Diversity Diaries (Down-ness of Diwali)

It’s Diwali, which means it’s time to hand out the yearly ‘bakshish,’ or bonus, for the lack of a better word. This bakshish is given to blue collared workers like house help (cleaners, cooks, drivers, baby sitters), the lift-men who sit in the elevators pushing buttons and the security personnel at building lobbies, whose job has now changed to accepting Amazon deliveries, for the office-going occupants. Then, there are those who mop and clean the building common areas and collect the garbage from homes. The list goes on.

These jobs do not provide benefits, other than the assurance of having a job. Hence, I too engage in the customary ritual of wishing each person ‘Happy Diwali’ and slipping in a note, while watching the smile on their faces, grow wider.

This practice in itself, is an ‘up – down’ phenomenon. I am giving from a space of privilege. Though, for some of them, especially the ladies, it’s more a matter of entitlement. They demand for bakshish. 

So, I look at the lady who is collecting the garbage, as she asks, ‘Madam, Diwali?’ I give her the note responding, ‘Happy Diwali.’ I do not shake her hand. She seems excited but also holds back from what would have been a natural hand-shake. 

What stopped me in my tracks, was the sight of the rubber glove on her right hand. While I can quote hygiene as an excuse, is it the only determining factor? I could have washed my hands later, if that were the case. 

This incident led me to realise that I may have unconsciously internalised 'untouchability' towards a certain section and profession in society. I was surprised. I questioned the logic of it. If I were in critical condition at a hospital, in need of blood or an organ transplant, it wouldn’t matter if the same lady volunteered as a donor. I wouldn’t care to turn her away and ask for another donor. Though, biases aren't really logical now, are they?

No different from us

As a young graduate, my world was still my college buddies. With our newly acquired power to earn, we’d hang out on weekends. Mostly, at restaurants like ‘Pop Tates’ or any place that served good food and had a soothing ambience. The requirement was that it would be a public place. Why public? Cos that’s where we’d look cool! This was way before the day of selfies and Instagram. If it wasn’t seen, it never happened.

When it came to food habits, we all relished the animal flesh on our plates. Of course, the quantity that we could stomach differed. The variety of species that we each could consume in one meal, differed too. I was no champion in comparison to my pals. Though, I did enjoy a moderate portion of dead flesh, every now and then. My favourite prey was dead hen and dead fish. So I can’t take pride in my predatory skills as the prey always arrived dead, skinned/scaled, chopped up or shredded, marinated and barbecued, steamed or sometimes fried.

‘Chicken,’ is what we call a dead hen. It has always been my ‘comfort food.’ Not very comforting for the hen though. Interestingly, we seem to have forgotten that ‘chicken’ is the word used to describe a hen’s baby. It’s almost like we make dead hen sound cute by referring to it as ‘chicken.’

I never had a pet. However, my friends had different kinds of pets. This qualified them as animal lovers. Yet, when we ordered, there would be different species of animal flesh in each course. I could never stomach this variety, too well. More importantly, I couldn’t stomach the fact that my friends loved and nurtured a certain species of animals, while they voraciously consumed other species.

It’s easier to see things in others than oneself. Finally, I realised that instead of bothering about them, I should be focused on myself. It took me nothing less than a decade to turn my lens inward. During this decade, various events and incidents had occurred. One of my sister’s became a vegetarian. She was always sensitive to the plight of animals being tortured or in pain. Later, our father switched to vegetarianism for health reasons. This led my mom to stop cooking animal flesh at home. This was something rather unheard of in our religious community. I wondered, when did one’s food habits start getting associated with religion? 

When someone known to us, changes their way of living, the act in itself, begins to question our way. It questions our sense of identity. We feel threatened. Some discomfort arises from seeing this change, even if it’s within another person. Even more, when it’s in an area that we know requires change but would rather not…often for our own comfort and convenience.

These events further led me to question the food habits I was raised with. I often wondered how I could feel sad for the animals that are caged and slaughtered and yet crave a chicken burger and also relish it. We have been raised to think that this is ok and acceptable. Animals do not share the same rights as humans. This obviously has been determined by humans. History is filled with stories about how we have fought for our own rights. The sacrifices made, the wars we have witnessed, the different kinds of rebellion and movements that have taken place. Yet we deny the same rights to other creatures, for our own convenience.

There is no real need to take a life, for a meal. We don’t go to restaurants or markets and look for a hen that we will slaughter and then slaughter it ourselves. Instead, we look at a creative name on a menu and tell the waiter to get us that preparation. When it arrives on our plate, at our table, it does not arrive screaming or teary-eyed or bleeding. It arrives in a manner that it’s easy to eat with a fork and knife or sometimes even as finger-food. Just imagine, an entire body sliced and diced as finger food, just for us.

