Showing posts with label women. Show all posts
Showing posts with label women. Show all posts

Monday, March 31, 2008

Beauty or Utility? Home or Office?

If I ask the question “What is more important in life? Beauty or Utility?”, 99 out of 100 will say Utility, without even thinking. This is almost as if beauty were a negative attribute.

After much thinking about a possible explanation, this is what I understand.

The adjective “beautiful” has been wrongly used to describe so many ugly creations of man, that the mention of “beauty” sometimes brings negative connotations to the mind.

Naked models dressed provocatively, walking a ramp, to offer cheap titillation to lecherous men (and women) for the sake of money, are often described as “beautiful”.

The fair complexion has been “beautified” by those who wish to sell fairness creams.
The cosmetic industry and beauty saloons are selling beauty.
Several “ugly examples of beautification for commercial purposes “can be given but the point I want to make is this.
The ulterior motive behind “beautifying” certain things is so well known to all of us that beauty is seen not as a virtue anymore but as something that is very shallow. The meaning of beauty has been reduced to something that merely pleases the senses and has no greater significance in the affairs of the world.

This can be clearly seen in certain anecdotes that you hear so often.
“Beauty is skin deep. Beauty lies in the eyes of a beholder.” That is what they have been telling us for ages. They sound so irrefutable!
In essence, the true meaning of beauty is forgotten or completely lost.

In the same way, utility or utilitarianism has been glorified and venerated; not by a particular individual or a category this time, but by people in general. The reason is, utilitarianism is caused and fuelled by greed and all of us are greedy. So the glorification was necessary if only to serve as a justification of our greed, if not anything else. In course of time, utility has been associated with necessity, with purpose, usefulness, fruitfulness, worth and with value. The result is that an entire generation is convinced that beauty is mere ornamentation and utility is purposefulness.

It took me a single reading of Tagore’s essays to realize that there has been so much misunderstanding!!! I realized that utility stands for fragmentariness and beauty stands for wholesomeness.

The open spaces, the rains, the trees, the mountains, the people stand for beauty. Harmony, goodwill, peace, cooperation and love are the traits of beauty.
On the other hand, the cluttered offices, the air conditioners, the lorries with their exhausts, the vendors with their goods, the plastic covers stand for utility. Competition, greed, shrewdness, diplomacy, hostility are the traits of utilitarianism.

All things that are wholesome, complete and one in nature are beautiful. It is needless to say therefore that all things that exist in their natural state are wholesome and therefore beautiful.
Utility happens when you break the whole into fragments.

The evergreen forests stand for beauty. The furniture and timbre made from trees cut down stand for utility.
The breeze from the open spaces stand for beauty. The artificial air conditioners stand for utility.
The waterfalls stand for beauty. The power station stands for utility.
Once again, utility happens when you break the whole into fragments.

One may ask the most expected question. Are the offices, the vendors and lorries not necessary for our survival?

Yes. As long as they are driven by need they may be inevitable.
But once they become driven by greed, they begin to destroy all beauty around them and create nothing but ugliness.

Think about this.
The trees in Bangalore are all being brought down because someone there believes that utility is more important than beauty. The lakes are being closed for gain of more lands for construction. Again because, someone thinks utility takes precedence over beauty.

In place of trees and lakes, offices are being built. More trees are cut to build apartments for the people who spend all their time in these offices. In order that the people working in these offices may spend their money to buy goods they really don’t need, some more trees are cut down to build shopping malls.

In summary, man’s preoccupation with utility has converted this entire world into a gigantic office to which the home has become a mere appendix.

What has all this to do with the subject of women?
The connection I am trying to establish is that...
Utility is a man’s preoccupation and beauty, a woman’s.

Nurturing a plant in the garden, cooking for a family, bringing up a baby, decorating a home are all a woman’s preoccupation….. in all of these one can see a woman’s unconscious preoccupation with beauty and wholesomeness.

The cars, the factories, the chimneys, the concrete jungles and their wooden furniture that stand for utility are the production of a man.
Whereas the home, the people in living in them, the love that’s binds them, the paintings decorating the walls, the flowers in the vases, the carefully tended gardens and their plants, the aroma in the kitchen that stand for beauty are the creation of a woman.

Having understood that the office represents fragmentariness and home represents wholesomeness, I am flattered to know, to realize that our society endowed women with the responsibility of home and men with the responsibility of office. The more important one entrusted in the custody of more able hands.

