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Baby steps towards a bigger cause.

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I still remember the day when my Professor of Psychiatry  told me, that it took him quite a while to find a bride who was willing to accept a “mental” doctor for a husband!

It has been almost thirty years since, but despite enormous strides taken by science and society alike, the ground reality for patients suffering from mental illnesses, especially in India, is still one shrouded by secrecy or shame.

On a day to day basis, we encounter a wide range of patients who need help, but deny themselves, for fear of being branded as mental patients. On the other extreme, we see relatives or well wishers of patients who try their own form of counseling not realizing that they are doing more harm than good! Every patient in the inpatient department of our hospital, coming from various socio- economic- cultural- religious backgrounds, is bound by the common factor of the presence of a talisman of some kind,either round their wrist or their neck, waiting to cure the illness if the doctor cannot!

In a population which fast succumbing to the high levels of stress in today’s world, the statistics regarding mental ill health are truly scary. Every one in four individuals anywhere in the world would have suffered from  mental ill health at some point in their lives. Depression ranks third among illnesses which kills the patient. And India, estimates say, has about  50 million people who need mental health care. Unfortunately, the supply of mental health professionals to handle such a huge load of patients is dismally low! We have currently in India,  about 3800 psychiatrists,398 clinical psychologists and 850   psychiatric social workers. There are no registries for counselors at all!

Even with the intent of helping the patients as best as we can, we, as mental health professionals face the problem of having too little time and too many who need it.

Hence, I feel it is the duty of every human being to finally start recognising that we need to chip in our little bit in order to elevate the status of mental health. Government agencies, NGO’s and media can only do so much if the public at large behaves like an ostrich with its head buried in the sand.

A few things which I believe we can inculcate are:

  1. Start by regarding the mind as a tangible organ of our body. One of the reasons that we refuse to consider a diseased mind is because, we cannot accurately locate the whereabouts of it. It is vague, complex and therefore out of bounds to any physical testing, apart from analysing our behavior. But this does not make it non existent. We need to start teaching the habit of recognizing emotions and their healthy expression in children, so that they learn to understand their minds early. Then on, recognizing the stress and negative emotional states may become easy and non stigmatic.
  2. Do not regard mental health professional as enemies in disguise. It is frustrating to see well educated, intelligent people take their kith and kin to quacks or magico religious healers and subject them to different kinds of torture. Eg. Thrashing, burning, keeping them hungry for days, making them eat leftovers etc. The common excuse given is that they were worried that the doctor would addict them to medicines!!! As if the torture meted to them was better than suffering from an addiction! We are commonly asked whether medication can ruin kidneys or whether we can cure a disease without medicating(when they have no qualms about swallowing diclofenac indiscriminately for their arthritis!). The need of the hour is to learn to trust that the doctor knows his job as he has been trained for a minimum of two to three years in psychiatry. At least, he is better than the neighbor who makes tall claims about the state of the patient’s kidneys(which we apparently spoil by medicating) without having studied biology for the past so many years of his life. We would love to help if you would just let us.
  3. Realize that, just as there are different treatment procedures for the body, the same follows for the mind. Discuss treatment options clearly, and realize, please, that we will not be standing with an electrical prong waiting to give an ECT to anyone who happens to walk inside the door!ECT is a valid, useful form of therapy and not used as punishment as depicted in many movies.
  4. Many mental health professionals are reaching out to the general public by way of television, media, articles and public programs to raise awareness about mental ill health. Listen, read and believe only what is coming from a genuine source, and not what gathers most trp’s, as in the case of television channels airing programs of regression therapy and past life therapy. They are false. Period.
  5. When you meet a person who confesses to feeling depressed or upset or has some trouble with his emotions, kindly refrain from offering suggestions like”You need to use your will power to come out of this” or “Look at someone worse than you, you will feel better”. Mental illnesses have nothing to do with will power. The strongest, most wealthy and physically healthy among us can succumb to mental illness. It would be better to find the best counselor in town and gently direct the person to speak with them. The counselor in turn can gauge the problem and decide whether he/she needs a psychiatrist.
  6. Do not judge the patient, after treatment, based on his illness. Mental illness makes us behave uncharacteristically. Do not hold grudges against the patient for their bad behavior during the illness nor judge him/her for the rest of their lives based on this. It is harmful for their self confidence. Eg. If a person tried to attempt suicide, do not reject his application in a job place or his proposal for marriage. Instead, ask whether the person has taken his full course of treatment. Discuss with the doctor in detail, how well the person is and how much responsibility he can handle. This solves much of the problem rather than enhancing it.
  7. Do not hide the fact that someone has suffered from mental illness, especially when the person is getting married. We see marriages breaking down in our consultation rooms, for this very reason, that the spouse discovered the illness after the wedding. Every person has a right to decide on the kind of spouse that they want. Deceit wont help. Give your child the confidence of owning up to facing a difficult illness and still believe in their self worth.Then look for a spouse. In an arranged marriage scenario, there may be a lot who shy away from proposals, but believe me, your daughter or son would be happier with a person who genuinely accepts them and respects them rather than live in shame and neglect.
  8. Practice acceptance. We never shy away from accepting any of our physical ailments. In fact, sometimes, we exaggerate them. But mental stress and strain are denied consistently. Unless we ourselves are unaccepting of our problems, there is no way the society will accept it. It was an exhilarating moment for us when a postgraduate student of surgery came up on stage at a public function to own up that she had suffered from schizophrenia and achieved what she wanted despite of it. We need more celebrities, survivors of traumatic stress disorders and people around us to start accepting their problems without shame. Only then, can the dignity step in.

Most of what I have written about is something that we all can practice at an individual level. If we can inculcate it and spread the word, we can probably inch closer to the WHO theme of this year’s mental health day”Dignity in mental health”.

