My Two Bits on Women's Day

Happy Woman's Day, to each and every woman out there. Hope you celebrate this day, for being a woman and a special one at that.

Smitha, Soul Of Alec Smart and MRC tagged me to write about some issue related to women for this day. They tagged me to be a part of a contest, but I guess it was a bit too late, and so I decided to do the post, later, without entering it for the contest. Of all the topics listed, the one that I do feel would stop only with a real drastic revamp of attitude world wide, is 'Trafficking & Sexual Crimes', and though completely off mainstream to the usual line of thought, I am presenting my views here today.

The oldest profession in the world, is the oldest profession in the world for a reason. The sex drive of people is not bound by rules, and cannot be controlled by law. It is what they want or need. Human nature is not transient, things like greed, lust, gluttony, sloth and others have existed from the day man came into existence. And trying to push it under the carpet is like treating the symptom and letting the root cause remain. India is bound by its moral police, or the fake pretense of it and things are just getting worse with each passing day. Making prostitution illegal, or certain consensual sexual acts out of bounds, based on morality, laws and other things will just make things worse, rather than better. A man who wants to have sex, and is not married, and is then bound by laws which don't allow him to seek it by paying, just gets frustrated and desperate, and looks for it in ways which hurt more than help. He will grope, he will eve-tease, molest and in worse cases even rape. No, I am not giving a plausible, or pardonable reason for these heinous acts, but just talking about some reasons, why they may occur. Not every man or for that matter woman in the world has moral mindset that prevent them from satisfying their primal urges. And the need for sex is nothing if not one of the most primal urges in mankind.

There are many arguments about whether it is in fact man or woman who has a greater sex drive, but that is not my point of concern here. My point of concern is as long as there are men out there who want it, and have either physical or monetary power to get it, sexual crimes and trafficking will not stop. Can we kill the desire of men, who do not have the convenience of having a wife/girlfriend/willing sexual partner at hand to satisfy themselves? I think not. The fact remains that even a lot of men who are married, especially in India, get very little action. Think of a family living in a chawl set up in Bombay. One huge room, parents and 2-3 kids sleeping in the same room, how often do you think the couple end up engaging in sex? Very very rarely. And though I would like to believe that a middle aged, father of three, would control his urges, the fact may be very different. So when in a crowded bus on his way to work, he gets the opportunity to stick himself to a woman, he does it, and in that way he becomes a molester. The woman curses him mentally, maybe even verbally, tries to move away the little she can, and yet she has been touched in a way that she did not want to be, and nothing in the world can take that back. The mental scar is formed. We know, under other circumstances, the man himself might have tried his best to maintain ditance, but things what they were, he got the little thrill or pleasure he could out of the circumstances, and yet we will not acknowledge his need. If this man could go, pay for it, and satisfy himself somewhere, would the women on the streets, not be a little bit safer? If pornographic material was available to him, conveniently, would he not probably have used them to pleasure himself?

My point is, that there are women out there who would willingly have sex for money. or favours or even just for the pure physical fun bit of it. If they could openly provide their services in exchange for money, or anything else, life would get a lot easier for women who do not wish to be touched/groped/raped or molested. But we attach social and moral stigma to such a choice of profession, and hence even women who would take up this service, often enough, do not, or do it in the sly, which means their services are not openly or easily available. The demand hence remains much higher than the supply, and so to bridge the gap, trafficking begins, women, and even young girls are forced into the flesh trade completely against their will, and that is just straight up, unjust. In a place where seeking sex, and consensual adult sex does not have any immoral associations, the cases of sexual crimes, as well as trafficking for the same would not occur. Because the cause for any of these things is nothing but the want, the primal desire which is left unsatisfied.

