I was molested at age 7 and then...

I was molested at the age of 7! It was my trusted neighbour, probably 18 or 19 years of age. He enticed me with a bright coloured balloon. I went behind him for that balloon and ended up in a solitary room, where he forced himself upon me.

I attained puberty at the age of 12. It was a biological change and I was still a child at heart and mind. Yet another known person, a cable operator "uncle" tried to molest me and I had run away from him! Nope! I was not emotionally handicapped till then. I assumed these were one off incidents and carried on with my life. School and studies were my life then.

Happy School days! (An illustrative picture)

At age 15, I had the first hit when a guy actually told me he was in love with me. I didn't know how to handle that. Soon, I realized this was a plain bodily attraction and I struggled to come out of it, when he threatened he would commit suicide if I didn't agree to his proposal. This was the first mental violation I had and I suffered for long. My studies went for a toss! I was a state rank material and I aspired for it. But then, I disappointed everybody with my results. I resolved not to get into contact with any guy. I joined a girls convent and life was back to normal. Again studies became my life.

When I entered the engineering college, survival became my top priority - a job! For I feared living under a drunkard's mercy throughout my life. I didn't give thought to a "nice guy" existence at all.
As I was growing in shape and structure (whatever little I had), I had to go through some sort of violation or molestation. I was turning into a rebel. I hated men. I couldn't stand them. Mere presence of any man in close quarters would send shivers down my spine. I suffered within. Too much identification I had with my body. It was like I had a treasure within and I needed to protect it every minute.

The rebellious character in me found expression in the college at times. I stomped every stalker, teaser on my way. They didn't know my past. I did it effortlessly. It so happened that one of our mischievous class mates, who felt a little high on being a male, passed on a chit to us girls with objectionable content. We, rebellious friends got hold of a moderate guy and lectured him throughout a night journey on how inappropriate it was and how humiliated we felt. If somebody gave me a red rose on Valentine's day, I happily accepted it. I moved on. I knew it didn't mean anything.

I joined work at Chennai. Molestation was a regular thing in crowded buses. I impatiently and helplessly went through it.
One night at 9:30, I was walking alone from the bus stop to my home. A guy came sideways in his two wheeler, slowed down to match my walking speed. He asked, 'Can I fuck you?'. I increased my speed, my heart beat racing up! As luck would have it, that day I was spared. He followed me throughout, till I reached home. Next day, I took an alternate route.

Yet another day, I was traveling in the bus which was not crowded. I even found an empty seat. 'Ok! Today, no suffering' I told myself. Then there was this cool educated guy, standing next to my seat. I held the rail of the seat in front of me, so that I could protect my head till I reach the destination. Our MTC drivers are super cool with their sudden breaks! This man held the same rail and was inching close to my hand. I sensed his desperation. He didn't know my desperation level. I blurted out to him, 'You want to touch my hand? Is that what you want?' He got off immediately in the next stop. I felt victorious!

I had so much anger, resentment for men for I could have easily become a serial killer! Thankfully there were no social media those days. No media continuously hogging on every molestation incident. Sanity prevailed. But my feminist attitude and the freedom I longed for was still boiling inside. Feminism means to me, that women are also as human as men and have every right to live in this world as man does!

Years passed by. I gave birth to a baby girl. What I taught her at the age of 3 was 'Good touch, bad touch'. I established a channel of communication that if somebody showed any sign of violation, she would inform me right away.

With all my past experiences, I could have turned into a utter bitter human being. But thankfully I took the opposite route. With an inner transformation I underwent, I blossomed beautifully. Instead of being a victim, I became part of a solution.

Blossoming...

I realized there is no Utopia for women. No law would protect me. No matter how hard I cry, nobody around would come to help. Only solution is to safe guard myself. I am responsible for my safety. New year means going to temple and not to midnight parties, so I happily stayed safe. However if I had to indulge in these midnight parties because the society in which I live demands, I would probably go prepared! I love celebrations for I am an exuberant ebullient person. I celebrate life!

