Edit on Women two years ago

Dec 14 2009, 2235
Gender equality seems to be headed the right way in India, at least in terms of employment and even leadership positions in the corporate sector. Two distinct studies point in that dir­ection: the first one by EMA Partners International, which says that 11 per cent of 243 top Indian companies by revenue have women CEOs, compared with only 3 per cent of US companies in the Fo­rtune 500 list; and the second one by industry body Nasscom and human resources consulting firm Mercer, which shows that India has more working women than any other country in the world (30-35 per cent of our 400 million workforce comprises women). That is indeed good news for a country where the word ‘female’ is men­tioned quite frequently with the word ‘foeticide’. Always a land of complexities and contrasts, India is a place where women exist at two extreme ends of the universe. At one level, a woman is considered a force to be worshipped—the mother goddess and life giver. At the other extreme, the woman is rejected and abused, deprived even of the right to be born. The female foeticide figures stare us blatantly in the face, with United Nations estimates showing that almost 2,000 female foetuses are aborted a day in India. The country’s sex ratio, according to the 2001 census, at 933 females per 1,000 males, is among the lowest in the world. Somewhere between these two extremes there is a gradual surge of a class of women who are pushing their way ahead and holding their own in what used to be a ‘man’s world’ -- breaking free of the glass ceiling. This also has a lot to do with the rapidly increasing number of women who are going in for higher studies. The Nasscomm-Mercer study also highlights that while in the 1980s, only 5-8 per cent of students in engineering colleges were women, in 2005, women formed 40.4 per cent of students in institutes of higher education. Slowly, but surely, women have moved into top positions and are demolishing stereotypes, in terms of power, position and wealth. So, while companies consider female employees to be better at managing teams and client relationships and at handling crises, wealth managers are now making a beeline for them with investible surpluses. The change is pervasive at all levels of decision-making. Women are unafraid to take their own decisions, which includes personal, corporate and financial. And that is what drives them to lead projects and eventually companies. An interesting fact that is evident from these figures is that male mindsets in the country have changed, too, with men becoming more open to the idea of having a woman as ‘boss’, which was not exactly the case several years ago. It is even more heartening that all of this is happening in India, which is racing ahead of even the developed countries. That leaves one with greater hope for gender inclusiveness in the country. The outlook would be infinitely more promising if the country could also witness a change in the mindsets that lead to declining numbers of women in the population. The task looks Herculean, but with a look at the achievements of women so far, it is definitely not impossible.

Half the Sky: women in India

The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) has brought out its latest Human Development Report for 2011. And it doesn’t spell good news for India. Although our overall rank in the Human Development Index (HDI) has remained the same — 134 out of 187 — what has really cast a curtain of gloom over our performance is the Gender Inequality Index, where India stands at the absolute bottom of the ladder in South Asia, faring better than just Afghanistan. With a rank of 129, India scores lower than neighbours Bangladesh, Nepal and Pakistan, with ranks of 112, 113 and 115 respectively, and is far behind Sri Lanka, which ranks 74. China, ranked 35, is too far ahead for us to even begin to compare with it. The index takes into account some important indicators such as female labour participation, maternal mortality and adolescent fertility, share of women in parliamentary seats and secondary and higher education attainment levels. Viewed from one perspective, female empowerment in India has been growing steadily, one of the indicators being female literacy, which, according to the latest census figures, has grown by 11.8 per cent in the last decade, and is 65.4 per cent now. Women today have a lot more independence than what their mothers had, when it comes to decision-making about themselves and their families. However, it seems our present best is just not good enough. At a time when India is increasingly moving into a leadership role in global affairs, it cannot afford to ignore one half of its population, which can play a substantial role in elevating the country’s social and economic position. It can, of course, be argued that the numbers are bound to be affected by the sheer size of the sample in India, not present in any of its neighbouring countries. The point, however, is that a country which dreams of being a global ‘superpower’, which harbours ambitions of moving in to fill the void being created by the sagging western giants, should not even be comparing itself with virtual ‘minnows’ having vastly lesser clout in the global arena. If India truly has to believe that it has ‘arrived’, its social indicators must be in line with the countries that it wants to compete with, not those that already consider it a ‘big brother’, if not a ‘big bully’. We cannot, on the one hand, talk about having the second highest growth rate in GDP while our social indicators languish somewhere at the bottom. To be the best, we must also compete with the best — not just economically but also socially. If India wants to soar high, it cannot afford to leave its women behind — it is they who hold up half the sky.

