We deserve better

 I cannot remember the last time I opened the newspaper and felt this vulnerable. With the passing of the Delhi rape victim and the many more sordid incidents that are exploding in black and white, I find myself feeling unsettled even while I indulge in the most mundane daily activities. As a working girl whose day ends only at 5 p.m., my return home involves an arduous bus journey and a fifteen-minute walk back to my house. I cannot stop reiterating the unfairness of the whole situation - no woman deserves to live in constant fear of what might transpire during these moments. We should not have to wonder whether to carry around a bottle of pepper spray or if a bottle of deodorant will work just as well. 

While I remain relatively well removed from the situation, I cannot imagine what the women of Delhi must be going through at the moment. Every bus ride and every dark street probably stirs up some degree of panic within them. While I could go on about the impudence of men in the country who assume they have the right to take anyone they see or the fact that our police are more worried about protecting politicians rather than the people, I know that I'm only rehashing what has been said over and over again on televisions, radios and in written form all over the country. What I do have to say is this - if anyone else feels stifled or unsafe in the light of everything that seems to be going on around her, you are not alone. You deserve better - a better class of men, a better class of police and politicians and an infinitely better sense of security. And it is about time we got it. 

 

On loosening up

My reading content for the two day journey to Chennai had been well-planned - A Princess Remembers, the collected poems of Sylvia Plath and a collection of letters to the editor by one Thomas Coon. Choosing to read the last one, I found myself confronted by a letter discussing a topic that tends to drive me crazy, for lack of a better word. The author spoke about people's need to loosen up and achieve happy endings. "What's so bad about that?" you may wonder, puzzled. Let me elaborate further: -

Imagine a night at a fancy party. The music's blaring with the bass so loud that your stomach starts training for the Olympics. On extremely rare self-imposed dry days or at equally rare dry parties, I find myself with a non-alcoholic drink in my hand and find that I have to force myself to sway appropriately to the music. In a few moments, I find myself confronted by a well-meaning friend. "Why are you sitting around? Come join us - let's dance!" I smile it off, saying that I don't dance. "Oh but you have to!" she says in astonishment, "Puji, you have to loosen up!" Apply the same scene to weddings and my brief periods of anti-social behavior. 

I find myself adding the term "loosen up" to a list of all my least favourite phrases - which include "when are you getting married?", "why don't you drive?" and "wake up". It seems to be a source of great worry and at moments, disappointment, to a lot of people that I'm not an easy-going loudmouth who never ceases being cheery. Yes, I prefer being on my own a lot more than other people. Yes, I usually stand in a corner and watch the fun. So what? I have been the centre of attention a lot of times but they mostly involved waking up in the morning with a voice in my head screaming at me, "What the hell were you thinking?" 

I can safely say that the worst part is when people decide to take it upon themselves to pull me into all the "fun" that they're having. No matter how many swears and curses you drop and however threatening they may be ("Let me go or I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it!"), I invariably find myself frozen in the centre of a group of people who seem to be jiving away with the greatest ease. 

On days like this, I wonder why so many people find it difficult to accept that others may enjoy things that are widely different from what they like. Given a considerable amount of social lubricant, I will gladly put myself in the middle of the dance floor and shake my booty to Sheila Ki Jawani. On other days, I prefer to sit back and watch others do the same. It's not like I walk around distributing copies of my favourite books, insisting that people read only those in coffee shops in lieu of chatting or watching the telly. So be nice to me and return the favour. Don't pull me onto a well-lit dance floor and expect me to dance. After all, if all the wallflowers in the world decided to take the spotlight, who, my cheery friends who can dance at the drop of a hat, will be around to watch you put on some serious moves?