Kuala Lumpur...The city of Transit.

In the next couple of days we saw a bit of Kuala Lumpur. It was a very different world. I remember walking on the roads and feeling different. It hit me later during one of my metro rides that the feeling was one of relief. Living in India it has become almost a second nature for me to expect people to stare at me. No, I am not the most beautiful creature that ever walked this earth. It's just that in my country, people stare. And I say people here because it is not just men, but quite literally everyone, including me. The fact that I am a young woman, I think I get stared at a little more than the rest, thanks to the male population of ours. It amazes me that with such a large citizenry, one would think that we would be tired of looking at people everywhere and just generally avoid looking at them. But nope. We stare.

So anyway, in Malaysia people don't. They simply look past you and are on their way. Please note I am not talking about the Indian population staying there. True to their roots they continue our tradition of staring at people. But the general population doesn't. I cannot tell you what a relief it is! It is a kind of freedom I was never aware that I didn't have. 

Now Kuala Lumpur in itself didn't impress me much. It's big, in parts grand, has better infrastructure and obviously less population. But it didn't really make much impact on me. Kuala Lumpur for me was a city in which people came only to go somewhere else. It was a stop over city, and it felt like one. It was nice and safe and oh so helpful, but it very clearly felt like a place that I was only stopping by, to rest for a bit, before I moved on to something more exciting and beautiful.

In fact, most people I met there felt more or less like this. It was a city some came for money, some for work and some to catch the next plane. Everyone though was clear. They didn't want to spend the rest of their lives there. Its also true that Kuala Lumpur sees migration of populous from places like Bangladesh, Pakistan & Syria. Mostly uneducated working class that lives at the edge of the upper echelons of the society. People who have their families and friends oceans apart and are forced to live in a country where they don't understand the language or the culture. Maybe it is that feeling that seeps in the corners of restaurants and subways and reach your heart. Maybe, maybe.  

Kuala Lumpur City

In Kuala Lumpur I stayed with a couchsurfer in Taman Bhagia. My first experience living in somebody else’s place for free. The ultimate test for your ego and humility. You cannot demand but accept with gratitude that what you receive. Was I ready for it? In retrospect, yes. However, at that moment, in all honesty I was a bit unsure. While I have been a host many times, I had never been a couchsurfer before. It’s easy to give but difficult to receive. I guess because when you give, you give to whatever capacity you can and hence you are in control. When you receive, you have to be ready for whatever comes your way. I guess that makes receiving quite hard. The lack of control and the need for gratitude and humility involved. 

Anyway, I stayed with a Chinese girl who was running a guest house that she offered to couchsurfers when there were no bookings. Lucky for us, during our stay no new guests were expected. There were four of us in that Japanese style dormitory. A Canadian, a German and we two Indians. A motley group of people with little else in common but a lust for travel. Our host stayed at her apartment a little way from the hostel. We rarely saw her as she worked in the morning and came pretty late at night.

But on our second evening in her hostel, we did have a chat. She was a third generation Chinese living in Malaysia. Her grandparents came during the second world war and settled there. I asked her if there were many like her in Malaysia and she replied with an affirmation. In fact according to her, very few original Malays were left in Malaysia. The population as of now consists mostly of Chinese who married local Malay in their journey through history. We spoke about India a bit and she expressed her wish to come and visit the country. "I don't know but. It feels scary. I don't think I would come without a boyfriend," she said. I could not say anything to assure her that my country is safe. I wasn't really sure if it was or would be for her.

I smiled and went back to my room. I wasn't feeling too good. It was my first time out of the country and I was terribly missing my family and feeling completely out of place. The German came and saw me in tears. He was shocked when he realized why I was so upset. Genuinely shocked. He was 24 and had left his family when he was but 16. He thought he remembered being upset initially but he couldn't be sure about it. He spoke with his divorced parents once in a month and did not wish to go back.

During this conversation, the Canadian came and told me he was the only son of his still married parents. He missed them but wasn't ready to go back as yet. He couldn't connect with his friends and family. He couldn't understand how they can live in the same place and not have the urge to move. They couldn't understand his need to. He disliked the sameness of things. "They still speak about the same things they did 10 years ago. I don't get it," he said. I looked at him and wondered what I wouldn't give at this moment to sit in my home with my childhood friends and talk about our legendary stories from the past, the way we do so many times.