My FIRST EDIT for Financial Chronicle: ON BEING A BOSS!!

A recent survey conducted by Korn Ferry International has revealed that 85 per cent of Indian executives would rather be giving orders than taking them. In other words, they want to be in their bosses’ position. Giving orders is definitely a more lucrative prospect than being at the receiving end. And being held in awe, or in some cases, in fear is infinitely better than living in the dread of being hauled up, or worse, sacked. In terms of aspirations, Indians are certainly doing better than Americans, where only 67 per cent of executives want to be the boss, happy as they are to be on the lower rungs of the corporate ladder. Obviously, the Indians, undoubtedly an aggressive lot, want to be their own masters. However, the survey also reveals that more than half the Indian executives are satisfied with their current positions, highlighting the fact that it’s not just a craving for a better economic status that drives the urge to be the boss. What’s more, it also underlines the quintessential trait of Indians to be optimistic in the darkest of situations. Which is why the slowdown doesn’t act as a damper on our spirits. In fact, the down-in-the-dumps feeling spread by the slowdown could also have acted as a catalyst to fuel the drive to get to a position where you are the one doing all the threatening, rather than the other way round. In sharp contrast, the satisfaction level of Americans is a mere 37 per cent. It speaks volumes about the Indians’ inherent sense of contentment with what they have. But what’s remarkable is that this contentment doesn’t drive us to stagnation. We are happy with what we have achieved, but a little more won’t hurt. That in itself is a quality to be proud of — to be contented yet competitive. But workers who are drawn by the power of being in charge and able to praise or criticise, retain or remove at will, also need to be given a reality check. Unquestionably it is a good feeling to be in the commanding position, as long as one remembers that concomitant with authority is the entire burden of responsibility. The executive might resent getting flak from the boss for some mistake, but it is actually the top man who will ultimately face all the flak for the combined mistakes of all his subordinates. While he may have his subordinate staff on a string and be able to toy with their future, he also wears the not so enviable crown of thorns of being the chief one responsible for the future of the organisation, its successes and more importantly, its failures. So those who wish to be bosses would be better off remembering that only if they’re willing to face the music now, will they be ready to wear the crown in the future. Nonetheless, the bottom line is that the aspirations of working India run high which obviously translates into a greater zest for working harder and moving faster. That, surely, is good news for the economy and the nation, although it might make the bosses toss and turn. One last point, it is easy to allow success to get into your head, and be a tyrant in positions of power. It might not be easy for everyone to become a boss, but it doesn’t take much to become another Hari Sadu, the rogue boss immortalised by a TV ad of a company.

Amir Khusrau's poetry "In the Bazaar of Love"

