Girls Don’t Fight!

Girls Don’t Fight!

Reebok’s new ad campaign #FitToFight is driving home the message of women’s fitness with a twist in the tale. Eve teasing – the menace in our society is portrayed through a girl encountering three men who are out to get her. She draws strength to fight the bullies, with the backdrop narrative of a motivator and the ad ends with a powerful message to all women - Fight More, Be more Human, urging all women to be fearless and fight for their rights. With brand ambassador Kangana  Ranaut at her fittest best,  this ad campaign is inspiring and pushing  women to become better versions of themselves, not just physically but also mentally  and socially. This ad has truly blown me away. I love Kangana Ranaut  for her versatility,  for breaking sterotypes and above all for  her  true understanding of cinema as art! As for Reebok – Nike has lost out on me to you!

 As women we all have stories to tell – our very own stories of fighting the society and the gender demons. I have had heart to heart talks with women  and how  they have opened  their hearts out . The horror stories that we live just because we are born as girls in India. I have had tears rolling down my cheeks as I heard stories of groping , elbowing , lewd remarks and gestures, physical abuses and it goes on.

My story of ‘Girls Don’t Fight’ began not when I was a child. Don’t remember being eve teased, hooted at or followed home by lecherous men. I am one of those lucky girls to have been born and brought up in a gender neutral community – and I am ever grateful for that. Well, my first job brought me to New Delhi in the mid 90’s. It was a balmy Spring afternoon – a day before Holi ! Mabel and I were walking down one of  Defence Colony alleys all dressed up , with a bouquet for her pregnant friend we were visiting. Mabel was hit by a water filled balloon on her back and then came some more. We turned around to see three giggling losers by a roadside store. One had his back towards us. It was him. Before I realised Mabel walked towards the guys, I ran behind her - I knew what was to follow was not a pleasant thing at all. We asked – he denied. Mabel pounced at this guy. I followed suit- I had to stand by my sister who was wronged! My long nails made vertical strips across his dark shiny face. He fought back- we tore his shirt. Spewing adrenalin and fighting the newfound fear – we both kicked and hit and smashed. By now there was a crowd – took me quite a while to know that people loved to watch these ‘tamashas’. An old lady appeared and shouted ‘maro isko’ pointing towards me. I looked around at the chaos. Oblivious of the consequences we stood there - when a sedan stopped by and a gentleman stepped out and intervened. All those years of praying to the Guardian Angel was bearing fruit. We wanted to report him to the police. With a distorted sense of time and life we headed towards the Defence Colony Police station in his swanky sedan. I wrote my first FIR. His name was Rakesh Singh - a guy who was out to show me that I was sub - human. How wrong he was! It was almost sundown, shaken and tired we headed towards Hotel Imperial – the most sane thing I could think of doing - met Rahul and told him that I practised my kick boxing skills on a bully. I wonder what must have crossed his mind that day. Today we laugh it off! It was an out of my life experience and I vowed never to beat a guy – never, ever.

Another unlucky encounter –  amidst the cheering and encouraged by a group of friends a guy came up to me with a rose –  I waited for the right moment, made a few calls  and Rahul and I called the police who huddled the group into the van and we pillioned on the officers bike. As the boys (one of them an IITian) echoed their apologies – the officer pulled out his revolver and said, “I will break your leg and then say sorry! Will that be okay for you?” It was a scene straight out of a Bollywood movie. It was exhilarating  and empowering to walk out of a police station past midnight and we zoom off home in the borrowed patrol Enfield. Early next morning, to my landlady’s horror he came to collect his machine.

Amanora Mall the uptown mall in Pune had a coffee shop assistant blowing me a flying kiss! Little did he realise he was playing with fire. Got him arrested and then suddenly he is a defeated soul and I become his sister!  Betrayed by his very own flying kiss, he also has a wife at home and two little girls to take care of. He is literally diving to my feet and it means nothing to me. The next day we get a mail that he has been made reduntant!

Many a times even I play dumb- get into situations that I could have avoided! On hindsight do I not have the right to buy mangoes ?  like this one time when I stepped out of the car when I saw succulent mangoes at a roadside cart. I pick a few when this vendor touches my forearm. It definitely was not a mistake and he called the wrath of Gods  on him. Called the police and within minutes the Tiger Pilot was at the scene of crime! J He picked him up by his collar , his cart and mangoes all scattered, begging and pleading but all too late.

Stretching over a little bridge, to get a better view of the turtles suddenly I am elbowed by a passer-by. That vow never to bash my tormentor went out of the window. Rahul and I beat him as my kids and parents looked on – My mom definitely had a ‘proud as a peacock’ look that day!

