Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Honey Bunny


Also on The Huffington Post.

The ring tone of an eighties song blares in my kitchen. I wait for my maid to take her call. Oblivious of the screechy song she continues to bang vessels. When I hand over the phone, she looks at the screen and smiles coyly. The screen says, ‘Janu Calling’.

How women address their partners in private or public is an interesting way of gauging our social climate. We have come a long way from ‘Pinky ke papa’ to ‘Pumpkin’, from ‘Husband’ to ‘Honey Buns’, and from ‘Suniye ’ to ‘Snuggle Bunny’. When it comes to naming the grandson, grandpa’s writ still rules in most households, but nick naming your husband is entirely ‘Your choice’. Call him Baby or Baba, Chotu or Motu, as long as the connotations are positive, it is more about affection than gender dynamics.
Amusing how terms of endearment range from bakery items (pie, cookie, muffin) to stuffed toys (teddy, bunny, doll). And an argument at home is guaranteed if an embarrassing nick name  is divulged in a formal setting. But the best part is that the argument gets downgraded to banter if Baby and Baba are thrown in for good measure.

When it comes to public communication, most urban women are either on a first name basis or something generic on the lines of Sweety or Honey. But when the moniker for your husband is something like ‘Darling’ with the D pronounced as duh, you could be accused of faking it. Or drinking too much. This reminds me of a college friend who used to call her fiance My Man, and what followed was a slew of jokes about Her Man. Which sounds irrelevant today considering Twinkle Khanna, the columnist, addresses her husband as ‘The Man of the House’ in her columns. Well, it’s personal and all about her choice.

On a personal note, I’m not sure if it was a ‘government servant’ protocol or a norm, but back in the eighties, my mother used to refer to her friends as Mrs. X or Mrs. Y. So today when she calls her friends by their first name, it sounds a bit odd to the ear, but pleasant to the mind. Also, I don’t remember my mother taking dad’s first name. Their communication was bereft of honey bunny stuff. Thank Lord for that because as a kid I would die of embarrassment had she suffixed ‘doo-buns-pie’ in public.
One reason behind the present informality could be the lessening age gap between couples. Moreover, informal terms of affection signify a healthy relationship. Beyond all this, there is a desire to be a part of everything that is contemporary.

Equally interesting is how women save the number of their spouse on their mobile. A random survey revealed that my friends store the first name, ‘hubby’ or ‘husband’. I make it a point to suffix ‘husband’ after the first name, purely as a safety measure. In case of an unlikely abduction, the abductors should know whom to call for ransom. Point to be noted: The name stored against my number in my husband's phone is The Boss, which is annoying because the way my son and husband address me makes me feel like a merciless Don. 

Overall, this idiosyncratic communication using nicknames or first names signifies a healthy shift in a patriarchal setup. The fact that a name plate once displayed the name of the male member, now displays the first names of the residing couple is also a small but significant step. 


So I ask my house help how she addresses her husband at home. I can’t take his name, my mother-in-law disapproves, she says.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

The Tie That Wasn't




Dear Karan Thapar,

This letter is in response to your article in The Hindustan Times, ‘The Rules of Dress Diplomacy Should Apply to Mr Modi too’ where, in all your wisdom, you analyze Mr. Modi’s Europe visit and question ‘What has Mr. Modi got against ties?’ With Mr. Rahul Gandhi calling the government ‘Suit-Boot Ki Sarkaar’ and your article saying that Modi is not suited booted enough, I find myself in a dilemma.
Just when I thought that the Louis Vuitton shawl controversy was an unintentional goof-up by your colleague, your critique, ‘Is it okay for the Prime Minister to dress ‘inappropriately’?’ makes me pen this letter.

To an observer who has no political axe to grind, you seem to be living up to the image of a ‘Devil’s Advocate’. The absence of a neck tie is all you could find fault with? Is this because Mr. Modi is leaving no scope for meaningful criticism on his foreign policy? I doubt it. From an objective unbiased prism, clearly that is not the case. So why the needless nit-picking?