I looked at the Canadian as he moved away. He looked so distant. The German too eager. I picked up my mobile and called my parents. After crying my eyes out and done with feeling so disoriented, I walked to the drawing room. The Canadian planned to watch Gone Girl on the big TV and I didn't have anything better to do. All of us sat down to watch it. Right in the middle of one of the sex scenes, the movie stopped. Sitting in somebody else's house, who wasn't even there, watching a movie that decides to stop at this juncture with strange men from different countries, was an experience I will never forget. All of us stared straight ahead as if the movie was still on and no one moved a muscle. After 5 minutes of complete silence, I decided to break the awkwardness by saying it was too late and maybe we should all just call it a day.

We went back and slept on our comforters, lost in our own thoughts.

The tale of two cities

And we arrive in Kuala Lumpur. For the first couple of days it feels pretty lonely. I have no prior reference to fall back on, no friends who talk or understand my language and no streets that my feet know from years of travelling. It’s amazing how we take the smallest of things for granted in our daily lives and how those small things become jarring and attention worthy in a different land.

For example, back home I never looked twice at the texture or colour of our currency. Suddenly in Malaysia ‘money’ became currency and there were moments today when I was baffled to see this different note in my hand. People here are very quite. They are quiet on the streets, in malls, in trains, even the kids. In Mumbai, forever my wish was to have some peace and quiet. In all honesty, I have had long colourful fantasies of throwing giggling college girls and loud aunties from the train window. Today, the absence of this chaos was more disquieting than anything else. I felt as if I am walking in a land of zombies really. 

I also have no qualms in confessing that never and I mean never had I thought that I shall be feeling all of this. I have lived alone for more than 5 years and anyone closely acquainted with me knows my love for silence and loneliness. And yet, I am feeling all of this and more. I think one of the reason is the fact that prior to this my loneliness was by my own design. I could end it whenever I wished to. Today, that is not the case. There are external factors that are controlling the situation and frankly, I can’t do anything about them. It is sitting here in a beautiful hostel in Malaysia that I realize that control is the most difficult thing to let go.

No, I am not a control freak. Not even close. For the longest time (till last week actually) I prided myself in being the one who can ‘flow with the wind’ and let things come to her. But it was only today that I realized that while I never did seek to actively control things in my life, I knew in the back of my mind very clearly and definitively how things would turn out to be, with the given choices and options. I had people to fall back on, people to blame, people who would take the blame and places where I could confess and move on. There was certainty in life.

When you are travelling, specially outside your country, there is no certainty of anything. Where the bus comes from, where will you get vegetarian food (if at all), is it okay to be out till late, is it okay to crack a joke with the locals. Nothing. And this my friend is the crux of it all. The reason I was on the road.  

In life if you take away certainty then all that is left is you, your core and your senses. It prepares you for the worst while it shows you the best. Travel, I feel is the only good way I know to bring this uncertainty in life. The one that helps me meet me. The one that will show me my truth in all its colours, frustration and calmness. The one that will make me help live with myself day after day, year after year, decade after decade. 

Malaysia Travel Diary

In the past couple of months my life has changed dramatically. For more than 3 months I have been on the move. Travelling to different countries (only 2 actually) . Now, I know it sounds all romantic and adventurous and it surely is. However, it is also true that long term travelling is not for the faint hearts. It is not about eternal optimism either. At least it wasn't for me. And that's it really. It is different things for different people and my experience can never be yours. Actually, what I have lived cannot (and I wouldn't want to in all honesty) be replicated in any form or way by me or anyone else ever. So, what I have lived was only once in a lifetime opportunity that has come and gone. It taught me a lot, opened me a bit more and showed me a different side of reality, unknown to me before this. In the next couple of blogs, I shall be sharing my experience, insights and memories from these wanderings.

My first stop "abroad" was Kuala Lumpur. Okay, before we land in KL, let me clear a couple of important pointers in this story, that might crop up once we are deep inside the recesses of my memory lane. How did I decide about travelling? My husband (who accompanied me on this trip) and I are travel enthusiasts and have been planning to go on long term travels for more than four years now. Did I give up your job? I did. Ankit is extremely lucky. He works for an organization that lets him work from anywhere in the world. He has certain deliveries with deadlines and well, that's about it. I am myself, in the process of creating a model where I can work from where ever I am.

