The curse of our times

It was just another weekday evening. The roommate was immersed in her books and I had my headphones plugged in, shutting out the noises of the world outside. Tinie Tempah’s Written in the stars was growing on me when roomie jumped up from her chair with a start and pointed towards the window. A short male figure stood on the other side, his face pasted on to the window and with a clear intention to display his manhood to two hapless inmates in a women’s hostel. My heart skipped a beat and both of us remained frozen on the spot. It was a first time experience for me.  I still feel like kicking myself for not calling the police then. But, at that moment fear gripped me and I knew how far fetched from reality it was to think and react. The first step I took, was to let the hostel in-charge know.  She enlightened me on how the same guy was caught by the police a few months back and let off later.

What surprised me was the nonchalance of the authorities towards this incident. There is nobody to complain to and the only response we get is ” Ningal mind cheyyanda, thaane nirthikollum”. Don’t be bothered about it. He’ll stop it. FOR HOW LONG?

A few weeks later, a girl was literally thrown out of the hostel because she was seen caught talking to a boy. “We cannot handle this kind of behavior”, they claimed. The mother was summoned, the girl was reprimanded and her character assassinated.

Such hypocrites! A woman’s chastity weighs over her safety. Its okay to have a pervert knocking at your window at night but an innocent girl who just happened to speak to a boy is considered a threat to the ‘good name’ of an ‘institution’. Non-sense.

These are just random incidents, a few among the numerous ones I have come across ever since I shifted back to Mallu land 6 months ago. For all the literacy levels we claim to have, it irks me that a society can still remain so narrow-minded. Not to mention the new brigand of moral police who have taken it upon to cleanse the state from all evils. Just how filthy can one’s perception be.

A normal day at work requires me to interact with customers of all ages. Its pathetic when I try to make eye contact and the loser in front of me has eyes only for my body. Just because, I’m a woman.  When I walk towards the bank, I cross paths with a bunch 16-17 yr olds who attend coaching classes for entrance exams. Though I pretend that I haven’t heard them and walk off,  their lewd remarks scare me. These young boys could turn out to be serial rapists in future. When I shared this with another elderly woman ( a senior colleague), the response I got was , ” Nee enthina athu kekkan pone”. Hello Auntie.. since when have we started listening to things that only we want to or we should! I got to hear such unreasonable explanations that question  one’s basic common sense from most people I spoke to about this.

Why is it that any sort of abuse a woman has to face is treated with silence and apathy? In most cases, people frantically search for a loophole to blame the woman under any circumstance.

If a woman is vocal about the injustice she faces, ‘the feminist’ label is pasted. If she expresses a progressive view on what she wants from life, ‘its the evil of women’s liberation and misguided youth of today’. If a woman decides to walk out of a marriage she cannot handle, ‘its her problem that she couldn’t adjust’. If she decides to have a career and make all efforts to go up the ladder ,’ she has her priorities misplaced’. If a woman decides not bring kids into this big bad world, ‘ she is incapable of being a woman’. The accusations are plenty for every step a woman takes against conventions.

Its high time we moved out of the archaic value system, that has been twisted and tested to suit people’s needs. Its a crime to blindly cling on to  conservatism to protect a retarded society. Education and literacy serves no purpose if the society is made regressive.

Why don’t I change the hostel and find a safer place to stay , you may ask?.

I was new to the town and absolutely clueless. Being the Archdiocese and all, the area has a plethora of convent run hostels. But, 95% of them were not ready to take in an employed girl who wouldn’t return from work before 6 p.m. So, why are these hostels run anyways and could somebody explain the logic behind the 6 p.m deadline? Its not like Satan would cross the gates and destroy the sanctity of the place along with me if I returned from work after 6 p.m and they let me in.

The only other option left was to find a house for rent. Now a single unmarried girl comes with a baggage of trouble and juicy details for the entire house owner association in the area. I knocked doors only to have the doors slammed on my face or the nicer people’s nod of regret when I mention I’m all alone. People are apprehensive about giving a girl a safe place to stay. Nevertheless, all ears and eyes and tongues are in action if they see her walking/ traveling alone at nightfall.

Did I say I live in a district with 100% literacy and 200% hypocrisy?

