Where Do We Stop?

We're complacent, all of us, to some extent or another. Lets just accept that. No matter how good our intentions, periodically, we need reminders like pins on our chairs to make us stand up and do something.

What am I talking about? Look around you. Look at the news on TV, look at the newspaper headlines, look at the internet news feeds, look at your twitter and Facebook timelines. Forget all of that, take a look around you in your immediate neighborhood, in your schools and colleges.Chances are, within the first minute of looking around, you'll find an incident that makes a cold finger run down your spine and your hair stand on end. Scared and outraged enough? What next? We feel mad, angry and a little inspired to do something to stop this, to bring justice to the victims and punishment to the perpetrators. More power to you my friend, but what then? What after two hours, when the boiling blood has simmered and everything mellows down again? We participate in one candle light march, scream three slogans on the road, donate a certain amount to someone carrying a tin box, sign an online petition, put up a status or tweet and write a blog post about it. Pachi shu?

Someone I work with calls this the 'Rang De Basanti Effect'- That just after watching the film you're pumped full of energy, ready to change the world and bring pride to your country. Then you get to the parking of the cinema hall and realise that your vehicle's been towed away. Next thing you know, you're finding the nearest police officer to "quietly settle matters with."

My context for writing this slightly saddened blog post is the ever rising number of rapes in our country and the world. However, that isn't it. This applies to all the wrongdoings that we're presented with, on a daily basis. They happen everyday, to ordinary people. Today it was someone else, tomorrow it could very well be you or me. Isn't this danger enough to make us stop taking things lightly? Above this, do we need brutal reminders like what happened to Jyoti Singh Pandey (Because calling her Nirbhaya isn't really giving her an honour) and that little child in Delhi and the photojournalist in Mumbai to wake our dozing consciousness? These cases received media attention and national sympathy, but there are hundreds of other women, and men, who have been similarly brutalized and have failed to see the light of the day.

What do we then? For them? For us? Where do we stop feeling internally outraged and try and convert that to some sort of meaningful step that can at least be a stepping stone to awareness? Just like the survivors of these crimes are ordinary people, so are those who commit them. So along with finding appropriate punishments, why not find ways to curb such intentions before the damage is done?

Image Courtesy: OBR Strike Dance

A Moment of Awakening

If you're one of the people reading this blog post, chances are that you lead a privileged life. No, privileged doesn't mean that you can afford to change your phone every six months, or get a new car every second year, nor does it mean taking an international holiday every summer or being able to buy yourself a gift just because you feel like it. It means that you don't have to worry about whether or not you'll have food for your next meal. It means knowing if you're going to get clean drinking water. It means not fearing that one strong gust of wind or one heavy bout of rain could ruin your house. It means not having to calculate every penny you spend, including essential expenses, to see if you can make ends meet. Privileged means that your own governance systems will not, one fine day, just uproot you from your society and throw you elsewhere to fend for yourself. Sounds exaggerated? Its not.

Privileged world, meet Piplaj, Ahmedabad. Piplaj, meet the world, who doesn't know that you exist. What is Piplaj, you ask? This is the little-known, often neglected area of Ahmedabad where the people who previously lived in the riverfront area were 'given' rehabilitation at. If you ever need help finding the place, just ask where the Ahmedabad Sewage Dump is. The colony of the displaced is right there. As a volunteer for an NGO, I have personally been to Piplaj a number of times, and the sight never gets easier. Plastic sheets for roofs, yellow coloured drinking water, no usable washrooms, mud in every corner, mosquitos, snakes and stray dogs- these are just a few of their physical problems. Add to this constant unemployment, medical risks, poverty, crime and prostitution, the condition there is not something that you and I would be able to stomach easily, let alone be able to live in. Yet, the people here don't beg you for money when you go there, they ask if you can help them get justice. People still smile, they are beautiful. But we need to stop making them go through this in order to appreciate their strength. My objective here isn't even to draw your attention to the despicable living conditions at Piplaj- God knows that it isn't the only place in the world where the situation is such. I do however, wish to draw attention to the fact that places like this exist. 

