Meandering thoughts...

Of ants, souls, and stories that stick

2013-06-05T09:36:00.002-04:00

When I was a kid, we lived across from a park, and often walked through when returning home from friends' houses, or the market. There were a lot of ant hills in this park, and I don't quite remember what prompted this, but my mother once told me that these ant hills are the homes of ants, and if you knock any of them over, even by mistake, those ants will hunt you down, and destroy your house. I don't think my mother was quite as graphic as this, and I have never bothered to find out if this is a true fact, but even today, some 20+ years later, I choose not to step on any ant hills should I see one, thank you very much.

When my brother was a kid (and I therefore a somewhat older and wiser kid), we visited the Kali Mandir in C R Park (and while looking up its exact name, I discovered it has a Wikipedia page all of its own). The brother and I were bored while the parents did their chatting-with-God thing, so I told the brother that the stones which have names written on them (dedicated by families of people who have died) have the souls of said deceased individuals trapped inside them. And therefore, while we need to walk all around the temple while waiting for the parents, we need to make sure we don't step on any stone that has a name on it. And so we did.

Some ten-odd years later, with the brother now a teenager, we visited Kali Mandir again. A lot more stones had been dedicated by now, resulting in hardly any blank stones left. I watched my brother stand in one spot and try to figure out how to go anywhere in the temple complex without stepping on the souls of some poor departed-from-this-world individual.

Whenever I go home next, I want to drag him there and see what he does at the age of 23.

A cat experiment

2013-05-29T11:21:00.000-04:00

Of the many, many things I miss about home, the princess is one of the most... missable? missed? You get the drift.

So lately, I've been contemplating getting a pet. Because much as I love living alone, sometimes you want to have someone go crazy with happiness when you come home, and dogs are so good at that - especially when they know you're going to feed them. But then I figured getting a dog isn't the most practical option, because crazy as B-school has been, once I start working, I won't be home all day anyway, and it's not fair to a dog to leave them locked up alone in an apartment for hours on end.

So then I started thinking about getting a cat. I'm told they're fairly independent, and actually like being left alone all day. But I wasn't sure if I was a cat person. So when my friend asked me to cat-sit his, well, cat for a week while he was out of town, I decided to use this time to see if I could live with a cat.

In a nutshell, no. I mean, I love this cat. Because you know, he's my friend's cat and you have to love your friends' children no matter what. But he's so... strange. He would be waiting for me at the front door every day, which okay, is a lot like the princess who I swear can hear you coming home from three lanes away. But then, this cat would roll on the floor and come run against your leg, but if you start petting him, walked away.

And well, okay, I talked to him like I talk to the princess, and I may have had to remind myself to do so in English and not in Bengali. But even when it was in English, all I got was a disdainful look of "please, can we not be so chatty?"

No, I'm really not a cat person. Maybe I should get a goldfish.

Of something that changed

2013-04-28T16:33:00.005-04:00

She was one of the first bloggers I started following when I discovered the world of blogs and Google Reader some, what, seven odd years ago? When I joined twitter a couple of years later, she was one of the first people I looked for and started following there as well.

She was - is - a few years older than me, and since I was still a student at the time, was fascinating to me as a single, working woman. She was independent, and confident, and sassy, and open about her life and relationships in a way I never saw myself being. She wrote beautifully, and I often found things on her blog that I had been thinking about only a few days previously, articulated and thought through in a way that seemed so perfect.

I never reached out to her in any way, beyond perhaps the odd comment on her blog, or a random exchange of tweets. But her thoughts, her writing - they continued to be favorites for a long time.

And then at some point, that changed. I started finding her posts a tad too much. There was bitterness creeping into them, her brand of feminism was becoming a bit too rigid for me, her standards were becoming a bit too high for them. Her accounts of relationships made me feel glad about my continued singlehood, her seemingly increased bitterness made me realise the mother might be right about me ending up a bitter and lonely spinster. She seemed to expect too much from the people around her, and was becoming a bit too caustic for my liking.

I'm not sure if this was true, or if it had always been there and I had just mellowed off-late. But at some point in the last month, I unfollowed her on Twitter. And it was easier than I expected. I still follow her blog, but I'm not how long that will last either.

I'm not sure what prompted a whole post about her. But it feels a little like a relationship - albeit one-sided - that suddenly changed and then soured. And it feels a bit sad.

A walking-talking disaster

2013-04-07T17:21:00.001-04:00

I'm not quite sure what's going on, but I feel it needs sharing with the world at large. In the three weeks that I have been back in Amreeka, I have:

burned my right arm fairly badly by reaching over my electric kettle to grab a tea bag just as it was letting out ridiculously hot steam. So I now have a ugly patch right in my line of vision.
burned my left arm slightly by touching my hot non-stick pan by mistake (No Mother, I did not tell you about this because it was not very major. Teensy, really.).
had my right foot stomped on by some twit at a party Friday night, so that now every time I wear my rubber Bata-lookalike slippers, it hurts.
cut my finger this afternoon while carting trays of samosas to our school's Holi celebration. That foil was sharp, man - so much so that five hours later, the bleeding still hasn't stopped.
jerked my knee minutes later and bent it a bit awkwardly. Now this, granted, happens to me quite often enough, but coming as soon after as it did, was a bit nerve-wracking.
UPDATE: I have just discovered that being thrown into a pool of mud this afternoon has led to some big fat scratches on the right elbow, which have now started hurting. I am never playing Holi again.

A previous period on non-stop accidents has been documented here. Maybe this is something that I am meant to go through every time I move to the US.

Nuggets from here and there

2013-03-21T20:16:00.002-04:00

I'm in my last semester at business school (wow, time flies), and taking two classes this semester, both of which vary between being fascinating and putting-you-to-sleep boring, all within the space of two hours.

The professor in my first class today showed this video, from Louis CK's appearance on Conan O'Brien's show a few years ago. The entire conversation is funny, but the segment between 2:15 and 6:05, which we saw in class, is brilliant. Watch:

"Everything is amazing and nobody is happy" by Meowbay

True, isn't it? We take technology and all offers us so much for granted, we forget that when we were born, or even as growing up, we didn't have any of this. @_GoneNative wrote this post a while back that had a line I absolutely fallen in love with and shared here:

"My generation has had to say a lot of goodbyes in quick succession to the things we built our lives around. I have a feeling the next lot will find it easier to use & throw."

That's true, in a way, but also so sad.

