Not all violence is physical

 

 

One morning I woke up from a distressing dream. I had some marks on my face like camouflage paint, that despite rubbing and washing, were not coming off. I had to go out with family and they said, “you cant go out looking like that?”

“I have no choice, but to go” I replied.

That’s when I woke up , still contemplating about the dream. I have never had tattoos (Scars? yes. Body art ?no !) I snuggled with my warm cup of tea, looking at the swirling smoke over the cup creating a haze, which somehow always makes me think clearly. During that moment of “Chai Nirvana” it occurred, not all violence is physical. The marks on my face represented the emotional wounds.

As women, we stand up for women who suffer domestic violence and violence outside in society. As humans we stand against any physical violence whether to man ,woman or child… even the four legged & winged friends.

We often ignore and undermine the non-physical violence.

The three common forms of non-physical violence 99% of humanity has suffered from are Complaint, Criticism and Comparison.

When your spouse is constantly complaining to you about everything at home, at work, and in life; As though everything wrong in the world is your fault? Most often complains are projected at the receiver like guns charged with bullets of blame.

From house being disorganized, to late bill payments, misplaced objects, to food not made to suit someone’s high palette, dirty laundry, to unruly kids, travel plans not going as imagined, monthly budget gone astray because of unexpected expenses, maid miseries, issues with his/her family? Trust me you cannot be everything rolled into one- an organizer, personal assistant, butler, chef, financial planner, HR department, travel agent and in-house psychiatrist… oh ! lest I forget Mary Poppins too!

Unfortunately, in light of complains, we strive to be everything and land up being just a beaten down version of wonder-woman/superman. Yes, we all have super-powers. Please accept that you are superhuman because unlike the movie, real life is not scripted. You are playing your part to the best of your abilities in any given circumstances. Just like the superheroines/superheroes in movies, you are dealing with unimaginable situations using your wits and having faith.

Complains are little invisible stones thrown at you. They scar your soul, leaving a wounded individual. Except that the wounds are not seen by naked eyes.

Now , second form of violence is criticism. Like advice, it is dispensed freely. We criticize everyone as though we are qualified to do so- the rare jack of all and master of all too!

It appears most humans have Honorary Doctorate in criticism from the school of life!

The next time someone criticizes you for not doing your work well, ask them “ do you really think you can do it better? Then go ahead, do it!” Criticism is perfect imagination sans action. It’s someone being king of cloud cuckoo land.

Of course there is constructive criticism, but that’s rare like common sense.

Lastly, we mortals have found a way to self-torture ourselves by just using our mind. This method is called Comparison. It is one of the worst forms of emotional abuse that we all are subjected to. However this one is often self-inflicted in most adults. Even though as parents we keep comparing our children with their peers and increasing pressure on them, we seldom remember how terrible we felt when compared to our classmates and siblings? Comparison lowers self-esteem , but what it also does is crush the spirit and shrink the infinite ability we have to dream and achieve.

We compare our situation with those appearing better-off in anyway, our looks with the apparent modelesque friend, we keep comparing our income, our lifestyle , our success, our appearances, our family, our opportunities!

If only you could swap life with another, you will face a set of bigger challenges. Would you all like to be a successful businessman who was kicked out of his own company, gathered fortitude to succeed, touch lives but died of cancer? Will you be willing to workout like the fit buddy in gym or a farmer who toils at the field everyday? Is there an ideal family with no friction? Is the prada wearing, botox filled, chauffer driven lady as happy as her appearances, or she has a well of tears in her heart and laden with insecurities?

Does any job have a boss who let’s you work on your own terms and never criticizes you? Does any business have customers who won’t complain?

If every comparison was a permanent tattoo on your body, then imagine what you would look like? You would be a big piece of art screaming “I’m not good enough” . Yes, the camouflage paints from the dream that won’t wash off.

Recognize these abuses in daily life. Accept that complains, comparison and criticism exists, in us and around us. Accept them for what they are–a form of violence.

Finally, let go of it, because not all violence is physical, but the non-physical violence leaves deeper wounds.

Do not receive it, do not give it.

 

1st image source : John Hain (www.pixabay.com)

Saree story – Pre and Post GST

This Diwali season, my sister and I enjoyed going through (read as rummaging) our mother’s saree collection; we wore a couple of her sarees for festive evenings.

On last day of Diwali, I wore a Banarasi saree, which is over 35 years old and has been my favourite since childhood. The fragrance of real zari, along with the gleam and occasional dullness (when left unpolished for years, tucked away in dark corners of a box) are all part of the saree stories that live in crevices of memory.

As I took out this favourite red and green Banarasi saree to wear , I was amazed by the weight of this pure zari elegance. I looked at it in awe, as I reminisced my mother wearing it during pujas at home. The floodgates of involuntary memories opened and I remembered how beautiful my grandmother looked in her sarees — mostly crisp cottons for school , since she was a vice-principle. For all other occasions like pujas and weddings, Nani wore silk sarees. My great-grandmother, who I have little recollection of, was also a saree-lady. She was a teacher in pre-independence India in 1930s, a time when less than 3% Indian women were educated.( as per census, the female literacy rate was 1.8% in 1921 and 2.9 % in 1931 )

 

 

My mother also followed in the graceful “saree” footsteps and the glorious “education” footsteps (though she is a business woman ). Even today she wears saree when she steps out for work whether an office visit or factory. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and hence education and saree are both important to me too. Though the credit also goes to my father for always encouraging us to chose elegance and intelligence over everything else.

The one fact that my great-grandmother, Nani, mother, & I also shared until earlier this year was, we didn’t have to pay taxes on our sarees. A beautiful fact that was common for generations of women, tax-free Indian wear. My “Grands” definitely departed an India which was free of “saree-tax”. Perhaps, strong laws cannot stand strong women, and they lived through times when Independence for Country and women empowerment was more important than burdening them with taxes. I wonder if My grandmother and great-grandmother would have agreed to paying taxes (GST) on saree? I doubt they would succumb to such tax regimes.

My saree collection is divided into two eras- pre-GST and post-GST.

For working hard wasn’t good enough, nor was taking the time to keep our ethnic wear spirit alive. We must pay 12% taxes on that too.

Taxes are important for Nation-building and with evolving times, taxes evolve too. However, the rates and range of taxes imposed can surely be reconsidered to offer some relief.

Does pseudo-faith supersede humanity?

We returned on Sunday 27th august, since Monday is school day. In evening the rumour mills started about schools being closed on Monday. ( since the deraviolence might spread more after the quantum of punishment is announced on 28th August ). .
A late night tweet put speculations to rest as schools remain open. On Monday morning the watsapp messages kept increasing, mostly parents who were asking each other if they were sending their kids to school? In one class 16/ 20 were bunking school. In another 12/20 would bunk. Then other friends, from other schools all over Delhi, were both contemplating and deciding in the same sentence as to not send the kids to school.

The mass bunking had begun.
Fear crept in and had taken form of inaction in action.
The last time I remembered something like this was more than 2 decades ago when a certain place of worship was demolished. Fear then , fear now. The common denominator is always a pseudo-faith that supersede humanity.
A shaken belief in government and administration reminded us how vulnerable we are in the hands of those who are to protect us? How unsafe we feel when small sects of blind-faith erupt like volcanoes.
Dera verdict is victory of the silent victims against a greater established organisation well funded with muscle, money and masses. .
Sometimes the truth echoes greater than the noise of violent mobs.
Faith is a beautiful emotion as long as its put in the right place.
Peace out~ Prachi .