Women in Rape

Recently media has been flooded with news of rape in India. Having gone through sexual abuse at a very early age, I cannot even begin to imagine what rape victims go through, no matter what their age. When I was finally brave enough to talk about what happened to me, I realized it was not only our men who needed to be educated, and in some cases have their penises chopped off, but the women were equally part of this disastrous mindset that plague our society and culture.

If you know me well enough, you will know that I always say, a country that cannot respect its women, is far from being developed. But where women don't respect other women, is a society that will breed evil far worse than we can imagine.

I think the problem is far deep-rooted than what we'd like to see or believe. When I first talked about what happened to me as a child, one of the first reactions from an elderly woman, who I had previously loved and looked up to, was, "Why did you not say anything earlier? Did you enjoy it?" As an 8th grader, one thing I was sure of. I would probably never enjoy "it" and if I could bring justice down on the person who did that to me, I equally wanted justice for this woman who had asked me this horrific question.

These are the women who give birth to sons and set examples of how to respect other women. And this is the reason it is not all the men's fault. As mothers, we have shown our kids it is okay for the men in our families to treat us a certain way. We have reminded our sons over and over again, they are superior over their sisters and have taught them how to mistreat their wives, because as mother-in-laws we have done exactly the same. We have prayed every night in order to conceive this superior being in our wombs and have been a part of destryoing the girl child. As mothers we taught our daughters to cover up and avoid men and be introverts. We've asked them not to wear pretty clothes or use makeup or do anything that might enhance their beauty and warned them over and over again of the evil that presides and put the fear of rape in them whenever they got ready to leave the house. Sadly we never put the fear of rape in our sons when it came time for them to venture out. Thus rape happens in our streets, schools, police stations and even in our homes.

We've been this way for centuries. And no matter how modern or developed as a country we think we get, we always end up in the news as a country with the largest number of rape cases. Yes, I agree we also make the news with some brilliant achievements worldwide hidden between coverage of corruption charges, film stars and cricketers, but these are the things that keep us awake at night, make us switch the channel or close our screens when our kids walk past.

I sit here in California, by the poolside of my apartment where majority of the resident population are Indians due to the proximity of my apartment to a hi-tech company. We are inevitably the smart race. But here too, I see the difference between our sons and daughters, husbands and wives. And even though we are writing code and building systems that will shape the future of the world, we are also establishing the stepping stones of how these boys and girls will perceive our gender moving forward. It is as much the responsibility of our men, as it is our women, to bring change. And by change, I mean, to revert back to our scriptures and worship our women rather than abuse them.

And just as an FYI, I definitely did not enjoy "it."

You Know You Need a Life When...

• You go to get your nails done and realize this is the ONLY male touch you have experienced in over a year. Your heart flutters till you look up and see his face.
• Your first week night off, you station your ass on the couch for 6 straight hours and watch TV.
• Your second week night off, you spend drinking with your boss who is also a priest.
• Your ex-boss keeps texting you videos of all the renditions of "let it go" he comes across.
• You decide to start working out, but end up eating 4 dosas along with other meat related stuff and washing all that down with some wine.
• You look forward to Monday nights when you can watch the recorded Devious Maids episode.
• You originate from India, but get really upset when Brazil gets their asses whooped at the World Cup semi-finals, which results in all-day moronic Facebook updates.
• Your daughter rolls her eyes and says, "Mommy, are you listening to love songs AGAIN?"
• The rare Friday you get off work early, you decide to schedule dance practise.
• You make up for 13 years of good driving record with your first ticket which is a red light violation you got trying to make a right turn.
• Your Facebook page gets flooded with photos of you wearing sarees and posing with the same people every weekend, weekend after weekend and getting tagged in the same photos taken by everyone at the event.
• You get home and write stupid blog posts.

When Moms Take the Night Off!

Its almost noon. I have barely moved an inch. I desperately need a shower, my armpit smells like Kolkata's waste disposal area. For all of you who have cringed each time you passed Dhapa while driving through the Eastern Bypass, you know exactly what I mean. But I continue to lounge on my couch and look at the clock. My brain is probably waiting for a sign when the clock tells me it is now the right time for me to move my ass.