(I do not intend to generalize against the entire mallu clan here. There are genuinely nice people who do respect women and treat them as dignified individuals.  But, a few  bad experiences in the recent past have been building up a volcano of frustration and it had to explode today. Had to vent!)

Banker’s Banter-III

*Curious case of the IT Commissioner(Retd MIND ITTT) and a pair of shoes

“Koche, give me an interest certificate for my HTL”, a man in his 60s appeared out of nowhere and commanded while I was peering into the computer screen and waited for a certain page to load.

I looked up amused, pretended to be polite, painted the smile on my face and took his application.  As the number 6XXXXXXXXX.. stared at me on the face, I let out a gasp, did a momentary analysis of the specimen and blurted out,” Sir, are you sure this is the account number?”

Old man lost his patience now. “What are you saying? That I don’t know the account number of my own housing loan. Kids these days, know nothing. I’m  Mr.XYZ, retired Income Tax Commissioner, Mind IT!. Blah blah….

The blood boiled while I was shivering in the blast freeze air conditioning enabled branch. ” Sir, but this cannot be ours” , I took step two of trying to convince an arrogant retired sarkaari naukar.

“I have the passbook with me”, Commissioner roared and pulled out a book from his bundle of pass books.

Triumph! The moment I had been waiting for. I grabbed the Passbook like a prized trophy and pointed to the Bright Blue letters. ‘STATE BANK OF TRAVANCORE’ it says.. I said…

Commissioner uncle was transported back to reality. He apologized and gave the correct one. I thought my penance for the day was done, when he barged in again furious. The footwear he’d left outside was stolen. I fail to understand the system of leaving the footwear outside the bank. A peculiar practice I’ve observed only in this part.

A few more outbursts on the footwear that cost 1500 bucks. By now I knew the brand, make, color and where the leather was imported from. Commissioner left totally disgruntled and I had to attend a call.

The next thing I see on my table is a bill for a pair of shoes and an account number  with a note ‘please refund’… FML

* Why I decided walking is healthy

People who’ve lived with me know how lazy I am in matters like fitness, health etc. One fine evening here, changed my life forever. I don’t hire an auto until its a do or die or get molested/killed by a drunkard in Changanacherry situation. The story goes like this…

It was getting dark, snakes of Changanacherry were out ( Mallu joke), the aroma of chicken fry from thattukadas were wafting in the air and I had to get back so that I won’t miss an opportunity to crib about the hostel grub. I hired an auto and  the driver left me at the hostel gate.

I was pulling out the notes from my purse when the driver says, ” You need braces?”

“I need what?”, I was taken aback.

” You need braces. I  gather you’re of the marriageable age and you need to look after your appearance. I’m a small broker. I can find guys.. I ‘ve a list of bankers with me..blah blah blah…”

“No, thank you”, I  tried to wriggle out of another ‘situation’

* Appearances can be deceptive

One of the first lessons imparted to us was on the ‘importance of eye contact’ and paying attention to a customer’s needs.

A man in his late 40s, clad in a ‘kasavu mundu’ and branded shirt stood outside my cubicle and seemed to be a bit lost. He looked like the typical NRI on vacation, who is confused at the state of affairs in a desi bank. I have a whole series to write about such characters.  But, I digress here.

I looked at him and asked, ” Yes sir?”

” Oru chaaya kudikkan paisa thaa koche” ( Give me money to drink tea, Rather a pretty lame excuse to polish off another bottle). So much for customer service

On their 30th Anniversary

30 Years ago, this is how it all began…

He saw her in a church at Bhopal ( so, they tell me), he fell for her and mustered the courage to approach the mighty cousin of hers. True to he2011/06/invit.jpg”>

Bhopal –>Kothamangalam –>Wadakkanchery–>Bhopal–>Bangalore –>Trivandrum–>Goa–>Kozhikode–>Bangalore–>Trivandrum … the route map hasn’t been easy on them all these years. Yet, they sailed through…

Its been 30 years…

of trying to find out who makes better ‘sambhar’ and whether one puts ginger in sambhar or not ( This was the first issue on which they had an argument after marriage) for which they haven’t found a solution yet.

In these days when relationships crumble in 30 seconds, 30 years is a long time to survive with each other.

Its tough to choose the person you want to spend a lifetime with, but my parents taught me its worth every bit of the risk.

