A (the) Women’s Day

I had started collecting inputs for this piece almost a year back. My aim was to attempt and create a generational and gender progress chart in the landscape and perspectives pertaining to Women’s issues, especially in the workplace. Then, I did not have an original opinion to offer. I wish I could say that I have spent the last year contemplating and introspecting what it means to be a woman in the corporate world, I did not, honestly feel the need to.  Now that another Women’s Day has come and gone, just one of those days where I have hugged and wished and chatted with other women, ‘celebrating’ this day.  The spirit of it, feels lost.

Three events that happened today that struck me, one was a snide remark by male colleague that today we (the women) can walk “chauda ho kar” (puffed up), another was lack of clear understanding by any woman why Women’s Day is celebrated (I was part of this embarrassingly uninformed group), and lastly the inability or unwillingness of 10 women in an office of 60 men to sit down one day together for lunch to share food and conversation.

Male Bashing is and excellent sport besides being spectacularly easy (they make it so), I can write a thousand clever words on the subject which will elevate the readability of this entry. Unfortunately, it is not the answer, the irrefutable truth is that women are a minority in any workforce. Male opinions, as staggeringly uninformed as they might be, affect the quality of our work-life.  And the amount of resentment laced in that remark (walking 'puffed' up) and the prompt defensive justification when it wasn’t received in good humour are quite telling of the pervasive insensitivity and sheer lack of consideration for women. Put simply, men need to learn how to talk to women without being asses. There are a thousand shades of disrespect, and it comes in all shapes and sizes.

Another hurdle is that women don’t understand what women’s issues are, and very few actually care. Though, it does makes excellent drawing room conversation, and apparently is the ‘in’ thing to chat about. After all from Shabana Aazmi to Hillary Clinton, everyone seems to be talking about it. Words like 'empowerment', 'work-life balance', 'breaking the glass ceiling' have a nice sound and roll off the tongue quite easily. Women’s Day has become a sort of vacuous Valentine’s Day version of the concept, women wish each other, write mushy messages, exchange gifts, go out in packs and enjoy freebies at malls and restaurants. Without pausing to reflect why and what this day is meant to accomplish, which makes it, as a friend puts it “a mere farce of a day”.

“There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women” Madeline Albright has been quoted to say, I hope it doesn’t imply that we have to help ‘all’ women. Because, in that case we are doomed to roast till all eternity, all of us. Very few women believe in Gender Solidarity, women regard each other as competition. Unlike men, we don’t band together, we don’t believe in getting to know each other outside work, male colleagues go out for drinks together, but women don’t go out shopping together. We don’t think to take a younger female colleague under our wing, neither do we think of picking up the slack for another women in need.

An opiniated, but un-informed speech from a soap box is the last thing this day needs. Therefore, in my humble opinion, the best thing we can do on Women’s Day is prefix it with “just another”  rather than “the”. And that is a place to start. 

A Tourist In My Own City

View from the Minaret: Behind the Gate is Meena Bazar

The best part about vacations is playing a tourist, probably more than visiting a new place. Tourists are curious creatures- they wear fanny packs and white baseball caps, they ooh and aah at modes of transportation, marvel at the garbage dumps and worry about germs when eating Gol Gappas. Maybe only because they are paying to see this new place and have to rationalize their decision.

The undeniable truth is almost anything is forgiven when you are a stranger to the land- ignorance of food, customs, cultures, the inability to navigate the roads and constantly and irritatingly asking for directions. Being a tourist lends you a cloak of anonymity, an “I-don’t-care” attitude, and a less than usual consideration for public opinion.

So, when a friend suggested we play tourists in Delhi, and actually go inside monuments and heritage sites, we are usually content to admire from afar, walk past or reminisce about as locations of school picnics. I was daunted, his days in Delhi are numbered, mine are not. He may be able to justify spending perfectly good weekends inside historical monuments, jostling with real tourists, looking at obnoxiously smug honey-mooners. He will be gone but I will be here, at the business end of all the pointing and laughing. So after countless rounds of attempted cancellations, inventing unforeseen circumstances and praying for rains, even my fertile imagination ran out of fuel. A plan was made. To visit Old Delhi.

Chandni Chowk is definitely a “must-see” place for any tourist in Delhi, and for any Delhiite, it is “hope-not-see-it-very-often”. The world famous Jalebis are served next to freshly dug-out sewage, you tend to find yourself sitting next to obnoxiously smug, lassi chugging Punjabis at Durga Prasad Dixit Paranthe wala. If your kidney, lung and liver are still in place after the rickshaw ride through the tight katras, you are amongst the chosen few. The blindingly sparkling, sequins and what not studded sarees, make shopping an experience best to be avoided.

A non-GPS enabled navigation to Jama Masjid, found us in middle of the Sunday Market at Meena Bazar, discovering our way through thousands of shoppers, permanently on-going Metro construction, uncles trying to mow you down with their 30 year old scooters , was a feat that would have done Dora proud.

Though, Jama Masjid itself was a revelation. There is a certain escapist peace here, notwithstanding the funny mumu-type-thing clad foreigners and the loud guides. The long and terrifying climb to the minaret is aptly rewarded with an unparalleled view of the old Delhi. Amidst the bustle , the heat and the frenetic energy of Old Delhi- Jama Masjid is an oasis of cool calm. The simplicity of its construction and austerity of its form belies its religious and historic significance.  

Playing a tourist in your own city, might sound like the bohemian chic thing to do, recommended by most wannabe society posers without real jobs . And while there is a most definite “only-in-Delhi” charm to these unique settings and cast of characters, deep down inside I am just a weekend vegetable, a constructive weekend might just be a weekend spent doing nothing at all.