This is what happens when three moms decide to go out one night and paint the town red. We forget our kids have sucked up every ounce of our energy. After one drink we forget we have no energy left. So we move on to the second one. The conversation starts to get really interesting. We are actually beginning to have fun. Time for the third drink. This makes us laugh a lot and we start talking to strangers. We begin to think we are finally living our lives. Everything feels so good. I am in reality talking to adults and not putting up animal shows with imaginary animals who live with us. What better could I want from life? I of course don't want this moment to stop. Not surprisingly, the cosmos keep coming.

By the end of our fourth or fifth (who's counting?) the inevitable happens. The moms are ready to shake some mommy booty. Right at that moment it sounds like a brilliant idea. None of us can remember when we were out dancing last. So we haul our asses to a nightclub and somehow manage to take whoever was in the restaurant bar with us. It seems the cosmos have made us social butterflies and I feel I can conquer the world.

What follows is a few more hours of crazy dance moves and lots of laughter. We forget kids, husbands, work and we live in the tiny moment we have allowed ourselves amidst our absolutely crazy lives and schedules. And we do the craziest thing of all - stay on till the club closes and we are actually asked to leave. Mommy Night Out mission accomplished!!!

Sad thing is, I'm not really hung over this morning (wait, noon). I'm just plain tired, which tells me I'm getting too old for this. Which also makes me make the point - no matter whether I am being a mom or not - I'm ending up tired. What the hell??? As I write, I have a group text going on with a few friends trying to plan a weekend getaway which will consist a lot more of what I just talked about. Why does that make me want to crawl back into bed and do nothing substantial today?

Well, there is laundry I need to take care of and groceries I need to get. Also, the clock is finally sending its signals. Wait no! My armpits are the ones sending me the final signals this time. No time to waste!

Thanks dear girlfriends for the much needed night out. All of the above states what a fun time was had. Just that, I probably need a whole month (might even be a year) to recover from it - LOL!

The Goddess in Me

You have insulted me. You have unfriended me. You have held me and said, “you are like a daughter to me”,  just to backstab me. You have spread rumors about me. You have scandalized me. You have spoken about me. You have not spoken to me.

“You” are some of the respected members of the Bengali community in Sacramento. Some of you have now known me for over a decade. Some of you barely know me. But you are all somehow united in your judgment about a personal life decision I made two years ago.

I think it is now time I thanked you for your contribution in my life.

Why, you ask?

Because it is “you” who unleashed the goddess in me. Each time you tried to crush my soul and make me your scapegoat, you helped me rise. Each time you ignored me and my daughter, you helped me become stronger. Each time you tried to prove your own lame existence, you made me live.

I have often been questioned why I still choose to attend certain functions and gatherings knowing you will be there.  You see, I am not like you. I don’t have to hide and crawl. I have not done anything to you that makes me feel that way. In fact I quite enjoy you trying to do the avoiding and disappearing act. That is exactly how you should live - in fear. Because its time you realized, the goddess lives in me. Not in the ones sitting in your cabinets, that you pray to every day.

The Sound of Music

When dark clouds overtake the normally sunny blue skies of where I live, I’m usually transported back to my school days. This transportation also stems from several old photo albums I found, while packing last night.

As of this morning, I’m a bit nostalgic and listening to songs that are not quite helping my situation to concentrate on the present task at hand.

While I listen to my playlist, I realize, there are quite a few songs that are so intertwined with a specific person or memory I have. So much so, it seems like it was just the other day.

Whenever I hear the song “Bahon ki Darmiya”, I cannot help but think of my “boyfriend” from 11th grade. All the lame excuses to run out of the house to see him, hold hands and feel like we were in “love”. I almost killed my best friend of a heart attack when she realized I was dating this guy. It all went downhill after I saw his dad in a “lungi” smoking “bidi”.