From the society, there are two solutions to it, in my view. One is stringent laws; fear of punishment that would keep these molesters under control. Second, change in social consciousness through individual transformation. I am a volunteer now. I resigned my high paying corporate job and am a full time volunteer working towards individual transformation. I do my part.

Dear ladies, until we get into a state where even if we walk naked that no man would turn around and ogle at us, please stay safe and be prepared!

Let common sense prevail over audacity! 

How "Alaipayuthey" played out in my life?

He is not my kind of a guy! - Part II

It was April 2000. I was in the second year of  my Engineering degree course. Along with my class mates, I was in the theatre, thrilled to watch a movie. Those days, in Coimbatore, female hostelers going for a movie that too with guys was a big thing. I didn't care to know the heroine or the hero of the movie. But when I came out of the theatre, I became more "hungry" for the hero... An ardent fan for Mr. R. Madhavan was born out of the movie - "Alaipayuthey". My love for ManiRathnam movies soared big time. Delicate romance, drama, limited dialogues pouring out volumes of emotion, nail biting screenplay - all left a very satisfied feeling in me. Little did I know then this movie would later play out in my life.

Journey with "Alaipayuthey" started...

Year 2002: Final year of graduation. It was a farewell function 'Sayonara" (meaning "Good bye"in Japanese), conducted by our loving juniors. I got shortlisted to the final round of "Miss. Sayonara" contest. It was a tight corner round. This was the problem given to me, "You are madly in love with a guy. Both of you love each other, but your parents don't agree to it. And you both decide to commit suicide. What would you do now?"

I was quick to present my answer. "This is why Manirathnam created "Alaipayuthey". Don't commit suicide. Get married and stay in each other's homes. Once you have the courage to come out, live together!

From the judges panel, "but you have decided to commit suicide!" and I quipped, "After marriage staying away from each other is equivalent to suicide!" (If I were to answer it now, I would have told, "Getting married itself is committing suicide..." :D)

Huge applause... and then much to everybody's surprise, a wheat colour skinned, big spectacle'd, not so "attractive" girl, that's me was crowned Ms. Sayonara! Hehehe!

Year 2004: I had fallen in love with this guy. A guy from another caste, another language, another custom. No brownie points for guessing the parents' reaction. I had an elder sister who was not married then, pretty much the same scenario as in the movie. Eventually we both decided to do a registered marriage. Thankfully, my dad didn't have much qualms. He simply said, 'It is your life and you would have to bear the consequences of your decision.' But my partner's end was pretty rough.

He had come from US after a year, for our marriage. He didn't go home, got married to me first. After our so called marriage was over, I was at my home while he went to convince his parents. It was an encounter with a ferocious lion in its den, ready to pounce on him anytime. He employed silence, nonchalance as if nothing big happened. For more than a day or two, nobody was able to break into him. Then after enough provocation, huge emotional drama unfolded and then all was well at the end!

He continues to be the apple of his mom's eyes. I became a good friend to my mother-in-law, she become my role model in certain aspects and a big source of inspiration too. We in no time became a well adapted family. Kudos to both males of our family, my husband and my father-in-law. Humanity and sense prevailed. Love won everybody's hearts!

We test each other! :)

Year 2016: How is life after marriage? We both quarrel... quarrel for the silliest things possible. I with my brutal honesty, would invite his ire very easily. As I wind up this article today, we are not on talking terms for I made a comment, "only jerks would watch movie like Transformers'! :-D Howzzat?!

I am the boss, I am the servent, I am the child, I am the mother! Jus that he wouldn't know what role I have assumed at a given point of time! :-) :-)

And the movie "Alaipayuthey" continues...
Fascinating movie and even more fascinating life! :-)

An Open Letter to Mr. Kejriwal

Dear Kejriwal,

Over the last 3 years you have provided high quality entertainment. Particularly, after May 2014, the quality of your social media entertainment has grown leaps and bounds. Every day, I look forward to your posts and tweets of all the affairs involving your favorite person, Modi "Ji". 

