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To those who do not know, TED(:Ideas Worth Spreading) is pretty much a global platform to spread ideas by some amazing people all over the world. Head over to their site to learn more, be inspired, informed and, as my club’s advisor puts it, “socially conscious.” TEDIndia interested me most for very obvious reasons. From Usha Uthup to Pranav Mistry to Shashi Tharoor, Indians and lovers of the country from a wide array of fields spoke at the conference last November. Though I didn’t agree with each and every word spoken, I loved the whole idea, the whole effort to create new bridges and reinforce the old ones.
I am just going to highlight a few I found most touching, though I’d actually recommend watching ALL of them. That is, if you have the time, the patience and lots of snow on the ground.

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Sunitha Krishnan. As this video came to a close, I literally cried. (Then again, I cry every 5 minutes… well, not exactly but..) A lot of people often ask me why I have this disgust factor of a lot of males around me. I’m not old enough so I can’t have that strong of a feeling right? Wrong.
When I was in Fourth grade- nine? ten? something of that sort, I went to a little school in Kerala on a big bus with a grand blue border. My school buses were nice and fun. The older boys in the back sang songs on the way, everyone laughed and clapped and had fun. This is exactly what I expected from buses! But one day, my aunt and I went on a public bus, cream and maroon and big- the bus station was filled with them. I had never seen them before so it was with childish curiosity and amazement that I prepared to go. My aunt sat on the window side and I sat on her lap. An old woman sat next to us- she kept pinching my cheeks and saying something about the way I smile. I was nine! Not five! Oh well, I’ve always looked younger. There were lots of people on the bus. A lot of them were standing in the middle and holding on to metal railings on the top. There were a group of school students there, with white shirts, green skirts and green ribbons in their hair. I loved how girls in schools here wore ribbons. There were silky and fun to play with! There was a man sitting there  near the center aisle. He looked like my dad- a bit bald and a little beard! He looked at me and smiled, I smiled back. I miss my papa; if he was here, he’d take me on his bike. I was thinking these thoughts and looking at the man when I noticed something. His right hand was lifting up her green skirt. It took a minute to register. She was smaller than me. I looked out the window. I was confused more than anything. No one said anything, no one noticed and the bus went on normally. As we walked past the man to get off at our stop, he smiled at me. I didn’t smile back.

Then there’s domestic violence. It’s as much our culture as rice is or bindis and saris are. But I don’t want to write about that now. Going back to sexual exploitation. Kerala holds the “award” for the highest suicide rates in the country! Most literate and most suicidal- what a great combination. The statistics for females in the 15-29 age group is ridiculous! Out of the world and totally, totally unjustified. How many of those were women who were sexually exploited? It’s ridiculous. If a woman is raped, we shun her. We shut her out of society and bar her from any kind of normal life. This is justice. If a child is sexually abused by her own father, she suffers double! Because outside her house, she feels like she has no support; society marks her the culprit, not the victim. Because WE do not understand the definition of EMPATHY. I have a friend my age whose story is just that. She attempted suicide too. Thank God she failed. Why must we do this?
Yea, yea, everyone is not like this. But I feel like I have a grander chance of winning the lottery… Add “no offense”s as needed.

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Okay, deep breath. Eight freaking men?? Five-year old?! Deep freaking breath. When I was 15, a neighbor came to me crying, saying that a group of college kids were harassing  her. The fear in her voice and the determination in Ms.Krishnan’s. It’s the really not that different, you know, rape, taking inappropriate pictures in stealth, making stupid comments and belittling a girl to such a point that her sexuality is her biggest curse.

I’d rather wear a purdah on the outside than be veiled on the inside. Everyfreakingday. Yes, this is anger.

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Asher Hasan. A Pakistani with grand thoughts of Pakistan and India. I like. Even such a simple line as “I’m a Pakistani and I’m not a terrorist” or “I’m Indian and I do not hate you” is enough. The more we talk, the less we differ. Very touching.

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Ryan Lobo. Pictures can tell a million stories, much more than words. Not to mention, I especially like the way he talks because a couple years ago, I was introduced to storytelling. It’s a great tool to get across to many communities, relate ideas and share in some kind of worldliness. And as a speaker as one of the storytelling conferences I attended once said, stories are like beads, of different colors and shapes, that together create a beautiful strand of humanity, in differences and in unity. He’s another proof of that.