Not every man on earth is virtuous enough to be bound by moral bindings, religion or even law. There are cases of pedophiles abusing their position in the Roman Church, there are the devdasis in Hindu Temples and many such things, which show us that not every person is capable of being moral. And the laws can do nothing till the harm is already done. What is the point in prosecuting a person after he has already harassed or raped a woman. What we need is open acceptance, and a society which believes in real freedom, and like minded adults are allowed to do what they wish to. When I read about the swinger's clubs booming here, in the newspaper, my pre-programmed morals kicked in at first, but then I realised what a wonderful thing it really is. Willing adults are doing what they want to, to keep themselves happy and thus the rest of the population stays safe, instead of having amongst us people, who are frustrated and unsatisfied. The sex drive is a natural need, quite like hunger, so though, when on a diet, we mind what we eat, curb our hunger, every once in a while the need gets the better of us and we binge on what we should not. Fortunately the binging does not bother anyone else, but going berserk with the need to satisfy sexual desire often leads to too much harm.

I am sure many of the molesters and rapists would have stood on the other side of the line, if they could legitimately get what they needed. Unfortunately in the present scenario they don't, and innocent women walking the streets, end up bearing the brunt of it, which is completely and totally unfair. Maybe morality can be preached in a way that psychologically completely revamps man's actions, but that way has not yet been found, and till such time that we do, I think an open honest approach to things, and basic human needs would make life a lot easier and safer for every woman. Trafficking would not happen, if the women who willingly want to have sexual relations with men, could openly do so, without being prosecuted by law or fake moral bindings. It is high time people accepted one of the most basic natural needs of man as normal, and does not judge anyone who seeks to fulfill it.

Not Going By The Books

In a world driven by results, every thing is measured and compared. My realisation of this just got clearer, from the day the BB was born. Besides an occasional and very rare mention of 'Each Child Grows At his Own Pace' at certain places, every thing about a baby is measured, in terms of charts, milestones, set patterns. Anything off the defined ranges is a cause of great concern. Height, weight, motor skill developments, crawling, walking, talking, reading..... the list is endless. And no matter where we are, and how open minded we claim to be, at the end of day, the comparison does not cease. Sometimes even the doctors become a part of the craziness, and very often in the paranoid world we live in, it does not take long before experts take over and drive nervous, hapless parents over the edge.

I believe, every child is different, just as every person is. And the difference and uniqueness is a part of us from birth. And yet when I step out in the world, the comparisons happening, the tape measuring, the weighing scales, the charting, the checking, and once in every while, I fall into the trap, wondering why is my child not doing this, or why is he not weighing xyz. And I hate that. I know someone who was born weighing 1.5kg, and is a perfectly healthy girl today. The guy who did not talk till he was 5, and even then found it very difficult to do so. He works in PR and actually charms people with his words today. And so many others, who did not measure up to the charts, the milestone dates set by books, and have grown up to be such normal, unique people. So, why, I think, why do we obsess so much about when, how much, how tall when it comes to our children.

I am doing this post to remind myself, that my little BB is a unique and wonderful person in his own right, and each time, that craziness of measuring up hits me, I want to have something to remind me, why I should not fall into the crazy rut.

He is a sweet tempered boy. Tantrums happen, but rarely, he is not usually cranky nor irritable. There is no wake-up crankiness, nor any being upset for being hungry.

He can keep himself busy for hours. A fallout of being an only child, to a mother who always has some chore at hand, and is addicted to her laptop. Its great, to have baby who does not need to be entertained all the time.

The boy is quite a loving little one. Though he absolutely loves to go out, he would get all dressed up and everything, but would not get out of the house, till, he is absolutely sure that all three of us are leaving. And the same process works, when we are out, no letting one get away or left behind. He loves this merry-go-round ride available for kids in the mall we go for groceries. This time, the GP was parking while I came in with him early, so that he could get on his ride, and we could go on for our shopping. But the boy simply ran right back to the parking lot to get his father, refusing even to go on the ride, which is pretty much a ritual each time we go to our groceries. How many kids actually wait instead of having fun, to be sure they did not leave anyone in their group behind!

He loves people, but he does not pine for them. He enjoys being with them, but does not get all clingy or cranky when they are not around. So even if the GP is off for a trip, I know the BB would not be much bothered, even though the fun he has with his father, is just their thing. No matter how much I try, I just cannot do it with him.

