Seeking Perfection

 

“Are you a vegan?”, I asked a friend who is a great believer in leading a sustainable lifestyle.

“I call myself an imperfect vegan”, she replied before going on to explain how she had largely shifted to soymilk, but that she still occasionally consumed dairy products.

It obviously led to a much larger discussion on sustainability. On the carbon footprint of many food items which serve as substitute for dairy products. And on how soybean production may force farmers to shift from food crops to cash crops, and to clear more forest land for production.

It is not just about the crop. There is also the issue of the tetrapacks in which the soymilk is marketed; till they can go for recycling, the addition to landfills would have to be factored in before shifting to the alternative.

Towards the end of the discussion we concluded that perhaps the most effective way to turn vegan is to give up all milk products and milk substitutes, but that is not easy for most.

Therefore, we concluded, it was best to remain ‘imperfect vegans’. People who would like to embrace the vegan lifestyle, but who are not able to turn fully vegan just yet.

Which reminded me of another similar conversation that was initiated on Twitter a couple of weeks back- on how many of were ‘imperfect feminists’, because there are times when we consciously or unconsciously look away when some slightly ambiguous aspects of feminism crop up.

There are also the small and big compromises you make. The rituals you go through to maintain peace at home, even though you do not approve of it as a feminist. The toe ring or the loha-banda you may wear after marriage even though both have their symbolisation in women being treated as the property of her man. Doesn’t all this make you an imperfect feminist?

I held (and continue to hold) the contention that as long as we were committed to the general premise of personal, social, economic and political equity of the sexes, we are worthy of calling ourselves feminists. And as long as we are feminists, we shouldn’t worry too much about whether we were ‘perfect’ or not.

There are times, especially while discussing intersectional feminism, when we are forced to choose between two radically different viewpoints, and which we choose shouldn’t negate the fact that we are feminists.

There are many such examples, but an example that comes to mind is whether or not transfemales should use the washrooms meant for ladies. If they have had or in the process of having sex reversal surgery, certainly. But what if they have not initiated the process yet. Wouldn’t women who menstruate be uncomfortable with having someone who they consider a man using their washrooms? You can argue both ways, and it is this ambiguity which makes it difficult to define which position is more perfectly feminist.

During that same discussion, someone pointed out that ‘evolving feminist’ may be more descriptive than ‘imperfect feminist’. As long as we are open to listening to more viewpoints, and adopting from them what we need to, we are evolving rather than imperfect. That certainly made sense to me, and for a few days, I was tempted to start calling myself an evolving feminist.

Imperfectly Perfect

But the more I think about it, the more I realize that imperfection is not a flaw.

Imperfection is an acknowledgement that we are on the process of getting closer to perfection. It recognizes a journey, and gives due weightage to it.

Perfection, in that sense, is static. Once you decide you are ‘perfect’, you close yourself to exploring further nuance. You hammer your thought process down on others, without making any attempt to listen to theirs. Your way becomes the only way, and any further refinement is closed, because you cannot improve perfection.

Acknowledging imperfection is a sign of a maturity. Of accepting that we are not perfect and might never be perfect, but that at the current moment we are as perfect as we need to be.

Imperfectly perfect. That is what I aspire to be.

Learning during a pandemic

With nearly half the academic year over, and no sign of the pandemic letting up, the natural question that people have started asking is, ‘when should schools reopen?’

From the pandemic management standpoint, the answer is simple- not anytime soon.

But can the answer really be that simple?

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Despite restrictions on the activities that are allowed, the number of new cases is still going up every day. There is still very little awareness among the general public on how to adopt preventive practices.

At this stage, opening up schools can colleges can be calamitous.

When the first wave was over, schools and colleges reopened in some countries, but in almost all of them, they were forced to close down again after the number of people testing positive went up.

It is hard to keep the infection under control once schools and colleges reopen.

Maintaining physical distancing is hard given the space constraint. Even if you reopen with two batches and reduced hours, ensuring that the washrooms and common areas are kept sanitized is not an easy task.

Ensuring proper masking during the entire school hours is also not easy. Even if the mask is kept on, the danger of cross contamination is high, and students may not always know when to replace the old mask with a new one.

