Are you a believer? Believing is a hard job to hold in the business of life. Bombs are going off in market places. Women are molested for sport. Workplaces are becoming a health hazard. The essence of living has undergone a sea change in the last 25 years. In 1994, when I left Kolkata, it was not a battle for sanity. But then it wasn’t the age of iPhone, Botox, MP3 or Space Expeditions either. So what do you do these days to believe that life is still simple?

Rituals. Hard to digest, but surprisingly, they work! Rituals are sets of actions that may be performed mainly for their symbolic value because they may have no bearing to any solutions you may be seeking. In ancient times, they were prescribed by traditions of a community or religious groups, but today they could be a set of stylized actions that provide a respite, a sense of purpose and fulfillment. They could be created by you – and only followed by you! You could nurture and uphold them for simply the joy they bring you.

Imagine a Friday evening when you are wrapping up from work. It has been a tiresome week filled with family crisis, workplace woes or friendly foes. What is that one thing which can make you feel: “Things aren’t so bad, you know” or “I still have a life!” or “I am glad that my world will always be happy”? I discovered the power that rituals can bring us a week ago when a colleague at work asked me if I wanted something from Mountain Bakery on Road No 2 Banjara Hills in Hyderabad. I was stumped. There I was recovering from a stint in the hospital, wondering if I should seek a career change, fretting about my move into a new locality, grieving from the dashed notions of faithful friends and distant family, and here was my colleague, standing in front of me with a benevolent smile and an innocent question: Do you want plum cake?

There has never been anything more strange asked of me. I have been asked if I want to meet up for a movie or go shopping, but plum cake? I was intrigued and fascinated. I discovered that my colleague had a Friday ritual. Why? I asked her in bewilderment. “It is Friday. I am preparing for the weekend.” Comfort food, the naysayers will scream. Not true. The whole idea is to create tiny stories within the singular story of life that transport us to a simple world.

History shows rituals brought people together, stalled wars, heralded rain and healed grieving people. In 2011, in a remote village called Panjal (Kerala, India) a 4,000 year old fire ritual or yagna (Athirathnam) was conducted. According to a team of scientists led by Prof VPN Nampoori (former director of the International School of Photonics, Cochin University of Science and Technology) the yagna impacted the atmosphere, soil and environment positively. It accelerated the process of seed germination and microbial presence in air, water and soil in and around the region!

Psychology might say rituals are symptoms of obsessive–compulsive disorders. In a technical sense, they are repetitive behavior, systematically used by a person to neutralize or prevent anxiety. But my first-hand experience of performing a ritual was fun! Whether it be drinking a cup of tea in the early morning sun or going every Saturday evening to the temple or buying plum cake from Mountain Bakery – rituals breathed life into life! It is a perfectly easy way to bring back the magic of living by creating a personal idea of happiness. Try it sometime. It works.

Unexpectedly, I spent Valentine’s Day in bed, recovering from an allegedly bad prescription by a famous orthopedic surgeon in the city. It appears that I was diagnosed for something that I might not have had. So after three torturous days in Apollo Hospital, I was glad to be home. My first thought was: Women always seem to have it harder. But really, I wonder, is it really that hard all the time or is it just so that you’d like me to believe it is since I always have to fight 10 times more for what I should be graciously granted?

Anyway, I didn’t miss the roses or hearts or candies for my V-Day celebration. I was mesmerised by the demonstrations of the One Billion Rising group in India. I am quite proud to say, by the look of the movement that no matter what happens eventually to the six rapists of December 2012 women in India are still really free. A good sign too, because it is getting kind of tiring for women to fight men, women to fight politics, women to fight other women, women to fight corporate honchos, and women to fight for their space in the virtual world even! In other words, I think women like us, whether in the pink of health or not, are done with the constant fighting — even fighting to prove that we deserve to be happy. In fact, every woman I know or hear of today is deeply frustrated, not happy at all, because the pressure to be happy is weighing her down! It is true that no amount of off season sales seems to lift the feminine spirit. Gym, yoga, meditation, walks — nothing is helping. Even re-runs of Friends or Sex and the City aren’t helping.

What is this weird state of dissatisfaction that women all over the world are increasingly finding themselves in these days? More importantly, why? Well, women have possibly evolved too fast for their own good — so fast that at times I think they might just grow a stubble, or male genitalia. We have studied, worked, married, divorced and renounced this world with such great speed that men in their heads are still planted somewhere in the Middle Ages. This is probably because we think too much, say too much, do too much and then, analyze too much compared with men. As if this was not enough, we also went ahead and tried to achieve the impossible with greater speed — which is, lead lives that go beyond tradition, rules, society and, our own fears and doubts.

Terrifyingly, this new game is just about getting started but we think we have already mastered it. The ‘old’ equality game — which was until now played by men — has flipped on its head.

Now, women like Eve Ensler who wrote about vaginas way back in the 1990’s are back in vogue; they are no longer the ‘new voice’, or shocking. They are the new Piped Pipers of Hamelin, leading us to believe that we are actually capable of making our own game of equalities. It could be something far more dangerous because it would be creating a seam-less, level-less, and gender-less society which by virtue of its conscious effort to protect and accord equal status to women, could abolish and destroy the natural order of things forever.

But, wouldn’t it be marvelous if none of us would have to try so hard to be invincible like men while actually being petrified women? Wouldn’t it be a relief not to have to shout slogans for fear that someone will forcibly marry us off on Valentine’s Day in the park if we are found strolling with a man? So yes, women everywhere are tired and dissatisfied because they live a life of constant vigil, and endless fighting against the larger-than-life oppression. It is such a pathetic cliché, but I think most women would just like to wash their hair, paint their nails and curl into bed with a good book instead of participating endlessly in the feminine revolutions of the world. One Billion Rising or not, women really need time out. To breathe.

In the past five days, the average Indian like me may not have managed to read the newspaper in the morning but may have still got a clear sense of what really matters today for millions of us in India, thanks to Twitter: Integrity of spirit, thought and action.

Technology is a wonderful thing when it brings people together in support of another person and his dream. I have to admit that somewhere between the horrific rape incident of December, and the slow start to January with the worst rapist being declared juvenile, like many patriotic Indians, I was losing hope.

But this sudden brouhaha over Kamal Hassan’s epic creative venture Vishwaroopam which cost him `100 crores wakens the sleeping giant in me again.

It should, if you ask me, because like you, even I am rapidly losing that sense of pride in “the idea of India” (NDTV). But then, that is exactly the problem! We are now living in the “idea”, our lives far removed from ground reality. Scapegoats like us are suspended in a dream world where only what politicians and their pet groups will allow or approve come into existence.

So India is no longer a country or a democracy; it is reduced to being an “idea” as it was before Gandhi, or Independence.

Is it any wonder that this “idea of India” now changes each day? It is changing its stance on diversity and secularity; it is changing its views on women and religion; it is even changing its stance on the border situation!

But do you know what the aam aadmi wants? Right now, the aam aadmi wants to welcome the genius writer Salman Rushdie to India for the premier of Midnight’s Children and watch Kamal Hassan’s magnum opus without censorship-on-demand.

I am sorry if that is not deep enough for you but movies really do it for me (because it takes us to a place where we are not targeted, judged, raped or stalked). And oh, if the aam aadmi has more time or energy, he probably wants an extra hour of sleep in the weekend!

So how do ‘normal’ people like you and I function in an “idea” and not India? Bad enough we have no social security like our fellow brothers in America, nor do we stand a chance to benefits in millions via some scam or another — and yes, we still have to work and pay taxes. Do we pretend that our alternate-religion-race-color neighbor is invisible just because he is eating a different curry or using another set of swear words in his mother tongue unlike mine? Or to make things even more interesting, do we now request for a new word to replace ‘democracy’ because this India in which we are living is really imaginary?

Maybe if we ban all religions, robotise our people, and homogenise creativity and productivity, we’d get Gandhi’s India back. Obviously, that is a joke! India really is all of a melting pot of cultures, cuisines, terrains and languages. Can you imagine what would happen to our colorful tourism brochures if otherwise? Since I vote for Gandhi’s secular and clever India, I am pleased to support all the actor-Khans in the movie business more than the Kapoors. Besides, they far hotter!

Anyway, so here comes Vishwaroopam giving us all a wake-up call to stop “cultural terrorism”. Whether it is a case of Salman Rushdie (another favorite of mine!) or Kamal Hassan, the objection I am told is on the creation of art that questions or quotes the Koran. But really, aren’t there millions of people in this world who make fun of the Bhagvat Gita in which a blue-colored God gets busy giving sermons to a warrior in the midst of a raging battle?

Let us face the truth. Everyone has a problem with everyone on this planet at some time or another. Nobody loves all their neighbors. Holy books are guidance, not an absolute. Tolerance is paper thin — besides bans and effigies, we are ready to see rapists burn. And —despite all of this, we have to remember that none of us are perfect. Yet in our imperfection, we don’t base our reactions towards any art or person or religion on the basis of our own. Keep it that way.

However, if you are one of those who think that culture is the right of a handful and this stupid idea called India was a mistake to begin with, how about going to Greenland or Alaska? There the only culture you have to deal with is survival.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2013/02/02/i-for-imaginary-tolerance/106287/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/10/06/quirky-side-up-the-greatest-love-of-all/78151 http://postnoon.com/2012/10/06/quirky-side-up-the-greatest-love-of-all/78151#comments Sat, 06 Oct 2012 09:42:53 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=78151

Have you ever wondered why you are tired of trying to be “awesome”? It is probably because you think that there isn’t any other option. You have to look sharp, think smart, and wow the audience every time you open your mouth. Also, if you have “amazing” friends, then you have to constantly “up your game” in order to be seen as phenomenal by them.