Booked a cashier for misbehaviour , booked a mehendi designer for use of foul language and now I am scratching my head if I have skipped any.  Have helped women in distress a few times and I have never been so proud of my existence.

We tend to justify men’s behaviour. Girls are urged to ignore and walk away from eve-teasers. You cannot fight guys, can you?  They will shame you, they will hit back , they will rape you. Be safe than sorry! The society especially the women- mothers, aunts, girlfriends will always advise you otherwise. Keeping quiet is not cowardice, walking away is not cowardice.

I say IT IS! Keeping quiet is cowardice! Walking away is cowardice! You keep quiet - you encourage them, you walk away - you allow it to happen to someone somewhere yet again.

What happened to me and how I chose to retort was not just reflex action. It was a response from my heart, from my soul, from that place within me that tells me that I am worthy of an honourable life.Cannot deny the fact that I was a rebel deep down.I chose not to keep silent, I chose not to walk away. I know those guys will think a million times before they choose to beguile a woman There is no shame or stigma talking about gender bias and the atrocities that come with it. We all have been through it and let us not live in denial.

I am a mother bringing up a daughter – I want a safe place for her Yes, but more so I want her to be a fighter – I want her to believe in herself and not give in to the misogynistic mindset.We have shattered the glass ceiling and have done more than what was expected out of us. Yet, we are dictated as to how we should conduct ourselves and continue to be the sub serviant gender.

Look inside and discover the power within you – let no one and nothing define you. Honour the power within and let one no take that away from you.

For all the women brave hearts out there! For all of you who chose to speak up, for all of you who chose to confront your tormentors!! I salute you because you stood your ground.

Girls Don’t Fight, Fight More, Be More, Be More Human.

Claudia Joshi

2, November 2017

The Victim! Really?

And one day I witnessed an advertisement - a shopping kart doing the flip – I quiet liked the idea! And I went back time and again to view that flipping kart - and slowly the books started trickling in. I had finally managed to back  stab the famous Janta Book Store( how I disliked  the ‘I know it all’  straight faced owner )  From Edward de Bono and  Sigmund Freud to Eoin Colfer and Thea Stilton all came home neatly packed in brown and blue. And that too at a discounted offer. I was satiated. Technology at its best – at least for now ( still waiting for that day when technology goes wireless!) The stories of e-bay were turning into reality in this part of the world.

Amazon made its entry into the Indian market with its logo smiling  at me. I smiled right back  and ‘shopped’ in my pyjamas. What fascinated me most was those wooden racks and shelves - those teeny tiny sets of 3 and 4 shelves that made a statement in your living room. I bought them just  to realise that Rahul did not quite fancy  them( the only thing he fancies is his job!). The hotel carpenter had to be brought home with Bosch drills and frills to get the job done. Those clumsy looking pieces went on the wall one by one and I wanted more. So I went  back perusing pages and pages of shelves  with my virtual kart in tow. Herb knives  and potato peelers and pretty kitchen gadgets brought out the scissor hands chef in me.  I gift shopped as I zoomed around the house.   Perusing through the perfumerie – I could not bring myself to trust these guys – so I played safe or so I thought. As Christmas drew near I ordered some Italian Christmas milk mugs to be delivered to my folks at home–  they did not deliver my pre- paid  gifts. They  botched up my daughter’s shirt size too. So the hate mails commenced till I gave up. The gifts were not delivered and the money was lost and I did what girls do best -  vowed never to shop with Amazon. So much for my playing safe. Amazon with that big smiley managed to wipe the smile off my face.  But wait..

By then Flipkart was selling more than just books. The Bansal brothers were millionaires as the unsure guilty feminine fingers clicked at the Wish Lists and the Add to Carts  – almost making then billionaires overnight. Viveka wanted bean boozles, Siddharth wanted more books and  I just wanted to shop -garden décor, kitchen garden seeds, coco peat, hairspray, comics, ukelele  and what not! Snapdeal – the underdog ! I was kind of prophetic about this portal. Superbdealz – they were  prophetic about me I guess – they swindled me with a fake Louis Vuitton tote and left me poorer by a whopping 5 figure never to be seen again. Even Sherlock Holmes would have  given up  - they vanished into thin air. So much for the smart shopper in me!

It is like a game of poker.