WISH YOU A HAPPY ANNIVERSARY APPA & AMMA

and I wish someday I’ll get to have the sambhar where a bilateral agreement is made on the inclusion of ginger.

One step ahead

Once upon a time, birthdays used to celebrated. Until you climb up the ladder of twenties.

There are some of us, who were accorded stepmotherly treatment by stupid cupid ( courtesy DM). It was just not possible to find or accept someone, when you spent a lifetime celebrating the ‘joys of being single’. And then comes a time, when the panic button is switched on, alarms are raised, the full fledged ‘manhunt’ begins and you feel trapped.

“You’re getting the pic clicked today or else I will….”, the Mother almost issued a suicide threat. Yours truly who spent an entire week listening to the suicide threats of Kudumbashree members in Thrickodithanam couldn’t take anymore of such threats on a Sunday morning while regaining her consciousness from sleep overdose.

Showered and powdered, I was  dragged by my collar and hauled into a photo studio. The photographer tried to hide his smile on hearing “matrimonial type” pic, exactly the kind of humiliation I was trying to avoid. Lights were switched on and the camera assault began. What more can  you expect when you are made to smile at gunpoint, the gunpoint being the mother’s pointed stares…

“Don’t show your teeth, a faint hint of a smile will do”, Amma commanded. The photographer nodded in agreement and to add insult to injury said ,”Yes, She knows how such stuff is done pretty well”. I could almost imagine the photographer hiring my retired jobless Amma and handing over the letter of appointment as an assistant. The camera assault ended and the results were somewhat close to reality. Until the next day I found myself, rooted to a chessboard with an expression that clearly stated ,”What the hell am I doing here? This is so not me”

Clicked, processed, paid & uploaded, the manhunt commenced. Just in case you’re seriously wondering what to do with your life, please find a copy of Manorama’s sunday supplement and skim through the classifieds section. If you don’t feel suicidal please don’t take the pains to let me know.

The manhunt is an interesting process. With a pregnant roomie who has just completed her first trimester my enlightenment on Men of the world has increased manifold.

The default template is incomplete without god-fearing, religious  and someone with a right mix of traditional and modern values. Teehee I know what you mean. I should be traditional when it comes to my duty towards your family and modern when it comes to me ignoring your duty towards the Kerala State Beverages Board which is totally understandable. But, when I see statements like ‘she should adjust with my parents’, the blood boils, traces of having listened to lectures on gender studies and womens’ sociology once upon a time resurface and I begin ranting. Seriously dude!!!

3 months in the district with 100% literacy and I now realize the overrated importance of ‘aristocratic family’. Brand value for belonging to some mootil, kaatil, veetil, kuttil,  kalathil , parambil… In this 21st century  there are people who still uphold the significance of these names in fetching a good bid for their sons…I’m speechless.

Then again, I’m not alone in this. All I had to do was a random search and find a whole LOT of familiar faces. Mean Cupid, I must say.

The unfinished song…

Today as I ran my fingers through the keys, when I was struggling to gather the discordant notes to strike the right chord, when I had to brush up everything that used to be on my fingertips… tears welled up in my eyes. My chest felt heavy and yes I almost felt what it means to kill your soul.

There was a time when I imagined my future, where I could sense the power of creating music at my fingertips. Today it feels like I’ve even lost the ability to comprehend the intricacies.

I don’t know why am I rambling here…but as I lay my fingers on the keyboard that had been gathering dust for months now and found that my fingers wouldn’t dance like they used to before… I felt a certain part of my soul had died its silent death.

Banker’s Banter-II

Monday

Perched on the window seat, shutting out the noises of the world by plugging in my headphones, I was blending as an insignificant co-passenger to the Monday Morning blues of many. Little did I know, in a few minutes to come, I would be subject to my quota of 2 minutes of attention from everyone around me.

3 generations of women and an 8 year old boy who belonged to the fourth generation, sat next to me. When the boy was done with  his breakfast of the IRCTC packaged Masala Dosa, the grandmother made him wash is mouth and spit into the container. Alarm bells rang in my head, louder than the drumbeats of Greenday. ‘This lady is going to throw the packet with water, outside the window and the wind god will definitely redirect it in my direction”. I was strategizing on whether to politely ask her to wait until I moved or just get up. These are moments when you curse yourself for thinking in ‘pros and cons’. As I had anticipated, the water splashed across my arm. The grandmother apologized, pulled my arm across and started wiping my arm rigorously/vigorously. ( I don’t know which of the two would describe the effort best).  Heads turned, smiles sprang up, the appropriate looks of ‘ Oh how sad’ were given and then again, I was just an insignificant co-passenger.