No wonder, all the advertisers in the world today are targeting you. They have self-esteem packed in the form of fairness creams, anti-cellulite gels, and green tea which they make you believe can “up your game”.

But what happens when you drop the ball one day?

You are terrified of being discovered as a person who has flaws and can fail, and you are miserable because you can’t even show your weakness!

You try to preserve your self-esteem by living in denial about what you need to change or correct about yourself, yet you are so hard on yourself that if you were a chair, you would break if someone sat on you. The overdrive, the constant need to be positive and banish all negative emotions, the need to be brilliant and flawless at all times, and the self-delusion that you were never meant to fail, is bound to take a toll.

Noted psychologist Heidi Grant Halvorson says that we need to move away from an industry or society that is telling us all the time that we are “awesome”. We need to, instead, learn that we are human, we will make mistakes and all that self-praise should be toned down.

The inflated self-esteem, 5,000 titles of self-help/self-esteem books on Amazon, or the moving goalposts that never seem to within our reach all need to be put to rest.

It is time that we listen to the alternate group of researchers who are saying, “Love yourself!” If you take a page out of the Buddhists’ books, you will find that the importance of compassion, as largely expressed and propagated by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama also, is not just about being compassionate towards others only. His Holiness speaks of self-compassion first.

According to Kristin Neff, an Associate Professor in Human Development and Culture at the University of Texas at Austin, self-compassion is a way of relating better to yourself: “It requires self-kindness, that we be gentle and understanding with ourselves rather than harshly critical and judgmental.

Second, it requires recognition of our common humanity, feeling connected with others in the experience of life rather than feeling isolated and alienated by our suffering.

Third, it requires mindfulness — that we hold our experience in balanced awareness, rather than ignoring our pain or exaggerating it.”

Just because we are not harder on ourselves, it doesn’t mean we won’t succeed. We will, if we cut ourselves some slack, learn from our experiences, and get ready to take responsibility and move on!

Self-compassion is a great way to love yourself and remember that you have the power because you are not trying to argue and judge yourself down! You are merely giving yourself some time to pause before you start again.

So relax, allow life to take its course at times even if you think you are losing control, and open your heart to yourself.

The greatest love of all is to love yourself. Cheers!

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/10/06/quirky-side-up-the-greatest-love-of-all/78151/feed 2 http://postnoon.com/2012/09/22/come-fly-with-me/74783 http://postnoon.com/2012/09/22/come-fly-with-me/74783#comments Sat, 22 Sep 2012 05:54:16 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=74783

When Kingfisher Airlines was launched, the first thing that people thought of was the Kingfisher Calendar, because they naturally hoped that the airhostesses would be no less than the models that got showcased in swimwear on it. They weren’t totally disappointed because the airhostesses were incredibly pretty and elegant. To be fair, the total experience of flying the airline, from food to comfort to care, was outstanding.

But it is not just the case of Kingfisher promising an attractive visual experience. In the hey days of Indian Airlines, when airhostesses were clad in saris, the ethnic Indian wear, they were still supposed to be tall, slim and beautiful. However, curves, bold attitude and western wear were not a part of the hosting game.

Recently, I took two consecutive flights from Hyderabad to reach Chandigarh via Delhi on SpiceJet. While I am immune to anorexic women and tight short skirts that leave nothing to the imagination, it was obvious that the first-time-on-a-plane travellers were not. They gawked and gaped, and spluttered each time the airhostesses passed by. Perhaps the proximity of bright red tight short skirts that showed off panty lines or the white shirt stretched beyond decency across breasts, or even the slightly uncomfortable stance of the hostesses was a huge hit with the semi-urban and rural travelling crop that day. Whatever it was, one thing was clear – women like you and I travelling on planes are pretty much safer than we are on the roads these days, because male attention is diverted ingeniously from the seat next to theirs to the aisle where the air-goddesses saunter.

But seriously, do we need to virtually sell eye-booty to attract customers? While no airline advertises that they have sexy flight attendants, they feel eye-candy helps to get repeat customers! I mean, really? Ask yourself – would you be fine if a really sexy airhostess or hunky steward returned your request for water with a wink or a peck on your cheek? Just because the attendant is gorgeous, would you be willing to be parched unto death on a flight?

Also, we really have a big problem if people flying a particular airline do so because they can “see” hot women or men. Service – the kind we expect on an aircraft – should be prompt, polite and accurate, irrespective of the physical beauty or appeal of the person attending. I am sure we have nothing against pretty women or handsome men helping or guiding us during our journey because we don’t deliberately vote for hideous or huge or anything like that. However, I fail to understand a certain logic that I got the other day from a frequent flyer. He said, if the attendants have attitude, personality and good looks, they naturally give off the “touch me not or I shall bite” vibe, forcing men to behave with airhostesses and women to stop throwing themselves at the male flight attendants. So, if they didn’t have any of those attributes, flyers would misbehave?

Whatever it is, especially in India, airlines should really revisit the dress code of female flight attendants. Who says uniforms have to be too tight, too provocative and too vulgar to make an airline successful? Airline companies in India can take a page out of KLM or Emirates, or even Thai Airways. They should also be sensitive to the other women passengers on the plane who have to watch male flyers ogle and letch at airhostesses who are actually quite awkward at times. Seriously, would a little more respect for women on board cost anyone their business? I don’t think so.

www.arpitabhawal.wordpress.com

Infidelity – the word that puts a chill down some spines, and titillates others – is not as simple as being “unfaithful” as human beings would like to believe. If you strip off the veneer of judgemental smugness, and dive deeper into the reasons behind Infidelity, it promises to be as enigmatic as the dark side of the moon. In fact, I am so fascinated with this whole concept of Infidelity that I am even writing a book on it. But seriously, it is not always fun to have friends or even you in a situation where either you are experiencing the aftermath of Infidelity or you are being a party to it. Especially when you are the gorgeous single, involved with a man or a woman who is inconveniently married!

The Oxford English Dictionary defines adultery as sexual intercourse between a married person and someone other than one’s spouse. But as if that was not enough to give the prudish classes of society sleepless nights, researchers Glass & Wright (1992) have broadened this definition to include sexual infidelity (sex without emotional attachment), romantic infidelity (without sex but with emotional attachment) and, sexual and romantic involvement (having both sexual and emotional attachment). I was also fascinated with the research done by noted anthropologist and author, Helen E. Fisher, who has probed into the when, where and why of Infidelity. Her body of work serves well as research material for the book I am writing, but it also raises a lot of questions that everyone is dying to ask, but are too embarrassed to.

According to Fisher, “pair bonding is the hallmark of humanity”, which is why we all want to find ‘the One’ or marry someone. But she also clarifies that “monogamy is only part of the human reproductive strategy…” Oh, my! In other words, Infidelity didn’t come aboard with the iPhone or the LED TV. It has been widespread since the times of ancient societies and tribes – more like the Old Stone Age. Infidelity was also common among the classical Greeks and Romans, among the pre-industrial Europeans, among the historical Japanese, Chinese and Hindus, and among the traditional Inuit of the Arctic, Kuikuru of the jungles of Brazil, Kofyar of Nigeria, Turu of Tanzania and many other tribal societies (Fisher, 1992).

Yet, in this supersonic age, we grow beetroot red when we recall Karan Johar’s scandalous film Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna — as if Indian men are saints and Indian women Sati Savitris, while all adultery happens only in corrupt America and American films. Unfortunately, as a race, Indian people are quite full of themselves. They turn bluish-purple with rage when they hear about a married man having an affair, or a single or divorced woman “poaching” someone’s husband. The outrage infidelity invokes in modern society is quite ridiculous – it is a perfect example of how foolish we have become with progress and advancement, because we now believe we can alter the DNA of our cultural and social origins. In my view, I think people who are at the receiving end of Infidelity feel violated and are just plain afraid of the slapdash mockery it makes out of their over-confident selves.

Infidelity is not new to Indians. It is routinely ignored by women who pretend that they are not aware of “cheating” husbands because they want to continue to enjoy the comforts of the marriage like money, status and lifestyle; men, however, prefer to beat their wives to death in the name of family honour even if they are not the sole-bread-winner. So, you, your significant other, or someone else’s significant ot­her, or even me, we are not really worried about being “cheated upon”. Our most primal fear is that we are ‘alone’ so we want to tolerate infidelity as a way of aberrant life. What is evident from the 30 years of research conducted on Infidelity by Fisher shows that irrespective of what we believe or think or feel, it is likely, that every man or woman who has been subject to some sort of negative biological, sociological, psychological, or physiological experience right from the time of birth is going to experiment with relationships and sex.

Also, Fisher says, one prominent psychological factor associated with Infidelity is the degree of satisfaction in one’s primary, committed relationship – what we call “marriage”. Known as the “deficit model” of infidelity, Thompson (1983) found that extramarital sex was infidelity negatively associated with several aspects of relationship satisfaction, including the degree to which the relationship was generally satisfying, whether personal needs were being fulfilled, the degree of love felt for the primary partner, the frequency and quality of sex with the primary partner, and the length of the marriage. Thus, extramarital sex is not about a man or a woman who cannot control their libido – it is the roving eye that speaks of boredom, lack of emotional support, poor communication.

The general consensus is that Infidelity is one-sided – it is the fault of the one who wandered — but rarely does one dive deep down into the recesses of the Infidelity psyche to probe the possibilities of childhood sexual abuse, philandering parents, lack of friends or possessions, physical violence, unresponsive caregivers, and lack of attention. Since all of these are plausible reasons for Infidelity, and the majority of people on the planet are likely to be adulterous at some point or the other, it is perhaps important for men and women to do what is within their control to soften the blow: Be honest with one’s self, and make a choice to not have multiple partners at the same time.