And then, in my second class today, we were talking about price discrimination, for possibly the gazillionth time since school began (and I still suck at it. go figure.), and our professor shared this passage, which I think is the most beautiful description of price discrimination that I have seen in a very long time.

It is not because of the few thousand francs which would have to be spent to put a roof over the third-class carriage or to upholster the third-class seats that some company or other has open carriages with wooden benches… What the company is trying to do is prevent the passengers who can pay the second-class fare from traveling third class; it hits the poor, not because it wants to hurt them, but to frighten the rich… And it is again for the same reason that the companies, having proved almost cruel to the third-class passengers and mean to the second-class ones, become lavish in dealing with first-class customers. Having refused the poor what is necessary, they give the rich what is superfluous.

~ Jules Dupuit (1849), On Tolls and Transport

It's a good day, when your classes make you see or hear something that strikes a chord, that makes you think, that makes you want to share it with everyone else.

Conversations with friends

2013-03-12T20:51:00.002-04:00

Sometimes you go for extended periods of not meeting or talking with someone and forget how entertaining conversations with them always were. Take my friend who I met this evening, for instance. I met her after a gazillion years, after two months of being in the came city, three days before I have to leave, and spent the entire three hours giggling helplessly. A sample of the numerous anecdotes she shared about her life teaching the most entertaining students in the world:

My friend: So if you do this presentation, I'll give you points towards your final grade.
Friend's student: Do we get extra points if we're smart during the presentation?
My friend: You get points if you're smart at any time during the class. {I assume at this point, her internal thinking was a big fat DUH.}
Friend's student: Really? So if we dress up well for class, you give us extra points?

I'm not too sure how my friend finally clarified that she and her student were clearly talking about two different meanings of the word smart; I was too busy cackling with laughter by this point.

Then there is the gal pal who got married a little over a month ago. Forget about the lack of consideration shown in getting married at a time when it was just not possible for me to be there (resulting in these kind of incidents: this, followed by this), but she has now decided that this is the year that I absolutely MUST find a boy of my own and get married. And this is why:

Her: 28 is our year
I have declared it
Me: Yes Ma'am
Her: 2013
it’s ours
2017 is baby year
you have no time
Me: good God
you don't want a baby before that?
Her: well a lil planning never hurt
well ok so if u have so will I
we need to coordinate
Me: hehe
you can go ahead it is okay
Her: so our kids can marry each other
Me: haan so have a boy
Her: I’m giving you 4 yrs
no more
Me: so I can have a girl a few years later na
she will need an older guy
Her: true that
I’m on it

And then there are friends I haven't seen in three months and miss simply because they say the most random things which you're not sure you should be commiserating for or laughing at. Such as this:

I don't ever need to worry about wrinkles and stuff because I take after my grandmother. She had the most perfect and flawless skin. Except for the part about the skin cancer, that is.

Is it any wonder I am friends with these people?

What do you say?

2013-02-14T09:07:00.000-05:00

Among the many social situations that make me uncomfortable, one of the worst is when someone I know, especially someone I care about, loses someone they love.

Because what do you say? What do you say that adequately conveys how deeply sorry you are for their loss, but doesn't sound like it's about you? Because that's my concern - that when someone loses someone they love, I put myself in their shoes, and feel sorry because I imagine how I would feel if I had lost someone I love. It brings alive my fears of losing the people I love. All of which makes my condolences just sound trite and selfish.

When I was 16, a classmate lost her father. A little over a year ago,my godfather lost his father. And I was at as much of a loss for words as I remembered being at 16. I asked on twitter, that fountain of support and suggestions, and got some responses. All very valid responses, but none of them made it any easier to send that email or make that phone call.

Then a fortnight ago, a professor at school who I am fairly close to lost his mother. And I started wondering again. What do you say?

I sent him an email, since I'm not in the US right now. And he replied too. But I was still left feeling that the email I sent was utterly trite and pointless.

And all of this is still about me. It's my discomfort with not knowing what to say, my inability to convey how I feel. Maybe it doesn't seem trite. Maybe it does mean something to the person I'm writing to. But I never quite know that.

A very belated "ooh it's a new year" post

2013-01-26T19:47:00.000-05:00

Well, if blogging more regularly was to have been a goal for 2013, we can just forget all about it, can't we? If it makes things any better, this one is only 26 (well, technically 27) days late, as opposed to last year's annual recap being an entire 31 days late. Although maybe I should have just done the 40 questions deal and be done with it.

Oh well, this post's been in the works for a while, so let's see how it turns out.

For the first time in a while, I'm writing my annual year-in-retrospect post knowing - sort of - what the year ahead holds for me, and where I'll be - vaguely - this time, next year.

2012 was... strange. It had parts that sucked, it had parts that were awesome, it had parts that were utterly stressful just like 2011 but which were manageable because other stresses from 2011 went away. I seem to have lost a few very precious people, formed friendships that have helped me survive the year, and learned more about myself in the process.

A large part of the year involved a fairly irritating job search. As mentioned several times previously, I suck at the whole networking nonsense that is a necessary evil in B-schools in the Yoo Ess. Ergo, getting a job I wanted was traumatic and tough. Add to that a fairly awful living situation, a friend circle that I had more fallen into than chosen, and getting used to the whole being away from everything that is loved and familiar, my first few months at B-school - and the last few months of 2011 - had been... difficult.

2012 changed that. Like I said in last year's annual flashback post, the mother's visit over winter break bought my two worlds together, and in a way reminded me of who I am, why I had chosen to move half a world away, and what was important to me.

It was easier, after that, to hang out with the people I liked and wanted to get to know better, rather than people I seemed to have fallen in with. To take the decision to make the most of a fairly horrendous living situation for the rest of my first year, but to look at living alone for the next year.

My apartment got robbed, in February. My poor luck with international travel isn't restricted to Europe, it seems. I visited India for two weeks on a school consulting project trip in March with a group of my classmates, and got to see the country very differently. Just two days at home is woefully short, though. I got an internship - eventually. It wasn't what I would have liked, ideally, or what I thought I wanted to do full-time, but it was something I knew would give me valuable experience and help me make up my mind about a full-time role, and so I took it.

I think I truly began to enjoy school and life in the US once that internship was secured. That last term of six weeks - I had classes I was enjoying, I didn't have to network any more, I no longer gave a rat's ass about pretending to be someone I wasn't for people I didn't give two hoots about, and I had a whole month at home coming up. I found friends I cared about, and who cared about me, who offered help when I needed it the most, and who were just... incredible.