I strongly suggest anyone who plans to travel for a long time (and I mean anywhere between 3 months to 3 years) to have some decent amount of savings in their banks. Ankit and I have worked our assess off for the past 6 years, creating enough savings before we embarked upon this journey. I saw many travelers on this journey to realize the importance of bank balance. Its good to know that you can be out of this if you wish to be and have something to fall back on.

How much did it cost me? Because we did not do complete budget travel and as vegetarians (with a love for good food) we had to spend a little more on our bread, so it wasn't absolutely cheap for us. However, even then, our budget came to 2, 75000 for two people, inclusive of flights, boarding and food. Not bad, I would say. Thanks to platforms like Couchsurfing and Workaway of course. These are not just great platforms to help you budget your trip, but also opportunities to see some real rare gems (places and people both) and shape your travels into insightful, interesting journeys.

I guess, I have answered three major questions (all these have been persistently put before my attention in the last couple of months by friends, family and strangers). Now, back to KL. We flew by Air Asia (from Bangalore as we got the tickets cheap. 26,000 INR for two people, return airfare. Tip: We booked 3 months in advance. One of the most useful tricks taught by the couchsurfers hosted by us).

However, do remember that when Air Asia says they fly you cheap, they mean it quite literally. You will be paying extra for baggage, seats (in case you have a preference), water and everything else. It was my first international trip and I was flying on the wings of my imagination. Air Asia got me on ground and trust me when I say, it wasn't a smooth landing at all. The flight was cramped, the aircon was unbearable and all my hopes of watching a movie in flight seem laughable now. It was a night flight and as we had no inkling about their love for cold nights, we ended up shivering for the four hours we were in there, with nothing to keep us warm.

Not the most ideal or romantic first step in an unknown world. This experience left me with a bad headache and some skepticism for our journey ahead. Once in KL, we got our Malaysian sim cards (from the airport itself). We bought our bus ticket to KL Sentral (as the airport is an hour away from the main city) and were on our way to witness another world.
 

In the year that I turned 26, all we heard about were rapes. Rapes on the streets, in homes, buses, trains, everywhere. There was a man on top of a woman wherever you looked. A struggling, unhappy woman. I am a woman, and I was constantly reading of my younger species being stripped off their clothes, independence and pushed down on the survival pyramid, where laying flat and still is the only way to live. Walking on street that summer, winter and monsoon, I felt like a soldier. Fully covered, walking in a jungle where showing any limb will alert the enemy or animal or maybe both were the same. A constant terror of night and empty streets. I don’t think I was ever alone that year. The only place that I went alone was the bathroom. In public toilets I was always sure I was covered as best as possible. The threat of hidden cameras was never far behind.

That year, walking on the streets, full of varied smells and sweat camouflaging as a mob, I often wondered what it would be like to be raped. To be a victim of a superior force wanting to seal it’s superiority on my being. It felt oddly exciting and terrifying at the same time. Scared and excited, I would look down and walk faster towards my destination. I lived in the city of Mumbai with two friends. The sight of them at times made me sick. My empty house at night depressed me though. I am sure there must be times I depressed them too. Their families were too far away, too old fashioned and not with much money. Same as mine. We shared a one room kitchen, the only space we could afford. None of us spoke much. We didn’t need to. 

I had a boyfriend. He lived in Delhi. A long distance relationship is the most relieving thing really. You don’t worry about being single and hence unattractive, you don’t have to forever juggle between friends and boyfriend, you can eat, sleep, think, read what you wish, no questions asked. I loved him. I really did. He allowed me the freedom to paint his image the way I liked. Of course, we spoke and I saw the cracks in that image, but still. At least he was not near enough to completely destroy my perfect man. I could deal with some cracking’s once in a while. Anyway, most of the times that we spoke, we talked about what each of us had for breakfast, lunch and dinner, about our families, some common friends punctuated by long pauses and love you. It was a tiring conversation most of the times but necessary. We had to keep the connection alive after all. So talk we did.

That year though I was completely obsessed with rape. 

From the dairy of a loner

It is amazing how vulnerable one can be. Without trying that is. Yes, it hurts. Not heart breaking, tear spilling, hair tearing hurt, but a twinge in the heart. It makes me put the glass up just a little more. Retire inside a bit more and feel left out. Its unintentional I know. Or is it? Maybe. Hopefully. God, please let it be so.