(The writer can be contacted at: http://arpitabhawal.wordpress.com)

The vicious grip of supe­rstition over people, and the general indifference in society to the plight of its victims, is both infuriating and baffling.

The XXX Olympic Games began yesterday in London. What fun! How I wished I was there to immerse in that unmatched spirit of celebration: World renowned athletes, elevated pulse rates, lofty dreams, unconquerable wills, and most importantly, a huge show of “games”! These “games” reinforce exactly how the whole world was meant to be right from the start – fun, festive, exciting and thrilling – and only sometimes, about winning. But somewhere, we lost our way. Why? Probably because most of us don’t know how to play!

Would you believe it, I have never played games in my entire life? The closest I ever came to playing a sport was basketball in fifth grade. Then, much to my horror, when I was elected as the one of the captains’ for Teresa House in eleventh grade, in charge of Sports, I almost died. Sports, did they say? Why would anyone pick someone like me who was terrified of playing? Nobody ever guessed the panic that struck my heart each day during ‘sports practice’ for the whole of those three dreadful months before Sports Day.

But I loved watching other people run, jump, throw javelin (I once tried my hand at javelin and was surprised to find that I was good at it!). But, in truth, I hated playing, so I let all those little glimpses of ability disappear over time. There was nothing romantic about playing under the scorching sun, getting pushed around by better athletes, and trying to score in the Heats. It was just too depressing. My weak frame supported my decision. My parents also contributed generously. They perpetually coddled me, kept me out of the sun, wrote ‘excuse’ notes for the PT periods, wrapped me up like a Mummy during winters, and blamed the teacher when I fainted on the field one time during a regular drill. So, by 18, sports or games of all kinds got relegated to my past life. I was so relieved.

But, as the years went by, I realized what a great crime my parents had committed. They had turned me into a sorry-assed, non-player – someone who was terrified of losing. I didn’t know the meaning of the word “game”. To me it was equivalent to being “prey”! Then, God showed me Steffi Graf on TV. She played and won Wimbledon each time like as if she was strolling in the park. I had an epiphany – I would have loved to play Tennis like her! Of course, it was too late at 24-something. So, instead, I got a job in advertising – replacing my sudden fascination for physical and mental fitness, training and discipline, and goals with draft beer and ad-talk.

What does this life-story have to do with “games”? EVERYTHING! If you have never learnt to play a sport or participated in “games”, you have actually never known the real thrill of pure sporting competition which gives the greatest high in life – even more than sex. If your miserable soul had ever had that singular experience of deepest humility then you could have turned any failure into divine insight. In short, the Olympic Creed (The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well) expresses what people like you and I could have gained through sport: A perspective on managing life’s biggest, and sometimes, most futile struggles. Just like the Olympic Games, Life really gives us all a chance to play our best game. It is a window to prove our will to excel, no matter how hard it is, or how lost and torn we are. At least now, in the spirit of a true Olympian, play your best game yet!

The writer may be contacted at: http://arpitabhawal.wordpress.com

When I was growing up in the 1970’s along with a bunch of young kids between the ages of four and eight in Kolkata, life was magical. It was made up of an eclectic mix of cultures, habits, food, and super heroes – all of which resided in the apartment building called Karnani Estate! I was just about four years old when Raj Kapo­or’s iconic film Bobby got relea­sed. As Dimple Kapadia made her debut with Rishi Kapoor, our mothers perked up our wardro­bes with Bobby dresses, Bobby shoes, and even Bobby ribbons for our hair. Listening to the song’s lyrics, “Jhoot Bole, Kauya Kaate…” (Loosely translated: If you tell a lie, the crow will bite), we all became terrified of the crows. We imagined that the drop-dead gorgeous chocolate hero, Rishi Kapoor was probably good at scaring off the crows.

I remember the modest Parsi family, Medhoras, who resided on the same floor as us in the building. They were rather modest and preferred to be “gentlemanly” about the apartment’s frequent water and electrical problems. However, it was evident that they frequently hobnobbed with the Mehtas, another Parsi family residing on the same floor as ours. This made them quite visible because the Mehtas were a much loved couple, with adult sons and daughters, all of them married and away in various parts of the world. I was particularly fond of Mr Medhora. He was a thorough super-hero, always leaving behind chocolates, LPs and warm words of encouragement for us during the weekends when he took Mrs Medhora to the Parsi Club or for some Navjote or the other. His two lovely daughters, Behroze and Meher, were equally warm and caring like their father, and ever willing to share their toys, home, food, and music.

Besides Dhansak and bread pudding, the Medhora’s had an enviable collection of LP records. We used to stare at the handsome pictures of Feroz Khan, Raj Kapoor, Rajendra Kumar and Meena Kumari on the covers of those records and to us, superheroes were right where we lived — in our homes! Much later as we grew up, Indrajal Comics introduced us to Phantom, Mandrake and Lothar… and then the world of Amar Chitra Katha where even the ordinary man was a superhero because of his noble deeds.

Needless to say, the love for superheroes began then – and continues for some of us until this day. But more importantly, what continues with that is ho­pe! The vagaries of our youth and middle-age have not stolen the thunder from that magical word “super” only because it is filled with hope. Dara Singh, the He-Man of the black & white fi­lms’ era who passed away a couple of days ago was a superhero in real life and reel life. He was super because along with a body of steel, he had a heart of gold.

But, what is the “super” part in the heroes of our lives today? Can we call a common man “super” even if he dresses or expresses his emotions like a hero of a film? Do we think our police officers or lawmakers are superheroes with lots of “super” in them? Going by the state of our country, maybe not. After all, they are not giving us anything to hope for – certainly not with a scamster going to watch the Olympics at London, and a teenage girl being molested and stripped of her clothes and dignity by 30 people in Assam. Maybe we should ask the FBI or Interpol to help our CBI to hunt down the “super” and return them to our “Heroes”. If in a democracy, that can’t happen, then it must be time for people like you and me to don capes, fix claws, learn how to somersault and break a leg. That is super.

(The writer can be reached at www.arpitabhawal. wordpress.com)

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/07/14/its-time-you-and-i-became-superheroes/58943/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/06/23/yin-or-yang-in-the-boardroom/55200 http://postnoon.com/2012/06/23/yin-or-yang-in-the-boardroom/55200#comments Sat, 23 Jun 2012 10:27:36 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=55200

Recently, I surrendered to TED talks. The first one that caught my eye was the chat by Sheryl Sandberg — COO of Facebook — on the three reasons why there are few women leaders. Sheryl tries to succinctly latch on to the most comfortable portions of her observations to bring us three reasons why we have so few women leaders. She attributes fewer women in the big roles to the lack of a seat at the table. Mostly, women fear to take that seat. Young working women at times start to make choices about career vis-à-vis married life and babies even before they has found their significant other to marry and have children with! Sheryl also talks about how women fall off the work force because they simply can’t always seem to get everything done at home and work, because even if they are working at office, they still end up doing more at home than before.

After working for almost 19 years, I am finding it increasingly difficult to deal with women in the workforce, too. Each time I meet someone, she appears to be worse off than the previous time. The anxiety of choice, office politics, male egos and indifferent acceptance are driving women up the wall. All in all, the situation surrounding women, their roles in organizations, their value to the P&L statement, and what they bring to the decision-making table has clearly divided the world into two factions – Pro Women and No Women. This is strange because since time immemorial, the male and female have not been at loggerheads in any sphere of life. Like the Yin Yang in Asian and Chinese philosophy, they are not opposing forces or dualities, but complementary opposites. Yin is unseen (hidden, feminine) and Yang is seen (manifest, masculine) and together they interact within a greater whole, as part of a dynamic system.

Arpita Bhawal

Sounds great, but in the corporate world of lofty boardrooms and loftier psyches the story makes an uneasy turn. Less than 16% of women on this planet make it to the boardroom. Sheryl’s reasons aside, the men need to fall in line, too. Men have to realize that women have what noted anthropologist and author Helen E. Fisher, Ph.D, calls “Enlightened Power”. It means that women can actually transform the practice of leadership in an organization not just with their higher education and a bunch a degrees, but also with their inbuilt natural leadership talents which Fisher describes as “biological underpinnings”. To begin with, research shows that women are Web-Thinkers. In short, we get it – we are contextual, think broader, and exhibit mental flexibility for 90% of the issues we handle (no, we don’t get stuck to the guns like men!). We are more articulate; our executive social skills make us great at reading body language and we are keen thinkers. If that is not enough still, we are also excellent at networking, collaboration and empathy with different groups of species within a work environment. No, unlike men, we do not prefer drinks with the CXO Club over the HR Women’s Networking Group – yes, we are more than fair.

All this goes to show that women can co-create a better work environment, and correct the balance of power and responsibility that usually makes men unnaturally aggressive or insensitive. We need both – Yin and Yang – in the boardroom. As Fisher says, “Men and women are like two feet – they need each other to get ahead”. I like the idea of having two feet. Who wants to walk with one?