May. I came home. I spent nearly four weeks in India, packed in quite a bit of travel and eating and reading and watching TV shows, met up with people I loved, and discovered some people didn't want to meet me. A fabulous family holiday in gorgeous Kasauli.

And then Chicago. For three months. And less than a week into my time there, one of those it-can-only-happen-to-me type incidents happened, involving my passport, a very by-the-book HR person (no wonder people don't like HR), an extremely helpful Indian consulate, and a lot of trauma and drama. I kid you not. Maybe some day a blog post all about this incident will happen.

The summer was a lot of fun, teaching me a lot, about the work I don't want to do, the things I don't do well professionally, and the kind of people you can trust. Also what a good thing it is that I am a mix of utterly stingy and impulsively extravagant.

And then I came back to school. School this year was definitely about why I had come here. The job search stress was there, yes, but it was better this year because I put to good use the one big thing I learned during my internship - it's okay to ask for help, it's okay to reach out to people - and as a result did a better job of the whole networking thing.

I was a lot more social this year - even if it was with the same people mostly. That totally counts, despite what certain friends (and readers of this blog) might say. I got my freaking driving license. I first got wait-listed for going on exchange, and then managed to get signed up for London. I learned to live alone - which is SO perfect for an introvert like me, but SO terrible for trying to be more social.

I gained back all the weight I had lost when I first got to the US, and then some. I substantially improved my tolerance for alcohol. I bought a new laptop. I started wearing dresses, and even make-up. I went to Puerto Rico with friends over fall break and had the most fabulous time doing nothing but eat, drink, and lie on the beach. I got a freaking job, one I actually wanted.

I was home for the last two weeks in December (although more passport issues made that questionable for a while), and then two weeks into the new year. The new year was brought in like old times - at home with the parents, squabbling over what to watch on TV, with some chips and coke, and gummy bears for the princess. And for the first time since moving away from home, I left without knowing when I would be back.

Some relationships were renewed and strengthened, some ties of friendship loosened. Some loved ones died, some grew old and fragile. Friends got engaged. The princess began to feel her age.

I grew comfortable with myself this year, but impatient with my life. I gave up on some people who used to be very important to me, but refused to continue to entertain those who meant nothing to me. I made attempts to be more social - even hosting my first Diwali get-together ever - but stuck to staying in when I really wanted to.

All in all, it was a good year, 2012 was. And 2013 holds good things. Two months in London, two months back in school before graduation, a summer of who-knows-what, and then back to the working world.

Yes, good things lie ahead. Mostly. I think.

Annoyed

2012-12-29T09:40:00.000-05:00

I'm annoyed.

I'm annoyed with politicians, across the board, whether in power or in the Opposition, for being insensitive, incompetent, ignorant, for being worried about nothing more than their own hides. For thinking shutting down metro stations, banning protests, passing the buck are acceptable responses to the anger on the streets.

I'm annoyed with the media houses, barring one or two, for turning this into a circus, for thinking it's a good idea to chase an ambulance to the airport, for thinking they're so clever with the names they came up with for her, for being the way the media always is.

I'm annoyed with people putting up FB status updates with conspiracy theories about how she must have already died and they must have moved her to Singapore to avoid the furore. I'm annoyed with people who think these assumptions are more important than the stupidity and insensitivity we know the government has displayed.

I'm annoyed with people demanding the death penalty or chemical castration. Without first asking for a country where I can actually walk into a police station and report a molestation or rape and be taken seriously and be treated with respect.

I'm annoyed with people who are turning this into a Delhi vs. other cities debate. With people who think Delhi's not that bad. With people who think it's only a Delhi problem.

I'm annoyed that there are people who think changing school uniforms from skirts to trousers or salwar kameezes is the answer. Who think a prostitute can't be raped. Who think women shouldn't travel alone at night or wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with people who think a city is safe if women can travel alone at night and wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with myself. For getting upset again. For wanting to bash my head against the wall. For not getting annoyed enough. For not doing anything beyond ranting and retweeting others and adding to the noise with yet another pointless blog post. For not coming up with a better word than annoyed for this post.

I'm annoyed with myself for that second of worry I had while entering the metro station at 10.30 PM a week ago.

This is my city. This is my country. I shouldn't have had to have felt that second of worry.

I'm annoyed.

Yes, yes, we should have known that once I publicly said I was done about a topic, I would obviously get worked up about it again. Moving on.

More here: http://storify.com/a_traveller/when-i-wasn-t-really-done

I'm done

2012-12-22T13:01:00.002-05:00

I don't even remember what brought it on. All I remember is suddenly feeling that that was it, I couldn't deal with this anymore.

So five months ago, amidst all the tweets of sharing and outraging, I sent out a series of tweets, which led to some interesting responses and conversations. Someone encouraged me to put them all together and I did, here.

But that was the moment for me, when I was done. I was done tweeting and blogging and sharing FB posts about how women are treated in this country. I was done outraging every time the feminist in me saw a line or a tweet or a scene that shouldn't have happened. I was done asking for safer roads, for equality, for some humanity, dammit.

But most of all, I was also done reading. I can't do it anymore. Every time I have visited NDTV's homepage in the last one year, it feels like there has been at least one headline about a girl getting raped in some part of the country. More often than not, it's been a gangrape. Almost as often, the girl's age has been posted and she's been a minor. And I'm done. It's the worst form of escapism, yes, but I can't do it anymore.

So this latest one, the one that's got Delhi all riled up? I know the basic outline of what happened, more by osmosis because everyone's talking about it. My heart goes out to the girl and her friends and family. But beyond that, I can't make myself read about it, or get all worked up about it.

I've been dutifully retweeting the more sensible posts, of course. And I could get into how all this getting riled up a, isn't going to have any effect, and b, isn't going to last. But I don't have it in me to even do that.

I've been veering between wanting to and not wanting to publish this post for two days now, but in the end, what the heck. If I never post about this again, this might as well be the last one.

Where I want to scream and yell, but blog instead

2012-12-12T13:55:00.000-05:00

Summer 2006, family trip to Europe. This happens.

March 2009, office holiday to Spain. Got robbed twice in Barcelona.

March 2010, office holiday to Italy. This happens, colleagues speculate I was a thief in Europe in a previous lifetime, and this is karma.

May 2011, family trip to Boston, London and Edinburgh. Nothing worse than a huge goof-up over train tickets courtesy yours truly, and the fact that a very expensive set of jewelry bought specially for this trip goes missing. Unsure whether it went missing in Boston or Edinburgh, but Europe jinx seems to continue.