The moment I see your posts, I gleefully jump to the comments section and enjoy each and every mouthful of comment. I eagerly look forward to 'Hit like if you think he is the greatest chor on the planet!' comment or 'Hit like if Kejriwal is the best PM of the world' comments & its replies. I can't possibly elucidate how bored I felt when you didn't post/tweet much while you were away on Vippasana. 

Around the same time, your best friend @bdutt blocked me on Twitter and I didn't get to enjoy her tweets. Since I lost that package already, I rely only on your valuable presence. That's the reason, I don't give my "piece of mind" to you (what if your team mercilessly block me too) and be a silent admirer of your true #Krantikari efforts!

But now am afraid I may not be able to give the same level of attention to your social media ranting. Because we have an uncanny death at home (state) and we South Indians, esp. Tamilians have become Sherlock Holmes to solve the mystery. :-D

Hence I appeal to you to take a break from many FB live, post that you do, for I can't afford to miss such high quality entertainment and absolutely hilarious comments section that ensues your post. Knowingly or unknowingly, you have put your so called IIT brain to best use that you have been able to extract the best possible satire from many of your "true" followers. 

After a long tiring day, nobody could entertain as you do. The loud chuckle that follows on reading your posts makes every minute of my time in social media worthwhile. 

You are the find of Indian Social Media Entertainment! Keep up the good work, Sir! But please consider my request to give us a break from your typical tweets... But if you must post something, pls do movie reviews. I am OK to skip them but nothing else. 

- Sincerely

Your Social media fan from South India

One from the betrayed crowd

My husband mocked me making Briyani. Is he a nationalist?

'I am gonna prepare a yummy veg Briyani', I announced! 'Do you know how to make it?', he asked in concern. After all, he was going to eat it.

'I have been preparing for this day for sometime now. I even bought the ingredients and have done a lot of research on how to make the best Briyani'

He further to annoy me, 'Let me monitor how you make it'. Not withstanding this comment, going back to my patience reserve, I quietly asked, 'Have you done it before? Please, let me make it peacefully. You can taste when done.'

So, I lighted the stove and kept the bottom heavy vessel on the stove. He was right behind and asked me 'why not this vessel?'. I was wondering what happened of him. I gave him the reason and moved on to pour oil. He shouted, 'too much oil... Reduce the heat. You are not letting the vegetables cook.'

He went on and on like this. After adding the vegetables, spices, all necessary grounded powder, he tasted it, 'too salty'. I again asked him to trust me, 'I know what I am doing. I have to add rice. So this masala would be slightly salty now.'

Then again he bet his life by lamenting, 'this doesn't look like Briyani. Feel you are making tamarind rice!'. This time, I ran out of patience and I had to swear at him :-D

And when I was adding rice to the mixture, like the good Lord, he asked, 'Where is basmati rice?' You know I was waiting for this. 'Oh! I see. I have been asking you to help with the preparation, like buying the necessary provisions, washing n cutting vegetables. You were quiet when I did all by myself and now you ask for basmati rice. For your own good, pls move away, once it is ready, I will serve you. We both can enjoy the Briyani together'

He acted as if he was possessed. He went on to say, 'I still feel you don't know how to make it. You are simply raising expectation. I saw how you make, this is not how Briyani would look like. This is going to be a big failure. Rice appears like uncooked rice whereas it would be soft in actual and in pictures too...'

Like a good wife(!), I understood his panic and decided to spare his life. He has not seen anyone preparing this dish earlier. Hence he was anxious about the making and the final outcome.

Now the exciting part of this article. 'Whether the Briyani came out well or not?'