(www.arpitabhawal.wordpress.com)

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/06/23/yin-or-yang-in-the-boardroom/55200/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/06/09/the-sacred-space/52705 http://postnoon.com/2012/06/09/the-sacred-space/52705#comments Sat, 09 Jun 2012 10:28:19 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=52705

Have you ever had a moment when you felt constricted by someone else’s presence? Expe­rien­ced a pang of helplessness when you found your regular seat taken on the bus to work? Did you end up frowning after a perfect night’s sleep when you couldn’t find your slippers next to your bed? If you have felt invaded by a situation that has allowed someone else or something else to take up the space (or even disappear from it) which you considered ‘your own’, whether it was on a bus, in an office, or even in your own home, then you know exactly what I mean. On a lighter note, for some of you who follow my Quirky column, you may have noticed another person represented it last weekend. Oh yes, I did consider that as an invasion of space, but as Postnoon says, ‘it was an honest mistake’ and not meant to dislodge me.

When did this whole ‘space’ thing start? When we were born on Earth, and claimed our space that continued to grow with us over time! That space transformed and extended like a living creature, from a spot to a circle, including every single area or thing that we touch. Just take a look around your own home right now. The place on your dresser where you put your perfume bottle, the nook behind the cistern where you shove-in the morning newspaper, the second shelf in the kitchen where the coffee jar is kept, the potted Tulsi plant in the right corner of the balcony… everything has been assigned its own space — by you. It is as if we look for the right kind of spaces to associate our things with and they get fixed there for, if we can help it, eternity. Sometimes, we even match people to certain spaces who don’t necessarily belong to us, like the night watchman. When I don’t find the night watchman on his seat next to the elevator of the apartment building where I live, I begin to wonder if he is off duty! But more than such instances which reinforce the sanctity of space in our lives, what we take for granted in our personal lives in terms of space, becomes the deal-breaker.

Once during a short vacation with a school friend whom I was meeting after twenty-odd years, I had this painful revelation. It was great fun at first — the gossip, the empathy, the reminiscences and the common interest in great food. But after a day together in Bangalore, it became obvious that we were in each other’s way! Boxed in the same hotel room, the thrill of rediscovering friendship quickly took on a new flavour. We were too anxious to be relaxed. Why has she kept the towel here? This place is for the bathrobe. Why is she washing her feet in the washbasin before her prayers? That is for washing your face and mouth. Why is she keeping her handbag on the luggage rack? That is for, obviously, our luggage! It would have been so much easier to just book separate rooms — and it would have given us both enough space to be ourselves and happy.

The next time you think that you can share a hotel room, cab, towel, or a glass of water (because you don’t mind drinking from someone else’s and you are too lazy to get up and get one), think again. In fact, it may serve you well to remember that space is not just the physical dimension — it is also not about being ‘accommodative’ or ‘inclusive’ as management schools would love to tell you. It is about the psychological and personal areas of a person’s life, habits and way of existence over which you have no right of control. We must acknowledge that as individuals, the spaces we dwell in become a part of us. It defines us, and for that reason alone, we must keep it sacred.

The writer is a communication specialist.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/06/09/the-sacred-space/52705/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/05/26/mums-the-word/50545 http://postnoon.com/2012/05/26/mums-the-word/50545#comments Sat, 26 May 2012 10:27:41 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=50545

What is it that you love about hotels? The service, the food or the décor? If you have travelled abroad — mostly to the US or Europe — you should be delighted about our hospitality industry. Our service rates as highly as does the luxury of our hotel rooms — in size, amenities and comfort. Sometimes of course, the city puts a touch of class to it.

Now, if you are ensconced in a five-star hotel in Mumbai, great. Or the rooms can get New Yorkish — in other words, possibly more compact than the ones which are similar to those in Nashville where you can play a mini IPL match! Real estate being the mother of all gods in Mumbai, it is surprising that rooms are still great in five-star hotels and beat the Big Apple to death. But if you have ever had the misfortune of checking into one of the three- of four-star hotels in Mumbai, particularly the lesser-known ones which are very reasonable and do brisk business when training programmes are held in it and you choose to inhabit that hotel for that reason alone, I would suggest you carry what I call, the ‘Homemaker’s Kit’. In fact, I am so convinced about it, I am thinking of patenting it.

Imagine, after a long day of work meetings in Mumbai, you are preparing to call it a night — dying to check into your hotel room where you can finally get some sleep and rejuvenate. Of course, given that time flies in Mumbai, you check in around 10.30pm, finally your luggage arrives, and you bolt the door. You freshen up and prepare to dive into the comfortable bed… and then you want to scream! The seemingly tidy room of a four-star hotel has a bed that looks slept in, pillows that stink of perspiration, carpet that smells musty, and a bathroom that sports all kinds of indecipherable pieces of garbage. Unbelievable!

By now you may have already guessed the contents of my ‘Homemaker’s Kit’ which can be very handy if you travel and stay in hotels. But mind you, one can’t fault the hotels. Imagine the number of visitors coming in to the city every day. Compare that with the rising cost of labour. Now, almost all hotels go full during weekdays. The room rates are ridiculous, and the speed at which everyone within the hotel has to work and please their guests, is equally nasty. Maybe iRobots are the answer to Mumbai’s hygiene conditions — within the hotels and outside as well. I had begun to think that we are already on the brink of an Advanced Age of Hygiene and Sanitation. But Mumbai reminds you that the housekeeping practices remain archaic — and the familiar stench of rotting sewage still stands out more than the beauty of the New Sea Link Bridge.

Some may even argue: Do you really vacuum your home, change your bed sheets, use new pillowcases, replace soiled towels, polish your bathroom and spray room freshener in your air conditioned, carpeted, bedroom every day? Do you even have an air-conditioned, carpeted bedroom with a mini bar? Most probably not, so why do you become the Ms Universe of Hygiene when you check into a hotel? Good questions — but nobody is really going to bother to answer them.

I guess the truth is out there — right where you live. In our homes, squalor, grime, filth, muck, poor housekeeping and even lack of luxuries is kind of endearing. There is a homey-ness about not being perfect, not keeping house all the time, and not tidying up routinely like a maid. We are comfortable and tolerant of our own mess, because it has our signature and odour in it. But outside, it is a tale of great duress. Who wants to find human hair, black marks, sweat stains, or dust clouds in a twelve-square-foot hotel room? Not me, nor you. You could make a big deal about it. Or just remember, it is the curse of a big, busy, boastful city. Yeah, Mum is the word. And you always have a choice. Carry a ‘Homemaker’s Kit’.

The writer is a communication specialist.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/05/26/mums-the-word/50545/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/05/12/set-your-heart-on-fire/48192 http://postnoon.com/2012/05/12/set-your-heart-on-fire/48192#comments Sat, 12 May 2012 10:27:46 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=48192

Where is the fire burning? Well, besides 42° Celsius of scorching heat on the Deccan Plateau, in offices cooking up controversial appraisals, summer holiday planning in affluent homes with children, a new fire is spitting and crackling every Sunday morning at 11am on your television set. No, I am not talking about a Saas-Bahu serial, this one is called Satyamave Jayate. Star Plus can probably still be saved if they start hosting more shows like Satyamave Jayate, which reminds me of the good old days of Doordarshan when monotone TV serials came with a social message and ignited our hearts.

Aamir Khan’s famous words in his hugely disruptive show Satyamave Jayate, which is now being aired on Doordarshan and paid television channels, revives the same sentiments and forces me to reawaken my idealist self. Aamir says, “Sirf hungama khada karna mera maksad nahi. Meri koshish hain ki yeh surat badalni chahiye. Mere seeney mien nahi toh tere seeney mien sahi… ho kahin bhi aag, lekin jalni chahiye.”

What the sexy face of perfectionism, the alter ego of Bollywood, the heart-throb of my college years, means is that we need to light the holy fire in our conscience once again as we watch him every Sunday showcase the loss of ‘human’ from ‘humanity’ in India.

But, will we, the people of India, all burn our hearts out trying to fit into the grand scheme of altering human behaviour with action instead of remaining mute spectators indulging in the charms of our quintessential star? Satyamave Jayate, undoubtedly, is the sexiest new idea in town after Anna Hazare’s drive against corruption. Perhaps what we all need is a burning desire to change the world neatly packaged by a believable star.

Why not? Most Hollywood films gross billions when their heroes save the world. Maybe our Bollywood heroes, who dare to step off the big screen, and light up our hearts and homes with programmes like Satyamave Jayate can help us change what we hate most — ourselves.

From ignoring a five-year-old child begging at your car window to glazing over the face of a bent old man with a walking stick outside the restaurant where you stuffed yourself like a turkey, you may have done it all. How did those people get there? That question always has a priceless answer which has no relation to the question: “Don’t give them money, because they are lazy and that is why they beg.” Our apathy towards the human condition has reached alarming proportions, perhaps for our fear of being taken for a ride!

That is the very reason we have to take a stance

when we hear of our women friends getting beaten up by their husbands, or parents selling off their daughters to the richest man under the façade of a respectable match, or victims of child abuse being accused

of having “encouraged the abusers”. But the test of the pudding will be in the community’s eating — which is to say that Truth Shall Prevail only if we work together towards keeping the fires of positive change burning by participating, endorsing, supporting and actively working on the issues that this show dares to bring forth rather graphically.

Satyamave Jayate — the title that needed no registration because it is free for use by every Indian — heralds Social Change. It is calling out to test, not Aamir’s star power alone, but ours as well. I will be watching, contributing, writing and welcoming social change in India, because I believe in Satyamave Jayate. What about you?

The writer is a communication specialist.

Almost everyone I speak with these days exclaims, “I need a life!” Well, everyone has a life. At times, we are more weary than alive, because we are probably leading two or more lives when we have permission for one. We are trying to make sense of what we have, what we don’t have, what we can’t have, and what we can’t believe we can’t have, in addition to who we are, who we should be, who we could be, and who we are seen to be.

