Inequality in the name of Gender Equality

We are a country that has long been infamous for it's suppression of womens rights. We can recall sordid tales of female infanticide, of rejection of the girl child as a lesser mortal, of women denied the privilege of marriage, of women succumbing to the flames of her deceased husband's funeral pyre, of a tribal clan having depraved conjugal rights over the same woman, of the cursed dowry system, of child marriage etc. It is absolutely loathsome to hear that this and more was what made our country in the days past.

But, we have come a long way as a nation accepting women in equal standing with men. Courtesy globalization, constitutional reforms, literacy and women's rights activism among others. Women these days as a result are more confident, have equal opportunities, have freedom of speech and action and have gained broader acceptance in society.

In saying so, I am also a vehement advocate of womens rights and equality, but in fitting measure a rebel too when they are taken undue advantage of. So, I thought of narrating in simple language a personal experience as I take out on some sick lingering habits in my state (Tamil Nadu - India) that works to the malicious advantage of women in the name of "gender equality" when we as a nation are in verity striving to embrace it in every word and deed.

The Setting : I board a bus from Engineering college after a hectic day, search for a seat to occupy in the allowed men's section, find none there, in passing quickly observe two couples seated in that section traveling together, and finally manage to catch sight of an empty row of seats in the women's section rather and plod towards it. Fyi .. women had greater allocation of seats by proportion in buses then. D... equality !! But, being worn out and badly in need of rest, I don't care for a hair but brashly take the empty seat. Then scampers in a average looking woman at the next bus stop and begins prowling for a place to repose her rear just as I did a while ago. Her scan gets her to me and to the empty seats next to mine, but being the immaculate-conservative-chaste Tamil woman that she is, she won't sit with a unfit stranger as I. That's perhaps fair enough if she decides so for herself. But then, she begins playing the usual trick of casting her cold stares at me hoping that it would unsettle me into yielding, little wary that I was a stubborn teenaged maverick college ox myself. The fight for gender equality was by then on. It's when she does it over and over again to no avail that she musters the guts to open her darn mouth to stage a scene. Nevertheless, I turn a careless ear, don't yield yet again but gently offer her to sit next to me if she at best wishes to. Contrarily, she is perturbed by the offer, whines and calls for the conductor to mediate. The dutiful conductor presides over the case, hears us out and lawfully asks me to vacate in the sight of all co-passengers. Being dismayed but not convinced, I say "yes" to him, but only as long as he is able to find me an alternative place by asking the fairer sex from the couples in men's section to vacate for me in exchange. Most male co-passengers who were probably once bitten and awaited an occasion for sweet revenge are pleased with my quid-pro-quo argument on equality and the conductor is charged with the arduous task of bartering with the couple on my behalf. He lobbies as asked to, does a shabby job of it, quarrels, almost comes close to receiving blows from an adamant male partner and decides to beat a retreat only to vanish from sight leaving us to ourselves. So, there stood the matter unresolved for the next 30 minutes by when it was time for me to alight. So, being the chivalrous gentleman that I longed to be, with a wily smile, I generously offered the woman, still standing, a place as I moved out. But alight I did amidst unexpressed cheers of the men folk with a sense of pride, boost to my esteem and glint in my eyes for not having allowed gender equality to grossly fail the test though it happened to be over trivia on a rather mean proving ground.

The BPO subculture - Why I love to hate it most often !!

They are young, hip and fashionable, modern, sharp, glib-tongued, netizens and wired to the times. Operating across geographical boundaries and time zones, the aspects of "time and space" which are usually philosophers preoccupations have almost become playthings for them. They incur the ire and hot displeasure of the West for being a contributing cause to their worsening employment statistics and for levelling the playing field with the rest of the business world. Yes !! The BPO Force as one can call them are here to stay for sure. And, I agree !! With 65% and above of India's 1 billion plus population under the age of 25, the BPOs are undoubtedly the lifeline of our buzzing youth.

However, though having many merits to laud about, I wanted to on the contrary vent my feelings over a thing or two about a new BPO Force promoted subculture that is evolving right before our very eyes..a culture that is catalyzing a gradual erosion of our cherished traditions and moral high ground. Well, I am no anti-feminist or anti-liberalist, but I choose to express my thoughts on the effect of this subculture on women for sheer change, though men are in no way spared.

