Man Down. Manhole.

I will not add a statistic here or a quote; I will come straight to the point. Why is it that we conveniently sweep social issues under the rug? I was reminded of the men who clean our drains today when I was sipping on a cup of tea, because I have the luxury to do so. I have been blessed to the extent that I can think about these horrifying realities over a warm, comforting beverage. That makes me sad and very afraid for the kind of world we live in.

The men who get down into clogged manholes and resurface covered in muck day in and day out are just that – mere men. I wish they had super powers so they could have an easier way to do it but they don’t. In fact, they don’t even have gloves, masks, boots or any personal protective equipment. They’re working in our city’s sewers in their regular clothes and sometimes in their inner vest and briefs because they don’t want to soil their clothes. Just stop for a moment and imagine that garbage juice against your skin, disgusting right?

I once spoke to a man who was sitting on a garbage truck smoking a cigarette in Koramangala. I asked him how he could sit amidst the domestic refuse. His reply broke my heart, “What, madam? What else do I have in life? My wife delivered our firstborn last month and I haven’t held him once, not once! They don’t ask me to pick him up and I honestly don’t dare to either. I go home every night reeking of waste. No matter how hard I scrub, the smell lingers. It lingers in my hair, under my nails, everywhere. My hands stink, madam, I can’t bring myself to touch my dinner, my wife feeds me. The only time I forget the smell is when I’m drunk but I can’t visit bars regularly because the owner and customers complain about the stench.”

(this is not my photograph, credits to Howard Johnson)

We mourn the deaths of the men stationed along the border, are the deaths of our sanitation workers any less? They do equally lethal work. And not just that, there is also the reality of unsteady pay, caste prejudices, extreme poverty, and an overall lack of safety and apathy. Thousands of them die each year and it goes unnoticed, no more, I hope.

How can we help? Not all help needs to be monetary. There’s so much we can contribute to society and the nation that is unquantifiable; you can begin by segregating your household waste consciously. Save them the horror of ploughing through piles of garbage with their bare hands and keep wet and dry wastes separate. Another way to help out would be to offer them protective equipment such as goggles, gloves, masks, etc. One can find plenty of heavy duty gear online or in hardware stores. Lastly, if you want to go the extra mile, smile at and be friendly to them. Why do I call this going the extra mile? Because sometimes it’s easier handing out money or providing equipment to the workers than it is to make eye contact with them. Don’t be afraid to look them in the eye and make conversation. Apologise if you couldn’t segregate the waste, what’s the most they’ll say? “It’s okay madam/sir” They’ll appreciate a kind word. Listen to their stories and show them you’re grateful for their service. Maybe offer them water, coffee or tea. Do what you can. I think it’s about time we became a little more inclusive and a lot less ignorant. I hope this encourages you! If you already do all these things, I salute you. Keep up the fantastic work! If you’re going to start today, nothing like it! Remember, they’re mere men, we need them more than they need us and most of all, extend a helping hand when you can.

Girl Power

Let’s talk today a little about a few interesting women from the Bible. I love the Bible for the vivid history and people it contains and I want to share with you from the lives of Deborah, Ruth and Esther. Who were they? In a nutshell, Deborah was the fourth judge of pre-monarchic Israel, she was also a counselor and warrior. Ruth was a Moabitess, the widow of Mahlon, but went on to marry Boaz, her kinsman redeemer. Esther, born Hadassah, was the Jewish queen of the king Xerxes I, she was known for her beauty and wisdom. As 21^st century women, what can we learn from these characters who lived sometime around 1000 BC? Let’s find out.

Deborah, tough chick. This extraordinary woman, as I said earlier, was a judge, counselor, warrior and prophetess in ancient Israel. She used to sit under a luscious date palm tree between Ramah in Benjamin and Bethel in the land of Ephraim. Many people in Israel came up to her for wise advice and judgement. A unique personality, she was a dynamic leader. We may assume that her schedule must have been too hectic for domestic life but it was not so, she was the wife of a man named Lapidoth and did not let her professional life affect her family. Deborah’s greatest achievement is the rebellion she invoked among the Israelites against their oppressor, the evil king of Canaan, Jabin and prophesied that Israel will prevail only through the help of a woman.