This is not to say that a woman’s place is at home although I am not very sure sometimes. But surely a woman’s priority should be the home over the office. Her job is more important, more difficult and she alone is capable of doing it. I am simply saying that the home is a woman’s prerogative.

In today’s world characterized by hostile competition, greed, consumption of materials, mistrustfulness and a struggle for survival, perhaps women’s participation in office is somewhat necessary if not indispensable. The above fact notwithstanding, women need to prioritize. They are often faced with the question Home or Office?

The torch bearers of feminism, the custodians of liberation, the advocators of equality, all short sighted, shallow thinking people, are sending out the wrong messages. If a man can do it, why not a woman?

It is very difficult to escape the influence of the rhetoric, but one must understand that men and women are inclined to different things by nature. There is inequality in nature which must be preserved.
If men and women were meant to equal one another and had a common purpose to fulfill, there would not have been two sexes in nature. Nature would have created just one sex and there would have been uniformity.

The very fact that the creator has created two different sexes should tell us that we have different reasons for coming into the world, that we have different interests to pursue and that we are unequal.

By aiming at equality, by attempting to do all those things that a man does, a woman only succeeds in relinquishing those special qualities and special rights that nature has bestowed upon her to create beauty and wholesomeness all around her. She is also shirking from the responsibilities that nature had endowed her with.

Every society, every home, every situation calls for some kind of sacrifice to be made for its sustenance, well being and progress.

To substantiate this, I will use Bangalore as an example. If the beauty of this city has to be restored, what should be done? People should stop driving one man cars and use public transport instead, thus preventing the necessity to construct more roads, thus preserving greenery.
People should walk as much as they can and not drive everywhere thus refraining from polluting the atmosphere. In other words, certain sacrifices will have to be made to sustain the environment of the city.
The conclusion is that, the virtue of sacrifice or abstinence preserves beauty and wholesomeness, whereas indulgence necessitates utilitarianism and results in fragments.

This was an example from the environment scene. But this holds true in every facet of life. Every home, every society asks for sacrifice (mostly in the form of abstinence from indulgence) for its well being, sustenance and progress.

From time immemorial women have found themselves expected to make this sacrifice while men indulge. (This too has evoked much rhetoric from our feminists). This may seem unfair at the first glance and but if you look carefully, you will understand it is a woman who has the more difficult task at hand of creating a home, of creating wholesomeness and it is a woman who has the self control to make the necessary sacrifices.

The biggest challenge that a woman is faced with today is not a man, not discrimination, not oppression.
The challenge is to understand that she has a greater purpose to fulfill in this world than a man and to discover her purpose.
It is to understand that the almighty meant the man and the woman to complement each other and not compete with each other.
It is to understand that her place in the family, in the society is that of someone who holds the reins to unbridled horses.
The challenge is to decide for herself who she is and what she wants even as the feminists try hard to tell her who she is and what she should want.

I would like to conclude by quoting George Bernard Shaw. “If women were as fastidious as men morally or physically, then, that would be the end of the human race”.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Cooks, Crooks... Or, Musicians

I know the theme is 'Women'. And how awe-struck I am. Reading serious poems and abortion posts in this forum - I questioned which of their traits do I miss the most. The answer - Cooking. I miss my mom's great culinary skills, or my girlfriend cooking a simple daal-sabji for me. Today, as I was cooking all alone, I thought of sharing this great secret recipe as a tribute to all the women in my life, who've fed me for the past twenty odd years.

And of course, to bring some smile to the grim we've managed to create this month!

--

Cooks, Crooks... Or, Musicians.

As T.N Seshan learnt that I was from Pallakad (southern tip of the Western Ghats in Kerala), he asked me which one am i? I replied, am an MBA - you figure it out!

However, your genes leave you seldom. My great granddad had a restaurant in Rangoon, Burma (now Myanmar). When Burma and India officially split, a partition not talked about often, as the other infamous one - many families including mine had to leave our flourishing establishments in Rangoon and return to our native in and around Pallakad. Coimbatore, Erode, Gobichettypalayam in today's Tamil Nadu; and Pallakad, Guruvayur in Kerala.