The BB is friendly, he does not mind people or other kids. He is rather open, and runs to other people with open arms, and an open heart. Oh! And he does not hit, ever, even if the other kids push. pull, tug, hit or even poke him in the eye, he never retaliates by hitting or even screaming. (Though in some cases, I think I should teach him to do it. He cannot have people poking him in the eye, its dangerous, esp since I may not always be around as he keeps growing up.) He actually goes and hugs the kids after they do that to him, and I am talking about the ones who do not do it as play!

Addendum - He does not watch TV, has no favourite cartoons or programs. For all he cares, the TV maybe on, all day long, and he would be somewhere else in the house doing his own thing. On rare occasions that he spots a baby on the screen, he rushes in, kisses the screen and within moments is back to doing whatever it is that he was.

No demands for chocolates or ice creams happen either. He loves both the things, but can go for days without either, unless he is offered some. Basically means no mealtime crying for this or that. In fact he always prefers raw veggies, salads and yogurt to eat, any time, any meal.

And no matter how much the world races, rages and compares, my baby is special to me for his own unique qualities and temperament. All the charts, counts and numbers in the world, cannot measure a whole person, and that is exactly what my BB is.

A small thought.

I had been to a new playgroup with the BB today. This group was quite multicultural. There were Chinese, Greek, French and Indian people, besides the Australians ofcourse. There were two Indian mothers, and most of the time, I saw them closeted with each other, talking in Hindi. Once in a while I joined them, and at one of those instances, found one of them in tears talking about how she wants to go to her mother in India, who is ill, and her husband is not consenting. And what struck me was, that chuck the language issues, and everything else, would any of the other mothers even understand her heartbreak, if the lady chatted up about this with any of the others, I guess not, they would in probability be flabbergasted, and find the whole situation quite incomprehensible. Though many Indian women would disapprove of the situation, and find it sexist, unfair etc, but we would atleast understand teh context she comes from, and what it entails, whereas it would be simply so alien to a non-Indian person. And so in some ways, we are really away, no matter how far we geographically are from the country, isn't it?

Something From The Past, In The Present

In her recent post, Piper talks about being naughty, doing the forbidden. I believe the definition of naughty or for that matter the forbidden is quite relative. While it would be forbidden for one woman to even mention she ever had a boyfriend, to the man she marries, others would rattle on and on about all their previous relationships, some would consider it sin to even think of another man/woman post being in a commitment, others would gladly go out and flirt/date/have an affair on the sly, without any guilt. Eventually its our own mind which tells us whats acceptable or not. And we feel guilty only when we do something that our own conscience says is wrong. But here I completely digress from what I set out to write about.

When I was a teenager, in high school, it was quite the in-thing to get hold of the phone numbers of people you had a crush on, and call them up with fake personalities. Crank calls, is what they were called, and they worked because it was the era before cell phones, or even caller-id. One of my friends even managed to get together with the guy she had been having the most massive crush on for ages. We never got it, because she actually looked like a doll, and the guy was a loser in every sense of the word, looks, personality, potential. And yet again I am off on a tangent, teen- age years give us so much to reminisce about.... However getting back to the point. There was this school hunk a couple of years my senior, who was one of the hottest guys in school, lets call him, CG. I think the hallways filled up with drool, each time he passed by.

As you may have guessed by now, this guy was my huge massive crush too, and obviously he was not aware of my existence. For the record, mine was one of the most populated high schools of the country. As always happens in those years, I managed to get his phone number, and high on the rush of hormones, did call him up one day. Not too surprisingly, the Mooney eyed me, kept calling, even after and a period of over two years we became friends. I think CG knew, that I very obviously had a crush on him. He was the kind of guy, who had girls drooling all over him, and he had the attitude to boot. We used to have these marathon conversations over the phone, talking about pretty much everything under the sun. Over a period of time, he began confiding in me, a bit here, a bit there, and the friendship blossomed. It was no longer just me calling him, but he called up too, we would talk a lot. And I pretended in my mind that we were not just two people talking on the phone, without having ever come face to face. Then I went away to college, the calls became few and far between, we stayed in touch on and off. I would give him a call when I came home for my holidays, we would chat up the few days I was there. Long distance calls never really happened, and then over a period of time, it all waned off, and we got out of touch.

