As Indians, we live in very tightly defined social structures, even today. It doesn’t actively occur to us in our daily lives but we are governed by a complex maze of social norms, conditioning and rules. I realize this fully only because I question and defy a lot of them. Doing this is a fulltime job, practically a lifetime, an identity by itself.

How do other people react to someone who doesn’t live by their rules? That’s the oldest story in human behaviour, of course. The thing is Indian society is mired in a labyrinth of heavy, conflicting, sometimes obsolete rules. It’s like being caught in a house full of naked wires, broken steps and crumbling ceilings. A single misstep could be fatal and there are so many possible that the living is no more than survival, just barely.

Snapping out of that gristly metaphor, how does this translate in everyday life? People do not treat you well if you do not follow the strict rules. Deviations are seen as aberrations.You get treated badly, not because you have behaved badly (lying, cheating, being mean or rude to, being selfish). You may treat people around you with respect, gentleness and affection. But none of that is considered if you do this while breaking a social rule.

It is considered perfectly acceptable to be mean or rude to someone who has defied a social convention (“What does she think of herself, dressing that way?”). It is fine to treat a woman less than respectfully if she does not dress and behave the way a ‘good Indian woman’ should behave. It’s not that a woman who makes different choices about her life, does not need affection, love, support and yes, protection from unsavory elements. But since she chooses to flout those rules, all of these get increasingly restricted to her. Affections and respect are paid out in direct proportion to the adherence to social norms. That is what I mean by transactional.

This may be as seemingly minor as the major she pursues in college, never mind that she is getting an education, a conventional one at that. It may be as inconsequential as choosing to keep her hair short in a family/community where women usually keep their hair long.

It may be a little more complex such as refusing to sit in a certain seat or room because of her gender. Doesn’t this last one sound ludicrous? After all, the Indian law does not see us as a gender segregated country. But family functions, even wedding banquets appear to be places that you must only socialize with people of your gender. Down to today’s modern-day get-togethers and dinners, notice how the women crowd into the kitchen or into bedrooms while the men sit in the living room and discuss politics, sports, business and work? I’m talking about Mumbai in 2013, not Madurai in the 1800s.

It may be something as personal as her own beliefs, not even as major as the religion she follows but that she chooses to not let religion get in the way of her political views or her friendships. How do you think an agnostic woman who believes that Muslims are being mistreated, is treated in a religious family? Or if she is vocally supportive of gay rights, why does that affect her prospects of being in a (straight) relationship?

Now certainly both sexes are equally guilty of this kind of a rabid reaction to defiance of convention. Female cliques are alive and kicking and the terror mother-in-law remains very much a key character in Indian drama. However, I am thinking about an emotion that goes beyond logical distinctions, defined rules and intellectual discourse. We love people for who they are, for who we become when we are with them, for that unique something that they and they alone bring to the universe. It may be harder to love someone who is different from your notions of what a human being should be, but it’s not impossible. What’s more, those notions being so tightly, suffocatingly defined, are any of us likely to find real love?

In the many patterns I see in the men around me, there is this. I’ve experienced love and loyalty and friendship, all my life. But they’re all contained in these tiny spaces of time when I’m being who they expect me to be. Put one foot out of place and all these things appear to vanish. They are supportive (extremely so) when they see me falter and fail. But they are nowhere around when things are fine and I am not a tender creature that they need to protect. They are there to chastise me when I slip up but almost never to bounce ideas off as equals and hardly ever to applaud me when I’m successful.

There’s the praise that comes my way when it is in a setting that follows convention. An academic achievement in a traditional school/college, a promotion in a steady job – these things are celebrated. But a more unconventional achievement that nevertheless brings joy is not seen as something that deserves acclaim. The new age Indian man may be openly proud of a very educated woman in his life, who has a high-flying corporate job. How often do you catch him boasting about a woman in his life writing a book, going on a car rally or starting up an e-business of her own?

Aren’t love, support and loyalty 100% things? There’s the support you need when you’re down but there’s another kind of support you want from your people when you’re just fine and when you’re great too. I find that severely lacking in the world around. And I think, my world loves me only when I’m miserable and down and begging for help. It’s transactional, indeed.

“Love yourself.”