I am sorry to disappoint you. But this isn't about Briyani at all. Please replace 'I', 'me' with Narendra Modi,  the bickering not-so-helpful husband with the "true nationalist" who complain about the surgical strike on black money that our PM cooked for the nation while at the same time ceaselessly question, 'What did #56inch do about corruption in India?'

Read the article from the first now and this is how some of us are behaving. We don't know the exact recipe for a Corruption free India nor we would help with preparation or render any sort of cooperation. Someone out there is attempting something. Let us give him a chance, it is better than doing nothing about it. Given all the outcomes so far, I trust we would taste a great veg briyani, err, Corruption Free India soon.

Of course, our participation is required in every step, by helping people in need, by following rules, by not paying receipt less fines to police, cheating with fake rent receipts, medical bills, buy without bills to purchase in tax less cost, register property at lower cost again to cut back on taxes.

We have accepted all these as norm. We comfortably question some one out there, because it is easy. Let the buck stop with us.

Swach Bharat will not happen without we cleansing ourselves. Whatever it takes, let's face it, let's come out clean. Let us reset ourselves to zero and start a fresh account.

Good luck to all of us! My India, Clean India!

 And I am trying to do my part by constantly questioning my own hypocrisy. Let me get my hands clean first. I am sure I can get there and not jus be an arm chair commentator!

‘Your wife has gone somewhere without telling us!’

May 14^th night 2007

Around midnight, the nurse came to administer pain inducer. I was determined to have a vaginal birth or a natural delivery. She came, she placed the pain inducers in the birth path and left. Exactly after 2 hours, I was profusely bed-wetting… With my huge tummy, I hardly could carry myself and rush to the washroom. I called out my husband, who didn’t have any clue on what was happening. Neither did I for that matter. Litres and litres of fluids was jus leaking without my control. Confused, embarrassed – a 26 old lady bed-wetting, not able to hold or control the flow. Damn, it didn’t occur to both of us, my water broke and the baby had started to descend…

We frantically rang up the nurse station. She came and asked me to follow her. Took me into another room, where there were many impendent mothers waiting for ‘that’ moment… Some crying in pain, some moaning not able to withstand the contractions… Well, I walked into the room, got on to the table and allowed the staff to do what they are supposed to do. Fetal heart beat was good… I recollected from Eric Segal’s ‘Doctors’ how a little indifference from the care givers there could actually render me or the baby with some irreversible damage. All I knew was how alert I had to be at that moment. But still I didn’t know what overall was going on, what was going to happen next!

Within a few minutes, I joined the ladies gang in giving my voice to the already existing cries. This time, nurse arrived, not at my behest though, to instruct me not to make noise. ‘Don’t cry, moan, shout, wail. It is disturbing others’! :D I looked at the clock, it was 2:30 AM. I knew what was coming. I know from ‘What to expect when you are expecting’ literature that a prima patient has to survive this pain for 10-14 hours... Contractions became closely spaced and I felt as if somebody was hitting my lower back spine with a hammer! Tried to walk around… holding on to the door, clenching my teeth, I cursed myself for having chosen ‘vaginal birth’. I jus felt ‘this isn’t worth it. Somebody please do something!’

Right then, looking at my condition, again she came and asked me to follow her. This time into a lonely room, administered enema, inducing bowel movement. It was the actual delivery room. I had graduated to the final stage… It was close to 4 AM. I went inside the toilet and then everybody forgot about me…

Couple of hours later, the nurse went out and questioned my husband on my whereabouts! With that question, labour pain shifted to him. :D Both Chandra ma (my caretaker mom, we hired) and husband panicked. ‘Your wife has gone somewhere without telling us. Please help us find her!’

I was still sitting on the commode and trying to push the stools out, lest I wouldn’t qualify for the next phase! Two hours of pushing, I was exhausted but I was preparing for the next 10 hours of pain and at worst case, a C-Section. I used all my might, to follow what was told. Never had I been so meticulous in following something.