And now, December 2012. I'm supposed to leave for India on Monday, but my passport is stuck with the UK consulate in New York, because I'm headed to London on exchange in the spring and need a visa. There is no way of tracking progress, it's too late to cancel or switch to priority service, and it seems highly unlikely that I will receive anything back in time for my flight. The cost of changing tickets this time of the year is giving me a heart attack, and all I want to know is - just why does Europe hate me so much?

Food strike

2012-11-25T11:18:00.001-05:00

I was informed, sometime yesterday morning, that the princess has gone off her food. By evening, things hadn't improved, so as I was driving back from a dinner, I was asked to get onto Skype as soon as possible. The connection was terrible as usual, so video didn't work out, but I was able to talk to Kyra and tell her to be a good doggy and eat. Five minutes later, biscuits had been consumed.

This morning I woke up to hear the brother had spoken to her on the phone, and she had subsequently eaten some stew and even eggs. Rolling on the floor like a madcap has also commenced I believe.

She keeps doing this, my princess. A more emotionally fragile dog would be hard to find. Whenever the brother and I leave home - which has been happening all too often over the past 6-7 years - she spends the first few nights sleeping right next to the front door. She doesn't look at us once she realises suitcases are being packed (or if she suspects a scolding is coming her way, take your pick). If the father travels, she either stops eating and/or starts throwing up at regular intervals.

After years of looking disdainfully at my room, and never entering it if she could help it (why, I have no idea), she slept there with me the first three nights of my visit home this March. But stopped entering it once the suitcase started getting filled again.

I'm not sure what brought on this latest going off the food. The brother spent a week at home recently, but left a few days ago, so it seems a bit of a delayed reaction. Given that she's turning 11 in less than a week, I'm just glad it's over.

Learning and passing

2012-11-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

The big news of the week was - no, not Bal Thackeray's death or the inexplicable fact that he got full state honours - that on my fifth attempt, I finally passed the driving road test and graduated from a learner's permit to a full-blown driving license.

Yep, you read that right. Fifth attempt. See, here's what happened. The first two attempts were within a space of two weeks, way back in January, with the same grumpy old man. And it really wasn't my fault that when I thought I was stopping at Stop signs, he thought I was only pausing, and then these strange garbage trucks would appear out of nowhere and stop in front of me giving me no time to react and then he would freak out. Really not my fault.

The third attempt, a good nine months later (because y'know, I spent four months away from this town in the interim), I got the same grumpy old man, and I will admit, it may have been a bit of my fault because I may have pulled out of a lane a bit too soon given that there was a car coming from the other direction. So yes, okay, a little bit of my fault.

The fourth time was two weeks ago, when I finally got a break, and got a different instructor, who for some reason decided to pretty much coach me through the whole test, and then decided I don't reverse well enough. He then told me to practice reversing, and come back in one week (not one month or six months later), and I would get my license. So one week later, I showed up again, got yet another instructor this time, who didn't speak at all during the test beyond telling me where to turn. And for the first time, while walking back into the DMV office, I didn't know whether I had passed or failed. So then I sat back at the counter and falteringly asked, "so... did I get it this time?", the instructor chuckled (I swear, chuckled is the word) and said "of course you got it." HALLELUJAH.

Technically, I learned to drive in India when I was 18. I went through the usual driving lessons, any my instructors were reasonably impressed with me. But then when it came to practising, my mother got into the car with me, and screamed bloody murder as soon as I put the car into gear and went forward two inches. So then like any reasonable person, I refused to drive with her in the car. Then the father got his driver to practise with me, and this dude, who was a moron anyway, would keep leaning over and turning the wheel himself instead of telling me what to do, and how am I supposed to learn this way I ask. By the time the father decided to take over, I was too freaked out to drive at all, and just refused to learn.

So when we discovered that the town I was going to move to business school had little to no public transport, and you need a car to get around here, there was simultaneous amusement and consternation among friends and family. All ye of little faith, I say. So anyway I got here, bought a car, and then... pretty much let it sit there while I hitched rides with all and sundry for about three months. Then decided enough was enough, and started driving. And I have to say, it felt good to be able to get around by myself instead of having to depend on others. Who knew?

See, the thing is, despite what certain readers of this blog claim, I'm really not that bad a driver. Yes, things like parallel parking (actually, parking at all) and changing lanes on busy freeways are still a bit nerve-wracking for me, and I may or may not have a tendency to not pay full attention to everything around me. And I may be a prime example of why female drivers have such a bad rep. But if you let me get into a lane, and just stay in that lane, I'm really not such a bad driver.

So there.

Clueless

2012-10-09T22:49:00.000-04:00

To summarize a conversation I had with a professor last week, and have been having with friends over the past couple of months, is this point: growing up is basically accepting the fact that you don't have a clue what life is about, and being okay with that.

I spent the summer hanging out with a lot of undergrad college kids thanks to my internship, all of whom were convinced they have life figured out. They knew exactly what they wanted to do or be in life, had very firm likes and dislikes, and seemed so certain about everything. Was I that sure of anything at 18? Or even 21, which is the age most of these kids were? Perhaps.

I remember doing a workshop on counseling skills a few months after I started college. On the first day, the workshop moderator made us all line on one side of the room, and told us he was going to read out certain statements and we would have to go stand on one side of the room or stay where we were, depending on whether we agreed or disagreed with those statements, or go to the center of the room if we weren't sure. The statements he read out dealt with topics like abortion, infidelity, divorce... you get the drift. With each statement, once three groups would be formed, the agreeing and disagreeing groups presented their arguments and tried to convince people from the other groups to come over to their side. I was one of the youngest participants in the workshop, so of course I knew it all. I remember being the only person who refused to budge from my taken position on at least two of those statements. On one of them, I think it was everyone else on the other side, me on my side. And I was so convinced I was right.

Today, nine years later? I know I was wrong about at least one of those statements. The other, I'm still on the same side, but less certain about. I'm a bigger believer in the power of the context, rather than having one opinion to fit all situations.

Coming back to business school a month ago, I knew I was going to go through the recruiting process again, be equally stressed about it, and have all the drama carry on. But it was different this time. There are no SYs to provide guidance, look over my resume, to listen to me vent about my panic. I'm the SY this time round, and there are all these FYs coming to me with questions, asking for advice, showing me their resume, and as one actually put it the other day, "I need to come to you and vent."

