50 shades of Toastmasters

None can shake me like a rug to shed my real self. It's intrinsically woven like the finest silk threads that make a distinguished carpet.

Why am I speaking thus? Was I treated like one? That unique Persian carpet! Or a mat - a doormat? Several people, I have lost count now, have labelled, classified and spoken to me (read: talked me down) - only because I was being ME.

Is it necessary to give tit for tat? Or even rave about one's knowledge at the drop of the other's breath? Being a listener - giving a patient ear to another human - Or being accommodative - understanding another's need - is considered a weakness in today's so-called kickass world.

Mentioning every single incident would call for at least a novella, and covering all spheres of my life would require a wider canvas, so let me mention just a couple of instances from a very small part of my life - Toastmasters (TM). Why Toastmasters? Simply because this is the season of TMs. 

Give first before you grab! Learn first before you take!

Three years back when I joined Toastmasters club one senior TM, whom I considered one of my mentors until I decided to scrap the title I bestowed upon him - would give me his feedback after every single performance of mine. He dissected my speech, gave me tips, advices and a year later, tired of asking me to smile when speaking, threatened that he would get me debarred if I didn't smile when delivering speeches. He taught me the importance of appearing 'pleasant' in front of an audience - no matter what the speech topic and my state of mind.

Well, recently I happened to evaluate his advanced speech. Truth be told, I was dry nervous. My insides shaking like a leaf in wild monsoon. Called the Divine to see me through and set on the podium. Lo! I won the best evaluator award. He didn't make eye contact. He stopped giving me feedback. Worse, he did not smile when we met during subsequent meetings. 

Toastmasters will help you discover your real self!

In another instance... A senior lady TM caught me in the lift one evening after a meeting and spoke at length of the partiality at the club. She lectured on how the President should be setting an example and how he should follow Toastmaster International rules. [The President had over-ruled and allowed a newcomer who overshot his time to contest for the 'best speaker' award]

A couple of weeks later, a similar situation replayed. But this time, the lady TM herself had overshot her allotted time. Once again the President overruled, and pronounced her eligible to contest. She was all smiles when collecting the best evaluator award!

My tryst with Newsletter

 

In the most recent incident... playing the Editor of the Newsletter was an eye-opening experience. But one, which I enjoyed to the helm. Being an adhoc event, the 40-page magazine was literally put together in one week. Three weeks before the deadline, I began saying, informing, alerting, messaging, emailing the Chair about the consequences of the committee’s continued indecision and constant revisions. "But changes are inevitable," he maintained and assured, "Oye, we are one team." Every other day, he called. He shared with me his hectic schedules, the pressure, the immense responsibility on his shoulders... I heard him out, sympathized and assured to do all I could.

Two days before the event, he called with more revisions. This time, I requested not to make any more changes. It was our last chance of making it to the press. Please don't! I pleaded. He gave me a lengthy explanation as to the importance of incorporating them. 

Did I have a choice? May be, I could have put my foot down and walked out of the project. My conscience nudged at playing a spoilsport at the nth hour. I accommodated.

Well, the following morning -  one day before the event - when the copies were still at the printer, he sounded different. He demanded delivery. I reminded him of the number of times I had told him of having to face this day over the last month, and he shot back: "but you were not strong enough".

Excuse me! 

"This is me. I don't bully people, nor do I sweet-talk them into doing things for me."

I doubt if he understood, because he replied: "How can you even complain...you did the least work."
 
It doesn't matter. Because for a few unpleasant ones there are hordes of selfless virtuous souls in the world of Toastmasters. I've once again lost count of the number people who wrote to me, called me and personally shared their opinion on the work I did. 

I've been blessed to have mentors and am fortunate to have made wonderful friends in my three years as a Toastmaster, who see me through even in my personal dilemmas.


Oh, yes, to some Toastmasters is only a networking web. I dislike the breed that join the forum only with the intention of selling themselves. 

Give first before you grab! Or least, learn first before you take!!