During the period of time we were actively friends, and even later after that, I had an image of a matured, sensible and sensitive guy of CG. I was definitely blinded, because we all knew he changed girlfriends at the drop of a hat, and that did not really define sensitive. The crush obviously waned off, as I grew up , and realised we are mentally worlds apart. And life went on. He became a friend, I had never met, and gotten out of touch with. About a year back, I went back and checked the inbox of one of my older mail-ids, and what do I see, a mail from CG. Surprised, I open it to find an advertising mail, which I could not make head or tail of. I mailed him back asking him what this was about, and generally enquiring about his well being. A few mails were exchanged in the process. And what followed, made me realise, why we would never have remained friends, even we had not fallen out of touch.

As we got on to catching up over the mails, he could not stop talking about himself. He had joined his family business as soon as he was out of school, and that is what he was still doing, he was in the city he had been from the day he was born, and doing what he had been doing from day one. In the mails, he told me he was now married, and had a baby girl. Obviously I congratulated him, and asked him their names etc etc. What surprised me about his reply, was that he just continued talking about himself, telling me how much he loved his daughter, and how from the casanova that he used to be, he was not converted into a protective father.... ya da yada yada, and it was all nice, and friendly, but what i observed was, that not even as common courtesy did he enquire about me or my life. Parents usually always ask about each other's kids. I am yet to meet a person with a child who would enquire about mine, if they knew I had one. So this really surprised me, that he did not even ask me how old the BB is or even as much as his name. I told him I lived in Sharjah, and he said, he had a friends who were living there, but had moved to Dubai, because they found xyz problem with Sharjah. And so it went. Losing any common ground to discuss, I made small talk, by saying, he was lucky to be rooted in one place, while I was all over everywhere since I left school. He sent me pity in reply, saying I should not mind as long as I am making money. It just kept getting worse with each mail. While it is OK if someone brags, or loves talking about himself, and I need to maintain contact for work, but I cannot really be friends with such a person. And there is no other reason I would be in touch with him. I then also found out, that he had been regularly dropping in and checking out one of my social-networking site profiles. But he never left a message. And it just got stupid. Maybe he expected me to be a stupid teenager gaping at him. Vain! I think the last mail I sent him was quite a tiny curt one, and communication froze at that.

But what really caught my attention in all of this, was how as a teenager, I had been so awed by him, that I had possibly not observed any of these qualities about him. Or maybe had changed over the years (find that unlikely though!). Whatever it was, I didn't like the kind of person he appeared to be at the present time, and left it that. But I really believe I have not really interacted at a personal, human level with anyone who is so completely vain,arrogant and self-absorbed. To think I once had this huge crush on me, really makes me wonder what was wrong with me. I will just blame it on the raging hormones, and thank God, I had my sensible, thinking wits around me, when I met the GP, hormone rush or not.

In Which The BB Goes Solo

I has been over two months since I got here, and exactly two months since the BB turned three today. And just yesterday was the first time ever, that he was without either the GP or me, and there was no related-by-blood adult taking care of him either. His first time, on his own. We will ignore that fact that I refused to leave the building, and kept peeking in every now and then, simply because he was not aware of that!