With none other than President Obama heaping accolades on Modi’s capabilities as a leader, it would appear that there aren’t enough opportunities for his detractor’s to review Modi’s foreign policy. This is not to say that Modi should not be critiqued for his shortcomings. In the absence of a credible opposition, Modi should, in fact be made aware of his inadequacies in larger national interest. Question him on the delay in ‘Achche Din’, grill him about the economy, denounce him for rabble rousing voices, but to lament the absence of neck-ties or to hallucinate about the Louis Vuitton shawl does not reflect well on the quality of the critique.

According to you, "It’s international convention and practice to dress formally on such occasions. All over the world that means a suit and a tie….To defy that dress code suggests either ignorance or indifference to a convention that is universally considered suitable. It could also imply a certain disdain for your hosts, who have meticulously observed the code." Notwithstanding the flaws in your frivolous critique, even if we assume that you are justified in finding fault with the absence of neck ties, I don’t remember you asking similar questions to Dr. Manmohan Singh who seldom wore neck ties. Likewise, we should expect Mrs.Sonia Gandhi  to dress in a business suit like Angela Merkel when she visits Germany. Anything less than a business suit could signify disdain for the host, ‘eccentricity’ and deemed ‘inappropriate’, right? Moreover, if PM's hosts werent offended, why should we 'tie' ourselves in knots over something as inconsequential as a necktie?
It's ironical that a comment on Prime Minister Modi’s sartorial choices comes from someone who is perhaps the only television anchor to dress in a bow tie in what is seen as a colonial hangover by most Indians. Clearly, there is an obsession with the ‘tie’ whether it is a neck tie or a bow tie.
Finally, when you conclude your article by saying, "Mr Modi can be as eccentric as he wants," the banality of your critique becomes obvious. We expect reputed journalists to raise the bar above neck-ties, shawls and suits. Attaching unfairness to disapproval is the not-so-desirable art of analyzing a foreign visit of any Prime Minister.
Best 

This article is originally in Opindia.com

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Five Benefits of Watching News


Image Courtesy Twitter

With tweeple heaping ridicule on news anchors, English news channels are the new dart boards for collective national catharsis. It all began when the hashtag #ShameOnTimesNow trended on Twitter after Times Now suggested that the defeat of the Indian cricket team was a national shame. Despite efforts, the channel failed to shame the team and got shamed instead. Yesterday, when they tried to shame General VK Singh, who had earlier called the media ‘presstitutes’, channels were punched on twitter. With the hashtag #Presstitutes trending today, television media is currently writhing on the twitter mat.

Two things. One, despite the veneer of righteousness, the outcome of television debates does little for the subject. Second, since there is a reason for everything, I believe, television news is transmitted into our living rooms for a higher purpose. Don’t look at prime time debates with contempt. Steer clear of perceiving them as self-serving, TRP loving, sensationalist shows. Instead, look at them as nature’s way of healing the mind, body and soul. Stick with me and I’ll tell you why.

Men get to speak

If you are a married man, you get a chance to speak. Whether it is beef ban or a Toyota Fortuner for Telangana babus, you can vent it out. In an attempt to breed outrage, channels invite you to speak out (get angry) after an outrageous comment begins circulation. Shout out for public flogging or street hanging. Don’t worry, nothing changes. But you feel better. Remember what Kareena tells Shahid Kapoor in Jab We Met? Yes, like that.

Nature’s way of restoring health

As in physical exercise, blood pressure shoots up while you are watching News Hour. Regular viewing of News Hour, like exercise, can help lower your blood pressure, as long as you keep it up. This is because your heart pumps more to enable you to make sense when panelists  scream. Healthy heart, healthy body. Got it? What’s more, you learn to modulate your vocal chords, thereby exercising the throat muscles like the contemptuous anchor.

Mental health as a perk

A University of Michigan study says that gossip releases progesterone - a stress buster. Because our news is about ‘who said what’, watching news can reduce anxiety levels. Look at the last few days. We’ve spent days dissecting Giriraj Singh’s shocker, Sharad Yadav’s blooper, Goa CM’s blunder and VK Singh’s twatter. Common, admit it. As long as it’s not your bum, there is great fun  in public spanking.
Moreover, TV debates convert complex issues into simple binary choices. So you are either with the anchor or against him. Easy peasy.

Lessons in secularism 

 Apart from health benefits, there are other perks of lessons in secularism. Even if the debate about adult diapers, some twist the debate towards what sections of social media call ‘sickularism’.
Panelist: Government has decided to increase the production of adult diapers.
Anchor: So this is about Hindu nationalism.
Panelist: Err, how?
Anchor: Our survey says there is 18% increase in communal intolerance.
Panelist: Communal intolerance? But we’re talking about urinal incontinence?