Songs from the movie “Pukar” most definitely remind me of my dating days in Bahrain. With hopes of a romantic evening, I had trotted along with my date to the theater, to watch said movie, hand-in-hand, head resting in his shoulder. Eventually his head ended up in my shoulder, his loud snores muffling the filmy dialogues. He had made a request prior to dozing off - to wake him up when Madhuri Dixit came on the big screen, clad in her blue chiffon saree, standing on the glaciers somewhere in Alaska and for just that  tiny moment, there was romance in the air. I cannot help smile to this date when I hear the song “Kismat se tum”

The women of Bollywood should protest to this nonsense. While women are expected to be skimpily clad in the snow, the men are cuddled up in warm clothes AND gets to snuggle with the actress. In olden days they made babies this way in movies such as “Aradhana”.  Another movie with great songs. But I digress.

The song, “Jab koi baat bigar jaye”, I think has the same effect on women of my generation, no matter which state or school you come from. This song just reminds me of my group of friends and all things school.

“Tum aye to aya mujhe yaad” takes me back to my friend’s flat in Jodhpur park. The endless adda sessions while sipping Old Monk and Coke and smoking packets of Wills, trying to forget my battles with dad at home. My induction to Bangla Band music was at this very sanctuary of the Sen residence. The red cover of Mohiner Ghoraguli’s audio cassette will never leave my memory. Amidst the endless cups of chai, some random Presidency students, and swirls of smoke, we would blast “Prithibi” and feel one with the universe.

Going back even farther, songs from “Qyamant se Qyamat Tak” takes me back to that day that went down in the history of Gokhale hostel - we had coerced our Matron to take us on a field trip to watch this movie in a theater. Watching Aamir’s sweet face light up the big screen lit up our tiny hearts and made it the best day of our lives, in times when all we had was a lousy radio to keep us entertained.

“Dil hai Chota Sa” transports me back to the Ambassador Taxi that held ten of us girls. We had the driver take us to Esplanade to watch that year’s biggest Bollywood blockbuster - “Roja”. Since we decided to bunk Madhyamik PT practice, we were in our school uniforms - probably the dumbest thing we ever did. The school got a call from someone of authority at the theater, notifying them ten of their schoolgirls were missing. The icecream we shared that day was the best icecream I will ever taste. I just wish I could savor it more - thanks to you - Sapto - our’s was the first one to be gone. Learned life’s biggest lesson that very day -NEVER to share my food.

“Que Sera, Sera,” will always remind me of you - Sapto. You were the ONLY crazy person in school who wanted to hear me sing, that too this song of all songs. Sumana - every time I hear Cliff Richards or Carpenters, even WHAM, I think of you and those weekend afternoons of “Band Box” on the radio - the segment that would play English songs. I knew, if not anyone, you would be listening with me. And I would feel very “cool” the next day in class when I could join in with your English music conversations.

Gone are those days. But the songs still remain with these special memories etched into each one of them, never to leave my heart. And in this day and age of gadgets and electronics, whenever I see clouds, my mind still wanders back to that junior dorm black box radio and its sounds. Little did I know then, that the music coming out of it would shape my life forever.

Being your Mother

Every single day I teach you to become more and more independent. Mainly because I think you need these skills to do well in life. Every night as part of that process, I encourage and most times force you to sleep on your own bed, and tell you, you are not alone, you have your glow pets and princess dolls to give you company. I tell you that all other kids your age sleep this way and you should be like one of them. Deep down, I want you in my bed, and even though I don’t sleep well with all your kicking, I sleep better than when you are not in bed with me.

You turned 7 today, and while I said my goodbyes at school, I realized very soon you won’t need me to drop you off at school. You won’t need those last minute hugs and kisses and most definitely will prefer to hang out with your friends than with your mommy. I look around at the other kids who couldn’t care less if their parents were in the room, and even though there are moments I am jealous that those kids are so hands off, I know you are special and cherish each of those moments you don’t want to let go of me.

This past year I’ve seen you work very hard, both at home and at school. I’ve felt your struggles to fit in socially, to try and perform in ways that is expected out of you.  I have experienced your transformation every single day and all I can say is I am very proud of you.

I am also very sorry, because I wish you lived in a world that was less judgmental, that did not require you to be a certain way. Which is why it was absolutely phenomenal to see you at school this morning wearing the outfit you had picked for your special day. It was a complete disaster – but it was YOU. And even though my first reaction was that of shock and a need to tell the world I had nothing to do with it, I couldn’t help but see how happy you were, and laugh about whatever other people might be thinking of the way you were dressed in school today. I did not have my camera with me, but this image will never leave my memory.