The one SY I had vented to the most last year came to campus a couple of weeks back and I asked him if he had been as clueless as I am right now when I would ask him stuff last year. He asked me what I thought. Our conclusion was that the trick is to pretend like you have all the answers.

So I have interviews starting tomorrow, a lingering cough which won't go away, and mild levels of panic. But I think I've managed to come to the point where I can fake enough confidence to make a very close friend tell me this afternoon that I look happy.

Because I don't think it ever goes away - this feeling of having no clue what you're doing, that everyone else is miles ahead and way smarter, the wondering what life holds for you next.

But I feel a lot more grown up since I had the realization that it's okay to have that cluelessness.

Chat conversations

2012-09-05T10:11:00.001-04:00

My Gtalk status yesterday morning was whining about how the Indian Embassy won't pick up the phone. So of course, the mother had to ask.

Mother: Why do you need the embassy?

12:37 PM The princess is asking me: for my passport to become machine readable can't apply for schengen visa otherwise Mother: The princess says OK, Didi 12:38 PM She sighs too at my constant absurdities me: :D 12:39 PM Mother: Somehow these sighs of hers makes me feel rather immature at times, don't know about you though 12:41 PM me: why would I feel immature? I'm not the one being sighed atMother: That's a very good point, girl!

One hour later:

Mother: Was just thinking it's a REAL good point! You think I'm mad too! 1:19 PM me: huh? Mother: Mad along with being immature? me: what are you talking about? 1:20 PM Mother: nah, just thinking me: you're definitely sounding like you've gone mad

I love the mother, I do. Who else would be such a constant source for entertainment?

Happy Teacher's day, Mommy!

Self-justification

2012-08-22T15:04:00.001-04:00

A long, very long time ago, I used to say that if I'm not married by 30, I'll adopt a daughter. And people would laugh and say, "oh, you want to be like Sushmita Sen." And I would roll my eyes and say, "no, you moron, there are other women in the world who've done this, I didn't even know she was planning to when I decided this."

Well, maybe I wasn't quite as rude, but you get the gist.

Anyway. Then I grew up a little and realised this wasn't a very good plan because see, kids annoy me. They do. They annoy and terrify me. Especially babies. They terrify me, and they're like dogs because they sense my fear and therefore start crying when I come anywhere near them. Which terrifies me even more.

Although I probably get even more terrified by those strange babies who don't start crying when they see me. Who just stare at me or chuckle at me as if I'm supposed to say something very intelligent or noteworthy and I have no idea whether I'm supposed to stare back or look away, or how long I need to stare back before I can politely look away, because dammit, there are no rules for this sort of thing.

And then these babies grow into kids, who range from being cute to little monsters who think they're SO much smarter than you. My aunt, whose three kids are all at least a decade younger to me, thinks I'm very good with kids. Statements like this are designed to make me simultaneously burst out laughing and have palpitations. And more than an hour in the presence of any kids makes me supremely uncomfortable.

So anyway, while marriage doesn't seem to be anywhere on the cards in the next few years, it is fairly certain that neither is that adoption, because I'm not stupid and I wouldn't to me or that poor kid.

But. Some time ago I suddenly started following all these blogs and people on twitter who talked about their kids all the time. Very beautifully, at that. So beautifully that the occasional "what-if" thoughts started creeping into my head. And then a few months ago, I was at a professor's home for dinner, and I don't know who would do such a stupid thing, but his two-month old daughter was put in my arms. And I froze and stayed absolutely still till someone took pity on both of us and called the kid's mother to take her away from me.

See, here's the thing. The only time any maternal feelings arise in me is when I think of my princess. People whip out their phones to show off photos of their tiny tots' antics, I whip mine out to show off the gorgeous creature that Kyra is. I am somewhat known for having ticked off a lot of people who have been telling me about their kids or nieces or nephews by exclaiming, "oh, how cute, my dog does that too!" Because she does, dammit, and I don't see why people have to get so offended by the comparison.

I also may or may not have cried a teeny-weeny bit a week ago when the mother showed me on Skype to the princess, who yawned, got up and walked off.

I've also learned over time, the hard way, that you really never should say never. So maybe kids will happen someday. If for no other reason but that I have these really awesome names I want to give them even if everyone else says those names are stupid.

But for now, I'm going to read those blog posts, sigh wistfully for just a second, and then move on to the next outrage-provoking piece of news that makes me wonder why anyone would want to bring kids into this utterly stupid world.

After all, that, if nothing else, is definitely a good reason to ignore any biological clock that tries to start ticking.

Of squirrels and their stripes

2012-08-17T01:48:00.002-04:00

The story goes that when Rama and his Vanara sena were building a bride to get to Lanka, a squirrel appeared out of nowhere and decided to help them, by taking one tiny pebble at a time and adding it to the bridge. The monkeys and bears of the Vanara sena saw this and started mocking and laughing at the squirrel, because y'know, how can that tiny thing help?

Rama, on the other hand, in his infinite wisdom and kindness and all of that, picked up the squirrel to thank it and and stroked it, which led to stripes appearing on the squirrel's back.

I had read this story years and years ago, but it came back to me last year when I came to the US and was startled to see these non-stripy squirrels all over the place. And now, every time I see a squirrel, I remember this legend.

Squirrel. It's a fun word. And a fun animal to watch.

Stressful ramblings

2012-08-05T21:38:00.000-04:00

The phone rang on Friday evening, but stopped after one ring. I realised it was from the father, and promptly called him back, thinking something must have happened for him to call me so early. Only when he picked up did I realise it was actually past 8 PM, and therefore a fairly reasonable time for him to call me.

I don't know if it was the stress of the week, or just my subconscious catching up with me, but I ended up startling my father by bursting into tears out of relief.

Aurora, Colorado, two weeks ago. Pune, five days ago. And then Oak Creek, Wisconsin, this morning.

None of them impacted me at a personal level. Not even in a minuscule way like Delhi and Mumbai in 2008 might have. But they all make you wonder, what is wrong with people and the world?

Close to a year ago, there was a bomb blast in the Delhi High Court. This was less than two months after I had moved to the US, so even though very few people I know were likely to have been close to the site, it freaked me out no end. And then I had a conversation with the BFF, which helped put things in context. A bit.

me: how do you deal with it?
everytime something happens back home?

