Monday, April 23, 2007
Random Thought
In slimming centre advertisements, I think there should be a Before, After and then a Much After photograph. Not that they'll be honest true-to-date photographs, but atleast there's a point. Also there should be a law against ads stretching photographs of models in swimsuits horizontally to make a Before photograph.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Woman against Woman?
The India Today magazine dated 16 April 2007, has an article about the women of today. Smart, sassy, confident, ambitious, bold, what not. What interested me really was the section that asked the women the worst cliche they heard about being a woman. AIDS activist Anjali Gopalan says, she's heard "You're as good and strong as any man we've known" and "You're so powerful we forget you're a woman."
!!!
Men, seriously, what were you thinking! I know you have such a thinking set deep inside your minds. While I appreciate your honesty and frankness, it would help at the very least to be politically correct and not make such shocking statements.
Anyway, my point isn't about men and their stereotypes. I have a complaint. Its against my own fellow women. Many women, I believe still implicitly support these stereotypes. For example, I've been in a car when someone in a car ahead may have been driving rather foolishly. There is automatically an assumption throughout my car that the driver of the vehicle ahead is a woman. Fortunately or unfortunately, more often than not, the person turns out to be a man. Which pleases me no end. But thats just my weakness. Its happened so often, that I now automatically assume its a man. I'm now guilty of gender bias too, only I'm biased against men. I strive to get to the point where
i. I will drive flawlessly.
ii. There will be no bad driver ahead of me.
iii. If there is, I will not ascribe a gender to the person, and not picture a foolish person of that gender at the steering wheel of the vehicle ahead.
Anyway, back to my point of women supporting stereotypes (I acknowledge another weakness here of digressing too often from my main point, but I hope that's pardonable if the other point is more interesting.) Second example, heard from many women: "He acts like such a woman." Utopian scenario, I'd like to assume you were complimenting him. But back here in the real world, I know you aren't. In fact, its an insult. Why? While on the one hand, you are all for women, why women are the better sex, on the other hand, a man being like a woman is a derogatory accusation.
Another way of looking at it: you actively defend yourself when men say women gossip a lot, but when a man gossips, you say he's acting like a woman. Double standards? Are we women just confused? Are we victims of the stereotypes passed down over the generations, just as the men are? Are we acknowledging then the truth that we are like that? [Why do I get the feeling that this last option will be a favourite of all men reading this post :)]
I'm not trying to make a point here about who is superior and who isn't, who is capable, who isn't. Because at the end of the day, I don't believe we are equal, we're all differently wired, although we each have our strengths and weaknesses, and we have different ways of manifesting our abilities. I only want the women to stand by themselves and get rid of their own prejudices first. Me included. :)
!!!
Men, seriously, what were you thinking! I know you have such a thinking set deep inside your minds. While I appreciate your honesty and frankness, it would help at the very least to be politically correct and not make such shocking statements.
Anyway, my point isn't about men and their stereotypes. I have a complaint. Its against my own fellow women. Many women, I believe still implicitly support these stereotypes. For example, I've been in a car when someone in a car ahead may have been driving rather foolishly. There is automatically an assumption throughout my car that the driver of the vehicle ahead is a woman. Fortunately or unfortunately, more often than not, the person turns out to be a man. Which pleases me no end. But thats just my weakness. Its happened so often, that I now automatically assume its a man. I'm now guilty of gender bias too, only I'm biased against men. I strive to get to the point where
i. I will drive flawlessly.
ii. There will be no bad driver ahead of me.
iii. If there is, I will not ascribe a gender to the person, and not picture a foolish person of that gender at the steering wheel of the vehicle ahead.
Anyway, back to my point of women supporting stereotypes (I acknowledge another weakness here of digressing too often from my main point, but I hope that's pardonable if the other point is more interesting.) Second example, heard from many women: "He acts like such a woman." Utopian scenario, I'd like to assume you were complimenting him. But back here in the real world, I know you aren't. In fact, its an insult. Why? While on the one hand, you are all for women, why women are the better sex, on the other hand, a man being like a woman is a derogatory accusation.
Another way of looking at it: you actively defend yourself when men say women gossip a lot, but when a man gossips, you say he's acting like a woman. Double standards? Are we women just confused? Are we victims of the stereotypes passed down over the generations, just as the men are? Are we acknowledging then the truth that we are like that? [Why do I get the feeling that this last option will be a favourite of all men reading this post :)]
I'm not trying to make a point here about who is superior and who isn't, who is capable, who isn't. Because at the end of the day, I don't believe we are equal, we're all differently wired, although we each have our strengths and weaknesses, and we have different ways of manifesting our abilities. I only want the women to stand by themselves and get rid of their own prejudices first. Me included. :)
Friday, April 06, 2007
What-should and What-not : Part 2
Had to share this. Advice from a colleague, from whom I expect a comment this time (Mr. Karthik Madathil, there's your cue!) A facet to the what-should and what-not dilemma.
"Life is a constant struggle between your higher (reasoning) self and your lower (emotional) self. Who wins depends on whom you keep more fit."