Close to dawn, finally, one of the sisters there came in search of me inside the labour room, rest room. There I was, finally… gave up passing stools and I thought let me try something else. J Commotion of the missing patient was going high and they had to allow ‘Chandra ma’ to actually see me so that  the case might be rested. She said ‘Stomach has gone down. It is going to be over soon’ I didn’t quite believe but I appreciated the kind words. She did my hair and wiped the sweat and left the place in concern.

Delivery team of nurses helped me get on to the labour table. Again, I was at my job of pushing. And then, I sensed agitation among the nurses. Nurses pleaded, ‘No more pushing. Please don’t push. We are not ready. Call the doctor. Head is seen. Put her on IV. Bring a towel.’ I didn’t have much energy to resist anything. At 7 ‘o clock, May 15, 2007, it was over. I delivered a pink 2.56 kg baby! I didn’t care to know the sex of the baby and was disappointed to know the weight. I stayed disappointed for atleast 3 years, thereafter!

He is not my kind of a guy!

I met him. He appeared like a geek. Extremely strong in concepts of software languages. I admired him for his knowledge and articulation. But he is not my kind of a guy!

Dark, Tall and Handsome – DTH was what girls of our time were interested in…

My training got over. We parted ways having great admiration and reverence for him in me. But he is not my kind of a guy!

After a couple of months, I saw him in my work place. He came to see one of his friends. Casually exchanged a ‘hi’… I was quite excited to see somebody, a known face in the new work environment.

Few weeks passed by… One fine evening, rather night around 8:30, I again met him in the bus stop waiting for our MTC buses (obviously!). My sweet J24A bus never arrived for 40 minutes. We engaged in career discussion. Everything a fresher would be interested to know I asked him. He kept on missing all his buses until I got mine and boarded on to. Great ambitious person with keen aptitude… He proudly presented his business card. I was glad having found a “mentor” Nay! But he is not my kind of a guy!

I was eager to drop him a note next day itself. But I held back. “What if he thinks I am drooling over him” I spaced my email a week after… I clicked the ‘send’ button and consciously forgot about it. I didn’t get a reply for more than a week. But when I received his reply I should say I was elated. Warmth spread all over his email. Such a nice gentleman, I thought! But still, he is not my kind of a guy! A very good acquaintance!

So, jus to return his gesture, I too sent him an email! No! Not immediately, after a day or so :D Return of "return" of emails continued… We switched over to messenger instead of emails. You know, we wanted instant replies! :D

It was newyear’s eve! 2002 was bidding a grand goodbye to all of us. We decided to meet in a near by coffee shop. “What am I going to talk to him!” I wondered.

He was talking about his MBA plans, career, technology etc etc. I tried my level best to match him, mostly listening and asking “relevant” questions. :)

A good friend, may be... He is still not my kind of a guy!

Days passed! Our comfort level was increasing. Both of us were flowing like a stream. Our thoughts unbridled…

He was outright in saying “Don’t fall for me. I am not ready for another mishap. Let’s be good friends”. I liked the honesty in him and anyway, I was not “interested” in him.

A few more days passed… “What the heck! Where are we heading to? Let’s get married!” Didn’t care anymore if he was my kind of a guy!

He is still not my kind of a guy. We are poles apart in character, interests, hobbies, skills, ideologies, taste, everything. What is of importance to him falls to the bottom of my priority list! And vice versa!

I don’t consider him my husband. He is my friend with whom I am ready for a conflict any time.

But still at the end of the day, I look forward to his presence to complete my day!

My father in law commented "Leave two idiots alone and give them sufficient time. They would fall in love" How true it is! :)

All breast milk are not same!

Last year it was Nirbhaya that deeply shook me. I spent nights in loud cry and tears, in the Pooja room where no one could spot me. When I let the pressure off, I returned to bed, only to see my little angel sleeping in complete ignorance and innocence on what was happening around her. Then I wept in silence – “how am I going to safe guard myself and her from the cruel world around” was a big unanswered question.

