The Cookie Thief

This time while at home, I chanced to see a movie that boasted of ten different stories. While some were better written-off, one, which starred Shabana Azmi – a bastion of Bollywood, was clearly outstanding.

Even after the ten-minute story was over, I couldn’t help but mull over that staunch Brahmin lady, who seems intent on perpetuating the caste-system, but who, in a chance encounter with Naseerudin Shah, another Bollywood veteran, in a station canteen, comes out with a change of heart. A discussion with TOOMA ensued, and he also expressed his assent that the subject was sensitively portrayed. Coming from him, that's the highest praise one can marshal.

The simple story found the right note with me, and I couldn’t help but notice its uncanny similarity with a poem I had read many years back. A poem which, somewhere along the line, makes us wonder if the assumptions we had made, were correct in the first place. And that there is indeed something right about so-called benefit of doubt Below, I reproduce the poem for you, just in case you haven’t read it. It’s by Valerie Cox.

The Cookie Thief

A woman was waiting at an airport one night,
With several long hours before her flight.
She hunted for a book in the airport shops.
Bought a bag of cookies and found a place to drop.

She was engrossed in her book but happened to see,
That the man sitting beside her, as bold as could be.
Grabbed a cookie or two from the bag in between,
Which she tried to ignore to avoid a scene.

So she munched the cookies and watched the clock,
As the gutsy cookie thief diminished her stock.
She was getting more irritated as the minutes ticked by,
Thinking, “If I wasn’t so nice, I would blacken his eye.”

With each cookie she took, he took one too,
When only one was left, she wondered what he would do.
With a smile on his face, and a nervous laugh,
He took the last cookie and broke it in half.

He offered her half, as he ate the other,
She snatched it from him and thought… oooh, brother.
This guy has some nerve and he’s also rude,
Why he didn’t even show any gratitude!

She had never known when she had been so galled,
And sighed with relief when her flight was called.
She gathered her belongings and headed to the gate,
Refusing to look back at the thieving ingrate.

She boarded the plane, and sank in her seat,
Then she sought her book, which was almost complete.
As she reached in her baggage, she gasped with surprise,
There was her bag of cookies, in front of her eyes.

If mine are here, she moaned in despair,
The others were his, and he tried to share.
Too late to apologize, she realized with grief,
That she was the rude one, the ingrate, the thief.

How many times in our lives,
have we absolutely known
that something was a certain way,
only to discover later that
what we believed to be true … was not?

Get a Bear Hug...

With the frenetic speed with which technology is dashing, is it any surprise that textiles were to be left behind?

After smart phones, flameless candles, flame and heat-resistant microwave mitts, biometric fingerprint keypad locks, video doorphone systems, the latest to join the bandwagon are hug shirts.

And pray, what are those, you might ask.

Sample this:

Scenario (A) – A lone soldier, stationed at a glacial base, last met his wife seven months back. Although he is grateful that his trusty mobile enables him to chat with wifey dear off and on, the physical warmth of a hug is sorely missed. Enter the Hug Shirt. One text message, and our soldier is able to send a hug or a squeeze to his better half.

Cynics / skeptics may point out that the market for such a product is minimal, and that there is no substitute for the real thing; others like me, might argue that in a state like that of the soldier in question, the hug shirt could very well be like Manna from heaven, and more than a blessed relief.

Scenario (B) (And this may strike a chord with quite a few) – Your beloved is on foreign shores. And you would give anything to exchange that squeeze that you both adore. Your hug shirt proves handy here, and lo and behold, though you may not be able to hold him / her in that tight bear-hug, you do get more a physical sensation akin to a hug, which is so much better than one of those virtual hugs handed over e-mail by nauseously-pink teddy bears.

The novel technology is a brainchild of Francesca Rosella and Ryan Genz, co-founders of the 2004 established Interactive Design and Wearable Technology company – CuteCircuit.

The soft lycra shirt, which recreates the sensation of a hug over distance, has sensors capable of measuring the “strength of touch, skin warmth, and the heart rate of the sender. Actuators that are capable of recreating the sensation of touch and warmth are also embedded in the shirt. Both actuators and sensors are placed in a kind of “technology sandwich” which can be removed, making the shirt washable. During the testing of the shirts, major intensity points wer identified on upper arms, on the upper back part during a condolatory hug, around the waistline, neck, shoulders, and hips.”