When you peel away the glossy sheen of "Development", you find cracks- where 3000 people become a crack. In the process of making our large cities shiny and tourist friendly, we've pushed away the poor, not poverty.  We marvel at the new attractions in the city, go there for walks and picnics- take pictures there and post them on Facebook. We don't even realise that what we are using at a backdrop for our profile picture used to once be someone's home. Not only that, but in reality, we left someone to survive in inhuman conditions just so that we can take a pretty picture. How does that become development? What is our definition of development, if the lower strata of society is deprived of their needs so that the upper strata can enjoy luxuries? 

I'm not playing the blame game. Everyone, from the top to the bottom, has a part to play- both in paradise and in hell. The question is, do we realise what our part is? And are we willing to follow through with it?

Special Note: This isn't a sponsored post of any sort. Piplaj is very much real, and here is a rough draft of a photodocumentary that a friend, Falak Choksi, and I made about it- Tomorrow?

For anyone who is interested in knowing more about this matter and the lack of an Internal Displacement Policy in India, or if you'd like to help the cause, feel free to write to me or in the comment box. An educational institute also runs a small school at Piplaj, so if you feel that you can help there- through your time, funds or old books and magazines, do not hesitate. Thank you!

Also, my thoughts on this issue are many and can't be included in just one post, so rest assured, there will be more to follow in some time.

In a Film Reel! - #ShipOfTheseus

"I want to make a film about organ transplants." - This is probably not how Anand Gandhi, the director of Ship of Theseus, began his pitch to producers. This is, however, how I will begin my post about the film.

At its simplest, the film is about three characters and their stories- a visually impaired photographer, an ailing monk and a recently recovered stock broker. How they are ailing and how they get treatment, physically and otherwise along with their struggles, forms a large part of the film. At its most complicated, the film is a subtle, yet clear discussion about identity, life, death, reason, karma, the body and the soul, belief systems and a whole gamut of issues.

I'm not a film critic, nor am I someone whom people would want to read an argument on life, death and philosophy from. What I can do, is simplify things, dumb them down for dummies like me to understand them better. So here it is, a simple list of things that Ship of Theseus is and isn't:

What the film is and What it does-

- The film is beautifully visualized. Some the scenes are almost poetic in the way that they are presented, the framing nearly perfect. However, the film isn't shot on a brilliant camera, so some of it is shaky footage, but that doesn't take away too much. The beauty of the ideas more than makes up for the slightly faulty execution.

- Without giving away too much of the essence, I can safely say that even though it sounds unfamiliar and confusing, the Theseus analogy is spot-on, and you only realize this towards the end of the film.

- It contains a lot of startling contradictions. In one particularly poignant scene, you find it hard to decide whether to relate to the stock broker's despondence over his new-found compassion or laugh at his friend who is physically stuck in a narrow alley. In another, you realize that the photographs that the protagonist took while she was blind were better than the ones she took after she regained her sight. Shock fills you at even thinking of such a thing, and yet you do. In yet another, the monk uses a power of attorney to carry a centipede to a pot after which a young lawyer talks to him of Charvaka. Soon after, the same lawyer compares the monk to a suicide bomber. Go figure.

- The film makes splendid use of sounds, textures and shadows. Yes, I said textures. Go see the scene where Aliya is looking at her braille photographs, or the one where the stock broker climbs his way to Shankar's house, and you'll know what I'm trying to say. There are entire sequences where there are no dialogues, but the lights, sounds and actions make them perfect.

- Most importantly, it genuinely makes you think. It is not pretentious, its not something that only the learned and well-read will enjoy. Pay attention to the right moments, and it will not let you escape without stirring all kinds of cogs in your head.

What the Film isn't-
- Like I said earlier, it isn't pretentious. It is heartfelt and complicated, but then so are most of us. So let that go.

- It could have been a tad bit tighter, and then it wouldn't have felt a little slow at certain moments. This also becomes a little bit of an issue when you don't realize where one story ended and the other began. At the end you do understand, that neither of the stories ended, but you have to wait for it.

- While the performances from each of the actors are commendable, the subtitles aren't the clearest that I have seen.

