Boys Don't Cry ... Really??

  

The other day while watching TV, I saw the ending of an ad where the once-upon-a-time big-screen diva Madhuri Dixit was saying something about boys don't make others cry. As I had not seen the complete ad, this little teaser intrigued me and I wanted to see the whole of it. I sat in front of the idiot box, like an idiot, waiting for the ad to reappear.  It was sometime before I was able to break free from its hypnotic grasp and think. Heck! I could search for it online! God, never felt so dumb! But I guess I have many who understand the power TV has on many of the powerless zombies like us. Anyways, back to the issue at hand. So I searched online and found the ad I was looking for. It was a beautiful concept created  into a thought provoking ad by Vinil Mathews. 

The beauty of the ad was in its simplicity. It addressed such a basic prejudice we all are conditioned to accept as 'normal'. Gender stereotyping. Boys are the stronger sex, hence cannot cry. We have grown up listening to that reaction so many times that unconsciously we too say it, even without realising it. In this ad Madhuri says it, so I'm hoping many more men would have at least heard her out. Boys don't make other cry. Really? I would love to believe it myself. 

Our social conditioning and gender stereotyping is so, so deeply entrenched in our psych that we look upon the men, or to be politically right the males, as the stronger sex. In India, mothers dote on their sons because they carry the family name forward, thus keeping the lineage going. Fathers adulate their sons, irrespective of their capability, talent or character, because now they, the fathers, are assured a place in heaven as they have a son to light their pyre. Sisters are made to keep in mind that it's the brother who calls the shots, so keeping him happy has its perks. Wives, well, the lesser said the better, after all he is the 'pati-parmeshwar'. So in short, each one in the family treats him as an irreplaceable asset, almost a Demi-God status. So what happens when you get so much attention? Well, you learn to take all this for granted; you treat everyone around you as menials, whose duty is to serve you. 

Growing up on this staple diet of confused and convoluted thinking can distort ones attitude towards the other sex. The scene of the husband abusing his wife is not fake or unreal. That's the real ugly truth. He doesn't give a damn to what she feels. He's right in his thinking because that's what he's learnt from the time he was in his mother's lap. So the suggestion made by the ad is very correct, and required. For the men to be made more sensitive towards the others, they have to be made to feel that the others too are equally important. Be it socially, within the family, at the workplace, or anywhere. Other people, not only the women but also other men, are as human as they are. They too feel pain, hurt, denial, humiliation, anger, frustration. Once these men understand that they are not the focal point of everyone's universe, they will better understand the others. And this can be done only, and only, if they are told about this right from the time they are born. Treating them as just another family member, another sibling, another child, will make them truly belong to the family, and not as the poster boy for the family. 

#StartWithTheBoys is  fantastic initiative which is the need of the hour. With the increased cases of rapes, it only brings to forth the glaring reality of our skewed stereotyping of the genders. For women to be treated as human beings and not a non-entity, it is important boys be made more gender sensitive. A tall order given that centuries of social conditioning has now become an accepted norm, especially in the Indian context. But a start has to be made, and it has started. Let's be part of this change. 

Do round rotis taste better than non round rotis

Rotis are rotis. Round or otherwise. It will always have atta and some water to make it into a soft dough. The shape becomes relevant in the context. I mean the ingredients remain the same, well most of the time, unless you decide to become adventurous and improvise. You know like add some thing extra like freshly chopped dhania or some finely grated veggies which would otherwise be unpalatable to the kids. So I guess the shape and size do not really matter. Yeah if you ask this same question to a hungry person, you can expect a very predictable answer. Just gimme the roti Amma! Round, square, triangle, or any other polygon that you can think of. Just give me the damn roti. Well for a person suffering the pangs of deprivation and denial, any edible consumable is welcome. Colour, shape, texture, vintage etc. are of no consequence or importance to the starved being. What's relevant is it is consumable. Period. 

Hot just off the tava soft rotis are the fastest and surest way to reach the gastronomic heaven. No ambiguity there. Umm ..serve it with a sinful blob of butter and you do the greatest service to the insatiable palates. It earns you enough compliments to want to go back and create more such pieces d'resistance. Most of the Indian households , especially those north of the vindhyas, need the assurance of these simple, unassuming, delectable rotis to feel satisfied about their dinner. You know that alls fine with my world feeling. The weariness of the day, the fatigue when struggling to earn the very same rotis for the family, the struggle to provide two square meals ( square meals of round rotis!?! Strange!!) , everything seems so irrelevant when the first morsel enters the mouth. Life seems so blissful and complete. God is generous and merciful. Every Lalita Pawar incarnate would bless her good-for-nothing daughter-in-law for these gems. Maybe not aloud but happy she will feel. 

So I guess the shape doesn't matter. What matters is the how hungry is the consumer. 

Proud to be an Indian ...always

I saw her on YouTube. A most impersonal first meeting. Thousands more would've seen her too. But images of her stayed in my mind all night, making it a long sleepless night. When I switched on the TV next day for the morning news, there she was again. Dressed in a tan color overcoat, looking over her father's coffin, draped in the Indian tricolor. Alka Rai is all of twelve but she carried herself as a woman. But when she broke down, I did too. The pain was too deep to escape it. I didn't know Col Rai. Now, would never know him. But by watching his proud daughter I wished I had a chance to know him.

Col Rai was killed in another of the many encounters which are a daily phenomenon in the lives of the Army men posted in the troubled regions in J&K. His death too would have got a few lines coverage in some corner of some page in the national dailies, unnoticed by most of us. What changed the whole scenario was the show of sheer grit, pride and love exhibited by his little princess. As she stood next to her father's coffin, she shouted the war cry of the Gorkhas! The somber, sad surroundings were suddenly electrified into a highly charged atmosphere where everyone felt as one. The men of the unit stood united in their shared pain. They shared the pride of their slain warrior's family. They felt honored to be part of that large family of the Gorkha regiment. I felt it too. I felt pride at being associated with the uniform, of having the honor of having worn it, of a sense of belonging. It's a feeling hard to describe but easy to feel. What struck me was the way that little girl reacted. She felt this the best way to honor her slain father. To shout the oft-heard warcry of the Gurkhas. She wouldn't have felt this way had her father not felt the same way. Children learn what they see at home. If she had seen her father not take pride in his uniform, in his job, in his duty, she would never have reacted this way. 

It was a wake up call for all of us. So caught up are we in the daily grind that we forget some basic essentials of being a human being. We forget the value of life. We forget how fickle and unpredictable it is. The house still not back into normalcy after the celebrations for his receiving the gallantry award when it was jolted into shocked silence by his untimely and sudden death. That's life. That's death. Totally and absolutely unpredictable.  No one wants this, maybe except for one Mr Geelani, who sits esconed in the warmth of his shawls and Indian hospitality. Anyways, it made me think about the vagaries of life. 

Pride in being a human being first, pride in our work, pride at being blessed with family and friends. These are things we tend to overlook. No, it's not the feelings of a self centered, ego centric narcissist. This is the kind of pride one feels in gratitude. This is what makes us more consciously responsible. More emphatatic and giving. Makes us feel like pushing ourselves to excel and better ourselves. That warcry set the tone for that young girl who till then lived in a dream.  She will henceforth want to do better so that her father can feel as proud of her, as she does of him. 

But do we need to go through so much pain to realize our potential? Or the value of others around us?