I'm still trying to determine why emotions are so underrated. Why emotions necessarily equate to lower. Read The Politics of Emotion to see what I mean. After all, emotions are what make us essentially human (also the opposable thumb, but well, that's another story!) They are what make us live the ups and downs of life. Of course, for the highly emotional human, the downs can get even lower, and the ups higher. It probably all boils down to which part of the spectrum you choose to be in. And I think I contradicted myself somewhere in the last few lines. Better said, than left unsaid.
"Life is a constant struggle between your higher (reasoning) self and your lower (emotional) self. Who wins depends on whom you keep more fit."
I'm still trying to determine why emotions are so underrated. Why emotions necessarily equate to lower. Read The Politics of Emotion to see what I mean. After all, emotions are what make us essentially human (also the opposable thumb, but well, that's another story!) They are what make us live the ups and downs of life. Of course, for the highly emotional human, the downs can get even lower, and the ups higher. It probably all boils down to which part of the spectrum you choose to be in. And I think I contradicted myself somewhere in the last few lines. Better said, than left unsaid.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
For one of the only two men of my life that I have known forever
Just like me, when you were 4 or 5, you wanted a little baby sister. Presumably because all your friends had baby sisters. Years later, when your baby sister outgrew your bullying, you wished you had a brother you could beat up (or atleast fight with). But you stopped giving her those trademark whacks of yours that would lead to hours of excruciating howls on her part. You put up with her when she knocked a little too often on the door that you closed when you were studying. Also when you were sleeping, pretending to be studying. You put up with her when she demanded to know why the door needed to be closed. You hit her on the head with your textbook when she sang (unsure of choice of word) outside your room window. Only to discover that the singing was more bearable when compared to the wailing it then gave way to.
The road-trips to Kannur where you fought over what music to play. You wanted English songs. And she Hindi. You let her sleep with her head on your lap during the journey. Those were the times when we both sat in the backseat of the car, and Mumma and Papa drove.
We grew up, a lot of things happened. You shifted to the front seat of the car, took charge of the steering wheel. You fell in love, and I met the person who is today your wife. You left home to work, I saw lesser of you, I missed you. You brought an energy into the house when you came home. We all giggled at your antics, laughed at your jokes. I marvelled at your knowledge. And intelligent remarks. We saw you through ups and downs.
Two years back, you got married. You brought home a wife, who became more of family than we ourselves ever could be. My bhabhi, my friend. Someone who matched your energy, or should I say far surpassed it.. :)
Amidst all that, you still remain that silent support. The person I can bank on, without having to give an explanation. You understand quietly without needing to hear anything. You couldn't bear to see me in pain when I was admitted to the hospital. You are the sweetest, kindest and most understanding brother that any sister could ever ask for.
Love you Etta.
Happy Birthday.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
On that operation table
For those of you who know me, you know that I recently underwent surgery to 'get those darn tonsils removed.' Not without reason, they were causing me a lot of trouble, they were. But the experience. Something I know that I do not wish to experience again in my life, and yet a truly out-of-this-world experience.
After a lot of debate on whether I should bother you with the details, my not-so-generous mind fell in favour of Bother. Got admitted on Friday night. Dingy little room, with a tiny little TV set, with bad reception. I had complained that my breathing was a little uneasy, so they put me on a nebuliser. I had a something strapped on that would only have otherwise been called an oxygen mask by me, except it was a nebuliser, and the mask was connected to a machine that when switched on, started emitting air no different (according to me) from the air outside of it. I was advised to breathe deeply from it for about 20 minutes. Then an IV to administer some medicine, and no food till after the operation. Also a sleeping pill, so I sleep well, despite potential worries.
The operation was scheduled the next morning at about 10. I was told I'd be moved in to the operation theatre at about 9.30. And I have to admit, as that time grew nearer, I really began to get scared. Once I was in the ICU in that green gown, that was as afraid as one could get. Felt nauseated, and actually vomitted a little bit of water, despite not having consumed anything for the last 12 hours. They then took me to the operation theatre. This is where the real experience began.
The anesthetist held up a mask to my face saying it was oxygen, and given his designation, I realised it was some form of anesthesia. The next thing I remember is being in some sort of dream state. There are voices around me, and the beeping of machinery. After a while of what was definitely a dream, I slowly became aware that I was being operated on. I remembered that I was getting ready for surgery, so this must be it, and this is not a dream. And then I could distinctly identify my surgeon's voice. Heard him say some things, but I heard only bits and pieces. Apparently I kept drifting in and out of this state of awareness. Fragments like "That is difficult" and "Remove it" I recall. It seems unbelievable, but I knew what was happening but couldn't do anything about it. I had also decided then to blog about the experience. I couldn't even lift a finger. My mouth felt open and I realised he'd put some sort of support to keep it open. Then the clanging of his instruments against my teeth. I felt a sort of tugging against the insides of my mouth and it got a little uncomfortable. I wondered if the dosage of anesthesia was a little lower than should have been, because it was leading me to be this aware. I wanted to tell them to give me some more, but again, I was helpless. Only the brain was working overtime, everything else had taken the day off by the looks of it. But my assumption was that I kept going back to dream state and then snapping out of it, I felt the need to remind myself that my operation was happening, and that I need to be aware of it. The whole experience made me thoroughly uncomfortable, especially the tugging in the mouth, and yet, I believe it was something. It reminded me of something I had read in one of Feynman's books in which he had described how he would be acutely aware of everything that was happening in the course of his dreams.