As you prepare to chart the waters of a body of translated poetry, be warned: if you are a knower of the tongue in which the poet actually crafted his masterpieces, these waves will seem a tad too still after the heady ebb and flow of the original. But if you haven’t sailed those tides, just go ahead and take the plunge. It’ll be worth your while.In the Bazaar of Love: The selected poetry of Amir Khusrau, translated by Paul Losensky(associate proffessor at Indiana University, Bloomington) and Sunil Sharma (who teaches at Boston University), is a veritable treasure trove of the most beautiful lines composed by the “Parrot of India”, so called because of his fluency and eloquence in Persian, the language of most of his compositions. Indians, however, would be more familiar with his compositions in Hindavi, the tongue of the people of his beloved ‘Hindostan’. Whatever the language, the rhythm and the musical quality of the verse remain unchanged.In fact, the most remarkable aspect of the great Sufi poet is that even if his language were alien to you, you wouldn’t be able to help getting immersed in the jaam (chalice) that his saqi (cupbearer) tempts you with. That beauty, though, is not easily retained in translation. The winding, lilting feel gets rather straightened out, and the complex wordplay that is quintessentially Khusrau loses its coquettish charm.That said, to be able to truly appreciate this book for what it is, you need to wipe your mind clean of the original verse. Translations are meant to allow people a taste of the literary manna that would have been beyond their reach otherwise. And here you will find lines that come significantly close to the original in beauty. For instance, these lines from the piece ‘On Music and Poetry’, which is Khusrau’s explanation of the difference between the poet’s words and the tunes those words are put to: “Poetry is the bride and song her ornament, but/is there any harm if a beautiful bride has none?”In the Persian ghazal, ‘Bi khubi hamchu mahi tabanda bashi’ wherein the last stanza begins thus: “Don’t be cruel. Avoid the shame/ of facing your lovers on Judgement Day” and the splendid lines of ‘Man ashki bidilan-ra khanda mipandashtam ruzi’: “Treat burnt-out Khusrau with contempt/ It’s all fair payback, since he once maligned/ those whom people treat with contempt.”Also present and translated with an obvious effort at maintaining the musical quality (but heart-rendingly lacking the vigour of the original), is the very famous Hindavi piece “Chhap tilak sab chheeni mosay naina milayi ke”.Much better and rhythmically preserved are the two short pieces “Wedding Night” and “Beauty Sleeps on the Bed”. The latter is said to have been uttered by Khusrau on the death of his pir Nizamuddin Auliya: “Beauty sleeps on the bed/ her hair across her face/ Come Khusrau, let’s go home/ night has set over this place.”In fact, Auliya is a prominent figure in the creations of his murid Khusrau. Most of his love-struck verses are actually addressed to the pir, in mystic devotion. The book covers a vast expanse of the works of Khusrau, detailing his life and his inspirations. Lovers of poetry, especially Sufi poetry, would do well to get their hands on this one. True “majnuns” of the art can go dive into the original.

Ernest Hemmingway "A Farewell to Arms" : Drenched in love

The season of rains is upon us. It’s the time of the year when the leaves get greener, the sky gets darker and street kids frolicking by the roadside look happier than ever.In no other country are these glittering arrows more anxiously awaited than in ours. Perhaps, it is the preceding heat, perhaps it is concern for the thirsty grain, or maybe it’s just that we consider rains a blessing. Whatever the reason, rainfall is a harbinger of happy tidings for most of us.Writers’ liaison with the rain has been an old and faithful one. Often as a picturesque, meaning-laden background, and mostly as a symbol — an omen — rains have served as handy literary devices for authors and poets in varying ages.Within the literary hall of fame, Edgar Allen Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and F Scott Fitzgerald are well known for their use of symbolism. But there are few that have used nature as a symbol more heavily than Ernest Hemmingway.The use of rain as a portent is most obvious in his masterpiece, A Farewell to Arms. Regarded as Hemmingway’s best artistic achievement, and certainly his greatest commercial success, A Farewell to Arms is the story of Frederic Henry, an American who enrols in the Italian army during the World War I, and falls in love with a British nurse Catherine Barkley. Hemmingway once referred to it as his version of Romeo and Juliet, which seems quite apt, considering the tragic fate of the protagonists’ love. Rain and mud are the two recurring motifs in the tale, and neither portends well for the people.Contrary to popular notions of rainfall being a bearer of good luck, for Hemmingway’s hero rain is nature’s alarm bell, bringing a sense of impending doom. It is a symbol of darker things to come.Right at the beginning, the soldier Henry tells the readers, “In the fall when the rains came the leaves all fell from the chestnut trees and the branches were bare and the trunks black with rain.” This ‘black rain’ is followed by an outbreak of cholera, killing seven thousand people.Later, it is raining when the Italian army begins its retreat, and the statement of one of the soldiers, “Tomorrow, maybe we drink rainwater,” turns into a sentence of doom, for the following day they meet their end. This symbolism is made very obvious by the heroine herself. “I'm afraid of the rain because sometimes I see myself dead in it,” she says to Henry. “And sometimes I see you dead in it.”That, eventually, turns out to be another tragic prediction. Towards the end of the novel, during Catherine’s operation, Henry looks out the window, to find that it is raining. In the next few minutes, Henry loses both his child and the love of his life, all the while in a backdrop of heavy rain. At the very end of the story, Henry leaves the hospital and heads back to his hotel “in the rain”.Hemmingway’s star-crossed lovers, much like Romeo and Juliet, unite only to be separated. The rain, of course, is the author’s implicit way of showing that nature and fate work in ways much beyond the understanding of man.