Nobody tells you how this is to happen, though. But like all other things in this complex life of a woman, the expectation is laid on you as well as the punishments for not achieving it. Let’s take a baby’s life to be a blank page. If she’s female, that page is very quickly filled up with other people’s expectations, societal rules and bounded by severe punishments for straying beyond the lines. In addition, there is a steady influx of messages that belittle her and invalidate her independent thought, especially if it opposes tradition. And finally, the Pavlovian methods of child-rearing invariably reward the girl who sets aside herself for the sake of everyone else and punishes her if she thinks about herself. “It’s not ladylike”, “What a bitch”, “Don’t be a selfish brat”. Where is there room for self-love?

The first step is to realize and accept that you are more than other people’s expectations and the fulfillment or not of them.

Today, I went for a swim. Mid-lap I thought about ice-cream and I wondered whether I’d take it any further. On my way back, I remembered the thought but the shop was across the road. Then, I spotted a break in the divider exactly in front of the shop. And I walked across and bought myself an ice-cream cone.

Strawberry ice cream in a cone. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There’s nothing quite like the little treats that you surprise yourself with. I enjoyed that ice-cream and I would have said “Thank you. I love you so much!” to myself if it didn’t sound so ridiculous inside my own head. I felt it, anyway.

I’m in the midst of a personal transition phase at the moment where I’m observing myself and other people as if from outside. I find that there is very little empathy, patience or caring to be found in most men for women. I’m not saying that men are bad or cold. I just think that the social structure that we all belong to, does not teach women to demand love, attention & respect the way men do. In addition, it does not teach men to treat women’s expressions as anything other than trivial, illogical or as control issues. Thus every woman I know (including myself) lives with being invalidated or unheard for most part. We don’t even realize how much it erodes our self-esteem.

Most women have absolutely no notion of their self, let alone how to love that self. I say, start small and simple. Look at how you treat your friends, especially when they’re down. Women traditionally support their loved ones with empathy, witholding judgement, offering moral boosts. If you can do that for other people, it’s only fair you do that for yourself. This is the first and biggest challenge since we’re programmed from early childhood that any thought of self and self-serving actions is bad (‘selfish’, ‘bitchy’, ‘spoilt’, ‘bratty’).

Women who taste success in some form, usually manage to pass this stage. I guess the first step in falling in love is noticing, approving and liking. This is true even in the person you’re falling in love with, is yourself. Don’t stop there though. Women who stop here sometimes go too far and get rabid – with men and with other women. This is the stereotype of the male-bashing, bitter ‘feminist’ (note the quotes here, please, before outraging).

After awhile of being in love, you realize you need to do more than fight against the rest of the world to prove your devotion. Being good company is necessary for the ‘in-love’. If you’re angry all the time, you’re really not good company for yourself and you’re making it harder for yourself to love you. Be peaceful, be nice, first and foremost to yourself. Don’t invalidate your feelings. There are enough of people who will do that. You shouldn’t do that to your best friend and you certainly shouldn’t do that to yourself. Never deny your feelings or tell yourself that you’re fat, ugly, stupid or not worth it.

Get to know yourself just like you would a new boyfriend or friend. Find out what really makes you laugh, what tickles your fancy, what brings a smile to your face when you’re not facing a camera. While on this, try one cliche. Look at yourself in the mirror and really observe. Chances are that for the first few seconds, you will ONLY notice your flaws. Crooked smiles, uneven teeth, unplucked eyebrows, greying hair, extra inches, stretch marks. Then close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then open and stare at yourself in the eyes for a full two minutes. Time it, with an alarm so you’re not distracted with clock-watching. Eventually you will start to see beyond the flaws. This might take a minute and happen the first time or it might take longer. I guess this varies from person to person. And if it doesn’t happen at once, remember the step before. Be your own best friend and prop your self-esteem up.

Loving yourself, if you are a woman is probably the biggest challenge you will ever face. But if you can be a friend, a lover, a spouse, a partner, a mother, a support system, you can and definitely should learn to be all of these things to yourself.

Beyond Eden by Kele Moon
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I liked the story. Unlike other erotic literature I’ve read, the plot didn’t feel like just words bunged in between sex scenes. The threesome relationship and the fetishes came through well too, without disgusting or scarring. The sex scenes were fresh, the emotions adding a richness to the complicated dynamics between Paul, Danny & Eve.