Deborah ordered Barak, a fellow judge to gather ten thousand troops and lead them to Mt Tabor to attack the Canaanites whose military leader was Sisera. The cloudburst during the battle at Mt Tabor caused the Canaanite chariots to so lose momentum that the malevolent Sisera had to flee for his life. He ran for shelter into the tent of a Kenite woman, Jael. Jael gave him a drink of milk which coaxed him to fall asleep from fatigue, she then killed him by driving a tent peg through his head. When Barak came looking for his nemesis, Jael revealed to him Sisera, dead in her tent.As Deborah prophesied, a battle was fought, and Sisera was completely defeated! The Bible tells us that after the battle there was peace in the land for 40 years, what an amazing woman!

Ruth, loyal and kind. When there was a famine in the land of Israel, Elimelech and Naomi and their sons Mahlon and Kilion left to a neighboring country named Moab. There, the boys came of age and married Moabite women, Ruth and Orpah. When Elimelech, Mahlon and Kilion died unexpectedly, Orpah went back to her people but Ruth stayed on. The vow she made to her mother-in-law Naomi are some of the most iconic verses in the Bible and are read even today. Ruth followed Naomi all the way back home to Bethlehem just as the Barley harvest there was beginning, many people recognized Naomi (meaning ‘sweet and pleasant’) but she asked them to call her Marah instead, as her life had indeed turned bitter. The two widows lived together and sustained themselves with whatever little they had but their grey cloud found its silver lining when Boaz entered the picture. He was their kinsman redeemer which basically means their nearest relative, or so it seemed.He allowed Ruth to glean in his barley fields and gave her special attention and care. Her devotion to the mother of her dead husband and desire to work hard to earn a living was endearing, this was to soon develop into love and affection.

One night Ruth, on Naomi’s orders, entered the threshing floor where Boaz was asleep and lay down at his feet. A startled Boaz awoke in the middle of the night and declared his love for the young widow and promised to marry her. The next morning, after Ruth had left, Boaz went about making swift arrangements to wed Ruth, he even checked with the actual kinsman redeemer if it would be okay to marry Mahlon’s widow and was overjoyed when the man consented. The book of Ruth ends with the wedding of Ruth and Boaz, the birth of their son Obed, which made her the great grandmother of the most popular ruler of Israel, king David. And from David’s bloodline was born, the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ.

Esther, beauty queen with brains to match. Esther, then Hadassah, was the daughter of Abihail, a Benjamite, who had been carried away into captivity by Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon. She lived with her cousin Mordecai. Born as Jews, Hadassah and Mordecai kept the law, even if they were in a foreign land. When Vashti, the wife of king Xerxes was deposed for a petty matter, the beautiful Jewish girl was one of the many young maidens who were carried away to the harem in the palace, for the king to choose a new bride. She was named Esther and was soon everyone’s favorite, it also wasn’t long till the great king Xerxes I picked her to his queen. Esther and Xerxes were married with pomp and show and it seemed as though they were meant to be. What the monarch did not realize was that Esther was not just a pretty face, she was extremely intelligent and more importantly, a devout worshiper of God.

Queen Esther was put to test when there was news declared that all the Jews in Susa, the kingdom’s capital, were to be executed. Haman, the king’s vizier hated the Jews because of Mordecai’s refusal to pay him obeisance. The Bible says that when she heard this her heart was ‘frozen with fear.’ Along with her good looks, she had the brains to work out an ingenious, but risky plan to save her people. As perilous as her scheme was, Esther wasn’t alone. The queen and her maids fasted for 3 days and 3 nights, and spent time praying and asking God for strength and wisdom, all the Jews of Susa lay in sackcloth and prayed for God’s help. At the end of her fast Esther dressed in finery and made her way to the king’s court. It’s not a joke to appear before a mighty king and especially after a 3 day fast. No one must enter the court without the king’s summon, not even his queen, but God was with Esther. As she walked up to the king, it seemed as though she would meet Vashti’s fate, but as soon as he saw his wife, he broke into a smile and extended his golden scepter so Esther could touch the end of it. He was so pleased with her that offered her up to half the kingdom, Esther only smiled and invited him to join her for a banquet she had prepared, Haman was the other guest, there were 2 banquets in total, one each day.

At the end of the third day the king was so delighted with Esther that he was ready to fulfill any wish she could have, Esther, at that opportune moment started begging for her life and the lives of her people. The surprised Xerxes, when finding out who the perpetrator was, ordered Haman to be hanged on the same gallows that the vizier had built for Mordecai. Talk about the predator becoming the prey. The Jewish people were saved, their enemies annihilated, and the event is celebrated to this day in the festival of Purim.