Myths are my thing!

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The entry into Sirigere

Off late, I have been reading a lot of books on spirituality and mysticism. Probably, this is why I got thinking about how and why myths, legends, tales of kingdoms bygone are generated. Are these true stories? Or did they grow as tales of strength and valor passing from generation to generation,peppered with liberal doses of imagination of the people who had no better past times than story telling? Or were they trying to glorify these stories just to get a proxy ego boost? Somewhat like, “Though I have not done anything great, wait till you hear about my ancestors!”. The glory of past achievements trickling down into their blood, giving them the confidence to carry out with their mundane existence.

Which ever way it goes, the best part about these stories are that, they are interesting to listen to. And if you are like me, in a way that anything history and mysterious fascinates you, they can lead you into the past of your imagination so many hundreds of years ago, when levitating sages and magic potions were probably as common as roadside cows now!

I first had this feeling when I visited Hampi, in Hospete. The ruins of the Vijayanagara Kingdom, the plains, the rocky mountains, the silence and the fact that most of the city is so well preserved, make it easy for you to suddenly imagine those times when they would sell gold in bushels on roadsides, the swish of the King’s silks as he entered the Vittala temple and generally,the grandeur of those times.

The same with the fort in Chitradurga, where one look at “Obavvana Kindi”(the crevice in the wall of the fort named after Obavva ) is enough to push me into a world where Hyder Ali’s treacherous plan was spoiled by a soldier’s wife with a wooden pestle.

Recently, this feeling caught me when we went to an almost unheard of place called Sirigere, about 30 kms from where I live. What started as a long drive in the rains became a lesson in history and mythology.

Sirigere looks like any common village in the heart of malnad, with one road,a couple of houses,and a temple on the top of a hill.But what sparked my interest was this board:

The board which reads”Pandavas prayed here”

Which reads, “This is the place where the Pandavas(yes, the same ones from the mahabharat), prayed”. Trudging up the hill, we found a makeshift temple and an over enthusiastic priest. The temple consisted of a mound covered in red with a trident and some rudrakshis wound around it and another mound next to it.

In front of the temple on top of the hill

The priest explained that we were actually standing on the top of a temple which had been buried underground. He showed us a closed trap door entrance to the temple underground, which was not accessible to visitors, as they had seen and caught a lot of them trying to steal into the tunnel in search of treasure! (Only if it were so easy!). He claimed that this was indeed the place where the pandavas prayed last before their exile ended. And that there was a whole sect of people replete with a swamiji (Godman), who had grown on and into that belief.

A stream from up the hill finding its way out of a cow’s mouth!

He pointed to the other mound and said that this was the place that the swami took his Samadhi. In other words where he died. But the concept of this again, is part spooky and part exciting to me. Taking samadhi means that the seer would have known by divine intervention that his time on earth was coming to an end. At which point he would crawl inside a cave on a self imposed fast and meditate for days on end. There would be a lamp placed at the mouth of the cave, with instructions that, once the lamp extinguishes(which meant that the swami’s soul would have left his body), the cave would be sealed.  I had recently also seen Sri Shankaracharya’s samadhi in a cave of a hill in Kashmir! Again, this is impossible for me to imagine, but apparently happened quite often!History or fantasy?

Parrots in abundance

We become instantly suspicious about the fact that we can be in a place so famous and deep in history which no one has heard about, when he comes out with yet another explanation.” If we let the Archaeological Department into this secret, they would most certainly dig out the temple from underground and spoil its aura. Why do we need a scientific body to prove something that we know as true and believe. Hence all this secrecy!” Put that way, it makes a weird kind of sense. Who are we to burst the bubble, if it is giving solace to so many??

He went on to show us the weapons which were apparently used by the pandavas, hands us a visiting card of the temple, complete with a website, which some techie from Bangalore(who is also a devotee) has created with a detailed description of the miracles which have happened in the temple and tells us about a cave right on top of the hill in which Arjuna meditated, and is off bounds to visitors(but not to him) due to the divine energy it radiates.

Dazed and part unbelieving,we clamber down in the rain.One part of me wants to believe that I have indeed been living close to a very important, magical, mysterious,mythologically significant place.The fantasizer in me is glowing, and how!The rational side, plays spoilsport though. I wonder how the pandavas strayed so far from their course, in exile. Then again, fourteen years is a really long while. And they did not have GPS for sure!

I had once met a scholar who told me that most of the stories of bravery and valor recorded as history in our textbooks and the like had actually never happened in that exact same way. The people existed, and so did their brave spirit, but the story was, in fact blown out of proportion to impress upon the lay people, the strength of spirit! Being the emotional country that we are, any talk of changing the story would erupt into a fight or convert into threats for the scholar!

Hence, our myths and legends have stayed. And grown. And enticed me into their mystery. Fleetingly making me forget that there is a line between fact and fantasy. And that sadly,most times we need to boringly stay with the facts. For the rest of the time, there is places like Sirigere!

The many moods of monsoon.

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It is finally monsoon again. After playing truant for nearly a month, it has started pouring cats and dogs. And how the landscape changed! Trees that were wilting have suddenly sprouted green. Stone paved paths suddenly have grass nudging from their edges. The skies are grey, waiting to open up at any moment. Suddenly, there are cranes aplenty pecking their way through green expanses of paddy without a care for the poor soggy scare crows, farmers working in the rain with plastic raincoats and sheets of rain making the road gleam.

The earth smells fresh and green. Forests look lush and waterfalls erupt onto roads as if to please us. Clouds float low and make travel seem dream like.