Danny is an interesting character, the real draw in the story. His character is beautifully nuanced as the troubled in-love bad boy, as a reluctant stand-in for the snake in the original Eden story. The character of Eve could have been brought out much better, however. The two men and even the catalytic dom-from-the-past were well-etched characters but Eve, such an important character to the story, felt just like a random body, conveniently fitting into the sexual/emotional dynamics between everyone else.

I noticed only about a quarter way into the book that that the two bodies in bed on the cover were both male. And then I couldn’t help noticing that the woman’s body with a strategically held apple, while beautiful was a Photoshop botch-up on the right leg. Minor but maybe not for a book that is about the appreciation of the body’s beauty.

I got this book off NetGalley, for a review.

View all my reviews

I often think of this story. It seems I keep discovering chains that were imposed on me early in life, that I now can break but just haven’t thought of doing so. Recently I had an interesting conversation with a girlfriend. I asked her if she had ever gone for a movie on her own. She hadn’t. But she had traveled around the world on work by herself. She had lived in Europe for a month on her own, a vegetarian from a tropical city, surviving in a cold, meat-eating place where the language was foreign to her. She did well for herself. But it had never occurred to her to spend three hours in a theater next to her home, alone.

She paused and said,

“My sister is not like me. If she wants to go for a movie, she’ll find somebody or the other to go with her. If nothing else, she’ll take my mother along.”

Not quite the same thing but I could see where she was coming from. Her sister, who she described as bolder, would at least try to make something she wanted happen. My friend, dismissing it as just something she wanted, probably wouldn’t make the effort she’d otherwise make if someone else wanted it.

Si puedes, no dejes de ir a verla, es una de las películas más bonitas que he visto en mucho, mucho tiempo. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I remember the first time I went for a movie on my own. I snuck out of the house because I knew I’d be stopped and questioned about why I’d want to do such a thing. I still remember the movie I went for. It was Socha Na Tha, a romance flick that was also the debut vehicle for Abhay Deol. It was an Sunday afternoon show at a multiplex, not far from my place.  I could really have found other people to accompany me. The movie wasn’t one that I needed to surreptitiously watch. I knew all of these would come up as reasons to question why I wanted to go for a movie on my own. So I slipped out and didn’t tell anybody about it.

On my way to the theater, I imagined people would turn and point to me or whisper in corners. No one did, of course. The ticket-seller didn’t even bat an eyelid when I self-consciously asked for a single ticket to the show. And when it was over, I felt an exhilaration that I could not explain. I was hooked. In the next week I caught Kal Ho Na Ho (which wasn’t even that good and I had seen it before). I cried in the theater when Shah Rukh Khan died. After all, there was no one around that I had to be intelligent and strong for.

Soon after, I discovered early morning shows that the multiplexes showed at discounted rates. My solo movie dates extended. I’d get up as early as 6a.m. on Sundays, buy myself a ticket to the early morning show then browse at the bookshop later, eat a sandwich in the mall’s food court while poring over my purchases or just thinking about the movie. And before I knew it, it would be early evening and time to escape the weekend shoppers. I’ve rarely enjoyed anyone else’s company that much and never that many times. I really am wonderful company for myself and this is something I discovered only when I took myself out on these Sunday dates.

Occasionally people still react with surprise when they find out that I do these things on my own. Some of them are offensive even, without realizing. I get rolling eyes, shaking heads and looks of pity with “What, you can’t find anybody to go with you?” writ large on faces. I’ve stopped trying to explain this. But once in a way, when I meet another woman that I think might be willing to drop her society-imposed judgments and listen, I talk about this.

Incidentally, my friend did say one thing that made me envy her. On her return from Poland, she was booked on a 4 a.m. flight. She checked with the hotel and was told that there would be no public transport available since the airport was within walking distance. What about the odd hour, she asked but she was met with looks of surprise. Eventually, she stepped out onto a snow-covered road and wheeled her suitcase all the way down to the airport alone. It was only a ten minute journey during which there was not a single other human being in sight. She said she couldn’t imagine being in such a situation, being allowed even, to be in such a situation in India.

I know what she meant. Even on my single dates, I’ve never been truly alone. There are always people around. Places that have no other people become automatically restricted to women. She has the good fortune of having had an experience that I may never have. So I stick to solo movie dates. At least, in a darkened movie theater, I’m on my own.

I said I’d be a mother someday.
He said I needed a man.

I didn’t say I’d be pregnant.
I said I’d be a mother.
You don’t need anyone
But a child for that.

*Earlier posted here.