For Those of You Out There

... who need inspiration. Or a wake-up call.

In my circle of acquaintances, there is:

- A woman frustrated with her dead-end job in a male-dominated office in a male-dominated country.

- A woman steadily climbing the corporate ladder, respected and liked, and grateful to the predecessors who have paved the way for her.

- A woman whose husband has cheated on her. They're trying, everyday, to rebuild what once was, but it's a steep uphill climb.

- A woman whose husband cheated on her after 30 years of marriage. She unceremoniously threw him out, took hold of the reins of her family and her life, and is the happiest she's been in the past 3 decades.

- A woman who was accosted by a man in broad daylight on a busy street in a big city. People came to her aid as he tried to stuff her into a waiting van, but she still fears for the day when there will be no one around to hear her scream.

- A woman who has to ask her husband before spending a single cent of the money he earns. Resentful, she wishes she had gone back to work after the baby, had studied further, had chosen another life for herself.

- A woman who did choose another life for herself. And who glories in every pair of shoes or piece of jewellery she buys with her own hard-earned money.

- A woman who was forced to have an abortion 3 years ago. She still thinks about the baby, and what she would have named her, and what dress she would have worn on her 3rd birthday.

- A woman who wants a baby so badly, she's beginning to resent the woman who had the abortion, for abandoning something so precious, so desired.

- A woman who is in love.

- A woman who thinks she might have given up on love.

- A woman whose husband has never raised a hand to her, but beats her down every day with words, with gestures, with eye-rolls, with blatant disregard.

- A woman whose boyfriend adores her, wants to marry her, and can actually picture no greater bliss than spending the rest of his life with her.

- A woman who is happy and content.

- A woman who cannot remember the last time the word 'happy' crossed her mind, let alone her lips.

But every single one of them hopes. For more, for better, for themselves and for those around them.

When I read about this:

... I couldn't help but take the opportunity to tell (however briefly and however anonymously) the stories of these amazing women's lives.

Because, with everything they go through and everything they face, they ARE amazing, simply for getting up in the morning and putting on a smile for the world.

And I want to tag Nusy, Standy and JSO: so they can tell their own stories.

I Get By With A Lil' Help From My Friends...

There was a time in my life (mid-teens) when lines were clearly drawn, boundaries devoutly demarcated: friends are friends, best friends are best friends, potential love interests are fleeting, and NEVER the twain shall meet. These distinctions were important back then, because all my best friends were hormonal teenage boys who had an alarming propensity to suddenly develop this mysterious thing called “feelings” for me. I eventually worked out that these “feelings” coincided with me hitting puberty and developing a decent-sized rack, so I managed to maintain a healthy sense of skepticism and didn’t let the attention go to my head (much).

Around the time I hit 20, I had a stellar group of friends and we were all quite grounded in our love for each other – it was there, it was solid, it was non-negotiable (much to the chagrin of several over-possessive girlfriends and boyfriends who came and went). If there was a time when any of us within the group suspected we might be developing feelings for each other (and you throw a group of 20-somethings together, it’s kinda inevitable), we dealt with it with a minimum of fuss and drama – things NEVER worked out (sad, but true), so we quietly went back to being best friends and promptly resumed the ridiculously comfortable camaraderie we had always shared. I don’t know whether this was a sign of the maturity we possessed (I SERIOUSLY doubt it) or simply the fact that it was ingrained in our psyches that no relationship (or lack thereof) could ever possibly be as satisfying as the friendship we shared.

I often wonder why things didn’t go better. There have been several men and women in the group who have, on occasion, suddenly seemed to wake up to the fact that maybe they felt more than just friendship. But despite knowing each other for eons, knowing every thought and feeling and PMS-induced moodswing, things would invariably go awry. When you’ve known someone for years and years, does that make it easier or more difficult to fall in love with them? I wonder if getting into a relationship when you’ve already seen the frog’s warts is a bad idea…those relationships where you keep discovering things about each other seem to work out better than the ones where you’ve seen each other in tattered boxers, or without make-up, or witnessed each others’ severe morning breath on overnight trips to Pune and Goa.