I love rain in its many forms. I love the slight drizzly kind, when the wind blows chill and you get rain in your hair, and you can walk in the rain without getting fully drenched. Long walks in such rain rejuvenate me. I also love the angry kind when the sky suddenly decides to open up and pour barrels on poor unsuspecting me, and before I realize it and can open my umbrella, it is done. I am soaking wet and still standing with the umbrella half open! It used to happen all the time in Mangalore, and used to come at the end of a hot spell which made me hot, sweaty and irritable. And there is also the insistent, consistent middle of the path rain which keeps on for hours at the same speed, neither too much nor too less. Granted, life becomes depressing then, but on the positive side, this is the best for plonking myself on the ledge of a window with a hot cup of tea, a great book and roasted corn.

If there is anything I enjoy more than rain itself, it is the opportunity of travelling during monsoons. This time, I had the pleasure of traveling along the almost virgin forests of Gerusoppa in Uttara Kannada district for the upanayanam of my nephew. I was so zapped by the natural beauty around me, that I did not want to blink for the fear of missing out something more beautiful. No words can do justice to what God, or nature or some supreme power out there decided for the world during the rains.

Hence the photographs. Enjoy the many moods of monsoon.

The elephant camp at Sakrebail, was wet and beautiful. The elephants seemed to be good spirits with the cold weather, and did not mind visitors.

Sudden rains marooned a motor boat in the water. Looks exciting, like a wreck with treasures, waiting to be explored.

A sudden burst of green along a paved path.

The sight of the grey skies. The silver lining behind the clouds. donotwanttoblinkable!

The back waters of the river Aganashini.

Can you see the water fall on top, between the trees? A lovely view of Gerusoppa ghats

A walk in the clouds…

There is small, old, slippery, mossy stairway leading to a lookout point just at the beginning of the mountain road. The top is really filthy, but the view more than makes up for it!

Green carpet of paddy for miles and miles.

A lovely temple pond with still mint green waters.

That awkward moment when…

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Some things never change. Nor do some emotions. Embarassment is one such. Happiness, a sense of calm, worry, sadness and urgency, I am used to and can quite often handle with experience. But I have a problem with embarrassment. It appears suddenly, catches me unawares and makes me really uncomfortable. I am quite the text book picture of embarrassment. I blush, stammer, make weird gestures, start feeling heat creep up my face and generally wish the earth would open up and swallow me. And, no I have not been able to learn how to handle embarrassment well. It is just there, sitting like a huge elephant in the center of a room and refusing to even budge an inch.

Well, assuming that something as problematic as this would have a ready made answer on google, I looked. And was amazed. Apart from detailed articles on where the origins of the word came, there were scholarly articles on each tiny aspect of this entity. There are different researchers who have divided it into many types based on causes and reactions to different situations. There are hundreds of youtube videos. Wow, I did not know that it was such a big deal. It felt good to know that I was a part of a larger recognized problem, not a freak of nature.

Embarassment –to put it simply, has over the years caused me a lot of embarrassment. Some of the situations which occurred, have been funny in retrospect, but have given me a lot of heartburn during. With age, I should ideally be wiser and calmer, but a few situations still have an uncanny knack of inducing mortification every single time they occur.

For example,

  1. When I am in a chair car of the train, and the person opposite me stares intently and unflinchingly at me when I am trying my best to eat elegantly. And no, staring back does not make it better, nor does the person opposite avert his gaze. Try it!
  2. When I meet someone I know and suddenly, my memory decides to desert me. The name plays hide and seek in my mind, and generally refuses to oblige the ‘seek’ part. And the person doggedly keeps asking me whether I remember his/ her name in front of a million others. I hem and haw and smile stupidly, all the while making excuses. Oooh.. the memory of this is already making me uncomfortable.
  3. When I walk into a room filled with loads of people, and someone suddenly calls out my name aloud and beckons me. Everyone’s attention zeroes down on me, and I suddenly feel heat rising up my face.
  4. When I am trying to fib my way through something, and I realize that half way through, the other person is not buying it!
  5. When I make a big joke, that …goes flat.
  6. When I am watching movies with my son, which have been certified to be watched ‘universally’ by our censor board, and suddenly there is a question which is really uncomfortable to answer. Like the time we were watching PK, (which incidentally was supposed to be watched under adult supervision for the child’s comfort —but ended up making the adult squirm) and my son curiously asked me what was happening inside of the dancing cars. My husband was hugely amused and shaking with silent laughter, at my bumbling attempts to answer.
  7. And the worst, when I am anxious and develop a foot (and a huge foot at that!) in mouth syndrome. Like the time I introduced my friend’s father to a gathering as a public ‘prostitutor’, instead of public ‘prosecutor’! Needless to say I was at the receiving end of extremely cold stares from my friend for the rest of the evening, though I kept apologizing!

Over years I have accepted these incidents as an uncomfortable part of my life, which I have to live with. Like say, a wart. Ugly, occasionally painful, but definitely there.

How about all of you??

How bad is it, doc?

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 There are many cliches associated with being doctors. The near dictum that doctors are next to Gods. That practicing medicine is a noble, respectable, ideal profession. In the nineties, most children in India, I would safely say, grew up with an idea that their life would be made if they became doctors, or engineers. It was the rare parent that would allow his child to choose a profession apart from these two.

According to a recent study by the WHO, despite medical schools mushrooming all over India, we still are short of doctors.  The state of a patient in rural India, who needs some form of emergency medicine is still abysmally bad. So,yes,we do need doctors.

But suddenly, it almost feels like doctors are everyone’s favorite punching bag. It is as if we are a group of individuals with dubious reputations, unscrupulous, unethical and those trying to make a buck out of the poor patient’s pocket.

It is therefore probably the right time to remind ourselves that medicine is, basically, just another profession. Yes, compassion is important, as well as a sense of responsibility. But then, those with an aptitude for both should not have difficulty in finding their way into this field, just as someone with good computing skills takes up computer engineering. To deglamorise, doctors study five and a half years for a degree which tells them how tackle certain ills in a scientific manner. We do not claim to be Gods, nor are we the devil reincarnate.