When it was over, the surgeon stopped tugging and I could feel some spraying of water in my mouth. He called out my name a couple of times, informed me that it was over. I think this was when they put me off the anesthesia, but I was still unable to react for a while, although I heard him loud and clear. Tried moving my fingers, and then it struck me how similar this was to the movies and recovering patients. After a few attempts, I did it, moved a finger, and was able to grunt out a response to the doctor. He asked me some more questions (Do you know who I am?) to which I replied, I suspect, in barely audible tones. Then I was moved to the ICU again, where I was in some sort of trance, and slowly realised I couldn't speak much and that my throat had begun to hurt terribly. Well its still hurting, 5 days later, now my ears hurt too, but I told my tale!
Also, for all those people who believe post-tonsillectomy is some sort of heaven where you're allowed to have all the ice creams and goodies that you want to, I have to let you know that its near-hell, the ice creams are forced down a throat that cannot swallow anything and it still hurts! And you'll soon become sick of eating it. The pain more than overshadows the taste. And 5 days later, I still haven't been able to consume anything without bearing a lot of pain. So there.
After a lot of debate on whether I should bother you with the details, my not-so-generous mind fell in favour of Bother. Got admitted on Friday night. Dingy little room, with a tiny little TV set, with bad reception. I had complained that my breathing was a little uneasy, so they put me on a nebuliser. I had a something strapped on that would only have otherwise been called an oxygen mask by me, except it was a nebuliser, and the mask was connected to a machine that when switched on, started emitting air no different (according to me) from the air outside of it. I was advised to breathe deeply from it for about 20 minutes. Then an IV to administer some medicine, and no food till after the operation. Also a sleeping pill, so I sleep well, despite potential worries.
The operation was scheduled the next morning at about 10. I was told I'd be moved in to the operation theatre at about 9.30. And I have to admit, as that time grew nearer, I really began to get scared. Once I was in the ICU in that green gown, that was as afraid as one could get. Felt nauseated, and actually vomitted a little bit of water, despite not having consumed anything for the last 12 hours. They then took me to the operation theatre. This is where the real experience began.
The anesthetist held up a mask to my face saying it was oxygen, and given his designation, I realised it was some form of anesthesia. The next thing I remember is being in some sort of dream state. There are voices around me, and the beeping of machinery. After a while of what was definitely a dream, I slowly became aware that I was being operated on. I remembered that I was getting ready for surgery, so this must be it, and this is not a dream. And then I could distinctly identify my surgeon's voice. Heard him say some things, but I heard only bits and pieces. Apparently I kept drifting in and out of this state of awareness. Fragments like "That is difficult" and "Remove it" I recall. It seems unbelievable, but I knew what was happening but couldn't do anything about it. I had also decided then to blog about the experience. I couldn't even lift a finger. My mouth felt open and I realised he'd put some sort of support to keep it open. Then the clanging of his instruments against my teeth. I felt a sort of tugging against the insides of my mouth and it got a little uncomfortable. I wondered if the dosage of anesthesia was a little lower than should have been, because it was leading me to be this aware. I wanted to tell them to give me some more, but again, I was helpless. Only the brain was working overtime, everything else had taken the day off by the looks of it. But my assumption was that I kept going back to dream state and then snapping out of it, I felt the need to remind myself that my operation was happening, and that I need to be aware of it. The whole experience made me thoroughly uncomfortable, especially the tugging in the mouth, and yet, I believe it was something. It reminded me of something I had read in one of Feynman's books in which he had described how he would be acutely aware of everything that was happening in the course of his dreams.
When it was over, the surgeon stopped tugging and I could feel some spraying of water in my mouth. He called out my name a couple of times, informed me that it was over. I think this was when they put me off the anesthesia, but I was still unable to react for a while, although I heard him loud and clear. Tried moving my fingers, and then it struck me how similar this was to the movies and recovering patients. After a few attempts, I did it, moved a finger, and was able to grunt out a response to the doctor. He asked me some more questions (Do you know who I am?) to which I replied, I suspect, in barely audible tones. Then I was moved to the ICU again, where I was in some sort of trance, and slowly realised I couldn't speak much and that my throat had begun to hurt terribly. Well its still hurting, 5 days later, now my ears hurt too, but I told my tale!
Also, for all those people who believe post-tonsillectomy is some sort of heaven where you're allowed to have all the ice creams and goodies that you want to, I have to let you know that its near-hell, the ice creams are forced down a throat that cannot swallow anything and it still hurts! And you'll soon become sick of eating it. The pain more than overshadows the taste. And 5 days later, I still haven't been able to consume anything without bearing a lot of pain. So there.
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