Boundaries hardly matter. Your skills stay with you no matter where you head. So, as I spend my time posing as a consultant in the Silicon Valley, am secretly doing what my destiny has in store for me. I cook, and I sing. (The crook part of it is synonymous with the consultant part of it). Today I'm here to share with you The Secret, through a chosen recipe. A Secret which has been protected by Gods (remember, I'm from God's Own Country!?! ;) It has traveled through war and peace, through countries and continents; by air, sea or on elephant-backs. Today, ladies and gentlemen - Is a historic occasion. Not only because a secret is being revealed, but also because a rebel, a Buddha - is born. As you read ahead, traditions will be tattered, and conventions, broken. Free will, a soaring soul shall unleash the power of human choice - a choice which prostrates ancient wisdom, but not without a salman-khan twist.

Recipe of the Day: Corn, Tomato and Spinach curry

(A list of ingredients and quantities can be obtained by posting a comment to the author below. For now, the procedure follows).

Put some tel in a non-stick container with two ears. (Warning: Please note All the minutest details, any miss could lead to a potential disaster. Follow to the T)

Turn on the heat. (Oh ho... come on... don’t always think about 'that thing'. We're cooking here, as in a 'real meal'... As in... ufff... every statement has a loop & a hole it seems... Ohh... Cant help it, perverts!)

Put jeera, heeng (asafoetida, or whatever the angrez call it); red chili powder (of mizo mirchi fame, the kinds which Professor Pillai threatened to put in our arse if we acted naughty in school); haldi (harmless haldi, I like haldi - innocent haldi, not pungent, not sweet, not sour, not hot... helps you recover from cold when mixed with milk, or helps your roop to nikhrao if applied as vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream - twacha kee raksha kare antiseptic cream).

Mix well. Add onions, till brown. (The kind of brown which matches your skin color. Oh ho, No offence. Oh, Who said that that, who used that 'racist' term... Sa%*la.. Fuck#@.. Be@#$@#od, dare you not call me a 'racist'! Abusive, shameless! Using fowl remarks... #$@@#$ (The last word was 'badwaa rascal' - a common malayali swear word, not used anymore in English language)

Add beer (preferably cheap Heineken - Budweiser will make the dish more salty, Corona if you prefer a pungent taste. Trust me, Heineken is mild)

Tip: Take a few sips yourself, as the next part of the journey is darn tough.

Add a can of corn, a can of sliced tomatoes.

Parallely put palak (spinach) in a bowl. (Use of 'palak' was for the poetic effect, alliteration). Add some water, and put the palak (ha ha again, i like it! :) in a microwave for 1 min.

Add palak to the potent dish. (I know, potent was totally not-needed here, but - It starts with a 'P'! - remember, palak, potent - alliteration!)

Stir well, while adding some garam masala.

The art of cooking lies in being on the brim. Not too far, not too close. Not very confident, not too unsure. It's as nimble as a ballet, balancing a thousand stars around a sun in the platform not-as-vast as the universe! Chances of collision are huge, and a spoon of salt more could kill the entire effort. Especially, if you are on the verge of the third Heineken heading towards this last phase. Read on, carefully.

Add water with a bit of tomato puree. Mix well. For the truly brave souls, put some vodka (Absolut, and nothing else). Just a spoon is enough, to give that sparkling effect.

Mix more. (Alliteration with 'M')

Add some cheese. (This twist is not mentioned in the ancient scriptures, it is a direct result of an earlier experiment gone wrong with tortillas, which led us to a surplus of cheese, half micro waved, ready to be rescued)

Mix more. (Ah, I've done it again)

Any dish which is so 'liquid' in nature, needs some binder. Use 'sattu'. Add 1 spoon of sattu to half a glass of water, and pour the concoction to the dish. A healthy alternative to using besan, trust me!

Mix more. (I'm a genius, where's my Nobel!?!)

Put the knob of the burner to Mid-Low, and cover the non-stick container with two ears with its lid.

Let it cook itself for 2 minutes. (My ancient uncle said - The cook feeds himself. What he meant was - The food cooks itself. Burma being closer to China, South Indians of yore were poor in grammar once upon a time) Ah, no.. how dare you bring on the 'racist' comment again! You racist, you #$@@#$

('badwaa rascal').