Tuesday

One of the first Fulbright Scholars, a doctorate in Neuro Anatomy, still going strong with an undying spirit and complaining about not having learnt how to use a computer, this WOMAN had me in awe for the rest of the day, right from the moment I filled in her date of birth for her. 1926? What image do you have about life those days? And how many women from a small place like Chry got to do a doctorate in Neuro Anatomy in the 1950s?

No fairy tale is complete without a villain. Here, in the form of a grandson who forged her signature on the cheque.

Wednesday

In 2007, I was against Mallus who were a nuisance when they went out of the state.

In 2009, I was against Mallus who induced nuisance by claiming everyone who belonged to the above mentioned group were a nuisance.

In 2011, I am convinced, the Marunadan returnee Mallus are the greatest nuisance among them all. Honestly, dear retired uncles and aunties, I love to listen to your stories from across the states and countries, of your struggles and trials. Of your achievements and your well-placed children in Bangalore.

I was not prepared for this, “How dare you nitwit, a kid send a letter to me claiming to freeze my accounts if I don’t provide my id proof? I’ve been a customer in this Bank for past 30 years and no one ever troubled me like this. Myself and my wife, retired from Central government service in 1996 and we shifted to Chry. I don’t have any illegal money. My daughters are well-settled. My first one is a MD in paediatrics, married and settled in Canada. My younger one is also a doc ( wonder why the specifics were left out), settled in the US of A. Even though they are girls, they ask me if I need money. How can you just suspect me for no reason? You kids do not know anything! If my account is freezed, I will hang myself on this ceiling fan.” No wonder everyone called this Vikraman an ‘Akraman.’

Ref: RBI is strict about KYC ( Know Your Customer) rules to prevent money laundering. I had to inform account holders to  submit the relevant documents. Identity proof of each customer is compulsory, but some people take it as an insult or as a question mark on their ‘integrity’. The only way out is to feed the massive Marunaadan ego with a patient ear. So, now I’m really getting to know the customers.

I was the happiest person on earth by the end of the day. A few words of appreciation on this blog, from a stalwart…that just made my day.

Thursday

I got screamed at by another 60+ pensioner. I do not know why. I was sad. The feel good factor for the previous days was balanced. No electricity at night and I believed that I would be bitten to death by mosquitoes. This had to be my worst sleepless night ever!

Friday

Nothing  happened!

 

Saturday

The railway station. I’d rather not bore you with vivid descriptions

So, I sat there next to a woman in her late 60s, reading a book. Her teenage grandchildren were around, playing around with their mobile phones.

On the next bench, sat a group of nuns. I was lost in my own world, re-theorizing on cranky 60+ es, when a nun approached the lady sitting next to me. The conversation went like this.

Nun: Are you able to understand what is written in this book?

Old Woman: As the preface says, I need to read it with utmost concentration. But, still I’m finding my way through this.

Nun: Actually, I asked coz I am the author.

FREEZE

I now had my focus on the title, ” Rogashanthiyude Nighooda Rahasyangal”.

The nun belonged to SND, rather the ones who run Sophias in B’luru.

The Old Woman had retired as an Health Inspector.

Interesting snippets followed. They both belonged to the same place in Alleppey, they had gone to attend someone’s funeral, they were based in Trivandrum presently. Two people who were just destined to meet this way. But, how often do you get to meet an author of a lesser known book in a place like a railway station!

I sat there amused, again immersed in thoughts about what would have been the content of the book. A lady smiled at me and as a natural reflux I turned back to see if, she was really smiling at me or someone behind me. She came walking towards me and said, ” I saw you at the Bank, new officer no? Where are you going to?”. And this is happening to me often these days. To be recognized by random people. At the supermarket, at the medical shop, at the mobile recharge shop…

So much for ‘knowing your customers’

test…

I just realized I murdered tenses, articles,propositions and everything else associated with ‘dignity of language’ in the previous post. And isn’t that a sorry excuse to test if mobile blogging works?