Those of you, who are spoilt by life’s multiple choice questions with innumerable options, pause and take a step back. The all-encompassing fatigue factor is due to the many possibilities that are turning our lives into one giant factory, churning in mindless actions and spewing out dissatisfaction. The constant “inner” battles is largely due to the disconnect between the Self and our image of the Self. We are trying too hard to prove to ourselves that we are really what we show ourselves to be in public. The hyper world with its super achievers is getting to us. What if we have created a celluloid image of ourselves that we will never translate into 70mm success? Ouch! It is a clash of images!

Self-image is a tough one. The social media does a fabulous job of helping to clarify that. It holds up the Brothers Grimm mirror to show how poorly you are faring on the image account with your ‘status’ posts revealing the varying degrees of your self’s deterioration or elevation for the day. If the image is too grand, you are embarrassed to death because you can’t live up to it. If it is too commonplace, you are shocked when someone calls you out as winner material. Alternately, if it is dependent on what you acquire (houses, cars, clothes, jewellery, trophies and publicity to name a few) then you need to quit Facebook and Twitter in favour of an ashram for deeper introspection.

When people’s self-image is controlled by powerful positions in corporations, foreign holidays, intellectual prowess, promotions, children’s achievements, new electronic gadgets, celebrity friends, other people’s approval, and plastic surgeries, they need to put some distance between the Self and the image.

I believe that it is necessary to go away in order to come back to the Self. I had a Zen moment recently when I went to Coorg. A couple of friends and I were dri­v­ing through the Nagarhole forest since the safaris hadn’t started yet. In the jungle, the trees stood as trees and the call of the wild wasn’t the ringing of a cell phone. We demanded a tiger sighting because of our sense of self-importance, but of course, we didn’t get any. The vast stretches manned by looming age-old trees, burnt forest wood, wild flowers, expanses covered by dried bamboo thickets and towering elephant grass, and an the impenetrable silence of the wild magically put our real Selves into proper perspective.

So, what about the image struggling to stay almighty during the wild journey? What image? There was nothing or no one to applaud us or belittle us or gratify us in the jungle, because we were nothing more than animals to the animals, and no one even spoke our language there. The wilderness served as the perfect mirror, a divine as­sessment tool that stripped us off the coat of ambiguity to reveal what we are and will always be — minus what gets inadvertently created in the unnatural world of people. All we need to do is develop a sense of humour about this disparity and know that we have the ability to differentiate between the two.

The writer is a communication specialist.

]]> http://postnoon.com/2012/04/28/mirror-mirror-on-the-wall-2/45778/feed 0 http://postnoon.com/2012/04/14/of-perfumes-and-high-heels/43430 http://postnoon.com/2012/04/14/of-perfumes-and-high-heels/43430#comments Sat, 14 Apr 2012 10:27:38 +0000 Arpita Bhawal http://postnoon.com/?p=43430

It is April 2012 as you may have noticed and yet if there is one thing that continues to be a force majeure in the workplace is every fool’s favourite subject: ‘Women in Leadership Roles’. Nobody seems to know what to do with these go-getting women. Put them under a Reservation Quota? No, not unless you are batting for Congress. Ignore them? No, it will become a diversity issue. Promote them? Possibly, but someone might think they are sleeping with the top bosses. Then? Let’s have a gender-related seminar to determine how women should improve themselves to fit into the workplace. Perfect!

Well, apparently far from it. If you are a woman leader of any sort and in any capacity, you may have even been party to such deliberations and insinuations at some point in time. Perhaps, you even pretended to be ‘not like those women’ who don’t ever succeed at the workplace. I can’t blame you, because when I look back at some of my woman friends, I secretly cringe, too. Let’s say, my sweet friend Sunita doesn’t understand that while her male boss may allow her to go home earlier than others (males!), it doesn’t necessarily mean he is being supportive towards her career. My other brave friend Gargi who stopped wearing feminine clothes to work in exchange for a hideous pair of pin striped pants, thinks the camouflage makes her be like a man. My hopelessly humble friend Preeti thinks she will get a promotion this year, because she didn’t get one for the past six years.

Are women really not meant to lead, or are they just accepting that they won’t be taken seriously enough to lead? Recently, I read an article by Cheryl Isaac in Forbes titled ‘The Next Generation of Female Leaders Will Emerge at a Faster Pace When Women Stop Trying to ‘Act Like Men’.’ With due apologies to anti-Feminists, that title is all-woman (as is evident from its sheer length) and it does pack in a punch. What’s more, Forbes didn’t edit it off saying it was unfashionably feminine. While I was never a bra-burning feminist from the Feminist Movements of the 19th and 20th centuries, writers such as Virginia Woolf, who are associated with the ideas of the first wave of feminism, aptly describe how men socially and psychically dominate women in her book called A Room of One’s Own. One has to agree with Cheryl and Woolf in the same breath. Women can’t be like men even if they were to act like men because of their inherent nature, which is accepting and empathetic. They also can’t ignore the social domination of men in the workplace, which many a time has made them lose their dignity or their jobs.

But even for a second, if one can ignore the ever-degrading qu­estions around women’s capabilities in the workplace, especi­ally around woman leaders lacking emotional intelligence or be­ing overly protective of their te­a­ms, we can’t ignore the most ir­r­i­tating question of them all: Do fe­male gender traits come in the way of their success? Not if you are my ex-boss — let’s call her Anu.

Anu teaches us the classic lessons from yore. Use your gender-specific traits the way nature meant you to use them — by being yourself! Anu’s persona was amazing. People wondered how she rose so fast on the corporate ladder when she hadn’t even been in the corporate world for more than a couple of years. Her boss, the CEO, stopped mid-way in his sentences to compliment her about something totally unrelated to work; her peers envied her hour-glass figure; her colleagues (which included me) admired her for the ability to slog alongside hard-nosed male leaders at the office. And all this Anu did, while wearing perfume, high heels and designer clothes (no pinstripe business suits), with her hair done up, carrying a designer handbag and speaking in a soft, flirtatious tone.

Basically, Anu did what Cheryl says would help women in leadership roles to succeed: Keeping their feminine qualities intact, while trying to develop leadership qualities of collaboration, empathy, inclusiveness and reciprocity. Why these qualities in particular? Because women have to play upon strengths and focus energies on developing their natural gifts and skills, instead of trying to morph men. So, if we work with our natural instincts and embrace our own natures, who would dare discuss the topic of ‘Women’s Empowerment’ ever again? No one!

The writer is a communication specialist.

When you first breathed the communist air of hope and brotherhood, you were in your mother’s womb. You made a pledge unto me then… that you would never forget my ideals nor stop trying to make them your own. You would enjoy the revelries of Durga Puja and Diwali with equal fervour. You would continue to cherish the old-world charm including the fatherly Ambassador taxis. I am Kolkata.

Through the gullies of Burrabazaar, and the posh lanes of Ballygunge Phari, my soul found its multitudinous avatars just like you did during your childhood years, mingling with neighbours of various castes and communities from all over India. Sometimes you played in the well-manicured parks of Auckland Square and Minto Park with children you didn’t know, sometimes you admired the sunset at Outram Ghat with friends. Every time your cousins visited from other countries, you brought them to see the Victoria Memorial or the Indian Museum — as if their tribute would have to be still paid to Her Majesty of England for 300 years of British Rule. I am Kolkata.

Sometimes the lethargy of the city got into your bones also, and you preferred to spend hours at the college canteen just like your uncles did at the Coffee House in Dharamtalla. At other times, you were content roaming the SS Hogg Market with your mother bargaining hard for great deals. Not a single day went by during your college days at St Xavier’s without a visit to Park Street, dotted and knotted with bars and restaurants, now a bit tired and rusty. But your favourite stop was always Flury’s with its fifth generation Butter cream pastries and Chicken patties. I am Kolkata.

You loved me and I loved you — without any conditions or notions. But then you had to grow up, leaving your teens behind and eager to explore the other worlds. Even the candlelight dinners at Peter Cat, or the charm of the Academy of Fine Arts hosting art exhibitions, or the spicy Jhalmuri and pungent Phuchkas at Victoria Maidan couldn’t lure you back. Marxism, which was your favourite subject at the college canteen debates, took a backseat. You no longer understood the philosophy of the Naxalites and wondered why there wasn’t ever going to be any new jobs or industries here. I am Kolkata.

Our love affair ended on a bitter note — because I didn’t want you to leave but you did anyway, and chose not to return for many years. My streets didn’t want to change, or the colours of my springs or winters. I still felt proud of the aged Bihari rickshaw puller who earned hardly a hundred rupees every day. I still loved the dancing fountains with their newly-installed coloured halogen lights at Victoria Memorial. I still embraced the beautiful sunrise over the Howrah Bridge. I still liked that tiny earthen tumbler of chai being offered for just one rupee! True, now there are some new shopping malls and fancy public transportation, but I still wake up more relaxed than other cities. I am in no hurry. I am Kolkata.

Your return was a surprise to me — and how do you think I felt? With your fancy clothes, your foreign accent and new money, all of which is against the ideology of our combined destiny, you came to see me again but no humility. Am I not your favourite love story then? Could there be another one like me? Now you love New York City I hear, but does it have a rich heritage like mine to offer you or the precious memories of childhood? Have you forgotten the best of the Raj that I shared with you and still hold dear… including the innumerable clubs in the city? I am Kolkata.

Where have you been all these years, my beloved? The soul which you have today belongs to me, you know, full of all the poetry and romance, love and passion which people want to be a part of! Your education went beyond Shelley and Keats, and your social acclimatisation wasn’t all about Deen Mistry and Lillete Dubey’s famous English plays at Kala Mandir. You have as much of Tagore in your blood as I have a loving tendency to give sanctuary to Bangladeshis. I am Kolkata.