BFF: I remember a line from a "poem" we read in class 6 or 7

do you remember the atomic bomb shelter announcement one?

there's a line in it that goes something like 'there will be casualties... statistically it is not likely to be you'

and so I use stats, and work out how much I need to worry based on distance

so GK, CP, Sarojini, Saket etc. means worry

saket would mean xtra worry cos mum's there

MG road means worry

malls means, unlikely you need to worry but check just in case
me: I love you
I am going to save this conversation
and keep coming back to it
and someday
when I've internalized it

BFF: :)
me: I will blog it

BFF: ok :)

I am happy I helped yay :)

I wish I could remember that poem, it was eerie.

but that line was so reassuring it stayed
me: happens that way

I try to apply that these days. Pune meant some worry because the godfather's family and sundry other family and friends live there. Wisconsin and Aurora were scary at entirely different levels, but more for the mother than me. Other events, across India and elsewhere, have been worrying and frustrating because it's just so hard to get information that isn't juvenile and completely screwed up in the way it's relayed by the media. I had to email the brother a few weeks back, because I couldn't find a single report, article or blog that helped me understand what exactly was happening in Assam.

I've mentioned earlier, I think, that some years ago, after another blast in Delhi, a friend called from Mumbai to find out if I'm fine and mentioned that he had actually made groups in his phone's contact list - one for each metro city of the country. Made it easier for him to react and find out about family and friends every time a blast happened.

The way the world's been over the past few weeks, and longer, it seems to have become increasingly important to be able to do that - reach out to people.

Oh and because the BFF is awesome, if you recognize that poem, tell us, yeah?

Kiddo

2012-08-02T01:40:00.004-04:00

A long, long time ago, he used to be scared of snakes.

One morning, the four of us went out for brunch. It was a holiday, and just an hour back, I had tied a Rakhi on his wrist, despite the mother's annual grumbling that it wasn't really a Bengali festival. We were crossing the road to the restaurant when a snake charmer approached us. My kid brother, who was already itching to take the rakhi off, grabbed my arm and whispered, "Didi, can you just protect me today from that snake? I'll take care of you after this."

He's the complete opposite of me, the brother. He's reserved, practical, and inexpressive. I'm... none of the above. But then out of the blue, there'll be an email or a gift that will make me all emoshunal, just like that.

I used to bully him when we were kids. We played our own version of the Crystal Maze, he was my unwilling student in countless sessions of Teacher-Teacher, half his birthday gifts were automatically declared to be mine, and numerous other things I would rather not tell you. Then one day, he grew up, and wisened up. And now I go to him for advice, and he acts all wisdomous and all.

He left for the US for his undergrad studies on 24th August 2007. Rakhi that year was on 28th August. I broke down that day, because I had never spent Rakhi away from my kid brother. I sent him a rakhi and a card that year. Five months later, he came home for winter break. Suddenly, in the midst of all the animated catching up, he looked at me and said, "oh, wait." He pulled out his wallet, handed me the rakhi I had sent him, and asked me to put it for him. By the time we woke up the next morning, of course, it was hanging from his cassette rack on the wall, where most of his rakhis over the years landed up.

Last year, we exchanged countries. He went back to India after graduation, and I came to the US. I spoke to him an hour back. I told him we were discussing siblings at dinner tonight, and I had told them about Rakhi, and of this incident. He responded, "oh? I did that?"

*eye roll*

He thinks my blog is quite silly, so it's unlikely he'll read this post. But I just wanted to say, again, I love you kiddo. Despite the fact that you save my number under Duddo rather than Didi on your phone.

On what counts as humour, being disappointed in strangers, and remembering my own advice

2012-07-12T00:25:00.001-04:00

After a disastrous morning at work, I logged onto Facebook this afternoon to read this post by @daddy_san, which was the first I heard of the Daniel Tosh episode. Having duly tweeted it, I then looked at my Twitter timeline, and spent the next half hour or so in increasing levels of bafflement, disappointment, and fury.

I've said before, and I'll say it again, to me, "rape jokes" are not funny. I have never been sexually abused. I've been eve teased, and on one or two occasions, been very, very frightened about what might happen next. But no, I haven't been raped. Yet it's a topic I feel strongly about, and I'm known to get on my soapbox about it and the way it's discussed. And cracking "jokes" about it is something I have never understood.

So when I read those tweets this afternoon, I was upset - I suppose that's the best way to put it. I follow several Indian stand-up comedians on twitter, a large number of whom were going on and on about how Tosh's joke was a "stupid joke", or a "shitty comeback". But almost all of them insisted that there's nothing wrong with making "better" jokes about rape.

And then others, mainly women but some men too, started expressing their anger and disgust over what these comedians were saying. And then folks defending "rape jokes" got upset over the reactions they were getting. And the whole timeline turned into a battlefield for a while. I didn't say much beyond one or two generic tweets, which as someone said in an equally generic manner, was no more than tut-tutting, really. But I wasn't sure how to articulate what I wanted to say, so I didn't. At the time.

Now, some hours later, I don't know why I was disappointed. I don't know any of these men personally. I've followed them on twitter for some time now, and exchanged a few tweets with one or two of them. But by and large, I'm pretty sure they don't know I exist, and I don't think of them beyond the moments when I see their tweets appear on my timeline. But I think at that moment, seeing them, in one voice, defend "rape jokes", and insist that it was simply the quality of that joke that was poor, made me feel like there really is no hope for changing the mentality of how women are perceived and how rape victims are treated.

And then I went out for dinner with some colleagues, got thoroughly annoyed by one of them, sat through the evening with a migraine pounding my head, and eventually blocked out their voices and started thinking. And remembered something I had written on @tantanoo's blog more than a year ago:

I tend to get outraged if jokes are cracked over rape, or violence against women, or issues like that – because these are issues I feel fairly strongly about. It’s a completely personal sentiment.
But I don’t think my outrage has ever led to an unfollow or even debate – because there would have been other occasions, where similar jokes by the same people on a different issue may have been equally “inappropriate” but I have still giggled. Would be rather hypocritical of me to object now, simply because one is an issue close to my heart and the other isn’t.
Everyone has issues they get outraged over. Everyone has jokes which they will stretch till every bit of funny-ness in it vanishes. People need to chill, is all.
My two cents. :)

I didn't unfollow anyone today. I didn't engage in a debate with anyone either. I sat there, infuriated, and decided to go off Twitter till I calmed down. And then remembered that I need to chill a bit.

I came back to my room, logged back onto Twitter, and saw this post. I see her point about using humor to cope with a situation, and points to her for being able to do so. It's not something I think I would be capable of.