Now I have been on this side of the glass panel, well for life. It’s unbelievable that it still makes me cry. Almost. A lot of times I think I am a loner because of it. Or is it vice versa. It becomes increasingly difficult to figure it out in my head these days. As time passes I can’t really differentiate between the cause and the effect. I try desperately to calm down. Understand my behavior. Their behavior. The reasons and the many whys?

Do I scare people? Maybe. I am not sure what it is but I feel that people generally maintain a distance from me. As if they are afraid of something. Me? Could be. Maybe. It has always been like this. Even as a kid. It made me feel like an outsider. Or was it that I knew I was an outsider and hence I made them feel like that? I don’t know. I can’t be sure really. Does all this even really matter? It did matter a great deal at some point of time apparently. Now, I am not sure.

However, it’s not a great feeling to feel like you are being pushed away. No it isn’t for sure. But then I don’t really make an attempt to fit in either. Or don’t I? Sometimes I do. In this case I genuinely did. And in return? Nothing. Feel like a loser? Kind of. Makes me feel why take the effort at all. True. Why? Why do we invest our emotions in the wrong place? Why is it that we end up begging those for attention and favors who don’t give a dime about us? Why not care for those who do so much for us? Why not be happy with what we have? Running after the unachievable seems almost like a second nature. Is it the challenge? Is it to feel more important? More people like you, more secured you are. Is it this theory? Maybe it is all this and more. I don’t know. Hopefully someday I would have solved this mystery. But this much is clear, I am no people magnet. I don’t know whether to thank god for that or no. J

The evening I couldn't stand up for myself

Last evening walking back from office a man passed a comment on my body. His exact words were “Kya mast balls hai”. Since I don’t have testicles, I am pretty sure he was referring to my breasts. He was on a bike, I was on the road. He said, I heard, he went away. No, I didn’t say anything. Not because I didn’t want to, because I couldn’t. In that moment I was so zapped, so stunned, my mind simply stopped working. I didn’t even dare to look at him or acknowledge him in anyway. I simply stared ahead and started walking. I remember my first thought was Oh shit! My t-shirt is too tight. I started mentally and physically shrinking my breasts inside my body hoping they would disappear. Maybe my nipples are showing. I should put the bag in front of my body to cover them up.

Trust me when I say, it took mammoth will and determination on my part to not do that. I was also consciously puffing my chest out, not ready to leave the battle just yet. It was amazing for me to realize that an independent, working and a rather strong woman like me was thinking these thoughts. That my first instinct was to blame my clothing. As expressive as I am, my training of ‘being a woman’ stopped me from retaliating to this man. I remember at various points in life being told that it’s best not to react to such comments. As a kid it was because I was so young anyone could pick me and do anything. As a teenager it was because I was a girl and by that virtue a weaker sex. As a woman it was a simple suggestion for better survival. Not all suggestions came from my parents. Friends, colleagues, boyfriends and male bosses also suggested the same.

Maybe they are right. Maybe my reacting would not have made any difference to that man. But if I would have voiced my anger at that point I know I would have realized my anger and frustration rather than keeping it inside me. My confidence would not have taken a hit and I would not feel like a helpless non-entity. At that point my survival depended not in keeping quiet but in shouting out? Why? Because had I said anything I would not feel like I could be violated at any moment. I would knew that no random person could just drive in my life and reduce me to “balls”. I would not blame myself for having “balls”. But most of all I would not feel vulnerable every time I walk down a road, wearing clothes that I feel comfortable in. I would feel the freedom to walk my walk and talk my talk and not feel sorry or scared for doing either.

I wish I could write

It’s been a long time since I have written anything. Words don’t seem to suffice how I feel these days. How does one explain silence in words? How do you force yourself to create the chaos of verses when you wish to write about quiet? How do you make the still flow and how do you measure the depth of an ocean of emotions steadily rushing past every moment? Words will never suffice. But I wish I could write. There are so many characters living in my head, my heart, my veins. They flow and burst and try to make themselves show on paper. I try to sketch them but I fail miserably. Only caricatures of my thoughts come alive. These characters breathe. I can’t always provide them with the oxygen they need. They put up a long struggle in my hands and then they die. I don’t cry when they do. I have other things I have to take care of. I move on and other characters fill the places of the ones that died. Will they die too? I don’t know. But I know this much, that if they don’t I will give them a soul, a body and love. Sometimes I wish to give them my blood. But alas! The words aren't red enough. Bold enough. Meaningful enough. They never will be. They never can be.