I do agree that there is a lot going wrong with the practice of medicine in India. But these wrongs mainly stem from a flawed, aged, system rather than the individual doctor.

Children as young as seventeen, I believe, rarely have the maturity to realize the seriousness of a profession like medicine. In the west, medical school would be an option to only those with an undergraduate degree under their belt. I personally know of kids who take up medicine because of the glamour associated with it or because of parental pressure. When you choose a profession for the wrong reasons, the outcome seems near obviously bad.

The presence of corruption in a system which deals with life itself. In conversation with one of vice chancellors of a medical school, I get to understand that the seat matrix in any medical school across India is decided by how many palms are greased rather than, how good the patient student ratio in the teaching hospital is. We see around us a number of med schools where professors exist only on office papers, and the teaching hospital needs to be filled with fake patients who are hired during MCI inspections. We PRACTICE MEDICINE. And where the practice of teaching is poor, the confidence of a doctor to handle a patient is obviously poor.

The weird attitude that once we choose to become doctors, we, as individuals, need to give up on material gains. The salaries of doctors in rural service is pathetically low for the amount of risk that they take. To quote Atul Gawande in his book, “Better” ,doctors in rural India are the most innovative and efficient. They need to work with patchy electricity, minus specialist help, have to work against unhealthy  but traditional practices to the convince the family to get the patient treated. Hence, they learn to work with enormous amount of common sense. But, the rewards materialistically or otherwise are poor. They have poor roads, horrible infrastructure, no legal aid, their children have no good schools, due to which they would have to be sent away for their education. All the while, when media glaringly shows them, that their counterparts, with half the years of education, are earning fat sums, driving the newest eye candy, spending time in malls, living in penthouses, working in centrally air conditioned offices and sending their children to international schools. Who in their right mind would choose rural service?

As doctors we ultimately deal with lives. And people. And people with a million different personalities. And these personalities, when they are under stress of illness. But nowhere in medical schools are we taught the importance of good communication, on dealing with grief, on being calm during periods of stress or emergency. It is as if we are expected to magically source this information from some place in the universe and imbibe it. The art of counseling, is not hereditary. It needs to be taught. And as my dean in med school, Prof. Dr.B.M.Hegde would quote, doctors, needed to be trained to “cure rarely, care often and comfort always”. Poor counseling skills, automatically translates to poor patient care.

Law concerning self protection, medical insurance and negligence are alien subjects when we study medicine. We only get to hear these terms when we land, slap bang in the middle of a controversy. We do make mistakes. We are human. But, mostly the health of our egos and our bank balance depend on the good health of our patients. The pleasure we get when we see a critically ill patient walk back home with a smile on his face, is probably what keeps most of my fellow doctors in the profession, despite the grueling hours and non existant social life. Hence, if we were to be taught what to do when we err, we would definitely tread with more caution, rather be caught on tv appearing like a petty criminal.

If we are a society concerned with health, then we have to understand that we have an individual responsibility towards our health. Poor lifestyle habits, not following the doctor’s advice and skipping doses, and then blaming the doctor for poor health despite taking expensive medicines is simply playing the blame game. Not acceptable.

To summarize, we need a multi pronged approach to start a change in most of these areas. Able law makers,thinkers, senior doctors and the public at large who should first understand the flawed but totteringly functional system completely. And then attempt change. Only then, we can hope for the health of the country as well as its doctors.  Till then, still happy to be a doctor and enjoying it despite the hurdles!

RIP Padiyaar mam

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The beauty of the Western ghats is unparalleled. The different shades of plush green, the cold chilly wind, the clouds taking a walk with you, the mist shrouding the trees and the gushing sounds of a hidden waterfall somewhere close by. If this picture makes you yearn to take a trip right-away, hold on, this is not all! At the beginning of the ghats, there is a small quaint police station across which a lovely lake and a garden exist. Just across the garden, the aroma of hot vadas frying in hot sizzling oil, wafts towards you and pulls you along towards the ramshackle cart. Hot vadas, spicy chutney and hot milky tea – now we are talking heaven!

Since my childhood, whenever we would climb down the Agumbe ghats to enter hot sultry Mangalore, we would have a customary, compulsory stop at Padiyar mam’s vada stall. Through globalization and commercialization, the stall, which actually is rather a fancy name for a tin pushcart with plastic sheets hung across to prevent the drizzle, remained the same. Rows of cars, bikes and buses would be parked across the already small, winding road. Weary passengers who would climb down to stretch their legs would invariably be drawn towards the stall and the tasty aroma emanating from there.

The USP of the stall though, was without doubt its owner. Mr. Padiyar, who knew each and every customer by name, somehow with great clarity remember where each one’s child was studying or getting married. It somehow made you feel as if you had wandered into an indulgent uncle’s house in your neighborhood.

And the vadas. Exactly the same taste year after year, decade after decade. No expansion of the menu, no fancy improvements of the stall and no HR people. It was a sort of niche place, with only one item which was world class. Whenever we would go, he would en quire about our education, how our parents and far flung relatives were faring, and introduce us whomsoever around was interested in listening to his banter. As a teenager, this used to embarrass me greatly, but not enough to forgo the vadas! I would mutter under my breath as to why he could not just leave me alone. Every single time when we passed the ghats by bus,(which was, I am ashamed to say, was quite often, given the extent of my homesickness!), I remember, I wouldn’t go home, without the vadas sitting comfortably in my stomach.