Have I got you animated? These are all you need to send / receive hugs to / from your loved ones:
a) A Hug Shirt (but actually)
b) Bluetooth and Java-enabled mobile phone with a Hug Me” software running on it
c) A sender / recipient with the same equipment

I guess there might be a fair share of people out there, willing to spend for the Hug Shirt, due to be released mid-2007 (aren’t we almost there).

And no, it isn’t gonna be that expensive. Expect to shell out the same as you would for an iPod Nano:-)

See the podcast here.

An imperfect truth

Ironical, how we as women, pooh pooh the very idea of attractiveness thrust upon our reluctant faces (blame the wicked idiot box and all those commercials on air / the glossies / diva-esque Hollywood / Bollywood celebs), and yet, we try our best to conform to what is our ideal of perfection / winsomeness / attractiveness.

We agree that not every girl is cover girl material, a femme fatale, a vision, a knockout, or a looker.

We agree that God didn’t create equals. (Even Archer concurs.

And yet, we crib.

We gripe.

We grumble audibly.

About ourselves.

We are plump.

We are anorexic.

Our hair is too limp / dry / frizzy / curly / voluminous / sparse.

Our skin is too oily / dry / patchy.

We have wrinkles, crow’s feet, stretch marks, ungainly cellulite, blemishes.

Our legs are too long, too short, too thin, too flabby.

We slather lotions and potions from the Dead Sea to closer home, from the Shahnaz’s to the Blossom’s.

We burn holes in our pretty pockets.

Though not masochists, we give pain to ourselves – what else would you call those fortnightly visits to that uber-steep salon?

We powder. We preen. We paint.

And fight our imperfections almost on a daily basis.

A friend moans each time I meet her, always about the same thing – her zits refuse to go, despite her having tried every acne-diminishing cream available in the market.

Another will groan each time she comes even half a mile close to the weighing-scales, but reaches out for that tiramisu in a trice.

I’d groan too.

Each time I’d see my two scars.

Testimony to a naughty-childhood.

Except that, till some time back, I would whimper and call myself “Scarface,” much to my mom’s annoyance, and visible displeasure.

Now I understand their importance.

They may not be beautiful in my eyes still; but they aren’t ugly too.

And assert a past that I do not want to forget.

Three words – Acceptance. Overcoming. Survival.

The scriptures say, “Love thy neighbor.”

I’d say, “Start with yourself.”

Don't make excuses - stop domestic violence

With even economically-viable, educated women remaining tight-lipped over the issue of domestic violence, do you really expect those from the lower strata of society to fight for their rights and speak up against violence, in any form?
Add to that the stigma of being publicly ridiculed or scorned for daring to speak-up against their “pious” Pati-Parmeshwars and holier-than-thou live-in boyfriends, and trying to seek relief(unimaginable), and any woman would think twice before approaching authorities or women cell workers.
However, the upgraded Protection of Women from Domestic Violence Act intends to change all that, and has arrived—a solace in itself. The improved Law now also covers women who live in relationships outside marriage. These women, have the double whammy of being labeled "immoral," and daring to speak up against their boyfriends, who are foten considered to be benefactors. What Bull!
Though there has been a hue and cry by many “aggrieved” men about the unfairness of the Act, how it subliminally seems to promote live-in relationships, and how women could take advantage of their new, enhanced status, staunch women like Renuka Choudhary, Saumya Uma, Priya Dutt, Rajnitail Patil, and Sharda Sathe have vehemently pooh-poohed the male uproar. Their vigor has paid off—around six men have been put behind bars since the introduction of the Act on October, 26, 2006. No small achievement this.
The Act covers the three main kind of abuse – physical, sexual, and emotional (including verbal), and would probably make more women put their foot down (literally) on the abuse they may have put-up with for so long.
I don’t know about you, but I certainly feel this Act is a step in the right direction to women standing up and speaking against the abuse they face at the hands of the so called stronger, superior sex.
In a country where women and girls have special “kanjak” ceremonies, and are hailed as Devis and Shakti; on the other hand they have to deal with issues that have haunted them for ages—female foeticide, dowry deaths, marital rapes, sati, witch-hunting, and domestic violence.
The last one is being taken to task
May be, the others would also be taken to task soon...
I’m incorrigibly optimistic.