- This film most definitely isn't your average masala potboiler Bollywood product. Although it has a foreign locale, a repentant 'firangi', a woman in plunging necklines, a man preaching religion, an apartment in suburban Mumbai, sunset shots at the Sealink, funny-looking doctors, adorable old men and two lost songs somewhere in there, IT STILL ISN'T YOUR AVERAGE HINDI FILM. Go see it, just to learn where the difference lies.

If you are going to spend your time and money watching a film like Son of Sardar or Khiladi 786, I'd say keep going for those. You will not enjoy this kind of cinema, nor
will this kind of cinema be able to celebrate you as viewers. If you are willing to tax your brain a little, Ship of Theseus is definitely worth your while then. Feel free to tell me if you agree or not.

Comfort Food For The Soul

Most of the time, when I look at the rain, it reminds of me of my childhood. Of course, this is when I'm looking at them from the comfort of my own window, not when I'm stuck in traffic or stranded somewhere because of them. However, my point is that as a child, I used to absolutely adore the rains. They made me feel happy, elevated even. To quite a large extent, they still do- the sound of the drops hitting my roof, the feel of the spray on my outstretched palms and my eyes, wide as ever, staring out at the endless skies- Unbeatable. If you really think about it, there are some things that appeal to you, at a 'soul level', if I may say so, universally. Even if there is no real explanation as to why they make you so happy.

These things, they never change. Sure, sometimes, the idiocy of adult life and its many tasks may get in the way, but the appeal of what I call 'Comfort Food' for the soul never waivers. Tax your brain a little and try to ponder over this. When you're feeling cold and a little low, doesn't a cup of warm soup and crusty bread instantly help you out? When things don't seem to be going right, and you discover a song that you like, and you keep playing it on a loop in your head, doesn't that often put a smile on your face? Sometimes its something as simple as a slice of dark chocolate cake, and sometimes its as complicated as sitting down to knit a jumper. People call these things hobbies, but I really don't think they are. These are things that we do almost routinely, yet they make you day just a little bit brighter. Often, its not even the task or the outcome of the task that makes you feel better, but just the memory associated with the first few times of doing it that does the trick. If you don't understand what I mean, keep what I just said in mind the next time you go sit on the swings in your park/school. Trust me, it'll be clear then. These are all experiences that are almost demeaned when you put them into words, because they're usually small things, mere objects or activities. And yet, they have a way of making you happy deep inside, even if it is just momentarily, 

There is an irony to this as well. While I say that there are things that give us this pleasure for each and every one of us-no exceptions, they are seldom the same things. For some, it is the feeling of eating whipped cream or a pack of chips, for others it is the feeling of riding your bike on a smooth, empty road. For you, it may be trying on your favourite dress and heels and parading around the house when you're alone and for someone else it may be reading their favourite book again on a lazy afternoon. For someone, it may be the simple act of holding your loved one's hand, or it may be the high the one derives through a cigarette or a joint. For somebody else, it can even be watching reruns of 'Friends' or 'Hum Saath Saath Hai.' Hey, don't judge. People get happiness, comfort and satisfaction from the strangest things. Most of us derive sadistic joy out of bitching about others, so let's not go around raising any eyebrows.

No matter what it is that makes you "happy-on-the-inside", just remember that it is usually a tiny thing. And if something small can make you cheerful, just remember that it can demolish the big problems, one moment at a time.

Shall I Confess To Thee?

Just yesterday, a friend of mine and I were sitting at the college canteen, waiting for time to pass, occupying ourselves with rather dour conversations. While talking, a certain name of a specific student came up, related to an issue that I now absolutely cannot remember. What I do remember, is saying this: "That name sounds really familiar, but I cannot place a face with it. Why do I recall the name?" Pause. And then, my friend suddenly says this: "I know why. Confessions page." Cue the Aaaaah of realization.

This one little bit of conversation made me sit up and think a bit about why the Confessions pages became such a rage. Ironically, when they were most active on Facebook, I didn't bat an eyelid. Now, when they seem dead, I'm writing a blog post on them. Go figure!