So maybe jokes about rape are funny to some people. I still don't see it, but maybe they are. I also don't think the comedians defending the "sub-category of humour" that rape is part of were using it in the sense of being a coping mechanism, but maybe that isn't as important.

I tweeted a few days ago that either I'm not following people who perpetually outrage, or people now see outrage in everything. Every other day, I seem to see people cribbing about how other people are outraging over something that doesn't deserve the outrage. Well, today, I was part of the outrage. And I'm still not convinced that outrage wasn't deserved. But I do think we could have all done without it. I know I could have.

A dash of self-analysis

2012-07-05T15:50:00.000-04:00

The last few weeks have been somewhat... stressful. A variety of things has happened, most of which I can't get into the details of, that pushed me to the point of completely shutting down and going into a funk last weekend, till finally a few conversations with two or three dear souls got me out of it.

What I realised over this period, however, is just how much my upbringing, for lack of a better word, has influenced the person I am, for better or for worse.

Both the parents, especially the father, are incredibly private people. They've never liked the world knowing what's going on in our lives. It's our problem, we deal with it. And some of that has rubbed off on me. I have never been able to call a friend and say, this is going on, I need your help or even just talk about it. It takes me ages to reach out to anyone for even the smallest bit of help. And the problem is, being this way completely conflicts with the person I am, who, well, talks a lot, quite frankly. And who needs to tell people what's going on.

So there's always this urge to tell friends back home what I'm stressed about, but at the same time there's also this hesitation because, well, I can't. Or shouldn't. Sometimes I rationalize it by telling myself they're busy anyway. Or stressed about things themselves. Or don't want to hear me keep whining about things. But all makes for a fair amount of misery. And loneliness.

And then sometimes it all gets too much and I send frantic, misery-filled emails to people. Or furiously and/or tearfully type out a huge rant on Gtalk. Or just call and pour it all out. And always feel so much better. And wonder why I didn't earlier.

The other thing the parents have always drilled into me is that you really can't ever take anything for granted. We were always fortunate, growing up, that we never really lacked for anything we wanted. If the parents had to figure out ways to give us all of that, they never let on. But they always reminded us that a lot of what we had was thanks to the father's job, and you never knew what could happen when.

So when I started working, while there was no doubt in anyone's mind (particularly my mother's) that I could be extremely extravagant and impulsive with how I used my money, I also saved a fair amount. And frequently went into panic mode if I found my bank balance going below the magic number in my head that was the minimum I should always have. There was no rationale behind this number, and no amount of arguments presented by dad along the lines of how my investments also counted could make a difference. If the cash in my bank account was not a certain amount, I would be constantly palpitating.

And that continued when I came to the US. Despite living on student loans, I have by no means been the most frugal person around. But I make sure that there's always that minimum balance in the account. If not, I hit the panic button. Which usually involves calling the father and asking what I should do.

Among the various stressors of the past few weeks was the fact that there was a problem with my paperwork for the internship. And as a result, I hadn't been paid for nearly a month, despite the contract stating that I was to be paid every two weeks. And while this was troubling, it was a minor ripple compared to the tidal wave of everything else going on, because truth be told, I have enough savings at the moment to last me a while, if necessary.

At dinner with the other interns some days ago, it came up in the conversation that I hadn't been paid. And almost everyone's first reaction was to ask me if I was fine financially, or if I needed money. And I found it interesting that almost everyone at the table was completely startled when I assured them I was fine. I seemed to be the only one there who wasn't living from paycheck to paycheck.

When I would hear this from friends and colleagues back in India, I always assumed I was at an advantage because I lived with the parents and didn't have much in the way of household and living expenses. But here, as students - most of us international students, at that - I would have assumed we're all in a similar position. And it struck me, for possibly the first time, just how glad I was that I had been brought up the way I had.

Bein' home

2012-05-31T09:39:00.001-04:00

In the last 26 days, I have...

...read:

The Mine, by Arnab Ray
The Hunger Games trilogy
The Godfather by Mario Puzo

For someone who has read practically nothing in the last two-three years, this is quite impressive.

...watched:

All four seasons of Coupling
Both seasons of Sherlock
Both seasons of Downton Abbey, though some episodes seem to be missing from what I have procured, and also I only realised halfway through the show that it is Downton and not Downtown.
The season finales of Community, Castle and Once Upon a Time
Ishaqzaade
The Avengers
The IPL final

...eaten:

Gol gappas and samosas at the neighborhood shop
Genuine Indian Chinese food at a dingy street stall
Calamari at HRC, Delhi
Mughlai paratha at Kingdom of Dreams - could've been better, could've been worse.
Aloo ke parathas at Jhilmil Dhaba, Karnal - with dollops of Amul butter and dahi
Mushroom achaar and apple juice from the NAFED (now called HPMC, I think) stall at Jabli
Butter Chicken at Giani da Dhaba, en route to Kasauli
Thukpa and momos in a dingy little shop in Lower Mall, Kasauli
Chai at Ross Common, Kasauli - a charming little hotel where we've stayed when I was a kid
Chicken rolls at Badshaah, New Market
Breakfast at Flury's
Pretty awesome vegetarian sizzlers in Patna's only mall
My favorite dishes at The Monk, Gurgaon
The mother's aloo posto, luchi-mangsho, shepherd's pie, and dosas
The father's salami sandwiches

...visited:

Jabli, Kasauli, and Chandigarh. With the princess in tow, because the hotel we were staying in let us bring her along, and gave us a lovely little "studio cottage" which came with a tiny kitchen where we could make her khana too
Kolkata, to meet the grandmother
Patna, to visit the brother

I did NOT get to:

have Bhutta
visit the Inayat Khan dargah in Nizammuddin for Friday evening qawwalis, followed by a meal at Karim's
go to Kake da Hotel
have Shorshe-bata or any of mum's fish dishes
eat at Big Chill
go into Delhi as much as I would've liked, or visited CP, or Khan Market, or Dilli Haat
go swimming

It's been a good month. Short, though.

Conversations on the phone

2012-05-14T08:12:00.002-04:00

The father and I just had a chat on the phone, while he was waiting to board a flight back from Bombay to come home, during which I tried to articulate a lot of what's been bothering me for a while now. We both rambled, and jumped from topic to topic, so I can't quite present the whole thing. Snippets that I can recall, in no very clear order are presented below. Oh and if you haven't seen Ishaqzaade but plan to and don't want spoilers, avoid the third snippet, which pretty much gives away the main "twist" of the movie.