Students, teachers and staff would need to travel from home to school/ college which will put an additional burden on the public transport system.

The existing school transport may not be sufficient to accomodate students taking distancing into account.

Do we really need to worry about infections when students fall in a low risk category, one may ask. Low risk doesn’t mean no risk. And even if the students themselves are not at risk, they could carry the virus home and infect elderly relatives.

Reopening would expose teachers and staff to the virus, and many of them may choose to resign.

Reopening schools and colleges will be possible only after a proven, inexpensive vaccine is available, or if the virus mutates to become less virulent. Both these seem highly unlikely before the end of the academic year.

If we are looking at schools not reopening physically for a year, what does that imply for the students?

Studies have shown that a larger percentage of students from vulnerable communities have dropped out of the system.

One reason for this is because they do not have the technology to access online teaching. But the greater reason is that poverty and job loss is forcing families to get their adolescent daughters married and putting their sons to work.

Many of these students will not return.

Online classes is not an answer. Most students from low income households do not have access to a dedicated digital device, and even if they do, they do not have reliable internet connections. Going for online classes will only increase the divide between the marginalized and the rest.

The penetration of television is much higher, and the state governments can leverage on them to broadcast lessons. This too has a problem- frequent power cuts, and scheduling of lessons when there are multiple children per household need to be factored in. This could work.

However, is this the optimal utilization of the forced ‘gap year’?

One of the biggest failures of the education system is the huge gap in learning levels of students, both in literacy and numeracy. Many grade 7 students are stuck at level 2 competencies.

This academic year can be utilized for bridging the gap in learning levels. Curriculums exist which empower students to learn fundamentals of numeracy and literacy through self study. Volunteers can be engaged to assist where required. Paying an honourarium to the volunteers also helps generate livelihood.

If bridging learning levels is made the prime focus, the proposed objective can be to ensure that all students end the academic year with age appropriate literacy and numeracy skills.

Out of school children can learn outside school hours.

Any subjects taught through television would not be graded, and will only complement the basic objective.

With the pressure taken off the students, schools could also try to focus on their mental health. Already, studies are showing that students who were subject to bullying in school are now faring much better. This year can, therefore, be a great leveler.

Would there be any disadvantages to keeping physical schools closed for the academic year, and taking learning back to the home?

Yes, three.

Families where both parents work, and which don’t have adequate child care with suffer. There is no solution to this, except to mandate that work from home opportunities be provided for either parent. Alternately, children of such households can be allowed to spend the day in the school premises under minimal supervision and adequate distancing.

Lack of access to mid-day meals is the other concern. But in the current scenario, it would be impossible to cook and serve mid-day meals in any case. Increasing the ration provided to households is a possible solution.

In some states, the government school system was used to distribute menstrual hygiene products to adolescent girls. An alternate distribution channel has to be found for this and other such essential products.

The gap in learning levels is ignored because teachers have the course to cover. The pandemic has given a unique opportunity for students to bridge the learning gap, and for learning through self-study. If these two objectives are met, it might have served a useful purpose.

Let my country awake

Growing up in a mining colony in the 1970, your defining identity was that of an Indian. At home, we spoke different languages, worshipped different gods and celebrated different festivals, but outside, we were Indian. We spoke a mixture of English and Hindi, with assorted words from other languages thrown in. We landed up in each other’s houses without warning. We exchanged thalis of sweets and savouries during our festivals. And we often ended up celebrating different festivals with our friends.

“Hindu, Muslim, Sikh, Isai. Aapas mein hai bhai bhai”, was not just a slogan for us. We genuinely believed in it. From the folk dances that we took part in during various cultural programmes, to the sheer diversity of food each of our kitchens churned out, to the festivals that were celebrated in the community center. Everything was a living personification of “Unity in Diversity/ Unekta mein Ekta”.

As we grew older and moved away from the projects, we continued to see the country through our ‘Indian’ lenses. The food we ate, the movies we watched, even the people we dated; everything was cosmopolitan, secular, Indian. Our Indianness was our identity, and we viewed current affairs through our secular lens.

