a peek at "the rains" about half a dozen times.

We goof around a bit and somehow the bookstore fails to draw me. We step onto some weight scale to check our weights and unconvinced with the results, we promptly dismiss the scale as "out of order". 

We look around, we look at the rain, we look at the people taking shelter under the bookstore roof, we look at this guy struggling on his cycle with a plastic bag on his head as his only protection from rain, we look a mini van broken down in the middle of the road and couple of people lending a hand to push it to the corner of the road, we notice men gawking at me, we check on our bike to see no one's taking a free pass at it (sitting or doing stupid stuff on it), we debate if we should just hail a cab, why we should have gotten those better raincoats along...

And yet the rains continue.

Somehow in midst of all this, a poignant thing happened. For a minute I stopped and stared at the local bus that stopped to let some passengers out.

I saw women with small plastic bags trying to get into the bus, fit in the small space inside. It brought back a flood of memories from my teenage days. How I had wished I would never have to take the local buses, struggle to find space, deal with men making a pass at me, carry a load of books in my school bag on tiny shoulders and hope to convince someone seated to hold it for me. I had hated those days then and wanted with all my heart for days like the ones I am living now. Where I owned my own means of transportation and wouldn't have to suffer at the whims of others.

I was embarrassed for a moment with the subtlety of what encompassed me in that one minute.

I looked at A and for some reason we started humming (and discussing) ridiculous songs like "I am a Barbie girl" and conversing in only Hyderabadi slang.

And in that moment, for the first time in the entire evening, we forgot to check on "the rains".

The Coffee Metropolis

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Frustrated I looked up from my laptop - "Why isn't there any Internet in this place?"

We were seated in one of the swankiest coffee places in Hyderabad.

A shrugged. "Let me ask them", he offered to help.

I was just getting in the zone there, ready to whip up some code.

And now, I was staring at some "404 - Not Found" page.

I leaned back into the couch, which I thought was slightly uncomfortable. House flies settling in on the already empty cup of Macchiato and bits of sandwiches we had so hungrily devoured an hour ago. And the air conditioning, intentionally switched off, made the air more humid and dry than outside.

One of the coffee waiters came by. "Madam, Internet is not working?"

"Yes", I said with no intention of hiding my irritation.

"Please try this password madam..."

"Yes, yes. I already did. It doesn't work."

The guy threw me a helpless look. "Don't know madam" and flashed a grin as if he was providing me some good news.

I started to ask him if there was a time limit of some sort on the Wi-fi usage, instead I withdrew and gave up. "OK", I sighed.

"I knew it. I should have just downloaded the API docs", I yelped in frustration to A.

This was pointless. With nothing to do, I shut my laptop and looked around.

Scores of young girls in skirts shorter than I had ever seen. With strapless tops that generously exposed their arms and backs. And with mouths that seemed to continuously talk and eyes fixated on their smartphones, their hands twirling the straws and cups flirtatiously.

"Who are these people?", I ask A suddenly aware of the people sitting there.

"And what are they doing here? Where do they get all the money from?". I kept going.

A shrugged again. "I guess kids have more money these days than I thought. I don't even know what's that thing they have ordered there. Whatever that is, looks expensive."

I frowned in agreement. I turned my attention to another set of people - mostly couples.

In my most critical tone I ask "Don't these people have work to go to?"

"Probably one of us", A joked.

"I assume we have been working till this damn Internet gave up on us?", I shot back in defense.

"Anything else madam?", one of the other waiters came by.

"No", I reply dryly.

I tilt my head and ask A, "Do they want us to leave or what?"

"Guess so",  he guffaws.

I usually would get a book to read as a backup. Today I hadn't. Perhaps I was supposed to "chill" at coffee places like these. The only problem is I have no idea what "chilling out" means. Daydreaming, I do - if it doesn't come with a price tag like this. Could I daydream without pouring so much money over a coffee please?

In the US, I love coffee places for being unsolicitous about customers. You could just go in and do things of your choice. No one would bat an eyelid. Read a book, gaze at passersby, gaze at art, daydream, code, play with legos. In India, there has never been a "character" to coffee houses. It is always the same. Young teenagers hanging out or couples cozying up. Where was all that youthful camaraderie and sprouting enthusiasm among groups they are supposed to foster?

Indian coffee places have in fact morphed into these lazy lounges. I have nothing against that. Only that it has become more of a norm in EVERY coffee place I go to. It is disappointing. And now its coffee places with dimmed lights - like it's a bar. Please!

Until I spent some years in the US, I never imagined coffee places to be these think tanks and breeding grounds for some of the revolutionary ideas. In India, that is not encouraged. In fact, anything outside the norm is not. I hope that changes soon.

And so with that hope and indirect hints from the coffee crew to leave, I head back home.

I strike out this coffee place from my mental list of "my favorite coffee places". This list looks rather empty as it is.