Let’s come to the crux of the matter, shall we? Deborah believed she was the daughter of the Most High God. She was not moved by the world for her God was with her and went before her. She did not fear because she was under the protection of God. Deborah teaches us that God made women to be as tough as nails. Ruth was a brave widow who didn’t go back to what was familiar, she stepped out in faith and walked into the unknown. Her courage brought her to her divine destiny. Ruth teaches us to never look back. Esther was a queen who knew the power of when to speak and when to remain silent. She was aware that she was put in a place of power to save the lives of her people when the time came and not to be just another beautiful bride in the parade of Xerxes’ brides. Esther teaches us that God is in control of all situations even when it seems otherwise. Reader, take a moment to ponder over these few thoughts. Maybe you see yourself as one or all three of these influential characters. If you can’t yet, spend a while in quiet surrender and invoke your inner Deborah, Ruth and Esther. This might just enable you to live the life you are called for and be all the woman you are destined to be. You, dear reader, are worthy of an abundant life.

Rukhaiya

Today I visited a home in my local slum where I work. It’s a pretty big slum and an infamous one too. The home belonged to one of my students, she is one of the best we’ve got and I was really excited to meet her family. And so I walked out of my Centre where I teach and into the community I cater to, it was a long walk in the hot afternoon sun but I somehow managed to get there. The three floor apartment complex she lived in looked quite scary, there was no railing on the stairs, it had dingy, stained walls, and hardly a few window panes were left intact. The very first thing I caught a glimpse of was their common toilet. It was a rundown little room with an Indian style commode and an asbestos sheet for a roof. There wasn’t a latch on the door, no bucket inside or even a window for ventilation. The stench was so severe that, with my already reeling head, I looked away and kept going, I can’t imagine using a restroom like that and living to tell the tale! I walked on, passing by many homes within the complex. The women and children living there began peeping out of their doors, looking at me with quizzical, uninviting eyes, I was an outsider.

‘Ma’am!’ Rukhaiya (name changed to maintain anonymity) was the only one who looked pleased to see me, she was standing outside her door wearing a faded salwar kameez, a black dupatta over her hair and a sheepish smile. She welcomed me in with dozens of apologies as her house was being painted and everything they owned was strewn out in the verandah, I honestly couldn’t care less, her home looked a lot tidier than most homes in the slum. Her mother and two sisters who were waiting inside also joined the apology chorus but stopped when I said, ‘Salam Alekum’ in the best scent I could muster up. ‘Walekum Salam’, came the immediate reply and they began happily chattering in Urdu. As I stood there mute and confused, Rukhaiya came to my rescue informing her family members that I don’t know any Urdu except for a couple of commonly used phrases, and suddenly her now embarrassed mother burst into more apologies, it was all very awkward and silly. I was hurriedly offered a broken plastic chair and the youngest girl darted into what I believe was their kitchen to prepare a cup of tea even before the lady of the house could chide her for being insolent. I was neither hungry nor thirsty but it is a great insult to refuse the hospitality of an overtly generous host, especially when visiting for the first time.

‘This property belongs to my mother-in-law’, said Rukhaiya’s mother, ‘we don’t own a thing here except for a few dishes and our clothes.’ She looked at me plainly. I simply smiled and looked away and scanned their tiny living room/dining area/bedroom, it must have been ten feet by ten. A narrow, flickering blueish tube light illuminated the space, some religious material hung on the green, freshly painted walls and the chair I was sitting on probably was meant for the head of the family or a guest, like me. I never knew Rukhaiya lived in such a small house, I wondered how they all managed to eat and sleep in that congested area and how she could study the way she did under this stream of unsteady light. My thoughts were interrupted when a tray thrust into my line of sight, the girl who had dashed into the kitchen then was now presenting a ceramic cup of a familiar brown liquid, the cup and saucer had been borrowed from a neighbour. The four hosts looked at me intently as I raised the chipped cup to my lips, took a sip and smiled contently. The tea tasted as though someone had immersed an entire sugar factory in the cup, I didn’t know how I could manage another sip but there was no option but drink it, I had to put them out of their misery. Time seemed to stand still as I held the cup in my hands while everyone waited for someone to break the silence.