If you are someone who lived under a rock, here's what I mean when I say Confessions page. It is a page on websites like Facebook, where people can submit confessions and other things that they'd like for the world to know, anonymously. These submissions are then put up on the page, without the senders name, where the rest of humanity dissects and ridicules them, or takes an unholy amount of pleasure in reading them. These pages are usually associated with large communities such as colleges, schools or other such institutes.

When it comes to my college, this page became a phenomenon, albeit a short lived one. Within a couple of days itself, people seemed to have started pouring their hearts out to the sympathetic ear found on a Google form. "Dear X, you have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen." "Mr X, are you single? I can change that." "I did [insert random act of grossness here] in the college canteen." "X, please come back to me. I'm sorry for what I did." "X, get over yourself. No one likes you." - Samples of the comic riot that often ran through our college page.

Let's just be very honest for a minute here. You cannot possibly tell me that the page didn't interest you. Maybe you liked it, maybe you didn't, but you had to have gone through it at least once. In fact, plenty of people had begun to log on to Facebook merely to check the newest submissions on the page. Either we needed to know if there was a confession about us or one about our friends or even better, about our 'special friends' or we needed to know if there was a reaction for the confessions  that we posted. Or if we were just plain bored, we needed to know who's zooming who. 'Nuff said.

I can't really condemn a confessions page, since I've been through it a fair number of times myself. However, I did often question how many of the confessions were authentic. If there is a confession that someone likes you, you question if its real, or just someone's idea of a joke. Something that you didn't know about someone you know, you question why you didn't know that before. If nothing else, there is always random gossip that makes you wonder "I didn't even know these people exist in my college. Who are they?!"  At the end of the day, it is a giant, college-wide virtual game of fishpond- some real, some meant to embarrass, most meant for fun.

What intrigues me most about these pages are the confessors themselves. As I said earlier, they confess for a variety of reasons. While most do it for the sake of a minute's laugh, what about all of those who are brutally honest from behind their computer screens? People confessing to hatred of others, to mistakes they have committed to honestly talking about their crush/lust/love of another person? What makes them do this? Personally, I was always too paranoid to be able to post a confession myself, but if you are someone who did, what did it feel like? Putting it up, seeing the comments, the likes, not to mention the frenzy that it may have caused in whispers in the actual college itself?  If you were someone who put up fake confessions about yourself, what did that feel like as well?

Questions plenty, answers none. If you have any, let me know- anonymous or not :p

I'm a Tiny Person, So What?

People tripping on air, animals wearing tuxedos, internet memes: they're all pretty funny. You know what isn't funny at all? Making fun of people because of their size. Fat or skinny, it's not exactly a source of humour, really.

If you know me, you've probably heard me say "I'm a tiny person" very often. If you know me, you also probably know that I am a tiny person, underweight and relatively short as well; what many may call skinny. I've generally accepted my size and the pitfalls and the advantages it brings and learned to develop a sense of humour about it. However, in the last couple of years, I've experienced some more weight loss, and one of the consequences has been my anger, so this blog post has been a long time coming.

Some sensitivity has developed in people in recent years, and there are many who refrain from cracking jokes about obesity or people who are overweight. Sadly, the same courtesy doesn't always extend to the other end of the weighing scale. Just because someone is underweight does not give anyone the right to call them out on it, repeatedly. Showing concern for someone's health is one thing, but using that as a starting point for a joke, no matter how harmless the intent, is still malicious.

Sure, you want to ask if I'm unwell or if there is a reason why some of my clothes seem a size too large, go ahead. But implying that I'm losing weight on purpose or that I use less than healthy means to do it is just asking for pain. Physical fitness is a great thing, necessary even- but not everyone can achieve it, can they? You probably aren't perfect, I most definitely am not. Let's stop defining people based on their size and looks. If you're one of those people who've told me how I'm supposedly lucky because I lose weight without making an effort, I'm not. If you've managed a laugh out of telling me that "Farheen you're like a stick" or "Ants wouldn't get crushed under you" or "You'll probably fly away if it gets too windy", you should probably stop. Its not like I hate you for these things or that I'll have any contempt for you, but its just not nice. I've often been vocal about people who comment on my healthier friend's sizes, but I haven't really had anyone do that for people who make fun of me. To be honest, I don't even let it show that those comments hurt, because usually I can take it in my stride, but thanks to a recent increase in such 'observations' from the relatively saner company I keep, I've decided to speak out.