To get to the starting point of it all, I wanted him to start kindergarten/pre-school this year. Unfortunately we arrived here a wee bit too late, since all the admissions for this academic year had already closed by then, and most of the private kinders run programs only for those who are four and above, the ones for three year-olds were once again booked out. This meant, another year of him at home with me. This I did not want, simply because I want him to socialise with other children. So I found a playgroup and started him on that. And then started looking up for other options, found a few activity-like things to do, picked up one, and still wanted more. I needed him to start going to a place where he would be without his parents, so that he starts understanding the true meaning of getting independent and having to take his own responsibility. With kindergarten not happening, the only option I had left was day care. Once again the council day cares, atleast the ones within reasonable distance are all booked in for the year, and hence I started looking at the much much more expensive option of the private ones. There is one that has newly opened at walking distance from home, and not knowing exactly what it is, that was the first thing we had looked into. We had even gone for a tour and looked in on the facilities. While the GP was keen that we fill in the forms and start him off immediately, especially since he has been keen on letting the BB grow his own wings(as if he does not have them already), but I kept dilly dallying. The place is gorgeous no doubt. New and swanky, well done, bright and colourful, everything, but somehow it seemed to be missing a basic vibrancy, a soul. The place just felt too processed for my liking, maybe even a bit haughty. And since I go by my instincts, this centre, just did not speak to me much, I did not feel a vibe or energy, I would love to send the BB to. In the meanwhile the playgroup happened, I looked up some more online, found a few other day care centres, the ones I can reach on my own. And so I called up a few, and booked a tour in one of them too.

This one had been around for a few years. It looked neither swanky nor uptown, and yet, I loved it the moment I walked into the place. It simply was not processed. I had been there in the afternoon with the BB, the kids his age, were out in the play area, doing their own thing, while the carers just kept an eye out. One boy actually came up and introduced himself and his friend to me. I could see that the kids were happy. I loved it, and booked in a half day for the BB immediately. They had been around for a while, and were better aware of the needs of children. When I told them it was to be the BB's first time at a care centre, they suggested I do a couple of orientation sessions first. Which was just what I needed, since I would not have been very comfortable just dropping him off and coming back home on the very first day. He did a one hour session on Friday, and was due for a longer one on Monday, which did not happen, because he was not too well, and I wanted him to stay in and get better.

And yesterday we directly went in for him to start. I stayed in the building, in a waiting room, but he was not aware of that and was on his own all the three and half hours that we were there. From what I see, the BB is loving the place only for its play area, that is the only place he wanted to be, since we got there. So as soon as we went in, he opened the door to his room, and ran in. The door to the play area though, was locked, since it was the middle of the afternoon, and the kids were sitting around being read to, while a very few of the others napped. What do you know, this did not appeal much to my little son, and he wanted to come right back out with me. I stepped out and went away. I knew, he would not get too upset about not having me around, but not being able to play outdoors, may bother him. The carers took over, the lady reading, sat him on her lap and went on, and I went into my hiding place. An hour later I come to check and I see the kids are all out playing, and I spot the BB all smiling and shining in the sun. The manager there told me, that he was a bit upset and had some tears, but has been happy since they were allowed to step out. And that they had let them out a bit early today, since it was his first day, but they won't be doing it always. Works just fine according to me.

The GP arrived there from office to pick us up, and we went in, and the BB was still outside playing. The lady told us, that he had been invited in to paint with the others, but he just enjoyed being outside and stayed right there. Had he been left to it, he would have happily stayed on there till the very last person left the centre. We brought him back home, and I had to give him a nice long wash to get all the sand, from the sand pit out of him. But over all, I believe it was a good day. He definitely did not care a hoot about whether I was around or not(what a blow to my motherly self-esteem that is!) as long as he was out there having fun. There was no drama-shaama about missing me, which is great. And that is how, the BB went solo for the first time yesterday.

He was satisfied with all the playing I know, because he readily agreed to head back home, and happily and nicely bid good-bye to all the carers. I know that his hunger to just play will diminish as he forms bonds with the other kids around, and he sees the carers regularly and becomes friendly with them, and I am sure it will be loads and loads of fun for him. I still think next Tuesday will be tough for me, since I will infact drop him there and go away, hopefully heading back home, and knowing I am physically far apart from him will bother me a bit, but I am sure I will get used to it just fine too. And suddenly the little bundle who was handed over to me in a nursing home, not too long ago, seems to have become big enough to be left on his own. How time flies indeed. Just hope that he keeps growing and learning at each step, and moves on, finding his own friends, rules, likings, passions, while knowing always that his parents stand firmly behind him whenever he needs them.