For me, Toastmasters is also a forum that will test your morale and morals, a place that will chisel your conscience, and help you discover your real self and give you a choice to colour your life in shades varied. 

IIFA showcases another great Indian divide on global stage

Column grab...

 

Indians cry hoarse when Hollywood directors show our slums. They are damaging India's image; it's in bad taste; this is not the real India...Headlines scream out, channels pan out and film critics mince no words.

Then what do we do about it? Watch those movies, shout for some time and move on until someone else comes along. But, of late, as our actors are crossing over more frequently than before, we take heart and say, 'yes, we have arrived'! IIFA also seems to announce the same and further sooth the Indian ego.

Set up in 2000, it has been globe-trotting with an entire galaxy of glitterati  - from mega stars and super stars to the just-arrived starlets and the outdated and near-expiry ones to showcase what it claims 'Indian' films to world audience. Kudos to the academy for naming the awards aptly - The International Indian Film Academy Awards!

The IIFA act raises two pertinent questions - do we feel hurt or insulted when foreign directors show the poor shades of India or is it an inferiority complex in us, trying to compare ourselves to Hollywood? Else why should only the Bollywood glitz be presented to the world.

Bollywood may be the face of Indian cinema but it definitely does not represent Indian cinema at large. There are hordes of excellent films being made across the country each year, not to forget the versatile actors in other languages.

When India has no dearth of talent, why showcase only Hindi movies and Bollywood actors? It's time IIFA presents the real mosaic of country's film fraternity if the academy needs to be true to its name.

But that will take a lot of courage because old habits die hard. If the Bollywood bandwagon aka IIFA brainstormers care to change themselves they can begin by taking the most obvious cue out from their dream land. There are no mega stars and super stars in Hollywood. Only actors or artists. Think of what India would be sans stars!

Aping can be done either clumsily or with élan. If the 'Bollywood Oscar Academy' believes only Bollywood glitterati can be compared to Hollywood sheen, so be it. Let the Kapoors and Bachchans and Khans endorse a few regional picks and let the world see the true dimensions and reach of the true Indian cinema. And to begin with stop referring to regional films as the 'poorer cousins of Bollywood'.

Sadly, IIFA is putting yet another great Indian divide on the global stage - 'The glitz divide'! As if we didn't have enough already. Beginning with the Aryan-Dravidian divide; the urban-rural divide; the north-south divide, the rich-poor divide...the list only seems to get longer as the nation progresses. Little wonder foreigners film our country and describe it to their whim and fly out with impunity.

 

Shades of adult morality

Yesterday as we sat for our customary tea break (exclusive mom-daughter time that both of us hate missing out on) my girl briefed me about her day at school. And at one point refused to tell me how much her best friend scored in her test paper, because she promised her not to disclose the numbers to anyone. Nobody! 

“I’m your mom,” I tried.

“So?”

“How can you hide anything at all from me?”

“I promised her, I’ll not tell anyone. Nobody.” She stood her ground.

She had told me last week that her best friend wept after giving one of her papers. So it was a casual query to know if the girl managed okay numbers. But my child was not only adamant in not sharing her marks, but, upon insisting, asked me what I would gain by knowing her friend’s numbers.

A slap to my consciousness that was. I pondered why I insisted. No gain. Just vain. I withdrew with an ‘I love you kiss!

Later I got a call from one of the members of a NPO I’m associated with – a partnership that has been proving to be an eye-opener off late. Being a non-profit set-up, each penny is accounted for. Rightly so. And each half-a penny is haggled for, too, with communication skills unpeeling startling euphemisms for my untrained mind. Is it required to cut corners with lies? Aren’t there people around who would help you if you say it as it is? Is it that difficult to be morally conscious when working in a group?

There’s no right and wrong...that's the irony of morality! 

Now, that gets me to the mute game of passing the baton that happens every single day in the name of keeping the wolf off the doors. Each one at the workplace is over-loaded [that they sigh eight hours a day] with tasks, but none with responsibility! Each one is ever-ready for the war, up on their feet at all times to buck the baton, lest it rests on them. If only they utilized that energy to concentrate in executing their duties, the place would turn heaven on earth.