It’s been about a decade now, and all of us are in our mid-to-late 20s, scattered across the globe; some dating, some engaged, some blissfully single and some scarred by past relationships. Distance and jobs and different time zones make it difficult for us to talk everyday, but we’re all so secure in the knowledge that we love each other, it doesn’t matter. Boyfriends and girlfriends will come and go, but we’ve all stood the test of time, and bad hair days, and acne, and psychotic significant others. The days of wondering ‘what if’ about each other are over, because we’ve settled into our comfortable grooves…furniture, if you will…I’m the bean bag in front of the tv, N.M. is the sofa in the corner, D.S. is the recliner over there…etc. We’ve confidently declared that we’re all pooling in our money to buy a huge house so we can all move in together – something big enough to give each of us our own space, but small enough to keep us close together. And, of course, we’ll all be going into the same retirement home in our 80s, where we’ll terrorize the staff by having wheelchair races in the corridors.

Childish fantasy? Sure. Unrealistic? Maybe. Naïve? Definitely.

But it keeps us going. It’s our version of happily ever after.

Another V-Day Goes By...

…And it’s celebrated, if not quite in B’bay style, then similarly enough: surrounded by good friends, with good conversation and most importantly, good food (sadly, terrible music, though)! The 14th saw my friends here (most of whom are either in long-distance relationships, like Abby, or away from significant others on the day, like NV and RV) get together at first a coffee shop and then a local sheesha joint to band together for a good ol’ gossip session over kebabs, burgers, pasta and sinfully gooey chocolate cake.

We’re hardly the most cerebral or sentimental bunch of 20-somethings, so I wonder if it’s the day itself that got us talking about relationships: past, present and yet-to-be-explored; marriage: NV just got engaged and the rest of us solemnly swore not to think about it for another decade; children: how many we want, whether we’ll adopt, where we’d like to bring them up. So different from the normal who-got-drunk-and-did-what-with-whom-last-weekend boredom. Not that I’m saying this should become a staple fixture in our conversations, but it made for a great change of pace.

Sometimes I look around and wonder if we’re waking up to the world more as we move further into our 20s, or actually becoming more and more self-involved. Is it the place we live in and the people we surround ourselves with that shape us (however temporarily), or is it our efforts to break away from these norms and establish some sense of individuality? Because to be honest, individuality seems to be in short supply around here.. And if we’re just sheep following the rest of the herd, what does that say about us and who we’re becoming? And what if the shepherd’s incompetent or misguided or just leading the herd to slaughter?

Argh, nevermind. I think this is just my brain’s way of telling me that relationships and personality traits are best not contemplated when I’m sleep-and-Coke-deprived.

Words To Live By...

I had the profound privilege and pleasure of sitting in on a talk given by Dr. Shashi Tharoor, Minister of State for External Affairs of India, the day before yesterday (or, as he put it, a bilateral meeting of minds) and found myself utterly fascinated by how he took the everyday, ordinary, even mundane facts around us and made everyone say "Oh...yeah...didn't see it that way. Huh. Wow."

Case in point being when a member of the audience asked him how he felt about being a "misfit in the Indian political scene" and whether that made him a "target of the press' taunts and his seniors' ridicule" his response was affable and disingenuous: "I find myself objecting not to the tone of the question, but to the single word 'misfit', which implies that there is only ever one fit for everything." It's never just about square pegs and round holes, but learning to accommodate, to pare rough edges, to widen smaller niches. I love that this is something EVERYONE knows, but it takes this man to say it for people in the audience to sit up, look around at their neighbours and say "Hmmm. Yes."

His following words were even better. "As for inviting taunts or ridicule, well, something new always does, doesn't it? There will always be minds that are sluggish to accept change. And as I often ask the veteran reporters who bombard me with these questions: 'Well, how would you feel if some new reporter came in and took the job you felt you deserved, along with all the accolades and attention?'"

Is it weird to have a fan-girl crush on a politician?

Finally!

I am a woman of means again! Not substantial means, mind you, and I'm not going to be gifting my friends Lamborghinis or Maseratis anytime soon (got that, N.M.?), but at LAST I got my work visa sorted out and started working!

Turns out finance companies don't deal with numbers any less than banks do...which is a fairly obvious conclusion. I'm so in the wrong line of work! Is it too late to erase the last few years of my life and sign on for an English or History major instead? I'm sure librarians get paid enough to keep them in a steady supply of Coke and strappy-little-shoes and Lindt Hazelnut chocolates, right? And really, what more does a woman need?

Although, to be honest, it might be more sensible to knock off the Coke and the chocolates - I've been going to the gym religiously for the past month and I've managed to PUT ON 2 kilos. The trainers are all mystified. The little fridge by my bed (which holds my secret stash of After-Eights, Toblerones and Patchis) explains it all, though... Then again, as my friends are always quick to point out: if I was more sensible, I wouldn't be me.

I keep trying to remind myself that I love them.

But sometimes it's hard.