I know I am your hardest critic and push you every single day to be a well-behaved girl. But what I don’t tell you more often that it is okay to let go and be yourself and pursue things you love in any way or form. Today, on your birthday, I promise to do that more - to listen to your heart and mine, to value your opinions and personality, and to thrive in the glory of who you are and who you are meant to be.

That’s what being your mother is all about and I want to cherish ALL our moments together.

I Have a Dream!

I honestly don't know why people are making such a big deal about NSA surveillance and the storage of phone metadata. I mean, I really have no issues with NSA listening to my phone conversations. In fact, I pity whoever has to listen to them. I mean, imagine having to listen to the phone conversations I have with my ex. I won't be surprised if they send over a terrorist to blow us out. And boy, if they are reading our emails - that might require chemical weapons. So, if they need to really go through our personal information to stop a terrorist attack, I say - go for it! In fact, I think NSA deserves a medal for going through all that crap.

I have never really talked about my divorce in my blog. Mainly because I didn't think it was anyone's business. But I was wrong and the esteemed Bengali community of Sacramento thought otherwise. And even though this deserves a whole post dedicated to the topic, I would just like to tell all of you who have shown extreme concern regarding my daughter's well-being, it would be nice for you to actually try and find out how she's doing and help out once in a while. So, take a chill pill and worry about what's happening in your home, not mine. And if you really do have that perfect family, then please try to devote your time to world peace. And remember, each time you judge me when I walk into the room, know, I'm feeling sorry for you - truly.

In other news, today is day three of my Jillian Michael's Ripped in 30 workout challenge. All I can say is that, apart from discovering muscles that I did not know existed, I should have also been serious about my kegel exercises while I was pregnant. The fact that at my age I am even thinking of adult diapers makes me depressed. And that makes me eat a whole bag of chips. And that makes my workout quite meaningless. Moral of story - working out at home is depressing! I think I need a nap.

It took me a while, but I discovered the secret to being a perfect parent - alcohol and TV! Today is also day three of my little one being sick and we have not left the house so far. If you're not a parent, you will probably not understand the gravity of this situation. Remember the airline safety videos where they ask you to wear your oxygen mask first and then help your child? You have to apply that same rule when your kid is sick and stuck at home. You reach for the wine first and then the cough syrup - I am serious! And TV time is the ONLY time the coughing and whining recedes. One of these days I will find that post where I proclaimed, being a parent was the best thing that happened to me and delete that remark.

If you've been feeling jealous that I had MLK day off - this post should now put your mind at ease. And this quote couldn't me more appropriate in my life right now: "I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream." Just that my dream involves a beach and a private jet.

Jokes apart, I pay respect today to the remarkable man who touched the lives of many ordinary citizens.

The New Year Post

When your year ends with having to dump your child’s Christmas presents in a trash bag or having to deal with the year’s worst temper tantrum right before heading out to the NYE bash, you can’t help but think you’ve had the worst year of your life. And I can’t help but wonder, whether everywhere in the world people are drinking themselves silly for similar reasons that very special night. (I think they ARE!)

But today, the very first day of 2014, was right out of a fairytale. My daughter seemed like she could be Cinderella instead of one of her stepsisters, which made me wait in anticipation all day for the bubble to pop. Only after I tucked her in bed, I realized I had the perfect day with the perfect daughter. But the day wasn’t perfect because of this one reason. The day was perfect because we were also both very sad to have said goodbye to our best friends, so sad, that my almost seven year old sat down to write a letter to her friend saying how much she was missing him and wish he had never left. That was real. That was life. And that made it such a perfect day to start the year with.

2013 was the same. It was real. It was life – complete with shitty moments and incredible ones, but most of all, a year of endurance. Today, I shamelessly pat myself on the back and shout out loud that I did really good. And I did it with grace, and dignity, and for the very first time, I am proud of myself.

I am also incredibly proud of my daughter who continually struggles to be the perfect child we all want her to be and makes me revisit the word "endurance" on a daily basis.

So, I start this new year with no resolutions or goals, but with everyday life that me and my child will truly LIVE!

Wishing all of you a year full of crazy laughs!