Accept it. Your love affair with me can never end. Because I am YOU.

(The writer is a communication specialist)

Is there no way one can find an ideal life partner these days by being simply themselves? Irrespective of the mushrooming matrimonial sites, singlehood, like motherhood or fatherhood, seems to be eluding the upwardly mobile men and women. We may have become too educated for our own good, because it has changed the rules of the game.

It is no longer about a steady income (contributed by the man) and multi-tasking abilities (expected from the woman). Marriage by the rules of our forefathers is now extinct. Men are seeking women ten years older than themselves, and women are looking for men who have more than incomes. Strangely, during the search process, women come out looking stranger than fiction, because they dare to be honest about their goals and dreams. The fastest way to lose a prospective groom online is to tell him the true story. Perhaps women need to focus only on their culinary skills in the brief description of themselves that matrimonial sites encourage. Men on the other hand, downplay their affluence to test the women. “Ah, let us see if she’s after my money or she really likes me!”

Imagine going through your whole life without finding that special someone — and then naively believing that ‘The One’ like Keanu Reeves in The Matrix (my favourite, really) is tucked in somewhere between the pages of a matrimonial site! Imagine believing that every word said and exchanged online with a complete stranger is all true, without even having conversed or met the person in question. Also, while surfing through the ocean of so-called ‘great catches’ you are likely to find profiles of men blatantly claiming they are “separated” or “in the process of divorce”… which means… what? Are they emotionally available for another marriage when they haven’t even finished the first one? Well, your guess is as good as anyone else’s on the planet!

So, where does that leave the quest for that elusive soul mate via the tantalising world of matrimonial sites? Increasingly, statistics displayed on matrimonial sites alarm prospects of either gender when it screams, “More than 10,000 new people register every day”. If only choosing a partner online could be as easy as shopping for a dress or an accessory on an online store where everything was clearly mandated: SX, S, M, L, XL? Black, red, green, white?

Agreed — that is wild thought and possibly not practical, but it is certainly not wilder than what happened to a friend of mine (let’s call her Gina). Some years ago, Gina wanted to marry an American-Indian citizen (let’s call him Robert), whom she had met on one of the matrimonial websites. The romance progressed well for several months — declarations of love and parcels between continents were exchanged.

Then Gina went to California on a paid holiday by Robert to meet with his family. Imagine her horror when Robert suggested she join the ‘family bath’ on the second day of her visit. A bit perplexed, Gina asked what he meant. Robert explained (without batting an eyelid) that his family members bathed together every day in a common bathroom ever since he could remember. Needless to say, Gina fled back to Mumbai.

Where does this leave the hopeful, unwed millions then? Well, right at the beginning. Online or offline, the basis of an intended life-long relationship cannot be intrigue or politeness. The sooner the real truth is revealed, the better it is for both parties because the seekers do not have the time to assess and romance for years before they marry. Online technology could be used to speed up the process, but it can’t replace the ‘right to information’. So, don’t give up yet. The key to finding your soul mate, irrespective of the mode of search, is awfully simple: Just keep it honest.

(The writer is a communication specialist)

There’s something about New Delhi. Besides the India Gate and the Red Fort, the greedy shopping experiences and gastronomic delights, there is something else: Prized Arrogance (PA). So, what is it about the capital city of India with its PA that awes and repels us in equal measure? For some, it is the lewd Punjabi aggression. For others, it is the scary tales of abusing women. For me, it is the fascinating greenery amidst which No.10 Racecourse Road turns its nose at the ghettoes of Purani Dilli (Old Delhi). For many of my southern friends, Delhi is about the so-called prima donnas of South-Ex, who may very well become totally irrelevant once they open their mouths to speak. Evidence of over-confidence without substance, perhaps – or simply, PA at its best!

Yet, PA or not, in winter, if you happen to be in Delhi, you are likely to be charmed. The crisp cold air is complemented by smartly turned out Delhites in their leather jackets, knee high boots and woolen berets. Very European! While you are dwelling on that pretty picture, throw in a driver who doubles up as a tour guide, giving a running commentary in Hindi. But, despite everything, the PA never really leaves the scene – and you can’t really ignore it.

Imagine this: We are returning to the hotel after a long day of meetings. The luxurious homeliness of The Lalit at Connaught Place beckons. All we’d like to do is really eat and sleep – and prepare for another long day of more meetings. Wazir Singh, our reluctant driver, is quiet in keeping with our energy levels. As we halt a few meters short of one of the traffic junctions, one of the many cars itching to get going, a white Maruti Swift on our left side wakes up. The car door opens, and a tall, fair, handsome man with spiky hair decides to step out. No harm done really, except his car’s door blatantly bangs against ours. As if for effect, he tests how far the door can open again, banging our car again, before he steps out.

Outraged, my colleague demands to know why the man was behaving this way. Wazir Singh gives the door-banger an equally outraged look, but remains mute. I chip in softly, saying the man was indeed shameless and must be told to behave, and also possibly taught not to step out between traffic lanes. Wazir Singh still remains silent. The door-banger lights a cigarette which he takes out of the boot of the Swift, and then he readies to hop back again into his car. While getting in, he opens his car door again, wide and hard, banging again against our car. Wazir Singh apparently has had enough this time, so he rolls down the window pane and says to the man: “Please watch out for the door.”

The man is now as outraged as my colleague was. He says, “Who asked you to park so close to my car?” Wazir Singh rolls up the window. The signal turns green and we drive off. Of course, we are stunned. We all know that Delhi by definition is arrogant, suffers from a superiority complex, and is a seat of political intrigue. But this was a priceless display of PA – prized arrogance that is now in the DNA of the city, running like cheap alcohol in the bloodstream of its people, forcing immigrants to adopt the haughty tone and confrontational stance so that they blend in with the residents. Delhi’s Belly is full of its own self – including its woes of inhospitality, lack of emotional intelligence and disregard for women’s safety. Is there no hope, then? Probably not in the next decade, unless aggressors are not allowed to drive and PA is banned. So, next time you are in Delhi, and it is not even winter, you have only one option: Ignore the scenery and be on ‘high alert’. Oh yes, and leave your ego behind at home.

Ever since Shakespeare penned the fatal words, “To be, or not to be…,” the majority of Earth’s citizens have been haunted by them. Life is no longer an experience to be lived — it is a potpourri of questions that need to be answered now. Will Obama win the elections? Will I lose weight before my next birthday? Will my ex call me? Will Oprah visit the Bachchans next year? Will my next book merit a fatwa? Do these questions form the basis of our moral and intellectual stimulation and growth today other than books, films, people, sex and religion? Now that is another darned question.

Do we really need to know everything about everything, all the time? Even our good old Earth, which breathes the uncertain air of its own polluted existence doesn’t know if we are going to continue loading it with more chaos or love. And, much as we would like to believe, the Universe for sure doesn’t have definitive plans to keep all the planets in the same line-up as we discovered decades ago from the awesome picture of the Solar System in our science books.

Do we have to be certain about things or people, else die? Naively, we actually believe we can find bliss if we get answers to every single thing that bothers us. This whole need of wanting to find life-settling answers began before we discovered the steam engine, computer, World Wide Web, and iCloud. Our forefathers began to equate answers with IQ. Over time, IQ got replaced by a hunger for information which could wield great power aka Julian Assange.

In this glorious tech age, our pathological need for answers is confused with our love for Google. We all love Google because we would certainly die without having the option of randomly typing words into the search box to find out about stuff. Mostly, the stuff is just stuff, and of no further value than the random reference material of college days. But now, we can’t even accept our normal human thoughts, emotions, reactions, actions and stimuli without analysing them to death with our buddy, Google. Everything we do — believing, thinking, cheating, working, feeling, eating, loving, avoiding, building, hyperventilating, or even writing — seems to be subject to what Google’s content managers have to create about our unique lives’ unique experiences.

By now, the myriad follies of our yesteryear should have already taught us that uncertainty is the only certainty and, answers aren’t ‘people’. It is okay to accept, that we DON’T know. We can all take a deep breath, and shift the focus from our current national tragedy, starring Salman Rushdie and the-book-that-shall-not-be-named, to our inner selves. We can even group-hug for unconsciously embracing uncertainty every morning when we step out of our homes in a blissful state of mind. Then, we can blow a kiss to our illogically ‘certain’ instinct, which keeps us alive through the day, so that we can watch our favourite TV show.

And when it boils down to the status of our current love affair, giving rise to the question, “To be, or not to be,” I would say, just let it be.

(The writer is a Communication Specialist)

The New Year began with a bang. Since I didn’t bring it in with pink champagne or a string of ‘Page 3’ parties, or nuzzling at a man’s neck, one could say I haven’t yet woken up to the fact that it is a new year — 2012.

As if it was not morbid enough for me to lose my pet, Ginger, on January 5, I hear now that we all must prepare for the rightful end of our world on December 2012. So, what does that mean? Should we buckle up and sashay down the path of our dreams and ambitions, aim for that high-paying job, and continue to hold grudges against traitor friends? Or should we quietly retire with whatever savings we have (strictly cash!) to the Himalayas?

But hasn’t the world ended several times for many of us when we have lost our lovers, jobs, parents, partners, siblings, pets, dreams and dignity?

In that measure, if Mother Earth wants to explode by December, we can’t really fault that. We might as well put that thought aside until December 1, and live the way we want to, because by suddenly altering our natures or desperately seeking a role model in order to redeem ourselves over the next 11-odd months is a sheer waste of time.