On a side note, the BB is totally enamoured by the video of 'nani teri morni' on youtube, since I showed it to him, when Monika posted it on her blog. To say he is totally taken by the video will be an understatement. Whenever I am on the laptop, he keeps saying 'mori, mori'(meaning morni). He does not let me so much as touch my laptop, as long as the video is playing, and as soon as it gets over, it needs to be repeated. A different video of the same song would not do, none of the other songs are good enough, so basically my mind is sick and tiered of the repeat loop on which the song is currently playing here. And Monika, I completely and totally blame you for it. A friend who was online after ages today, could not chat with me on Skype, because no way on earth could I halt the 'mori' video. So well, that's the song-of-this-household for now. And I need a change.

Monters, Them All!

Just watched a little bit of Deepa Mehta's Water last night on the telly last night, being telecast as a foreign film. The movie basically deals with the plight of Indian widows, and the terrible rules that bound them in the pre-independence era. I just watched the last half an hour, and I think that left me sleepless for the better part of the night.

Though there are absolutely no graphic displays or even anything remotely suggestive or titillating, but the portrayal shook me to the core. The main story line though, does not revolve around this, I think this part of the movie touched something too deep in the mother in me.


The little girl in the photo above (the photo is linked to the site from where I have picked it.) is a child widow, who goes by the name Chuhiya. She lives in a home for widows, where the oldest one is possibly more than ninety. A prevelant concept of the time says, that if a Brahmin man rapes sleeps/fornicates with a widow, it ensures salvation for them(the widows). Maybe that or the old woman gets a cut out of it, she fools the little Chuhiya, into believing she will be allowed to go home, but can have fun playing and having sweets before that, and sends her off with the devious eunuch to the old brahmin's house, to 'ensure her salvation'. They show the little girl bring brought back by the eunuch in a boat, lying down doubled up, possibly asleep or unconscious or even dead. It stirred something so primal and deep in the mother in me, that I cannot even put it in words. I just wanted to pick her up (the way Seema Biswas incidentally, does in the movie), hug her, console her, and atleast try and wash all the pain away. And once she was better, I would go and present the old B*#@#@d with the most horrific death he can imagine or maybe even worse.

Deepa Mehta must have done an amazing job here, because I don't remember the last time I felt that deeply after watching a movie. And the fact that it was not sensationalised either sexually or even violently, just makes me realise how well it must have been done, to affect me in the way it did. I think it has also a lot to do with the fact that I am a mother now, the instinct to protect and nurture somehow comes naturally. A boon and yet a curse of nature in its own right. The way a slight against a minor affects me now, never did even when I was a child myself. (I always believed myself to be invincible ofcourse, like every other child.) But now, something inside me just cannot handle it. The BB was asleep by the time I got down to watching the movie, else I would have been hugging him tight, just to soothe my nerves, and know that at least, my baby is safe. Needless to say, I was crying bucket loads, and the GP just kept reminding me its just fiction, and he could change the channel if it was bothering me so much.

But, what, and I literally mean what kind of a 'human being', would actually force himself on an innocent little child? Who and how, can anyone do that? They are just as bad, if not much much worse than murderers, killers and terrorists. I hope every pedophile in the world, is castrated, and left to bleed to death on streets, where people come and p#*s on their carcass. They deserve worse in my books. But more importantly, and more than killing them, I want to stop any innocent child from being hurt and abused. Knowing that some little kid, somewhere, in some corner of the world maybe facing sexual abuse, even as I sit and type this, is making me feel physically sick. And no wonder they say, being a mother is not easy, it really is not. I can never be what I was again, in this lifetime.

And after this terrible post, which can definitely not have made you feel good, here is something to soothe the nerves. I heard it on loop all morning to feel better. It helped, the mellifluous tune, played my most favourite instrumentalist of all time. I am simply an ardent fan of Ustaad Bismillah Khan. May his soul rest in peace.

What Matters, Or What Counts!