Ok, now comes the final cut, the last stop. Adding salt. The trickiest part of the art, it’s filled with tension; a la tendulkar in his nervous nineties. You can score 99, but the last 1 run will put your name amongst the greats or the goats. Either you are heard, or you are a part of the herd. That's why, the most expert of cooks too will not give you a measure. Add salt to taste, is all they can say. Cheapsters. When I was a novice, training under the one who cannot be named (you don’t take the name of your ustaads, do you? Just put a hand to your ear, and you know the ustaad was a great soul.) Likewise, when my ustaad used to teach me how to cook, I would put my left hand to my right ear - and always bungle this one. Lifelong, his only comments were - More salt, less salt. Or - less salt, more salt. Never, no more salt, or no less salt. Over the years though, partially as a gift of the gods, as a legacy of the great genes - and partially through my own sweat - I've mastered this art. The secret, literally is to drop two, exactly two drops of sweat into the dish. It's watery-salty nature, lends a perfect blend, the aforementioned balance!

So, there you go. Serve the sabji/curry or whatever 'names' you need to give to the heavenly art - with hot rice. Or roti. Or tortilla-de-patatas. Or devour as soup (If you're too lazy like my room-mates to cook anything more).

The secret, or rather 'secrets' are out. All over the place, through this recipe. For more, please do drop in a 'fan' mail or a comment below.

May peace prevail. (Alliteration with 'P', I cannot believe I don’t have the FedEx # for my Nobel yet!)

- A NoMAD

Monday, March 17, 2008

Her chronicle!

At 5, she loved her mother.
At 7, they wished they had a son...

At 10, she loved her father.
At 12, they prayed to have a son...

At 15, she loved her best friend.
At 17, they thought they have had enough of her...

At 20, she loved him.
At 22, they said, ‘She’s gone! Ah! Finally, we’re done!’...

At 25, she loved his family.
At 27, there wasn’t a sign of her...

At 30, her father was queer, her mother looked wretched, her friend sought justice, he loved his new bride, his family was counting money...

All what remained of her was a broken, melted bangle, a charred piece of her sari maybe, a little ash and lots of dust in that barren, burnt, ruined house, struggling with loneliness.

Friday, March 7, 2008

The Ultimate Greed

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her saree well draped,
The flow of fire, liquid.
Her delicate anklets tinkling,
The burning feet.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

The tongue of fire,
Her lush dark hair;
The jasmine fragrance fading;
The overpowering reek.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her lovely face, melting,
Her teary eyes, sparkling.
Her gasps for breath, heaving,
Her cries for relief.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”


Women, both of them,
The killer and the victim.
One plays with the candle,
The other is the wick.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

Her smile, smug, contorted
Her gaze, intense hatred.
Her eyes eager, hungry;
The ultimate greed.

To and fro, To and fro, her fingers go, round the candle’s wick.
“This is fun.” she thinks, “Ohh! What a trick!”

A voice against Dowry Deaths, on Women's day.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

For Dad!

You must be wondering why I am writing to you now? You must be wondering why I haven’t remembered you for more than a minute in all these years, why I haven’t dreamt of you, why I haven’t shed a single tear after you were gone…

The answer is simple-and it is ‘Mom’! When you passed away, though little I was but my ears heard everything they said. They said…what she will do…a mother of three small children! They said…how she will survive…with three small children! They said…how she will work; she has no job at this time! They said…what will happen to them...within poverty and its stinging bite! They said…who will provide for them…a poor lady and her three small children! They said…a young lady…it’s so tough to do without her man…and they said many more things and their banter, I heard for a long time.

Today I tell them…the poor lady survived and so did her three small children. They aren’t small anymore neither poor. No angel touched their lives, nor did God take a look down, it was the will of that lady alone and now they have been seeing happier times. She worked hard, she worked day and night, she worked without stopping for a breath, she worked when she was ill and when there were dreaded times. She looked after the three, she send them to school, she made sure to pack their lunches even when she hadn’t a morsel anymore. She would cry alone at times but saw to it that the three never had a tear in the eye, in all the hard and rough times, all alone she did strife. She stood like a wall between troubles and her three yet she never forgot to tell them how to lead a life that was guilt-free. She loved them unselfishly like a mother, she cared for them like friends, she stood by them like dad and she taught them life’s lesson with a dedication of a teacher.

I am sure you know all the answers …I am sure you understand all of it by now, I am sure you know why I haven’t missed you much all these years…I am sure you are proud of her…your beautiful wife and our adorable mom!!!

#dedicated to my mother, yours and everyone’s!!!