Don’t be a toothpick, be a comb

So I had a meeting with my boss today. I work in a start-up and like most organizations I have worked for, there are no written memos given to us about our role. A boon and a bane. Boon on days you can think and work, bane on those days when traffic is bad, sun is strong and the day pretty long. Needless to say it was the latter one I was fixed in.
So, here I am sitting with my boss, who is trying to make intrapreneurs (a word he has coined for employees who create their own roles in a company, rather than waiting for that above mentioned memo) out of us. He was explaining the need to constantly learn new skills when something he said, struck me. He said don’t be a toothpick, be a comb. “You use a toothpick and throw it out the same moment, a comb you keep,” he explained.
What he was trying to explain was one of the biggest flaws of our educational system. Something, I have been a victim of, a fact I realized too late in my professional life. I hold a degree in journalism. Reporting, writing, assimilating facts, and putting them in a readable format is what I was taught in college. At that time because I wasn't any wiser, I thought it was more than enough.
It was once I stepped into this cyclone called ‘corporate world’, I realized I was not even handed an oar, let alone a boat by my extremely expensive, urbane sounding course. I knew how to be a journalist, but if I was to deviate from that role, I was only a writer. Someone with no business acumen, no additional skill set, no idea about the world of marketing, coding, Photoshop, sales, anything.
I can argue and say but I didn't need to learn them. And isn't there where the problem lies really? So early in life we are made to choose by our educational system with no options at all. An engineer will know only about science and nothing about arts or commerce (and no I don’t think that reading HT café and financial times is the answer). An arts student is woefully unaware of the world of biology and chemistry.
And it doesn't end here. Our educational system is adept at making robots. I know, I am one of them. I am so used to having a course book, a schedule and a teacher telling me, guiding me, that when all these things are taken out of the equation, I am clueless. Independent thinking and the mental readiness to follow it through becomes an issue.
Maybe that’s why Aanand Gandhi (the maker of Ship of Thesus) didn't bother with formal education after 12th and took matter in his own hands. He wanted to learn. He picked up books on his favorite subjects, studied them, traveled the world, met people, understood them and through them himself. Then he decided he wanted to make movies. He created art on celluloid. 
As simple as that. It’s amazing that at 27, after going through offices where I simply wrote what was told to me, paid not to think and drank bad coffee, I am getting a chance to up my game and learn. Truly learn. I am constantly learning how to become autonomous by acquiring new skills. Trust me, it give you confidence like nothing else. And isn't it true that in today’s world where one-stop-shop is becoming an operative word, we be the jack of all and master of one? Well, I am on my way on that path. What about you? Are you still drinking that stale coffee or are you on your way to become an intrapreneur?

What is the Significance of Durga and Shakti in Mythology?

Shakti is our inner strength. Durga is the strength that we get from outside. Praise for example empowers us because we get Durga from outside. Insults disempowers us, we feel stripped of Durga by our critic. Thus, Durga is a currency of exchange, just like wealth or Lakshmi.

Durga comes from 'Durg' which means fort in Hindi. It is the external approval that we seek. Shakti on the other hand is the inner strength that we posses. It is our approval of our selves.

Karna, the sut putra who was forever asking for legitimacy from Pandavs or Kauravs was looking at only durga and not shakti. While Krishna, who like him was called a 'gwala' the one who looks after the cows knew shakti. He didn't seek approval. He was an authority in himself. (Although he was very similar to Karan. A child who was disowned by his parents, lived with the low class). However, he did not shy away from being a 'Sarthi' or a 'Gwala'. Because he was the 'Bhagwan' where ever he was and he knew it. Karna was always looking for ways to feel approved.

Concept of Bhagwan:
Bhag (a part) we all have. We only live and see that one small miniscule 'bhag' of life. Bhagwan is someone who sees not only his but everybody's 'bhag'. He is the man with a bigger vision and can understand actions and foresee consequences.

(Excerpts from Ashwin Sanghi's talk)