‘It looks like your home is getting a makeover!’ I interjected, trying to forget about my saccharine syrup growing cold. ‘Yes, ma’am. My mother-in-law has sponsored the painting.’ Rukhaiya’s mother uttered in a bitter-sweet voice, ‘as I said earlier, this entire complex belongs to her. We’re all her daughters-in-law.’ ‘Oh.’ I couldn’t find my voice. ‘Her son has married us all, we’re five wives and hence, six homes in this building. She lives in the biggest one, the one with its own latrine.’ It was more like she was thinking out loud rather than speaking with me. ‘We women have twenty-three children in total and our husband visits us, some more than others. He’s a good man, ma’am. I’m his first wife, we were married seventeen years ago, when my father-in-law was still alive. He passed away a few years after my Rukhaiya was born and it was then that my husband started marrying again and again. Maybe I did not love him enough and this is why Allah is punishing me like this. My children miss him and so I, we don’t even get enough to eat because he hands over his entire salary to my mother-in-law who keeps the majority of it for herself and then rations it out to all of us. I get the least amount because I have borne only daughters.’ My eyes were welled up with tears, ‘Don’t worry, at least you have Rukhaiya now who’s going to earn for your home.’ I comforted her. ‘Rukhaiya is to be married this month, ma’am, don’t you understand? This is why my house is being painted. Rukhaiya is going to be married to a wealthy uncle living in Hyderabad, he has paid a hefty amount to my mother-in-law. I just hope he loves my daughter and will never take another wife.’ Her mother sobbed inconsolably. I could hardly believe my ears, Rukhaiya is the best student I have. She was going to be married away to a faraway city and she would never study again or earn a living to support her family. Rukhaiya simply stood in the corner with her eyes fixated on the floor, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, she knew her fate was decided. Her sisters stood beside her numbly and her mother was now weeping helplessly like an infant.

Nothing I heard felt real, this was supposed to happen only in melodramatic movies, right? Wrong, there are thousands of girls like Rukhaiya even today. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I surrendered my tea cup, nodded a mute goodbye and left, they were also relieved watch me leave. I just wanted to run out of that complex which now resembled a brothel, if I stayed another minute I might have lost my mind. As I walked out of the main gate, the smell of the toilet didn’t bother me anymore.

First Blog Scenes

What does it take to write a blog? How is it made interesting? What’s with writing blogs anyway? Is it because you always have something brilliant to tell the world or because you always have the need to be heard? It could also be an urge to write whatever you like and know that it’ll be out there somewhere forever and ever, which may prove to be as unfortunate as otherwise. And what’s my motive to start blogging? Good questions, guys. A blog, Google says, is a regularly updated website or web page, typically one run by an individual or small group, that is written in an informal or conversational style. Sounds great, doesn’t it? But why is it important to blog, or write for that matter? Is it important? I believe it is. Writing is a refreshing exercise that arranges my thoughts, revisits memories and expresses feelings in a peculiar manner. Writing helps me remember better and see how my ideas take form, it also makes my work endure the test of time, usually.

Blogging is a great way of writing and publishing because it is almost always free, is a globally accessible platform, allows for creative themes and styles, and may even let me make a bit of money if I want. Also, my best friend is a blogger (how cool) and I can’t resist. Perfect.

You know, I created my very own account on WordPress last evening and could hardly contain my excitement! I was gushing over all the incredible, weird and startling expository, descriptive, persuasive and narrative writing I would share here for the world to read and marvel. I sat down with freshly brewed weak black Assam tea in my favourite pink and green cup, a watch beside the laptop to help me keep track of time (because I forget that the laptop and my trusty cellphone also tell time), my hair in a messy top knot and my phone determinately put on silent. I placed my fingers so very gingerly on the keyboard, shut my eyes all meditative-like and breathed deeply, It was a spiritual moment, something spectacular was about to take place. Except it didn’t and I opened my eyes. My brain cells had halted to a stop. Sure, I write now and then and have been coaxed by everyone I know to start a blog but why was my mind suddenly so blank? I assumed that I’ll begin typing away once I invoked my inner muse but I was thoroughly disappointed. Why can’t writers simply write sometimes? Is it like drug induced hallucinations that haul our souls to rapturous bliss and snatch us away as swiftly as they got us there, bearing no warning? I got so bored of staring at a blank, white screen for more than twenty minutes straight trying to search for ideas I could question or questions I could answer. This finally led me to shut the laptop down, infuriated, and move on to checking mundane notifications on various social media. Hey, I’m your typical 23-year-old.

Why did I find it impossible to write a thing yesterday? Was it because I am too good a writer that I cannot settle for a hurriedly composed article (vain much?) or am I so pathetic that I cannot frame even a few random sentences for a hasty reader? I don’t know. I suppose, like everyone else, I hit a road block when I tried to write something of significance. I was unable to write my first blog the way I had imagined to, not the ideal start to an admirable career as a dynamic young blogger. This unplanned first blog about me writing my first blog was a challenge, I do hope the following ones will pour onto the screen as rapidly as they flow from my soul. Cheers!