To stay alive, we just need to live. Too simple? Not really. There are many ways to stay alive. New Year resolutions is a great and time-tested way — that is, if you can focus on following them for a month or two, and then not. That will sort of fill you with guilt and all sorts of other useless emotions, guaranteed to remind you that you are human, and alive!

The other way, the bar-headed geese’s way, is worth considering. Bar-headed geese are one of God’s most special creations.

Lily Whiteman writes in Audubon Birds about the impossibly daunting landscape where these surreal creatures survive.

As Lily says, imagine this: At 29,028 feet, where the tallest peak Mount Everest reigns supreme, oxygen is scare (about a third of that available at sea level), and life is rare. Mount Everest is tall enough to poke into the ‘jet stream’ — which is a high-altitude river of wind that blows at speeds of more than 200 miles an hour.

If we were at that height, our exposed flesh would freeze instantly. Kerosene can’t burn here, helicopters can’t fly here.

Yet, flocks of bar-headed geese — the world’s highest altitude migrants — fly from their winter feeding grounds in the lowlands of India through the Himalayan range, directly above Everest, on their way to the nesting grounds in Tibet. Then, every fall, these magnificently brave birds retrace their route to India.

What’s more, it is believed that with just a little help from the tailwinds, they may be able to cover the one-way trip — more than 1,000 miles — in a single day. Wow! If a 5-pounds, 2-feet high bird with the ability to fly over 50 miles an hour can show that kind of spunk, we don’t need to wait for December 2012 to justify our lack of life or ‘flight’ this year.

The bar-headed geese’s awesome engineering defies logic, but then, so does our existence.

We don’t do much to keep our world alive. Our natural instincts have been practically scraped off our souls through the years, and our intrinsic oneness with nature leaves us bashful at best. Only when our materialistic existence is threatened by a trauma or loss, or if we perceive that our life with all its New Year resolutions continues to remain imperfect, we worry about other ‘bigger ideas’ like World Hunger, Doomsday, and Big Boss Season 5 being rigged! So, here’s to 2012, whether it is ending or not with a cosmic bang, live the high life. Take flight!

The hardest kind of love is Pet Love because it is a different kind of love — unexplainable and inconclusive. You can never categorise what you feel for your pet even if you could put your feelings for your mother, father, teacher, husband, girlfriend, wife, lover, or friend into buckets.

I am glad I made a life-changing decision — possibly the only right one till date — of getting a dog in April, 2001. As it turns out through the thick and thin of my yo-yo existence through cities, loves, relationships, and friendships that have come and gone, along with taxing jobs and unsympathetic bosses, Ginger remained unchanged, unfazed and in my mind, eternal. I was certain the dog was born to haunt me till my death.

Unlike many other seasoned or curious aspirants, my call to get a pet was based at a very supernatural level: I wanted to get over my fear of dogs because I believed the fear was attached to my mother’s fear of canines at a spiritual level.

 Also, three-odd decades ago, on the terrace of Mona’s house in Kolkata, while playing hide-n-seek I was chased by her gorgeous and huge German Shepherd. At the time, I thought the dog was trying to kill me, but later I found that my silly friends had played a prank on me — and the dog was also playing with us!

So, Ginger’s arrival in my consciousness happened almost 32 years ago, when I didn’t imagine what beauty lay in sharing my life with a Golden Labrador Retriever. Little would I have believed then if anyone had told me Ginger was pre-ordained to come into my life even before she was born!

Possibly the runt of the litter, the last one peering from under the bed of a breeder’s unkempt home in Bengaluru’s Frazer Town, Ginger greeted with several licks. So, for the past 11 years and still counting (though raggedly now), Ginger did everything that a human being couldn’t possibly ever do for me.

 Through the turbulence of life and its uncertainties, Ginger was the only constant factor that kept me anchored. When I thought of jumping off the roof over a betrayed love, I got reprimanded by her challenging eyes: “Hello? What happens to me then?” Damn! The dog could read my mind.

When I pondered about renouncing the world and going off to a monastery after getting cheated by some lowly friends, I found Ginger looking amused! “Who cares? Forget them — I am here! Let us go for a drive!” (I gathered that Ginger was clearly not keen on that kind of a hard life in the monastery).

 Whenever I ailed with flu or depression, Ginger would jump up on the bed, exactly next to me, pressing the length of her body against my shivering one to comfort me. If I was howling too much, she would place her head on my stomach.

Well, you guessed it. She wasn’t letting me die on her for any reason whatsoever. Of course, a dog has to have her own reasons, too. Could be the gluten-free chew sticks, imported mattresses, and tinned meats. After all, she is a sophisticate! But, honestly, I suspected that Ginger was really on a mission to rescue me from the world. She was definitely responsible for me to persist in my career in the toughest of times. Her look would be unbelievably disapproving if I told her I wanted to quit my job. “Yeah, and then who pays your rent? And who feeds us?”

Oh yes, I knew I had to work because Ginger was used to the good things in life, just like me. I knew I had to come home at night, because she was waiting for me. I knew no matter what I did or what I failed at or what I ranted about, Ginger was never the one to stand in judgment of me like other human beings did. Believe this when I say, there is actually no relationship in this Universe that can match the one you are likely to have with your pet.

Over the past couple of years, I actually began to understand that her philosophy of life was pretty much what we all need to learn: Keep It Simple. Eat on time, sleep on time, walk twice a day, enjoy your own company when alone, greet everyone with unbounded joy, and whenever you can, seize the opportunity to be loved.

Even now, in the winter of her life, Ginger is a tough one to convince. She believes it is all pretty simple. Though she was diagnosed on December 26 with a possibly terminal giant ball of a tumour that is attached to her spleen, which has disrupted her appetite, made her lose over 10 kgs of weight within 90 days, and is causing her some pain, she still tries to carry on surviving with just water and milk.

But her happiness in seeing me arrive from work is still sky high. She not only looks older each day, she is slipping in and out of sleep often like an 80-year-old grandma. Yet, she gurgles with joy when I rub her belly or responds as best as she can when I call her name, like the tiny pup of 6-weeks that she was when I first got her.

Ginger is no longer concerned about my career or money, or the house rent, I think. She is happy to see me at home with her today. When I say to her – How will I live alone? Didn’t you agree not to die on me until you turned 14? Should I get you operated? Will you make it if I do? Ginger looks at me with pathos in her eyes and sighs: “Get real…I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep.” I cry and try to argue, but she gently rests her face on the mattress, and shuts her eyes. She is probably done with her list of things for me, I think. Or else why would she seem quite ready to start for Heaven alone?

But Ginger being Ginger reminds of the list of instructions she leaves behind for me: Bear your pain or bad day with a good round of sleep; Don’t eat if your stomach hurts because the digestion tablets mostly don’t work; Be disciplined and follow the rules of the house no matter what (like I am doing even in this state!) even if it means tons of effort to even totter; Try and get some exercise twice daily, and for God’s sake don’t waste food; Like me, learn to be thrilled each day…for what you get to eat, what you are allowed to do, and who knows what other treats will come your way!

Ginger, you will probably have to set up a video-conferencing facility in Heaven, because I may not have the fare to visit you up there yet, or worse, I may not be even allowed to enter.Besides, we have to be in touch because I sure as hell haven’t got most of these instructions right yet.I love you.

Arpita Bhawal

Going with the tested could be slow, but it could open new doors

You will imagine you are destined for a ‘different’ profession where you will shine like a beacon if only you could get a chance. Some not-so-well-wishers will encourage you to turn your Class V hobby into a money-churning machine

 Have you ever gone on a wild goose chase? No, I am not talking of chasing a man for the upcoming New Year’s Eve bash. I mean, really chasing something while believing it to be something else?

I had that experience one time when I decided to move from Bengaluru to Chennai. I was sold on a small little boutique agency run by a deceptively hip husband-wife couple who called themselves ‘reputation managers’. When I joined the little outfit in a run-down-apartment-office in RA Puram on my first day there, I was ready to flee — even at the risk of losing the doubled salary. Frankly, I was stumped.

Here I had nurtured my grand vision of learning everything there was to learn about managing reputation, and moving out of a deadly paralysing corporate communication job into something new and contemporary. But all I had ended up doing was writing emails on an age-old desktop, watching a bunch of foolish young people pitching for media stories, and dealing with verbal abuse from the CEO! The wild goose, after all, wasn’t so wild. It was a PR agency in Reputation Management’s clothing, where the CEO didn’t quite care to manage his own reputation. What a traumatic experience to eat such humble pie! – tripled by leaving behind idyllic Bengaluru after a decade, and landing in gritty Chennai to realise that life is not a beach.

Whether you like it or not, at some point in your life, you will be drawn to the ‘greener grass’ on the other side. You will imagine you are destined for a ‘different’ profession where you will shine like a beacon if only you could get a chance. Some not-so-well-wishers will encourage you to turn your Class V hobby into a money-churning machine (when they are actually secretly tickled about your lack of genius).

Words of empirical caution here:

There is nothing known as ‘greener grass’. There is no reputation to manage without PR. And, there is no point chasing anything or anyone that you do not have an aptitude for in this life. Sometimes, going with the tested could be slow and tiring… but it could open new doors. Remember the tortoise, though. Don’t take a nap along the way. Keep moving.

Quirky Side Up with Arpita Bhawal

Take a page out of your life’s book today. Is it legitimate? Or are you aping a journey that is based on the reality or illusion (trust me, it could be either) of another person’s whom you envy or adm­ire?