I have low retentivity of things. This is something I have realised of late. Had the realisation been allowed to hit me earlier, my career choices and path might have been completely and totally different. Its not that I don't remember anything, or nothing stays with me, but its just that, for the life of me, I cannot retain what is in text books, or things I need to study or things that I don't take a liking to. Photographic memory is a long long shot away, but its the simple remembering things that I have read once, that I terribly lack. I do remember my Harry Potter stories well, or for that matter my Sidney Sheldons, but talk about chemical reactions, or the syntax of Java, and you will draw a pure blank out of me.

I know, its quite natural for us to retain what interests us, what matter to us, but the inability to absorb and retain the TCP/IP protocols, in one read just meant extra work for me during college, when the exams neared. And no matter how much I hate to admit it, mugging is what I had to eventually resort to in most cases. For even though I could understand things, I did not really remember them well, because it did not really matter to me. Fortunately mathematics, was not something that completely went out of my brain when I shut the book, else I would have been sitting and going the rote way on that too, like so many other friends, who literally mugged up their sums.

The reason, I write about this today, is because I was thinking about a teacher of mine from school, one who taught us social sciences, civics and economics to be precise. Pretty much everyone in school adored her, she was not a super friendly teacher, but she had a charm and panache about her. I so so wanted to be like her, in the years she taught me. In class 8, she taught us Civics. It was a fun subject, because it used our sensibilities, and she had interactive sessions in her classes. The subject was about society, and life in it. It spoke of educating women, children, reservations, need for population control and things like that. Most of it did not need text book teaching, and she taught us in a way which made us think. In those times, we had tests each Monday, which basically meant a non-existent weekend, and two days spent preparing for the most hated event of the school week. My education, school, scores, were pretty much the central character of existence in my family.There was little else I did, and little else, I was supposed to even think about. So these tests and their evaluations were more than mere face value at my place. Hence a hawk eye was maintained on me over the weekends to ensure I was studying hard enough. Strangely, this one Sunday we went to my aunt's place in the middle of the afternoon, and were there till late night. Mostly that meant I barely studied for the test on Monday. Fortunately it was a Civics test, that Monday, and not too surprisingly, I aced it, I was the top scorer of my class, which had supremely brilliant students, who have proven their academic worth much much better than me in life. And yet, I say, non-surprisingly here, because I simply enjoyed learning what the subject entailed. I did not need rote in this case. I could write a 25 point answer on 'Why Women In India Need To Be Educated?', without needing to memorise anything at all. Because I felt for the cause, and because it was something that touched my heart. So that basically meant, I could function my brain, but only when I enjoyed doing so.

However, the point remains, that my retentivity, for facts, figures, rules, equations and all things like that is abysmal, to put it lightly. I see that everyday. I read my camera manual, and forgot most functions, had to refer back to it quite a few times, to get how it worked, since the GP came up with pure hostility when requested to help.(His logic, learn it yourself.) If I read a book, that is not a story or a novel, its unlikely I will have even a bit of it registering my mind, once I put it down. The same goes with news articles, the once in a rare while I do go through them. And yet, somehow I have a head for figures, no not figures about the area of a country or population of a state, but about money spent, or the tax calculations, or other things related to money. Quite the money hungry sucker am I, isn't it?But why feign nonchalance, money definitely does matter to me.

At the end of the day, I believe I retain what interests me, or what matters to me. Very typically feminine, I never forgets events of incidents that I can use against the GP, in future wars. I remember most stories I have read till date. And yet I so envy the people who have a brain for the technical and the factual stuff. People who never forget the syntax of a programming language once they have learnt it, or chemical equations, or facts and figures they may have casually read somewhere, and can rattle it off anytime, anywhere. For the life of me, I can never remember these things. Thank dear God, my academic days are behind me, and I no longer need to retain what is completely mundane to me. Why is it not worthy enough, to remember stories or events or the grocery bill figure. Why can I not use them as a professional skill? And for all those of you, who can get it all in one read, here is me, expressing my unabashed admiration. And if you have a trick up your sleeve, please do share!