Here goes. Seems to be gone are the days when women attired themselves with modest apparel and shame-facedness...courtesy women's liberation (read : degeneration). The foray of women into traditionally men's preferences like jeans, boy cut hair, cigarettes, alcoholic beverages etc. is evidence that the fight for gender equality has been won by tomboys. That does'nt mean that I personally hold a Talibanic and insane view of what should constitute women's attire either. It is about getting that balance just right.

With lines blurring between love and lust and with many a youth longing for a whole 364 days for the advent of the Valentine's Day, parental assistance in match-making and arranged marriages are soon becoming passe for our girls...and as if this immaculate matrimonial system has not been working all through our ancestry, it's now time to experience a cheap "i have a boy-friend too" thrill as they ape a rather strange borrowed culture of self-determined amorous befriending.

I am a reasonably seasoned communicator in English myself but I make concerted efforts to be at ease with both English or my native tongues as befits the environs or need of the hour. But I tell you, its a treat to your eyes and ears as you watch snobbish and giggly girl gangs attempting to slur their speech and making goofy use of oral English as if their birth in India was such an untimely quirk of fate. Trust me it is sheer fun to hear then speak Hinglish, Tanglish or Manglish when they can as well do with Hindi, Tamil or Malayalam. For once, can we not just be ourselves.

Now cap it with the ever growing preference for premarital relationships, swinging, lesbianism and sexual promiscuity in the name of sexual liberation, and we have a recipe for cultural disaster brewing. I similar argument about the conduct of the male species can be made word for word, but as I told you, I am not in any way attempting to be a misogynist.

In closing, the BPOs are no doubt a welcome relief to the Indian economy, but the BPO subculture and its' army of ill effects is certainly not. The youth of today who will embody the cultural heritage of the future Indian nation, are faced with the great responsibility of choosing between either what was bequeathed to them or what they embrace from strange lands. I urge you to choose wisely.

The agony of a pooping Indian kid on foreign land !!

I was reading an article on office humour and it triggered a recall of the agonizing experience of an Indian kid at Changi Airport in Singapore last year. His story .. this kid with troubled bowels rushed straight out of SQ409 and ran into one of Changi's famed scented toilets to his relief. A few groans and sighs later, the kid who felt at home, came happily out with his trousers at his knees calling for his mum with panic. Reason - there was a startling discovery that he made after pooping "Where's the darn water tap !!". Well, mum was a first timer as well and joined the frantic search for the elusive water tap. It was a while before help arrived from me who sensed that they have been having "issues with tissues" that I directed them to the right closet with a hand-wielded faucet. Ok now ... don't go over board with your skewed imagination folks .. I didn't clean him up, his mum did !! I could thereafter see the kid beaming and zipped-up, and ready to confidently take on the day at Singapore.

I have been irked about this farcical practice in many friendly countries about .. why the whole body undergoes a wash at bath, why hands are rinsed after a peek, why faces are cleansed after a sneeze, but why the forlorn bum alone is spared the trouble of a wash after a poop !! In good humour, can anyone give me an answer please.

The pathetic treatment of Intellectual homour !!

I was itching to write about this topic for a while now. I have seen some of my US or European peers who co-facilitate Summits or Conferences with me possess a great sense of intellectual humour. But to their woeful dismay they find themselves not ticking with the audience who are supposedly well-bred Indian Executives.

Well, I am a lover of great humour myself that comes at you sideways, clever, witty, sardonic, with wordplay, no smiles, with a dash of bitters. Oh, yeah !! You need that flair to get it. But here is what I’ve noticed on the contrary, something not so profound, but a bit disconcerting to my friends at the least. Their best interspersed and thematic jokes, throughout the programs, have flown across the room, making no evident connection with the audience and then have silently disappeared into a far corner where they went to die. No, the jokes just weren’t working for them.

Well, as I mull over it, the reason is quite simple .. we have culturally developed a sense of humour which we expect to hit us straight on the nose, with big smiles or facial contortions telegraphing the punch line, plain goofy slapstick and physical comedy with no ambiguity whatsoever. That’s what we pass for a joke, don't we ? So I took my pathetic looking friends aside over dinner and euphemistically clarified the need for them to tune their pitch to the Indian ears slow and easy. And voila, I was glad to note that they began doing so and have received more genuinely amused and giggling audiences as a result. But summarily, I am inwardly so embarrassed to note that our brothers are stimulated by such oafish humour which almost equates with "someone putting on clowny pants and honking a horn”.

So, yes !! Humour can be invigorating to a sedate and lifeless audience but quite unsettling to the very dispatcher of it if it happens to miss the mark. Well !! I am not ready to pay such a big price with our Indy audience yet.