Body image issues are rampant in people my age. I'm not claiming to be a victim of them, but people don't really let you breathe easily if you don't look or dress in a certain way. I'm not even going into how these issues tie into the supposed structures of femininity and masculinity and what makes a person "hot" or "curvy". Whole different ball game, I tell you. Unknowingly even I've often made such derogatory comments about others, and I apologize to anyone of you who's reading this. But if you are someone who says you're scared of hugging me because you think I'll break, open your eyes, dude. Maybe the hug will help you and me both.

Reflections on a Jet Plane, Mostly.

It's been a while, isn't it? Lets just say, real life has seriously been an irritant in the path of my blogging pursuits. For those of you who may not know, I've been on holiday, and the moment I came back into town, I've been plunged into tons of work for my college. Anyway, excuses aside, I kept wondering all these days what my next blog post should be about. The sights and sounds of my unbelievably amazing holiday? The problems of working 14 hour days immediately after a holiday? The experiences of heading the admission process of your college?

In the end, I kept coming back to my holiday. Now I don't mean to make you jealous, but as a very generous birthday gift from my parents and my sister, I got to spend 10 days with them in the United Kingdom. Having spent some time in Edinburgh and London, I knew that I could spend days just writing about my experiences there. However, the idea of an ordinary travelogue-ish blog post did not appeal to me much. The one thing that kept bouncing around in my head after I returned was the constant comparisons that I kept making between their people and ours, their culture and ours, their behaviour and ours. In no way do I mean to create a divide, nor do I mean to sound racist. But, the differences are very obvious, and not in a really good way.

I'm making a generalization, but the people of UK, not just the English, seem to be far more happy than most of us. This happiness isn't just in their own lives, but in the way they treat others- friends, colleagues, random strangers on the road, tourists.  Maybe its the weather, maybe its their infrastructure or maybe its just the great food and alcohol, but the people are much nicer than most people we come across everyday over here. Every one has a smile on their face, no matter how tired they are. Even a bus driver late at night wishes you a good evening when you get off, and when you run into someone else's shopping cart at the grocery store, they turn and apologize, even though they don't need to. In India, you and I will probably just mutter under our breath and turn away.

Call me a cynic with a major case of the Greener Grass on the Other Side Syndrome, but there's more. During dinner at a restaurant in Edinburgh, we forgot my sister's rather expensive camera in the restaurant, and we realised this later when we were back in the hotel room. After much panicking, we found the bill and called the restaurant, and to our surprise, they immediately told us that they'd found it and kept it safe, and that they'd stay open longer if we wanted to come and pick it up immediately. In another instance, my father lost an important document at the Tower of London; one which he would have needed for the rest of the trip. A while later, when I went to the guard's cabin to ask for help, he handed me the document with a smile on his face saying that someone had found it and had returned it to them, when they very well could have earned easily a hundred pounds simply by using it themselves!
On the contrary, when I landed in India, on the Mumbai International Airport, I found someone's thick woolen jacket on one of the chairs, with no one else in sight. Having experienced the agony of losing something necessary and the joy of finding it again, I picked it up and carried it to a nearby counter to give it to the airport support staff. They seemed least interested, and if that wasn't enough, one of the gentlemen standing around had the gall to scream at me,"Leave it yaar, why are so worried? Bhaad mein jaaye." So much for trying to be helpful.

Again, I'm not one of those foreign-return tourists who can only find faults with everything we do. I understand the limitations of the opinions I form from a mere ten days there. That doesn't mean that our faults don't actually exist. Both you and I need to wake up from our reticence, and stop being hypocrites who go on about our polite and welcoming culture all while breeding intolerance and unease. Lets learn a lesson or two from others as well, shall we?