After my MBBS , I went to Mangalore quite less. Though the trips were less frequent,when we would occasionally pass by for a wedding, a meeting or a conference, we would eagerly look forward to the stall being open. Padiyar maam (mam,which meant uncle in Konkani and kannada) would always remember. It was like homecoming. What was irritating earlier, seemed like warmth later on. He would have ten conversations side by side with different customers, but still manage to remember them all! We got to know that with this tiny business, he had managed to educate his son and daughter, who were in excellent positions. When a patron questioned him as whether he would close down to go and stay with his son, he nixed it aggressively. This is what he loved, he said, and what he would do till the end!

I met him about a fortnight ago, on my way to Manipal. Little did I know that it would be the last time. A week later he was admitted to a hospital in Shimoga with fever and delirium. It was so sad to see him and realize that he was unable to recognize anyone, let alone the thousands of friends he had made over the years. In a span of one week, he deteriorated, was diagnosed to be having a rare disease, and died. It was unbelievable. Someone whom I had seen hale and hearty, and in the pink of health , suddenly disappeared.

I never imagined that I would experience a deep sense of loss about his death. After all, he was not related to me, nor was I in constant touch with him. But feel sad, I did. I could not shake off that heavy feeling through the day. Later on, I happened to see  condolence messages on whatssapp and facebook, and realized that so many more must have felt the same about him.

He was an integral part of the travelling experience. Somehow the forest and the landscape feel incomplete without him, the hungry traveler bereft. The eager wait for a few minutes respite, a soul warming snack , and comforting conversation is no more going to happen. Padiyar maam, we miss you. RIP!

Are women their own worst enemies??

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I am in a sour mood today. This usually happens when my day starts badly, or my daughter is in a god awful fussy mood or when one of my patients is not doing well. Today, the reason happens to be none of the above. Instead, it is because one of my patients told me very nonchalantly that she was pulling her daughter out of school. The girl in question was an 80 percenter, was so popular that her teachers apparently came home to beg her parents to let her continue on. But the parents were unmoved. The teachers went a step ahead and dangled a scholarship carrot which would reduce the financial burden. No difference. They explained that the college which would accept this girl was not co ed, wondering whether that was one of the parent’s concerns. No avail. Coolly, the mother tells me that she decided against it, because, hold your breath…. paying the city bus fare was not worth it!

This probably happens to many thousands of girls across India. But what pricked me most was the amount of carelessness that the mother displayed when she spoke about her daughter’s plight. She tells me that the girl cried for a while, stopped eating well and finally accepted her fate and is now working as a maid. The more I got flustered, the more calmer the mother seemed. My arguing on her behalf did not make one bit of difference. I asked her whether she did not want her daughter to be in a better financial, social position than she herself was in now?  She parrots that the matter is closed and she is happy now. I ask her how she would have felt in that place. She says she was never interested in studies. I wonder whether she did not feel some amount of pity when the girl cried. She coolly denies it. And THIS makes me so mad!

I have been party to many heated debates with my friends and relatives on the matter of whether women were in fact women’s worst enemies.  The topic itself used to drive me crazy. Outwardly calm, I would be fuming inside at anybody who would condescendingly support that statement. I would argue against it and sulk for the next few hours at least.

I am, I feel, slowly having to eat my own words. The amount of discrimination I see in my everyday practice is to put it mildly, is enormous. Over a period of time, I feel I have become over sensitive to it.

It creeps in so mildly, that its over before you think up a sarcastic retort that you hope will teach them a thing or two.

The wilt in the voice when they say, “ Oh, I have ONLY three daughters”, (no matter that they are all double graduates), or when they say” Please keep me healthy till I PUT my daughter into a good home” ( as if it a piece of furniture you want to sell). Or when a patient as old as my granny pats me on my head and says “ Hope you have a son who can follow your path”. Or when they proudly claim” He is my ONLY son” (after three daughters who were sired hoping for them to be sons). When relatives of mine think a hundred times before letting their daughters go to some hobby class far away from home, because “these times are soo bad”. One of my friends once told me that a patient of hers who was grateful for the care given, pulled her aside and thrust a hundred rupee note into her hand as a contribution towards her daughter’s future wedding. The implication being that it was a burden!

I am sure most of us have been through circumstances similar to these on a regular basis. And thinking back to most of these instances, the person who would have sighed the discomfort happen to be women.

Like the word BITCHING. Well accepted, commonly used and quite often by women, but so discriminatory. Somehow, it makes me feel small. Makes me feel ashamed to be a woman.

Like when I see photographs of female genital mutilation, and the people who restrain the victim are always women!

When I read reports in newspapers of mothers in law being held for dowry harassment. When I hear about two heroines having a “cat fight”. When women talk ill about other women and judge them as being characterless. Elderly women in the household who in the behest of upholding traditions of the yore, harass the younger ones. When working women are not cut any slack at home the way their spouses are. When younger women make specific demands of not wanting to live with or care for their in laws even before meeting and gauging them.

And somewhere subconsciously, it does seem as though women are the ones holding the others behind. In their defense, maybe, just maybe a few of the factors influenced their way of thinking:

  1. Women who are less educated, end up believing myths and misconceptions easily. And because they have no solid knowledge of why what is being done, they assert themselves, mainly in front of other younger women, for all the wrong reasons. That is probably the only way they can wield authority, which defines them.
  2. Women who marry so young that they have no idea what they are missing in their youth. The frustration shows through in their middle age, when they are angry with others who seem to have enjoyed more than they have. They end up judgmental- a classical case of sour grapes.
  3. Some others who have been brought up in the above two scenarios who think that it is the normal way of life and repeat the cycle.
  4. And though I seem to be repeating myself way too much, I have a serious grouse against the typecasting ways of the television soaps, which mouth dialogues like “ a girl’s place is always next to her husband” , “ Once married, only my dead body will go back to my maternal home” or “how will you ever live alone in this big bad world( and hence you need marriage asap!) and the like… I’m sure you get the thread. In most homes, people from all age groups between three to a hundred sit glued to watch these. Probably subconsciously start believing that this is the way the world thinks.