Baba: What did you think of the Satyamev Jayate episode yesterday?

Me: Wasn't bad. I broke down while watching it, of course. Thrilled they're finally talking about CSA, and SO awed by how brave and incredible the survivors were to come and talk the way they did. But I wish Aamir Khan wouldn't lead the conversations so much. Let the people articulate things their own way na, instead of saying "so what you mean is this...?".

Baba: Hmmm. Some of the folks I met here saw the show. People don't seem to have liked the show much.

Me: Yes well, from what I see on twitter these days, people like to be cynical because they seem think that's what's expected.

Baba: People seem to be worried "intelligent actors will now be determining government policy."

Me: But... he's not going into policy. He's stopping at spreading awareness. Which, yes, could be a complaint, but at least he's spreading awareness. Who said this?

Baba: Oh, the educated folks of Bombay. And fool editors who print such letters to the editor.

Me: Yes well, your reform is never going to come from the educated folks. They're too busy try to convince themselves and everyone else that everything happens in other homes and classes, not in their own.

Baba: Come on, that's not entirely true.

Me: Oh come on, not to take anything away from the tragedy, but one hit-and-run happened in Gurgaon, and people are organizing silent marches to protest because they knew the persons involved. How many such incidents happen with people the "educated people" don't know, and who organizes marches for them?

Baba: But then the question is, which one will hit? And make the point?

Baba: I hear all the "young MPs" were absent from the 60th anniversary celebrations in Parliament yesterday.

Me: I'm impressed the old folks showed up.

Baba: Who's being cynical now?

Me: But that's the thing no? Where do you see hope? Our politicians are useless, social reform is not happening, so what do you have that you shouldn't be cynical about? But I'd like to think my cynicism is not because I feel I need to be, but because I can't help it!

Baba: Mindsets need to change.

Me: But where do you start? We just came back from seeing Ishaqzaade, and yes, the crowd was horrible. You know what I hated the most? There's this scene where the lead pair has just slept together, and he's walking away from her after informing her that he only pretended to fall in love with her because he wanted "revenge" for the slap she gave him. There's a woman crying on the screen, Baba, and the men in the audience are hooting with glee. What do you do with such mentality? How do you begin to change that?

Baba: I think we should completely avoid the PVR in Sahara Mall. The price difference isn't worth it.

Me: Well, yes, but again, how does that change things?

Me: Did I tell you about the FirstPost article where the writer wondered why the women who'd been forced to have abortions continued to agree to have "conjugal relations" with their husbands?

Baba: Does this writer have any idea about what India's like?

Me: Uh huh. So there seems to have been such uproar that the editors took down the article and apologised, saying they are aware all women don't have that option.

Baba: Well, at least they have some sense.

Baba: Well, I have to switch off now. So you're going to Delhi in the evening? By metro?

Me: Yep.

Baba: *silence*

Me: Chill na, if I get late coming back, I'll take a cab.

Baba: Oh, okay.

There was more, a lot of which I can't put together coherently. Heck, I'm not sure this was coherent. I went to the mother to chat after I ended the call, and her first words, as happens rather frequently, were: You're worked up again. Now what?

I told her a bit about the conversation and she wanted to know if I was upset because there are problems, or because I don't know what to do about the problems.

There's a good question to ask myself.

A tourist at home

2012-05-10T17:19:00.001-04:00

I spent two weeks in Hyderabad in March, with 30-odd classmates of various nationalities. I had written, before going, that I wasn't sure how to answer their questions about India. What I hadn't anticipated was the discomfort I would feel visiting India with a group like this. Not during the project part of the trip so much, but more during the sightseeing portion.

I didn't like being a tourist in my own country. And I don't mean visiting Hyderabad, where I had never been before. I mean being part of a group of foreigners, for lack of a better word, that was visiting India, and by default, therefore, being treated like one.

I didn't like being bought a "high-value" ticket at the Taj Mahal so that I could escape the long queues to get in. I definitely didn't like being told to hold my ticket unlike everyone else, because y'know, I look Indian. I didn't like that my classmates could get away with doing head stands, but I had to keep waving my high-value ticket to prove I could go peer over the railing in the courtyard.

I didn't like how we were taken to tourist traps for shopping where 100 grams of spices or tea cost exorbitant prices. I didn't like that we were taken to a highway shop where chips and soft drinks were ten times their MRP - although I am quite proud of the fact that I found a roadside stall just outside that stupid shop, and bought stuff there.

I didn't like the whining about the crowds and the queues that began among my classmates halfway through the trip, particularly when people started getting close to exhaustion and stress on their projects. I didn't like the constant defensiveness I felt, and the way I had bite back the urge to retort.

It wasn't all bad, no. Most of the folks, especially my team, were extremely comfortable trying out new food stuffs, exploring random shops and areas, getting off the buss and walking through Agra to find a place to eat. I loved how curious they were about the tiny things, things I probably haven't given a second thought in years. I loved being able to explain things to them, introduce my country to them.

But there was a lot that made me uncomfortable. And part of me wonders if I'm overreacting. I've taken a step back, waited more than a month, to when I'm finally back home in India, to publish this post. And the feelings are still there. So maybe I'm not. I just wish I could explain it better.

Nomenclature

2012-04-10T10:46:00.001-04:00

For years, I've watched Shabani Azmi give interviews, and in every single one of them, she's got on her soapbox about how she's not an actress, she's an actor. Because y'know, you don't call a female doctor a doctress, so why should acting be any different.

Which, okay, is her point of view, and she's entitled to it. But it never really resounded with me despite all my rants on gender equality.

Then, this season of Castle brought in a new Captain for the precinct. Captain Victoria Gates. Who, in her very first episode on the show demanded to be addressed as either "Captain" or "Sir". Never Ma'am.

As as the season has progressed, with every episode that the rest of the characters on the show persist in calling her Sir rather than Captain, my discomfort with the idea has increased.

There's so much else in the whole fight for gender equality, that to me, focusing on something as silly as nomenclature seems... pointless. More than that, I don't see why women feel the need to downplay the fact that they're women in the effort to be treated as equal. And that's what this feels like.

There's enough to fight for. Picking your battles is a great concept, but those battles should have some meaning. And ensuring that you're addressed the same way men are holds no meaning for me. Because, at the end of the day, how you're addressed has nothing to do with how you're treated. And that should be the focus. Period.