Inculcates patriotism and Inspires

If you’ve always wanted to join the armed forces, you can fight a virtual war with real life Pakistani Generals and Naval Chiefs. The scene is straight out of a war zone – fire brims off the ticker, loud noises shatter the window panes and emotions run high. Above all, with the anchor on your side, you win.
Once you realize above benefits, it gets better. Tell me, which other show or person inspires you to be the best. With channels screaming about being number one and children following the supremely conscientious anchor with a suicidal love for his voice, we will soon be a country of leaders. Always number one. Leaving competition far behind. Decimating them for 100 weeks.

As for me, thirty minutes, once a day, five times a week has reduced my blood pressure by 20 mm hg. Regular gossip keeps me stress free. Twenty odd angry tweets per day help me vent out. Above all, constant carping criticism on TV creates space for positivity in my personal life. I mean, how much negativity can one tolerate, right? So I either make an extra effort to be happy, or be happy in knowing that nothing is good enough. 


Also on HuffingtonPost.

Friday, April 3, 2015

WhatsApp-ealing, WhatsApp-alling?




So we are driving out of our apartment complex when we see a lady walking in the middle of the road. Since it makes sense to avoid honking in the residential area, we slow down and wait for her to make way for the car. But the lady with head phones is busy smiling at her mobile even as she continues to walk. When we rev up the engine, she gives us an angry urban middle class stare. Then as we drive past, she does a little pantomime with her hands to say something like, ‘Can’t you see idiots? ‘Andhe ho kyaa?’ Or some such polite sort.
Amazing how we dedicatedly engage in an activity called WhatsApp-ing. Almost everyone is gazing at his phone absent mindedly as millions of ingenious bots push the limits of creativity. With more than seventy million users in India, everyone and his nephew are rattling jokes and laughing mercilessly with tears rolling down their eyes. After they have lolled and rolled, they urge you to forward the joke because ‘market mein naya hai.’ The overpowering desire to laugh and to make others laugh convinces me about the inherent goodness of human beings.

Being tech challenged, I woke up late to this technological wonder. Repeated ‘Why don’t you come on WhatsApp’ nudged me to buy a new phone after being sidelined by friends who used this app to plan ‘meet-ups’. Little did I know that WhatsApp will bring me closer to relatives I had never met. Or have no desire to meet. Those who never said hello in person, wish me ‘good morning’ at five in the morning. The good person that I am, I reciprocate by forwarding the longest possible lame joke around bed time. Even the following message is enough to wreck a good night.

Moreover, I wasn’t good with religious issues but I now wish all my friends a happy ‘Guruwar’ by sharing divine pictures of ‘gurus’. I am so ‘sanskari’ that even if Baba Ramdev winks on my phone one fine morning, I will share his picture among all my groups. What began as a party planner tool has made me so devout that much before I debate breakfast choices, I forward holy messages lest some unforeseen tragedy befalls.

For someone who was historically challenged, unaware of different kinds of ‘New Year’, this miraculous app enables me to wish Chinese, Islamic, Thai and Hindi New Year. What’s more, being poetically challenged, WhatsApp has also infused the spirit of ‘killer’ shayari in my staid atma. 


Apart from above mentioned challenges, I also face visual challenges. So when I post a ‘thumbs-up’ in response to the loss of an Indian wicket, know that I am not a traitor. I was either groggy or without my reading glasses. Worst, I wasn’t aware of an icon for ‘shit’. As recently as last month, perhaps in my slumber, I posted the dirty icon in response to a picture of my cousin’s fiance. Needless to say I wasn’t invited for the engagement party. 

So what’s my quibble? None. Except, I wish there was a way to restrict messages longer than twenty words. I also wish there was a way to exit the group without anyone knowing about it. Of course, I have the choice to mute  but sometimes important messages get lost in the clutter.
Finally, somehow, just somehow if I get access to the WhatsApp messages of AAP members, I would love to know who is a ‘chor’, who is ‘mila hua’, and who is the real star of the movie ‘Kaminey’. Who knows, with such a sensationalist script, I could even publish a bestseller.