I agree these may be oversimplifications, but at least they may help us to start the rehab work.

The theory of women being women’s worst enemies may not actually be true. We hear stories of women having done great service to their fellow beings and the world in general. Women who brave the odds and manage to reach the top.Women who have helped out their children and displayed grit and determination in helping them reach great heights. I feel strongly that these are the stories that need to be venerated, celebrated and followed in media, kept as mandatory reading since primary school, as dinner table discussions in most homes, and as heroines of prime time tv. The social media network and the internet, still only reaches very few.

And then hopefully, this adage will die a fitful death!

bringing up mother!

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Volumes are written about how to bring up children. Everyone who is someone seems to have their own theory about how best to do it. If one feels that sparing a rod helps spoil the child, then another radically different one claims that children should be raised as free spirits. Magazines, newspaper articles, google searches and even pamphlets distributed with newspapers are taking over the task of telling mothers today, in great detail, about what their children need. Starting from the absolute need to enrol your child in a so and so preschool, to the need for developing multiple intelligence, about how you need to be their ‘friend’, how vacations and quality time are most needed and so on.

When I was a first time mother, I felt that parenting can be learnt by the book, and that books of psychology (both pop and serious!) would provide answers to all my parenting queries. It was shocking to realise that a lot of my beliefs were misplaced. The second time through, I was confident about how practical experience with my first child would pull me through the mothering confidently. Again, I came out confused and scrambled.

Taking care of two children and being a working parent seemed to mimic the experience of being put through the wringer of a washing machine on more days than less. I would wonder about the glowing pictures of mothers and happy kids that I would see in commercials and decide that it was just a marketing gimmick. No woman in her right mind could look that peaceful with two growing kids! At about the same time, I did notice that there were women around me without any high flying degrees, lesser help at home and still considering adding a third child to the list! And, surprisingly, there was no hint of panic anywhere visible on their face or demeanour. The more I interacted with them, the more I came to realise that these people had mastered the art of really enjoying their kids.

Lately, I have come to realize that you have to unlearn almost anything and everything that you heard, read or were qualified in. Of course advice helps, books give you confidence, but on the whole, it is a process of learning new things and going by what you feel is right.

On my earlier list of priorities, I had things like disciplined routine, spending time with the child doing some educational but interesting activity, making sure that I was adhering to the school’s guidelines for being an almost perfect mom and hence as a result of all these, having two perfectly behaved angels who would do me proud. Of course, I would put no pressure, but why would they need it? They would already be perfect.

Think about it- we have many such ideas which tell us how to mould and change our child. But in the process, we have hardly thought about how we, as parents need to change and grow alongside our children. Probably because it is so didactic and sad, many of us do not enjoy the process of parenting. We do love our children, but wish that they behave impeccably all the time and that their problems would sort themselves out miraculously, and they grow into poster kids who make us proud!

Both my children have temperaments as different as chalk and cheese. The one who mostly an introvert would suddenly shift gears in the most inappropriate of occasions! The other one who was wholesomely an extrovert, would choose to be at her grouchiest best on occasions when her amicability needed to be on display! And this was just one difference. The obsessive in me sought to find control, discipline them (by fair means and foul- by which I mean, scolding,pleading,bribes and emotional blackmail), but nothing seemed to work.

Then I thought of a civilized way of solving things. I told them that I would make a list of things which I appreciate about them and one more of things which I did not. They could make a similar one about me. And we would swap lists and try to change the things which were in the list of “not so cool”. They took a minute to ponder before they accepted my suggestion. After about 10 minutes of intense concentration, the papers were handed to me. My list was pretty long and winding about each one. I again told them that it was only their behavior that was targeted, and I loved them in spite of “not so cool” stuff- just as explained in psychology text books. We went over each item of my list, with murmurs of assent and dissent. And then it was time to open the list they made. I prided myself over the fact that I was being an intellectual parent by allowing my kids to poke holes in my parenting method. When I did open the paper, I was surprised to the list empty!

busy making the list

My son smiled sheepishly saying, “Well, we tried, but there was nothing that I could list in the negatives. And the rest is all positive. So, I did not take the trouble of writing! sorry”. To be honest, I know that I’m not the best mother in business. I am lazy some days, so involved in my book that I will not listen to their stories on some other, have strict rules about their behavior when we go out, have a certain fixed idea about how they should dress, occasionally lie my way out of things and have double standards. And I also know that at least my son is now old enough to spot these foibles of mine. I was so humbled and touched to be given a clean chit despite all this. This probably is what is called unconditional love, something which we forget to dole out as we age!

Well, my children taught me a valuable lesson that day. To love completely without holding back, accept our faults but still love, nonetheless. It sort of melted my overbearing sense of discipline. Now I don’t seem to mind lego blocks over the floor, unfolded sheets, waking up uncomfortable with a toy under me, books all over the house, and an occasional piece of cookie on my bed! I can tolerate tantrums better. I don’t fly off the handle and think   about how my life was cleaner and easier before kids.I still haven’t changed completely, but I am on my way, and can slowly feel the spring creeping back into my step!

Thanks my babies! In the process of bringing you up, you are teaching me valuable lessons and  definitely helping in my upbringing!

Food, glorious food.

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To call myself a foodie would be an understatement. My love affair with food began quite early. Even as a child, I was somehow drawn to food the way sugar draws ants. In a way, my obsession with food and books have a mutually common base and an intensely satisfying connection with each other!