Banker’s Banter-1

Now that I’ve drawn  my first salary and not a stipend, I can claim to be Banker with some dignity . A lot has happened over the past 26 days in the least expected ways.

Few weeks before I got my posting,  in a boisterous tone laced with prejudice and contempt against the Kuttanad, Kottayam Mallus I said,” I hope its not somewhere around Kottayam”. Life taught me to be more humble when the posting order contained the name exactly what I didn’t want to see.

I packed my bags, I was ready to go and shit scared. I was getting back to the nomad phase again. The first hostel I saw, was plain awful. Disgustingly dirty room the only one vacant apparently. The ladies thought I was being snob when I refused to live there coz, I didn’t have much options. Apparently,  God’s own brides in that part of God’s own country do not take in working women.

And then, the last resort or the lesser evil of the two, a municipality hostel it had to be. The stench was so overwhelming that I retched and puked the butterflies that were already there in my stomach ( talk about killing language)  the moment I stepped into the building. The loos were worse than a public toilet and my first thoughts were ,”This whole claim about Mallus being super clean is so overrated”. ( You know how we proudly poke fun at our neighbours who don’t have a bath). I had reached a dead end. There was no other place to stay and  I was told to ‘swalpa adjust maadi’ in the local dialect.

I entered my first branch. My first proper workplace. Its not funny when you trip and bang your head on the panels at the entrance with your appointment letter flying off your hand and your duppatta, the shield with an over qualification of being the protector of your Chastity gets torn by the thorns on a plant, purely kept for aesthetic purposes. I have stopped seeing random incidents as signs these days, but I don’t know whether to take this as one.

I went in and by some magic of the universe or the generosity of the 14 people who exist there, I was made to feel at home instantly. Each day is filled with a new discovery, each person with a story of his/her own yet manage to paint the canvas that is ADB, so perfectly. I knew this was going to be memorable for a ‘starter’.

Between opportunity and uncertainty

There are some of us, who go round in circles in search of a direction in life.  I’m just plain bored of saying ‘trying to figure out what to do with my life’.That is soo 2010ish.

Much has been bragged on this blog on how I broke down the chains of confinement in Mallu land and decided not to take up engineering. And the moment people heard Humanities, the coveted three letter post became my reason of existence for many. But, my life unlike me has a mind of its own. It takes decisions, makes me go along with the adventure ride…sometimes I’m left battered and bruised and sometimes euphoric.

A career choice does not come easy. I am always plagued by the sheer thought of ‘is this what I am going to do for the rest of my life?’. My first stint in a corporate work environment came in the form of GOOGLE internship. Though I spent some of the best days of my life there, with a lot of firsts coupled with it…like my first flight, the first time I went clubbing, my first drink ( and the last) my first b’day without having my parents around, my first ‘surprise b’day party’, my first visit to a 5star hotel,  etc etc. The fact that I remember and rejoice at everything about the experience, except my work there is an indication that, it was something I did not want to do for the rest of my life.

Next came a trailer edition of ‘what I wanted to do with my life’ in IIM-B. I haven’t blogged much about it. I wasn’t really comfortable with the idea of colleagues and friends seeing my rants. Pointless rants that too. I wanted to do a Ph.d and the place convinced me to go ahead with the plans. But, my parents were against it. 5 years was too much time to invest for a girl who had come of age. The constant battle continued between us (continues to do so). I suffered quite a few nightmares in terms of my parents’ health and had to let go for the time being. Its tough.

Meanwhile by fluke, I got selected as a ‘banker to every Indian’. Since, B was getting onto my nerves by then the only escape I had was to join. I had zero expectations from this. There are nights when I cried myself to sleep wondering, “why am I doing this”. There is no value attached, people were discouraging me and my ego was hurt. Big time. I even put a post in angst.But, a few people who really knew me and mattered saw me through that phase. D, the three most important As of my life, J, K and L, a big thank you.

I had the choice of slamming the door on opportunity or walk into uncertainty. The lure of something secure in the place where I always belonged was an opportunity I decided not to give a miss. 2 weeks hence, and no regrets as of now.

 

 

There is just so much to write about. But, for the first time ever, ‘time’ is a constraint.

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