Sometimes we confuse our deepest desires and electric dreams with someone else’s because we can’t really see ourselves being original and unique. We want their fame and glory, their money and power, if possible, their bodies and souls. Take Dirty Picture — it set tongues wagging and hearts pounding. People are outraged, seduced, stumped and awed by the sensuality of the idea. Why are we talking about this? Because Milan Luthria, the director, had the audacity to trust his own journey leaving half of Bollywood to slap their foreheads. “Sheesh! Why didn’t we think of that one?”

Originality does not necessarily mean you have to try and fit into your teenage daughter’s clothes just because you are young at heart; it does not permit that you go to work looking like a skunk without make-up and slippers because you think you are cool; and if you are a man, it does not warrant that you buy a Harley Davidson at 57 out of your retirement fund.

English hypnotist and self-improvement author, Paul McKenna says, “The map is not the territory”. What he means is that we interpret situations based on what we feel and whom we are at that point of time. So how we interpret things affect our state of mind, expressions and behaviours. It keeps us away from being true to our most important dreams and realising our potential.

So, if you are feeling ‘old’ or ‘unattractive’ or like a ‘loser’ lately, stop and think. Maybe you are vaulting down the road with someone else’s illustrious and affluent map, without having that person’s originality, intellect, or talent. How can you succeed trying to imitate someone else’s journey? Try to take your own path to success. If you don’t know the path yet, create one. The territory lays ahead – your territory – and you can make up the map as you go along.

(The author is a Communication Specialist.)

Freedom is as freedom does: A wonderfully liberated world where thousands are marching towards their victory under the scorching sun with Anna Hazare. (Most of them anyway won’t for fear of getting a suntan); Power of the media that put Niira Radia to shame and corporate leaders behind bars; End of dictatorship, sexism, and tyranny a la Gaddafi.

What does Fre­e­d­om mean to you? Go­ing the Roebuck way or the Tiger Woods way? Choosing the fla­vour of your Gelato or the colour of your car? Breaking your silence after weeks of anger or holding your tongue for months to contemplate? Whatever it means to you, remember, Freedom brings the big fat peril of revealing the true Self. Sorry, but Freedom does strip you of lies and makes you truthful – sort of diving into a public bath naked.

Many years ago, my friend’s elder br­o­t­her was given permission to explore his career options by their father. All the family members duly encouraged him to be himself. Guess what the young man be­came? A naxalite – which was ki­nd of odd in their family of doctors and engineers!

Freedom demands cutting through the clutter. Cut the ruthless job that gives you more money and fame, but takes away your health and happiness.

Cut that torturous duty that’s supposed to add value to your reputation and family’s image, but doesn’t. Cut candlelit dinners on T-stir-inspired-power-cut evenings, when they really leave you peeved. Cut speculating on Ash’s marriage and her reluctance to get pregnant when in truth you don’t read enough to have any other sane conversation. (AB’s baby is already born, and you weren’t even invited for the baby shower, remember?)

If you dare to cut, the true Self will emerge. It might horrify you because you might turn out to be different – perhaps meaner, crazier or dreadfully mundane. Or simply, magnificent. Then you can proudly look into the mirror and say: I am not in prison, nobody dictates my life, I don’t need to pretend, and I don’t have to prove anything. And I am free of people who don’t have the courage to be truthful about anything. Now that is Freedom worth raising a toast to…Cheers!

Accept it. We have ignored the signs. A month ago, celebrated writer Paulo Coelho tweeted: Life is like Twitter. Follow. Unfollow. Block.

True! People ARE “blocking” officially nowadays – thanks to Facebook, Twitter, Gmail and even Blackberry Messenger. I knew a woman who had changed her Facebook profile seven times in the past two years. I asked her if she had gone mad. She replied, “I hate blocking people. I would rather pretend I disappeared.”

After representing herself by different names and images (flower, cartoon, Ferrari, feather, cat, tee shirt slogan), funnily enough, her last avatar was that of a telescope which would supposedly discourage people from finding her due to its unattractiveness!

In case of badgering mothers-in-law, unfaithful boyfriends, boorish bosses and unwelcome guests, go right ahead and click on that block tab because Life is too short. Don’t waste it on mending fences with people who don’t care even if you agree to turn cartwheels in their birthday parties as part of the act. For free.

In that case, the block option of Life could be fantastic just like Twitter. Just don’t post messages like these in your environment: “Wife blew up precious money on a bunch of hobbies that didn’t make her look or feel any better”, or “I am happiest when my boyfriend’s wife is out of town”, or “The best part of my life only includes beer, sex and X-Box” (the last one, especially if your girlfriend is expecting you to propose next week.)

Make the most of what matters today…even if it’s a girlfriend who wants you to call everyday (at least she cares!). Retain your right to choose – people or experiences. But, be careful. On Twitter, you can add people back to your preferred list and follow them again. In real Life, you may not get another chance to “unblock” people you need again. And, the last thing you want to do is spend the rest of your life justifying that on Twitter.

English language, from England, is embarrassed to death in India. What’s official now is a hotchpotch of English, and what I call, Americanese. In 1994, the India­n telecom policy launched the ‘American Corn’ era. A slew of B­POs and KPOs started to cash in on fine English accents of educated Indians like you and me. And, lo and behold, Amerlish got conceived!

My tryst with pure American­ese began in 2004 at an Ameri­can KPO – OfficeTiger. Until then, my world had been simple. I wrote perfectly crafted, grammatically correct, full sentences in English. During childhood, I had even excelled in elocution contests at school (testimony to my penchant for perfect English diction). Americanese altered that – and even tampered with my value systems. Instead of saying, “I am fine”, I responded, “I am good” – whether I had been morally good or not that week.

As English speaking natives, we have become inarticulate in our efforts to preserve the fashionable Americanese twang.

Star World soaps can’t help us get it right like Active English on Tata Sky would – even if we work in American companies, spell in Americanese, and write in Amerlish. Now, Americans comment on our “interesting” accen­t, when actually they might be doubling with laughter! Our expressions are bedazzled with American idioms, which our childhood friends (now settled in America) don’t approve. But, who are we to debate whether Amerlish is to be our new Indian-International standard of communication or not?

When I visited Kolkata last year, I half expected the Howrah Bridge to metamorphose right before my eyes into the Golden Gate Bridge, spanning the San Francisco Bay. Having visited San Francisco a couple of times, I meekly acknowledge how ridiculous that expectation was. Now, if only all of us could also Americanize our skin-tones with fairness creams to match our accents!

Arpita Bhawal

It is hard to be a Bengali during Durga Puja if, like me, one has left the warm cockles of Bengal’s heart 18 years ago.Come Durga Puja, and one is forced to reincarnate one’s universally appealing persona into native Bengali’s.

Like Tenualosa Ilisha (Elish Fish), the stalwarts of Bengal expect the natives to abandon the sea of anonymity (meaning other states of residence), swim upstream to spawn the eggs of Bengali Brotherhood in Kolkata, and partake of the ‘real’ thing…resplendent pandals, goddesses, gluttony, and including strangers!

Outside Bengal, it is a Herculean task. If you must imprint these un-replicable experiences, then start early. Seek out all the Bengalis in your neighborhood; count the number of Chatterjees, Deys and Gangulis in your office; and, if you are the sort to take it a bit far, reconnect with estranged friends (non-Bengalis) who have friends (Bengalis) affiliated to one of the few Bengali clubs or committees in the city. However, your diverse attempts to swim upstream and regain your ‘Bengaliness’ could leave you exhausted.

To retain visibility like a fish out of water, float between Indira Park, Keyes High School, Banjara Hills and Kalibari in your finery. Make a fat donation to the biggest samiti. Use colloquial phrases – “Dada, ektoo jaagaa deben?” Greet grim Bengali brothers and sisters. You want to be ‘one’ with the community. Still, you go unnoticed, unappreciated and unanswered.

Self-doubts…Is this Chinese New Year celebrations and I am deciphering the riddles on lanterns in Beijing? Suddenly, after hours in the cue for a splattering of afternoon bhog, an epiphany occurs. Surprise, surprise! Every Bengali becomes an ‘outsider’ in local Bengali communities when out of Bengal! It is Bijoya Dashami. Good triumphs over evil? Involuntarily, you peer into the mirror. At least, you still resemble an arty Bengali!

Let’s face it. No one can stay young and spritely forever. No, not even Madonna,though the 100 laps-a-day in the pool must help.

My mother’s uneducated aunt had found an authentic way to stay younger almost 25 years ago. She simply got herself a fake birth certificate after her husband’s death that allowed her to work in his place at a lucrative government job until the ripe old age of 72!

So, at 40, when you are single,attractive and intelligent, you are still skiing elegantly through the lighter side of the moon. You live your life on your own terms (which is a good thing!) and you still continue to raise ire and praise in the same breath. In short, you are a force to reckon with. Then, one fine day, you get stumped.

A bunch of pacifying articles and self-actualising stories jettison to your mailbox — “40’s are the new 30’s! Make up now for lost time. Wear a backless dress.

Find a boyfriend. Climb mountains.Start modelling. Take art classes. Learn to taste wine. Find your inner self.” Eh, you ask?

Age was just a number to me. Only my uglier women friends in their 30’s now preach fashion to me; peers talk more about kids’ college funds instead of a visit to the spa; and the weighing scales have became somewhat uncooperative.

But who needs Oprah or Deepak Chopra to convince naysayers that knowing how to surf the Net isn’t really about finding one’s inner self? Age – aging – agony… gag words that need can be laid to rest. Rise,gorgeous women in your 40’s!

Spritely or not, what is perennially yours is the wisdom to know that you don’t need to climb mountains or join a wine tasting club to prove that you still rock.

(Views expressed are personal)