By virtue of being a painfully shy kid, I was always happy hiding behind books, which acted as my comfort zone. My earliest memories of reading go back to when I was 7, and when I was given an Enid Blyton book of a circus girl, Carlotta, and her adventures. For someone who had a secret appetite for adventure, her life almost seemed magical. More awe inspiring though, were the different kinds of food described in the book. I must say, Enid Blyton was a master in making the most drab of foods seem so gourmet like, that I grew up on fantasized versions of  Ginger beer, sandwiches, lemonade (which I later discovered was a fancy name for nimbu pani!), boiled eggs, fresh fruits, jam, pickles, midnight feasts and picnics over the hillside. These were the dreams that my childhood was made of. I would almost smell the mountain air, feel the texture of the sandwich and hallucinate the taste of ginger beer. Through Malory towers, Famous five and  Five find outers, unconsciously I became a fan of food.

My make believe games involved getting some food from the bakery, putting it in a basket, laying it out  and having imaginary picnics with myself, and of course my books for company! Over the years, my love for food diversified from street food and chaat to food from north Indian restaurants(which in the 80s were the only alternative cuisine available in Shimoga) and later a fetish for Chinese. Even as my memory for other important things fails me at that most crucial of times, like names of people whom I am definitely supposed to be knowing; food memories never deny me that favor. I still remember the taste of Hakka noodles made by a small Chinese joint in Shimoga which shut shop  a few months later due to lack of regular patrons (other than me, of course!).

Over the years, my love for books and food grew in equal measure, both competing for the first spot. My college days in Mangalore opened new avenues to explore, the best of both worlds. I think I must be the only person who spent all her pocket money on food and the library. I am sure though, that I am the only person in the whole world who read loads of crappy mills and boons only to enjoy the description of food which is described in it rather than the romance! I was introduced to fancy names, french food, Hors d’ oeuvres(which by the way, I still do not know how to pronounce), wine and the mouth watering deserts like Crepe Suzette which I enjoyed by proxy, through these books.

Back then, the only kind of food writing that I knew of were cook books, which describe cooking in a really dull, drab way, measuring each ingredient in great detail, and eventually spoiling the spontaneity of it all! Which is why, I love the way Nigella Lawson cooks. Just by instinct- a handful of this, a sprinkle of that, a bunch of coriander  torn right out of the garden, whisk it all together, and viola! You have a drool worthy dish in front of you! Any ways, I’m digressing, which usually happens when I am talking food.

Coming back to the point, I only got to know that there was a genre’ called food writing  when I discovered a book at a sale. The book called “Endless feasts”, edited by Ruth Reichl, is a collection of articles that various food journalists in Europe and America. The book describes delicious traditional breakfasts of Maine, the grandiose dinners at Ritz in Paris, and stories of how Italian home food is made. Though being a vegetarian meant that I could not even try most of what was described, the descriptions were enough to make my mouth water! From then on, I was hooked! Every book shop I went to, I would scour in the cooking section for hidden gems like these.  They are really difficult to find, and when I did chance upon one, they would be quite harsh on my purse! Nevertheless, over the years I have managed to make up my very own small yet tasty food library! In fact, these are the only books which I return to again and again, when I am in distress. They are my therapists!

For those of you who dig books like these, a list of my favorites:

1. Eating India, by Chitrita Banerjee — which describes the different cuisines of India elaborately along with the history attached to each kind of food. For example, the culinary mastery of chef Pir Ali, who delighted the Nizam of Lucknow’s English guests by presenting a pie which contained tiny live birds which flew away when the crust was opened! Maybe, some connection to the English rhyme, sing a song of six pence….. Such anecdotes makes each dish interesting and each cuisine worth exploring. Different cuisines of India are thoroughly explored and tasted, leaving you slightly full and satiated, by the time you put the book down.

2. Kheer,Korma and Kismet, by Pamela Timms — who is a Scottish Journalist, living in Delhi. This book describes the yummy street food(my favorite kind) of Delhi in vivid detail, down to romantic gully names like Hauz Qazi Chowk,Ballimaran and Chawri Bazaar which elevate the food from the streets to something more exotic and something for which you want to catch the next train to Delhi in a tearing hurry. Daulat ka chaat, phirni, chana bathura,kheer… I’m coming!

Hot tea across India, by engineer turned writer Rishad Saam Mehta. I have always been a lover of coffee, but this book converted me. The book describes the author’s tryst with different types of tea all over India and anecdotes built around it. It describes a journey he took on his bike and how he encountered diverse people, simple meals, different but tasty versions of tea. Definitely my cup of tea!(pun intended)

3. Choclat, by Joanne Harris . Though this book is about a bigger something, with a moral behind the story and all that, the main attraction remains … yes,the chocolate. Believe me, when you read this book, you can actually smell the warm smells of bread and hot chocolate emanating out of the book. Pralines, marzipans, pastries, hot chocolate and bonbons creep into your dreams and give you a feeling of fuzzy happiness.

4. It is said that Delhi is a city which has been rebuilt eight times! Each time it got looted and destroyed, it rose again like a phoenix from the ashes. For someone who has gone through so much gore, the city looked calm and composed when we visited it in the winter.

5. Eat, pray love, by Elizabeth Gilbert . Well, to be more specific, the EAT part of the book. That someone could travel to an unknown place, just to experience eating made me feel as if I was reading about a kindred spirit! I would soo do it, if I could just brush my other responsibilities under the carpet! And to go to Italy, would be icing on the cake, but I would be happy just about anywhere! After this book, I don’t feel so weird anymore for being in love with food.

6.The temporary bride by Jennifer Klinec. This book is a non vegetarians delight. It describes the various kinds of food prepared in Iran, and how two people fell in love while exploring food. Some of the food described slightly grossed me out, but nevertheless, I would certainly recommend it for the lovely description of the food given.