A few others to look up either on youtube or on the TED site- Shaffi Mather, a man committed to fighting corruption through an innovative idea (Keralite represent!), the very first video that got me into this in the first place- Shashi Tharoor whom I absolutely adore and Kartick Satyanarayan, with a story about saving dancing bears and their human owners. Those were my favorites but there are more amazing people.
So, let’s talk.

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“We are an insane people trying to do an impossible task and an insane person does not know what an impossible task is.”
-one of those speakers, I can’t remember who. Watch them all and let me know. ;]

Who is she? That woman in black. Her wails stand out among the sounds of the mob. No one knows her and yet, the face remains familiar. She follows the hand of Hades, Yama, Mors and Odin. The city’s funerals all boast of her presence. The few sensible among the mob wonder about her identity but most are comforted in their silly thoughts and despondent pretenses. Who is she? Perhaps another “funeral junkie”? Perhaps.

But do not, even for a second, underestimate her capacities. Her lachrymal institutions overwork and her voice box, with the depth of deep-sea waterways, fill the room with sounds better apt for an opera house. This is perhaps her sole work and she does it with full sincerity.
A means of life in death.

Where is she from? Some say she emerges in these desolate places only to get food. Others say for the prestige. But weddings would be better apt for that- don’t you think? Funerals. They offer neither banquets nor guests in the mood for compliments. But there she is. I…
I think it’s a disease.

The necrophiliac is about to leave. Her eyes are puffed in scarlet red. In her absence, the house quakes in dead silence, embellished with sniffles and soft tears. The remaining some speculate that she might be her- the body in the coffin- in mortal form. Others are too educated for that. A psychiatric disorder perhaps, sans hibiscus atop auricles. But why them? Why here? The city is only worth her presence along deaths and funerals. Where is she really from?

The black sari-clad woman, with long, uncombed hair and a small bottle of scent… who is she to them?

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“Funeral junkie”- an awesome expression from The God of Small Things, by Arundhati Roy.
(Yes, I quote her about 20 times a day. That’s what I get for reading the novel about 57 times… about.)

ഞാന്‍ ഞാനല്ലാതാവുമൊ?
വീട് ശബ്ദിക്കാതെ അലങ്കരിക്കാന്‍
ഒരു പുരാവസ്തു
നാളെ ആന്റീക്ക് കടയില്‍
എന്റെ ചുറ്റും കല്ലും പാഷാണവും

എനിക്ക് കാണാം

അഭിപ്രായം ഇല്ലാതെ അഭിലാഷം ഇല്ലാതെ
ആഗ്രഹം ഇല്ലാതെ ആലംബം ഇല്ലാതെ
സുന്ദരമായൊരു സ്ത്രീവിഗ്രഹം
നീ വില്‍ക്കുന്നത് വരെ
ജനാലയ്ക്കരികെ നിന്‍ മേശപുറത്ത്
ഞാനല്ലാത്ത ഞാന്‍
ഒരു പുരാവസ്തു

നിന്നെ എനിക്ക് പേടിയാ

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I go to the mall once in a while with my friends. We’d be a group of girls just walking in the mall, sometimes loud and sometimes quiet, but no matter our mood or our noise level, we always seem to attract unwanted attraction. “Hey beautiful!” men, or perhaps I should call them boys, would yell and crowd around us, “Wanna come over tonight? I have a king.” No, I don’t. I can’t stand it. Sometimes I feel like I hate the other half of the population because of this. Sometimes I can’t imagine that there actually is a male who doesn’t do that, who doesn’t judge me solely on my appearance. Yes, I am oppressed. I’m oppressed that the size of my breasts, the tone of my skin or the shape of my lips hold more value than my intelligence or hard work. No matter what you say, here in the Western world or even in a country like India, even the most esteemed of women are judged by a sexual innuendo. No matter how we dress, how quiet we are, how hard we try to be unnoticed, the fact that we are female outstands all those efforts. On the other hand, I find Muslim women blessed and liberated. With the power of a burqa or a niqab or even a hijab, Muslim women are liberated from being judged only by the aforementioned. They can now hold a stand based on intelligence, piety and personality. That is true freedom.

On July 22, 2009, the French President, Nicholas Sarkozy, claimed that burqas are “not welcome” in his country. “In our country, we cannot accept that women be prisoners behind a screen, cut off from all social life, deprived of all identity.” Excuse me while I laugh. This ‘social life’ thing has been brought up before. Italy’s Romano Prodi said that banning niqab is “common sense” because it (niqab) makes social relations “more difficult.” Again, what do they think? Have they even talked to a Muslim woman before? If seeing a person completely is a requirement to have a social life, ban text messaging-we’ll see how long American teens can last. And phones, faxes, letters, emails, IMs and even radios. Social life, my foot; that’s the excuse to use when there really is no reason at all except pure ignorance and discrimination.

