Basking on the glow,
and the splendour from atop,
sat the crow. A mute.
This is one of my oldest photographs. I stood on my terrace and happened to capture this crow trying to make up its mind whether to fly away or stay awhile. Perched on top of a pole, it looked as indecisive as I felt with my life.
I hate mobs. They make me nervous. Even as I think about it, my heart bangs in its cage and my legs start to tremble threatening to give way at any moment. And speaking in front of a gathering is awful. Give me a mike and put me under the spotlight, and I’ll be reduced to a slump.
Or, at least, that’s what I thought it would be like.
In school and at work, I’ve had to explain something to a bunch of people. But every time that happens, I freak out so much that my speech loses all sense. And that’s why I was beyond “just nerves” when I heard I’d have to conduct a session in a workshop at my job.
To complicate things, I already knew a bit about my audience: they were all stay-at-home married women. Some had kids, some had more time. Most of them were single- or double-degree holders on a break after marriage. And all of them were at least 10 years older than I. Talk about intimidation.
I needed several deep breaths. And a few gulps — of air.
How would I explain something to them without coming off as a young and insufferable know-it-all? I had so many doubts; people hated contradictions, and a school kid telling older women what to do, isn’t most people’s idea of an ideal workshop. They would’ve expected somone much older-looking, taller, and experienced to conduct an educational workshop.
And yet, when I stood in front of the audience, the glare from the projector almost blinding me, the uncertainty disappeared from my mind. All of a sudden, I was looking at a bunch of people eager to learn; they didn’t care that my head, while I stood, was at their eye while they sat.
Clutching the mike, I, for the first time, felt confident facing a crowd. I was calm. My legs were steady, my heartbeat didn’t sound like a siren, and my pulse wasn’t racing. I began, and I felt myself smiling. I realised how easy it felt. It felt natural talking to these women who wanted to learn and to listen. And then, out of nowhere, I discovered I had matured so much from the shy and cowering schoolgirl I was until a few years ago.
I had grown up at last. And for once, all was well.
Where I live, it’s the day after Women’s Day. It’s the last day to redeem discount coupons for beauty products and the final chance to feel “special” before we can feel it again next year.
What a scam women’s day has become. Last year this time around, my Facebook feed flooded with hashtags. He for she, she for all, woman of steel, wonder woman, girl power, and all those goosebumps-inducing supposed-motivational videos, plus “25 quotes from Malala that makes every girl love herself.”
Fast forward a year, and this time, my feed says hashtag whatever. My feed is full of women holding cards that echo the same emotion: we’re tired of glorifying women for a day and trashing them through the rest of the year.
Well, I can sympathise with that.
Except, all these against-Women’s Day hoopla come from corporates, and people just retweet or repost them, making it a marketing success for the brands involved.
Whereas until a year ago, the same brands flashed stereotypical “women are the best” campaigns, and we retweeted and reposted them then too. Last year that worked. This year, brands wanted a new kind of campaign and they chose a more “be bold everyday” message.
If celebrating women on Women’s Day was the marketing ploy of yesteryear, shunning Women’s Day celebrations is the marketing ploy of this year.
And lost in all these ploys is the true essence of Women’s Day: where we dedicate a day in our calendars to thank women for being a part of our lives, wishing each other all success in years to come. It’s no different from Labour Day, Mothers’ Day, Fathers’ Day, or Teachers’ Day. Or even Children’s Day.
Women’s Day is yet another of those social days where we take a moment to appreciate women. Nothing’s wrong with that. What’s wrong, though, is what the biggest brands of our capitalist world have transformed this day into. Gender disparity at work and home is a common issue. Just like teachers being respected less over scientists. Just like child abuse, or less-than-minimum wages.
We seldom make a marketing blast connecting low wages with Labour Day. Or child labour with Children’s Day (thought that’s becoming a trend now). Or abortions with Mothers’ Day.
But Women’s Day has been beaten to death, and somewhere along the way, the sincere thought of appreciation is lost forever.
“Hey, you! Get your head inside, and listen to the class.”
His geology teacher bellowed, making David jump out of his reverie. He had been peeping through the window, staring at the moon’s reflection in the puddle outside his night school.
He faced her, still quite lost in his thoughts. The teacher’s half-moon spectacles gleamed under the dim light and he thought her face shone as bright as the Sirius A.
But her charm wasn’t enough to attract him to geology. His mind swayed higher above the ground, his soul soaring the skies. His deepest desires lay in the stars.
I’m reading “Tribes, We need you to lead us,” by Seth Godin. And I’m impressed with the way he’s written his text. It’s easy to read, full of matter, and so much inspiration.
And yet, there’s no excitement. At least not for me.
I’m surprised I didn’t realise this sooner, but every book I read for pleasure has a unique style and writing sense. And every book I read for knowledge lacks that element in every syllable.
Seth Godin’s book is great. I breezed through page after page without ever having to stop for a moment to appreciate the beatuty of his weaving — because there was none. His book is worth quoting, sure, but only for what he says; not for how he says it.
Then I understood why text books never get the appreciation they deserve. Who’d read a book that’s full of facts void of facets? But every school teacher insists on reading those textbooks, and likewise, every manager insists on reading “how-to-best-do” books.
The former will help get more marks and the latter, more strategies, and therefore, more money.
And yet neither of these make us skip a heartbeat, keeping us in mild excitement throughout the length of the book. These are more like medicines; a necessary evil. They communicate, but they don’t make us appreciate the art of communication. They convince because the name on the cover is already an established authority. No one questions it, no one contradicts it.
A lot of people I know who don’t like reading say so because they’ve never read anything apart from their school textbooks. No wonder they hate reading. If I had to read only titles that read “Ways to leverage your writing potential,” but have zero writing potential in them, I’d hate reading too.
But when reading for pleasure, everyone contradicts the author. Every reader, novice or expert, has an opinion to cast at the story. And that’s why writers adopt the more proven way of persuading readers. They makes us fall in love with what they have to say. Every sentence, every word choice is so deliberate that it sparks a myriad of emotions in us.
This brings me back to textbooks. If knowledge-intensive, preach-oriented books are interesting enough, perhaps more of us would enjoy reading. Perhaps then, we’d be happy to learn from what we read.
What do you think? Have you read instruction pieces with enjoyable narratives?
The Chaos Within 