There are many more such books which describe food with the love and attention that it deserves on my wish list. With instagram, good reads and tv shows, my ongiong love affair with food has reached new proportions. But, how much ever these tempt me, there is nothing like the comfort you get when you are curled up with a good book, a cup of chai, a plateful of  pakodas, or a bar of dairy milk crackle, or a bag of kurkure, or french fries, or paneer chilli or…hmmmm… the list goes on.

Let us start a change.

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This morning, our hired help got an emergency call from her daughter’s home. Apparently, there was a tiff between her daughter and son in law, no doubt precipitated by her mother in law,that led to a big war of words. The reason for the fight was that the daughter had returned home a day later than was permitted by the monster in law. My maid was ordered by her son in law to take her daughter back home forever, just like that. And worse, my maid obeyed meekly and begged for forgiveness! My maid’s daughter is all of eighteen, married off 6 months before her birthday, despite all our protests and a very timid, quiet girl. Before her marriage, she would handle all the household responsibilities before going to work herself. She used to work without taking without a day’s off, even on her birthday. And finally agreed to marry a man 10 years her senior, without as much as speaking to him, because her mother told her to. And now this!

In the past few days after “India’s Daughter” was released, I have seen every social media platform, every single TV station, every whatsapp group and every newspaper give enormous publicity to what happened. There have been pro ban messages, anti ban messages, protests held and discussions dissecting every single aspect of the documentary and the attitudes that prevail. I did watch the documentary myself and felt my skin crawl and tears fall freely when the creep ( in the garb of a lawyer) and the accused speak of Jyothi/Nirbhaya almost mechanically. I felt a helpless outrage. And then it remained that way. Because:

  1. I feel that no amount of media coverage may change the harsh ground realities of thousands of millions of faceless, nameless Nirbahyas across our country or the world. The huge mass of humanity which watches these shows and newsreels are those who already seem to have a slightly different, egalitarian and non traditional mental attitude. These are not much the group who needs to change. Change needs to happen in the rural most parts of India, where women’s dignity and independence are still decided by the men of the family. Where women are not individuals, but burdens. Where the society (as Mukesh Kumar’s lawyer aptly put it) has no place for women. No point in just showing them the middle finger. We need to actively change them. But how?? We have “Beti bachao, Beti padhao”in place, but no “Beti ko respect dena bêteko sikhao”anywhere in sight.
  2. The evil mother in law does exist. Those who have different rules for their daughters and different ones for their daughters in law. Those who think and believe that the ‘sun’ rises and sets with their ‘son’, or rather because of him. They shower so much love on their sons that it becomes a sort of emotional debt to repay back that love, by taking sides when there is fight between the mother and the wife! The daughter in law that they themselves sought after the many ‘girl seeing’ sessions, becomes an object of hatred because she tries to tweak the rules of the house a little. A reverse Oedipus complex I would say! It is difficult to be non judgmental about such women and rationalize their bad behavior with many excuses. When we try family counselling in such situations, it feels as though you are smashing your head against a brick wall! And the men of the family at best, look mutely, smile condescending smiles and say “Oh, you know women, what can we do? “, and act as though the whole thing had nothing to do with them!
  3. And the so called myth that ‘Women are women’s worst enemies” seems true to a certain extent. Pick a random case of dowry death, the MIL is almost always the master mind. Pick a case of child marriage, the mother is the one who has ‘counselled’ the daughter that this is what is best for her(as in the case of our maid). Pick any post marital conflict, the mother is the one advising the daughter to go back, so as to avoid the shame society would hoist upon them, lest a daughter comes back to the maternal home in disgrace. Pick any child who has dropped out of school, it is because there was no one to share the mother’s burden of work (it does not occur that the boy can share this burden too!). These are the bitter realities, which we as the middle class have forgotten and brushed under the carpet. We are truly a lucky group of people whose parents changed their attitudes. But for a lot of other women, these painful realities are a part of daily existence, and they come to us as patients of depression, or victims of assault, if they try swimming against the stream.
  4. Finally,us. Most of us did download the controversial video and watched it in horror, a lot of us walked candle light marches, many hosted seminars on the evils occurring to women and many spoke/ wrote about it( including me, by the way), but it did not cause change where it mattered most. When my maid got her daughter married, it was on the tip of my tongue to advice the girl to rebel, and go back to her studies. But I did not. I protested feebly, and then left for her to decide. I feel like telling my abused patients to get the hell out of their abusive marriages and make a life for themselves, but refrain because of my so called professional ethics. When I hear my neighbor beating or scolding his wife in a drunken brawl, I choose to curb my anger, rather than go back there and help bash the living daylights out of him! I am sure most of us are in the same state of helplessness and hence the quantum of people abusing/ disrespecting/ troubling/ and killing women will not subside.

There are too few of us who do and too many of us who keep quiet. Far too many who accept a ‘pedha’ as a sign of happiness when a male baby is born and sweetened puffed rice (almost apologetically) when a girl is born. Too many of us who still believe that with marriage and children only, is a woman’s life complete. Too many of us who do not protest when widows are not given adequate respect at family functions… and so on the list grows.

Changing rules and government policies may work in the long run, but till then we may continue to lose many of our kind. So let us start the change in our everyday lives. Let us not wait for some incident to happen for us to awaken from our stupor. Let us start small, and consistent. Let each one of us make sure that our maids have an education. Let us not watch/allow watching of regressive serials where women are typecast. Let us not hum item songs, because they do objectify women, how much ever they are supposed to be an integral part of the script!

Instead let us show small children inspiring videos of women who have done great work despite their odds, as a part of school curriculum. Let us teach them how to use legislation in case they are harmed. Let them know that they need not swallow abuse just because their marital prospects and family honor may be damaged. Such small things may go a long way in building positive attitudes at a young age. Let us show them that…