In fact, my heavenly haven has been intruded by well-meaning immoral characters, too, at times. Friends who’ve proclaimed they had my best interests in mind and fell apart when I didn’t heed to their suggestions on projects I took up. And would later learn they had haggled for the same work. A couple of them who invaded my life, sang my credentials and made me feel special only to distance themselves when they eventually realised I’m not ‘well-connected’. And yet others who closely monitor my social media accounts and call up only to check whenever a ‘who’s who’ comments and then I’m their best buddy… until, of course… 

Morality is colourless, odourless, tasteless... taking the shades, shape and smell of the bearer!

None of them are wrong. And that’s the irony of morality. There’s no right and wrong. No definitions, either. It’s only perceptions at best. A perception that becomes invincibly adulterated in adult lives that it becomes a mystery. Shaded in hues varied to define smartness and efficiency as deem the needs, morality is abused as naivety, foolishness and ineptness. Adults who stay loyal to it are either considered too simple to understand ways of the world or are considered too dangerous to be acquainted with. 

Morality is a responsibility that defines a character!

Yet, the same morality sits so beautifully within children keeping them buoyant. Morality is a responsibility that defines a character! It is colourless, odourless and tasteless taking the shades, shape and smell of the bearer. 

If only I knew where enroute in one’s way to adulthood, at which exact point, morality morphs into an insensitive, shameless sword of Damocles that thwarts relationships, I would then lay my life at the spot and protect my child and safeguard the treasure in her from being usurped.

Life must go on!

Courtesy: Hitavada

Recently when I changed my Whatsapp profile picture, one of my friends messaged: ‘U luk like Indian housewife.’

My mom’s damn sure of my dad and am crazily proud of my lineage and yes I'm a wife at home, I screamed into the mobile, when she pinged ‘let ur hair down, y clip it, u luk old…’ So I let her chuckle and replaced the picture with one where I sported sindhoor on my forehead.

Marriage has this uncanny nature of inadvertent compulsiveness. So for years I wore only pleated pants and skirts because I was made to believe that not all body parts of mine were matured in feminine proportion to hold form-fitting jeans. Until supermodels awakened me when they walked the ramp in my living room and I wondered aloud where their legs ended and hips began. For long I never wore leggings, too, for similar reasons after being made conscious of my disproportionate scrawny legs. Until our family friend, with well-rounded derriere in coloured capris, enrolled for Pilates classes for lean legs.

However, I’m yet to hold a mirror to women. I was diagnosed as having a weak core by a self-obsessed friend, who never tired advising me the importance of gym, pranayams in the balcony and eating greens. “Salads are my meals… I hardly cook…,” she drawled at my dining table helping herself to butter chicken and dal makhani, saying, ‘this is why I loouve coming to your place…slurp’!

Just this morning a self-obsessed cousin took me by my hair. “Gosh this is so not done what the hell was she thinking and you just let her do this even the grocery sachets give better shades omy I need to take you to my stylist ohno this is so dirty red…” when she paused to breathe, I replied, “I'm happy with my new hairdo.” With a shrug, she said, “Whatever, I was on my way to Mrs Kapur. Our new villa interiors I want it Feng Shui proof…”

We continue on our ride thus, even when the tectonic plates choose to pull the plugs from under our feet at its whim. Millions in Nepal and India today couldn’t be bothered of calories on their plates or if their nails are painted. They would only be grateful to be alive, to be breathing, to be holding their kids, yearning to be able to sleep without nightmares.

Feigning ignorance of the fragility of our existence, we forget to let live and all the same profess ‘life must go on'. Whoever coined the quote should have been chronically self-obsessed a person. Time to Google its origin!

Women mind Deepika’s choice

In today's Hitavada

Rekha Nagvanshi’s in-laws are demanding justice now. Doesn’t she have the freedom to pee where she wants?  All she wanted was her husband to massage her feet. And when her in-laws played spade, she in her rightful mind chose to urinate in their tea cups. They sure do not understand their bahu is empowered in making independent choices.  Someone please show the old couple Deepika Padukone’s ‘My Choice’ video. And the fact that her husband was on the job – at her service - is what you call his choice. Where is the issue, at all? It’s simple domestic set up!