Sarkozy wants to liberate women. Who’d have thought that he’s today’s best Susan B. Anthony or Betty Freidan? What is liberation? Binge drinking, porn, casual sex and TV shows that demean the value of women to be only that of a sexual toy. Or, being respected for yourself without the barrier of a physical appearance if you choose. Being free from unwanted eyes, free from eve-teasers, free from those aspects of womanhood in the modern world that I hate. I don’t know about you but I choose the latter. To Sarkozy, “fermez la bouche! Vous ne savez pas que vous dites.” (who’d have thought 5 years of French would actually be useful?

It’s the apparent gender bias that I hate the most. Once I was talking to my Japanese friend casually about stiff cotton churidar shawls and how they’re so hard to use as a veil during mass. She then asked me whether the men had to cover their heads too and of course, I replied no. My friend asked whether I find it discriminative that we’re forced to wear them while men don’t have any such restrictions. Doesn’t modesty and respect go for both genders? I didn’t know how to reply to that. If I had agreed with her, I would be saying something against the church that I supposedly love and if I disagreed, I would be lying.

The world has changed so much. Humanity, as a whole, has found new horizons. The society (or at least the mainstream one) no longer kills newborn girls or forces women to kill themselves after their husbands died. Women can vote and in the eyes of justice, has all the rights a man has. She can live independently. She can find her own path. For God’s sake, the President of India is a woman (Note To America: and you dare call our culture misogynistic?).

Before the 4th century, women were not even allowed in the church but some heroic women raised their voices against that injustice and that problem was solved evolutionarily. But our church has not come any further from that baby step they took then. The “biggest leap” it has made since then is to allow women to sit in during the General Meetings; sit in without being able to voice their opinions. What good does that do? If we can’t speak, what’s the point of it at all? It is better to not attend than sit with our mouths taped.

Why can’t women be deacons? When did Jesus say women are not allowed in the altar? Mary Magdalene washed Jesus’ feet with perfume; becoming one of the first deaconesses. Phoebe, Prisca, Aquila, Mary, Tryphosa, Persis, Evoda and Syntyche were all helpers of St. Paul in the early church. So why can’t we still be? God created Adam and Eve, not just Adam. If he was good on his own, Eve wouldn’t have been needed. Why are there one set of rules for men and another for women?

Our society has changed but the church is still stuck in the past. Any human institution can only survive through change. Take the example that the Ashoka Chakra teaches: there’s life in movement and death in stagnation. If the church’s primitive treatment of women is not changed, the new generation that is raised in the secular West is going to view the whole church as an outdated organization, one not worth being a part of. The women need to envision change and step up, and the men need to realize that having a Y chromosome does not make them superior.

You know what I noticed? In almost all Mohanlal-Mammooty-Superstar movies, the movies that supposedly define manhood, they hit the women. It’s never out there, in front of the screen. Rather, it’s just like something in the background, like someone drinking coffee in the morning, something normal. So what if a husband hits his wife now and then? So what? It’s not abuse, they say. She said that and this, she annoyed me so I hit her.. that’s what you do to a dog. Where do you draw the line between these slaps of disciplining and abuse? There just is no line. An adult woman doesn’t need your disciplining, thank you very much. Hitting children can be perhaps justified in that manner but hitting someone who’s your equal can’t, no matter what. So why do we consider it normal? Why is it that even when we hear stories of people like Kiranjit Ahluwalia, we don’t truly believe? We tend to distance her story from the story of the Kirans we know. No, it’s just not the same, we think. How many uncles we know hit the aunties? Count. And whose fault is it? The man’s, for his actions, or the woman’s, for not speaking up? Or is it society’s, for defining normal so unfairly?

Divorce in my society is looked down upon. Good respectable women don’t get divorced. What happens in the family stays in the family. I wonder, is our honor more important than our freedom? I wonder why nothing ever gets done. There are so many groups who are helping women but the extent to which they can be helped is so slight comparatively. Still, so many women die at the hands of their husbands, the people who promise to love and take care of them throughout their life… Normalcy has to be changed first. Especially among us, Indians. Arranged marriages; no, the fault isn’t within the system but within the people’s minds. If your husband beats you, get out. I don’t understand why that’s such a hard concept. Just get out. I really don’t understand.

If I ever get married to an MCP who even raises his hand against me once, I swear he’ll never raise his hand again.