Amitav Ghosh's Sea of Poppies

Every book has its own language. And that is besides the medium chosen by the writer to get the words across. The language of the book is the manner in which words flow through the story and the manner in which those words paint out pictures, for it is these that set the tone and tenor of the tale.Works of authors who hail from countries where English is not the mother tongue often carry a smattering of words in the native language; they could be local terms of endearment (Amir jan in The Kite Runner), names of dishes in the native cuisine (Roti in The Good Mm), or just a word or two in the dialogue (“Naaley?” — The God of Small Things). The use of vernacular terms actually brings out the ‘flavour’ of the story, giving the reader a feel of the characters and their daily lives, and of the place where their tale unfolds.
It is not often, though, that one encounters long sentences spoken by the protagonists in their native language. But the characters in Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies are prone to breaking into their mother tongue every so often, mystifying the reader as well as enchanting him. The book explores the days of British colonialism in India, their forced cultivation of poppy here and the shipping of slaves to the island of Mauritius aboard the ship Ibis. There are people of all kinds and classes populating the book — Deeti, the wife of a poppy grower who is saved by the skin of her teeth from becoming ‘Sati’ on the funeral pyre of her husband, Kalua, the lowly village man who saves her, Raja Neel Rattan, the anglophile king, more familiar with ‘the waves of Windermere and the cobblestones of Canterbury’, Serang Ali the mysterious seaman and a host of others.
The most fascinating thing about the characters is not the variety in their origins; it is the variety in their way of speaking that hits you smack in the face. So while Deeti’s village tongue is obviously different from the rest, even the English spoken by the men differs from one to the other. Ghosh has painstakingly brought out the Hindi influence that affects the language of the British men and women living in India for long periods, and their particular — and often hilarious — pronounciation of Indian names. So Raja Neel Rattan becomes “Roger Niel Rotten” and Babu Nobo Kishan becomes “Babu Nob Kissin”!
Most amusing are the Hindi words that sprinkle the conversation of the ‘Sahibs’ and the ‘Mems’, such as the very Indianised Mrs Lambert: “Where have you been chupaowing yourself?” or “Don’t you samjow, Paulette?” and another officer who exclaims, “Just won’t ho-ga; that kind of thing could get a man chawbuck’d with a horsewhip!”
Of course, such a pot-pourri of dialects does exhaust the reader, who has to make quite an effort in trying to decipher the meanings! For instance, the Lascari tongue, language of the seafarers, becomes baffling to say the least:“What for Malum Zikri make big dam bobbery’n so muchee bukbuk and big-big hookuming? Malum Zikri still learn-pijjin. No sabbi ship-pijjin. No can see Serang Ali too muchi smart-bugger inside?”
Ultimately, that is the way the story unfolds, with diverse souls mingling together and rubbing off a bit of themselves on each other. How’s that for a glimpse of the Tower of Babel?

Being a Muslim

It is a difficult task, being a practising Muslim, to read a book by another Muslim about the ‘Muslim experience’ and to review it. There are things that arouse anger, things that you would like to stand up and deny, times when you feel like clarifying to the huge, unknown masses out there reading that book.At times like these, you have to remind yourself, that there can be no such thing as a global ‘Muslim experience’, or for that matter, Hindu/­Christian/­Sikh/Indian/Bangladeshi experience. Being a part of a community does not ensure shared experiences. Since no two people would see the world through the same eyes, so no two people would experience it alike either. Not in a country, nor a community, not even a family. My experience of living in India would differ vastly from, say, a woman in a shanty on the outskirts of Delhi, or from Nita Ambani in her 27-storey home in Mumbai. That, however, does not make any of us less Indian than the other. It’s just that as individuals, we have different experiences, with different lives, different loves, beliefs and ambitions.Same is the case with a person who would share my religion. The way we perceive religion, the importance we attach to it, and the way we incorporate it into our lives will be different. What is ‘liberal’ for one may be ‘immoral’ for another, and what is ‘pious’ for one, may be ‘orthodox’ for another. But the membership of a community makes us somehow possessive of it, imagining that ours is the only way to be a part of it, ready to argue with someone else’s impression of it. That does not change the fact that as much as your experience is real for you, the other person’s experience is real for her/him. And that, actually, is the essence of being a good human, whether Muslim or Hindu or Indian or American — that you understand the diversity of human experiences and, however difficult it may be, accept and respect them for what they are.