The sellers' gallery can be  misleading – very much so. The  virtual elegant Benetton tee  will looks like a hand me down night wear in real . It is  too late or you must have that energy to do that ‘return dance’ My love for turquoise is illogical and I gave in yet once more- to my horror  to get a pair of parrot green  Dorothy Perkins  wedges from Jabong. Jabong – could someone have christened this portal better? I was ready for a kill.The return policy can sap you of your energy and motivation to carry on with life. – the nightmare vocabulary if your judgement have failed you – terms and conditions( if you have not read them ! anyways who reads them), undelivered ( your books have gone back ! ),  do not remove the tags ( you  get to keep it  forever, if you have ), pick up

( the delivery guy gives you the sneer as you hand him the dishevelled packet) and the cash back ( you will get it if you are  lucky and persuasive enough). After the 'Lewis Witton' buy I have worked on  my persuasive skills and I magage to get that credit beep from my bank. Yay! Yet again, it is my game. Until the next buy.

Claudia Joshi

2,August 2017

My not so Little Secret

Me and my not so Little Secret

As my fingers click away at the keys and my mind makes so much of noise my peripheral vision catches a tiered tray adorned with labelled pebbles and stones - a chip of the Berlin wall, a tiny but a  prized part of a block I picked up  as I walked the creepy hollows of Cheops Pyramid at Giza and many more. My favourite is of course the white marblish pebble I laid my hands on when I dipped my hand in the waters where Jesus walked- Sea of Galilee in Northern Palestine. A more recent one from Lochness , Scotland – maybe it was touched by Nessie, you never know !

A friend of mine has wall to wall cabinets with collectibles from around the world- from ostrich eggs to native American knives. Seriously I find it so overwhelming. Another has a collection of match boxes she can lay her hands on.  My pebble collection sounds more convincing or does it? I have been wondering what this is all about and why people ‘collect’.  I had to get back to the mind and I did. Funnily Freud talks about the need to collect stems from unresolved toilet training conflict! This he says is a traumatic experience therefore the need to hold back and gain control!!! He talks of the dark and the impulsive side of collecting and I am Intrigued. Read about the Endowment Effect and maybe I could agree. Many other wannabes relate this joyous practice to insecurities and emptiness  but I am not convinced. I collect – I do not hoard! The great Carl Jung goes back to how we collected nuts and seeds for survival – the collective unconscious s*** ! They could be all trying to join the dots.

The good news  is, collecting is still mostly associated with happy and positive emotions.  The collector finds happiness in them – from going after it , finding it and admiring  the trophy. It is a mind thing . It is for me a happy mind game. It is a feeling of well being that comes with having admiration for things in life. I cannot but agree.

Teapots – the almost archaic thing especially in this part of the world has given me a feeling of warmth – of heart and hearth both. Don’t know when this love story began – maybe when I sang ‘ I  am a tea-pot ,fat and stout’ with one arm on the waist and the other turned out imitating  a  spout, as a toddler in Holy Cross Montessori School.  Maybe then, I do not not  know but yes, I love them . The only way to show this love was to collect them. We had a tea set back then – a white pot with tiny orange  floral design. The pot was my secret vault-  my money and candy bars all went in there and  was safe within those  curvy white porcelain walls. I have grown up admiring teapots in crockery cabinets , in stores , in my uncle’s dining room, in school when the bearer carried a tray with teapot and all to the sick child upstairs in the infirmary.

A hand painted Jameson and Tailor teapot from my collection

Bought my first tea set for my parents in New  Delhi – a cream and blue handmade pottery and I did not stop there.  I was lucky to have a travel job so I traveled and shopped for teapots around the globe.   Today I have a 4^th generation heirloom  pure silver teapot handed down to me by my mother – in – law, a hand painted beauty I picked up in France, a 24 K  gold plated Russian baby, a curvy  Delft pot , a soft paste English beauty and array of Chinese  porcelain miniatures  from around China and the far east. The more humble aluminium ‘ketlis’ from around India  and some french press that I added to my collection  are no less special. They all are a big part of my life. All in all I have 48 and counting. Teapots in tea towels, teapot hangers and  teapots in my cross stitch patches – I love then all.

My children have also propelled the ‘collector’ in me. It crossed my mind  when my mother said ‘ What are you going to do with all these things? Start a museum of your own? From their first lock of hair to their first clipped nails , their first books and toys all find a place in our big VIP  suitcase. In went their first movie ticket and the school report cards one by one. The once a  year ‘rakhi’ Viveka ties on Siddharth also goes in there. Bits of papers that started with scribbles with ‘b’s as ‘d’s  and the more recent cards and surprise letters . That big black suitcase is my tabernacle!  A highly prized possession. Well ,there will definitely be no museum but yes my children will have a space to delve into and maybe  my grandchildren will be grateful  to fuss over those things of the past and wonder about the ‘crazy nan’. I will be one happy old woman with a cabinet full of teapots!

 I cannot  rest my case here.Buddha figurines and the fridge magnets!

 You would not want to hear or would you? Maybe you would but I need to go.  Sigmund Freud probably you got it right yet again !

22, June 2017