Nirbhaya’s loss rattled the conscience of our nation. Every citizen came forward like never before. Ever hungry media for sensational news made the most of it. Men and women who are used to witnessing the rally or protests from their balcony came down to the roads… Candlelight vigils, slogans, placards and what not! For all the pain that life had gone through, there was some purpose to it, I consoled myself.

Last year, it was a rape victim whose journey was stopped midway. From that single incident, awareness about women safety was born, laws were made stringent. [Is somebody asking me if the crime rate has come down? I would give that question a pass!]. This year, a man who tried to protect a woman from being raped, who tried to chase the rapists out died – now will the rapists not continue to plunder this woman who is nurturing all lives in our land? Why did he go midway? Whom did he trust for the unfinished job! Will someone come to protect that woman? Will Nammaazhvar Ayya’s death shake our conscience?

I know I am not talking sense at all. Why would anyone’s conscience be questioned for a natural death of an old man?!

In short he made me realize, “All breast milk are not same!”

I delivered my daughter in 2007. I had a few elders around me to help and support my child and me. I am very grateful to them for those first moments in my life. Breast milk is the elixir of her life – a single cure for any diseases my child might have contracted from outside.

It is a natural hormonal process. Once the life is out from my belly, lactation happened automatically (nay, I didn’t give credit to creator’s brilliance then). However in this nature’s process, elders tried to interfere saying ‘Don’t eat that. Don’t eat this’ I was confounded at that time. All breast milk would have the same stuff – same nutrients – vitamins, minerals, calcium and life nourishing contents. Whatever I eat, my body could still produce the same milk. So was every mother’s milk I thought. But soon I was disproved. What I eat, my body digests, becomes blood, blood becomes milk. So, what you eat matters.

What you sow, you reap – applies to lactation process!

Do you know, our land, mother Earth (we unabatedly do our lip service) is the producer of elixir of our lives? She continues to lactate so that our lives could be nourished. If she has to produce quality milk, she needs to be given proper food. If you make her smoke plastic, industry waste, garbage, chemicals in the name of pesticides, do you think she can continue to produce same breast milk like earlier? We have made her diseased and still expect her to nourish us, our children and their children!

Older generation got diabetes at age 60, now our generation is taking master health check up as we stylishly call so at age 30. One in 3 adults in India is diagnosed of diabetes. No, please don’t translate that to "We are the sweetest nation!" One can argue “Life style” has changed; but life is still the same. We still breathe in oxygen and let out carbon-di-oxide. Unfortunately no change to that process to suit our current life style. We eat crops, fruits, vegetables from a diseased mother (earth). Hence we are diseased!

Nammaazhvar came as a God in disguise for the raped land. He fought for organic farming. The pesticides and other chemicals which are being used for better crop, faster harvest is killing her slowly. Genetically modified seeds and crops left her molested and impotent that she can’t generate milk anymore for anybody. Vast area of lands were subjected to this pain. Scores and scores of farmers committed suicide because she stopped lactation. She became sterile!

He educated farmers, taught them how to preserve their soil. He exposed them to variety of farming methods for good yield and money, but without raping the land. He restored the lives of several thousand farmers. Many inspired people from IT joined him as a full time / part time volunteers/ business partners. He appeared in social media, continues to impact lives like me.

Will his death make history? Will we celebrate his life (he still lives in the trees he planted, seeds he sowed) by paying tributes to him? If so, what is a fitting tribute?

Please ask for Organic foods. Let’s increase the demand for organic food items. Say no to pesticides, say no to genetically modified crops (they are jus chemicals and no life is present), reduce the use of plastics! Be sensible and gentle to carry a cloth bag when you go out shopping... Let us be the change agent in our society and leave a sustainable mother to our children!

Let there be sense and purpose to the life Nammaazhvar has lived!