Just like in my neighbhourhood, elderly aunties collectively choose to praise ‘THE’ daughter-in-law of the community at their satangs, only because she quit her job to take care of her bed-ridden MIL. One day I ran into the woman with her two kids and dog in tow, when she requested me if I could collect a few students for her to start tuition classes at home. So what about your mom-in-law? The sullen-faced woman replied: “I was always confident of managing it all, but my husband just wouldn’t listen. Now with mounting bills, he wants me to take up at least a part-time job…”

If you dismiss this as man’s choice versus his wife’s, then wait till you hear the saga of a young girl with a toddler loitering about houses washing dishes.

A year back, her mother had borrowed from all the houses she worked in for her wedding and sold the last piece of silver to meet the dowry needs as the prospective groom was a government employee. She flaunted a modest feast and gifted her daughter a motorbike, a few grams of gold jewellery, suitcase of clothes and utensils, too. Then, her madams gossiped about her so-called extravagance, but she stood her ground saying it was her dream. Some woman power, that was.

Alas! today her daughter is back because her government-employee-husband is at all times on four feet, turning every inch of her skin blue. But the madams are still reprimanding the mother for the lavish wedding every time they see the toddler running about. Wish Deepika could explain it to madamjis.

But Ms Padukone herself is in trouble with her choice and her producer Homi Adajania is doing everything in his might to calm critics. The video is sexist at the least and offensive to the very womenfolk at best. It should be played across all inner pockets of the country, where women have no choice but survive each day.

Women’s empowerment is not about wearing short skirts, returning home late, or having sex before marriage or outside of marriage…for majority in our country it’s still about mundane daily domestic decisions.

Writer's Ezine - Writing one word at a time...

Writer's Ezine - Writing one word at a time...

Why Anuksha's googly went viral

This appeared in today's Hitavada

So the clash of the titans and fights among not-so-giants are over. Gentlemen are back to their couches with their WAGs. But our men refuse to settle down.

Anuksha Sharma continues to be too much of a distraction for them. And it only got worse after seeing Virat Kohli return home hand-in-hand with his lady love.

Whatsapp users took the cake. They had something for real this time, a welcome change from imaginary jokes and compulsive positivity. Understand media channels desperation for TRP; even radio jockeys banter is much the same – it’s survival. And what better potion than a Bollywood-cricket concoction that washes away all sins of work ethics and responsibility.

Had it been Virat’s neighbour whom he was in love with who cheered him from the stands, would the country have erupted with such hatred? Debates scream that Tendulakar’s and Ganguly’s wives were never seen during their time. But then they were mere star wives, no starlets! Wonder which is more sexy - cricket or Bollywood. Both take the breath out of Indian men!

Only that now they gasp on Twitter and FB. Social media is fast becoming the new curse of the generation as filthy minds flaunt with impunity. What’s sad is none can be held accountable – neither government, media nor celebrities themselves as it’s all in the mind of the populace.

A few months back in a separate sport-Bollywood project, Priyanka Chopra was ripped apart on social media for earning more than Mary Kom. How can two diverse professions be compared? It’s not about merits and class, it’s just how we are. We will not let anyone walk away with glory without a noise.

We love to peep into another’s space. And when the doors are open we gawk and run amok to share the sight. It’s not gossip, we are merely sharing info, with our own personal take on it. And if it’s cricket it’s our self-respect at stake. We will tolerate no dent to it. We will speak our minds! So what if we have to crucify a star? After all Anuksha Sharma earns her keep entertaining us.

As much as I hate the language she was derided with and would be the first to ban all social media users those who did that, I wonder if Anuksha called for it. Why did she go to Australia when WAGs were prohibited during the tournament? Why break rules? We are still a nation were public display of affection is appreciated only within closed doors.