This creature was manufactured and raised to be killed and served on our plates. No choice, no freedom, no escape. It can’t do a thing but go through the motions of a painful and unhealthy life that’s already been defined for it, by us.

Yes, we’re all responsible for this. We’re blindfolded by businesses that want to sell us their products. An animal, a creature is just an end product to them. I am responsible for this. While I struggle with the consequences of my food habits, even if I do go vegetarian, I will still end up consuming milk and other animal products. Even these are reasons for their enslavement.

The consciousness is shifting and we are waking up to these sensitivities. We co-exist with other creatures. But we no longer co-exist in peace. They are leading painful lives due to animal farming practices which are carried out on a large scale. Imagine standing in one spot all your life. It’s like a life long imprisonment. Now imagine standing in one spot all your life, right from the moment you were born. It’s like a life long imprisonment sentence being passed even before you are born.

We are compassionate. Not many of us would yield this kind of cruelty ourselves, nor wish for it on another being. Then why do we continue to wear our blinkers and act like this is not happening? Why do we continue to sit in our fancy houses, restaurants and pretend that this torture and cruelty doesn’t exist? Are we even aware? With so much of information explosion, why is information about animal cruelty not reaching us, as frequently as other trending topics? Businesses will run losses and even shut down if we were to wake up to a compassionate world and a healthier one for us. Commercial gain is not everything. Life is!

We have all felt the loss of a loved one. No amount of money or prayers have brought that life back. A life once gone, is lost. What justifies us to place a lower value on animal life? Can we not see a reflection of ourselves in their eyes? Can we not see the struggle of another creature that inhabits this planet? Another creature that is no different from us.

Chopsticks - a Netflix film review

I'm relieved to have watched some refreshingly original content, a Netflix film, 'Chopsticks.' While the movie is locally relatable, I'm struck by the characters it portrays. Each with their quirks and dualities only seem whole and real.

A girl from Aurangabad who makes a living as a tour guide in Mumbai, buys her first car. But she has trouble holding onto it. 'Nirma' played by Mithila Palkar, though naive, is determined to find her car, once it's stolen. While she indulges in confidence-building affirmations and harbours a nervous twitch in her fingers, she ultimately stands up to a gangster who even renowned thieves fear.

Her courage comes from a deep value and respect for life and relationships, over objects and possessions. Because of her name, Nirma is mocked at by various characters in the film. Not once does she laugh along just to fit in. Her identity remains rooted within her. 

Through the film she struggles to learn how to use chopsticks and is excitedly happy when she finally succeeds. Yet, at the close of the film she makes a bold statement by leading her Chinese tourists to savour their meal the Indian way, using their hands. Through this act she also asserts herself at the workplace where she was once asked to be more like her colleague, to be able to succeed.

The film starts with her negotiating with the car showroom Manager, telling him that she had specifically asked for a number plate that totals up to 9 and her car had one that totalled up to 11. She explains to him how 11 is an unlucky number, however still gives in and accepts the key from him. At the close of the film she refuses the chopsticks which also resemble a number 11. Thus, her transformation comes full circle.

The comfort and familiarity she builds with, 'Artist,' a conman played by Abhay Deol, stays where it is. Unlike the traditional script, it does not lead to sex, a relationship, marriage, betrayal or heartbreak. It remains purely as what it is - a transitional connect in life. Two people who journey together, learn about each other and themselves, in the process.

'Artist' is an expert at breaking locks and is passionate about cooking. A creative thinker and a recluse who decides to help the naive, Nirma. Similarly, 'Faiyaz' played by Vijay Raaz, is a gangster who dotes over his pet goat. He goes to the extent of slapping the cook for serving mutton to the guest at the goat's birthday party. 

The characters in the movie lead the audience to question their stereotypes. Can a gangster feel affectionate towards a goat and treat it like his child? Can a conman have a passion for cooking and aim to participate in a cooking competition on national television? Can a twenty-five year old girl from Aurangabad stand up to a gangster when she could barely stand up to the creepy internet guy, her colleagues and boss? Would one expect her to speak fluent Mandarin when she can't get most English words right? 

Conversations about diversity tend to lean towards what's out there. What about what's in here? Am I willing to accept the diverse dimensions of the human form? Of my own being? Would I rather spend my life trying to be some concept of who I think I should be?

Can I say no to the metaphorical chopsticks, roll up my sleeves and eat merrily with my hands? Can I be open to the diverse individuality of both myself and others? What a rainbow we are, in ourselves!