 

Long after the Babri Masjid was brought down. Long after Godhra and its aftermath. Long after the Hindutva ideology established itself in the political landscape of the country. Long after all that, I continued believing that it was only a fringe element that supported the divisionary politics that were tearing the fabric of the country.

It was only since 2014, and, more specifically, after 2019 that I started questioning whether the secular nation I thought I had grown up in actually existed or if it was merely something I imagine. On the eve of the Bhoomi Poojan of the Ram Mandir at Ayodhya,

I finally articulated what I had beenthinking for awhile- had the nation I loved ever existed, or had my image of a secular Indian just been a mirage?

My friends heard what I said and wrote in to tell me that they were happy I had articulated what they could never say. That they were mourning the secularism that they had grown up with but which no longer existed. “Thank you for saying this. If I said it nobody would have listened”, said three Muslim friends.

They had all grown up in colonies like the one I grew up in. Through their childhood and youth, they had never felt they were any different. So close was their belief in an Indian identity, some had even married non-Muslim men. Some of their closest friends were still Hindu, their families still went on holidays with Hindu families, and their children spent most of their waking hours with their Hindu friends. However, despite that, they could still sense the alienation. They recognized that things were no longer as they had been, and they missed those days.

It was heartbreaking to hear the words they left unsaid. These are the people who have lost most with the rise of fundamentalism. They had identified themselves as secular Indians, but were left bereft when that categorization was done away with.

But even in their heartbreak, I saw a glimmer of hope. They too were mourning a secular India that had once existed, but no longer did. But the fact that they felt the vacuum proved that the India I thought I grew up in had actually existed.

What never existed cannot be summoned, but what has been lost can certainly be reclaimed.

“Into that heaven of freedom, let my country awake.”

Not in my Name

December 6, 1992.
I was in the final year of college when karsevaks climbed the dome of the Babri Masjid and brought it down. I watched in shock and horror, but there was little else I could do.
The press condemned it, there were editorials written, but gradually it died down.
Everyone I knew condemned the demolition of the mosque, and I certainly believed that the people who had destroyed the structure were a fringe element.
What I didn't realise then was that the India I had grown up in was changing in ways I couldn't fathom.

A lot happened in the years since then.
Hindutva established itself as a mainstream political ideology. Vigilante crimes against Muslims got normalised. The Ayodhya case dragged on in the courts.
Through it all, I hoped that at least in the Court, justice would be done.

November 9, 2019
Like many others, I was following the judgement closely. I was shattered when the final ruling was read out.
It has been the last chance for the nation to apologise for a wrong committed, and the nation had chosen not to.

In the months after the Ayodhya verdict, the Muslim community has been targeted in many other ways. The 'otherisation' has been normalised. Nobody even bothers to put up a pretense of 'secularism' any more.
The India I thought I grew up in is no more.

August 5, 2020
In the numbness that follows grief, the Bhoomi Poojan of the Ram Mandir at Ayodhya is just one more nail in the already sealed coffin of secularism. I no longer even relate to it.
And yet, I will reiterate; the temple that comes up is not in my name.
#notinmyname

After you hear, “I’m positive”

“I'm positive.”

The two words all of us have hoped we will not have to hear.

The two words that my husband uttered when I least expected it.

He had been quite ill the previous week. But the symptoms were of a regular viral fever, not of COVID.

I was dismissive when his boss told him to get the PCR test done. I'd told everyone it was not COVID.

It couldn't be.

Yet, it was.

"Are you sure?", I asked running over the symptoms all over again.

"Yes".

For a few moments, everything went blank, then the brain kicked in. His temperature which had been really high was now under control. He'd had his first proper meal an hour back. He was getting better.

But what the kids and me?

Since none of us had worn space suits, we were all at risk. We had all handled the microwave, the fridge and the TV remote. Though he'd been confined to his room most of the previous week, I had spent the whole weekend with him.

It was a scary thought.

"I don't think we should tell the kids."

"Of course we need to." I'd always involved them in decisions concerning all of us.

They were surprisingly stoic- "Papa is better, isn't he?"

And had the facts - "We shouldn't panic. Most cases don't involve hospitalisation."

What we chose not to discuss was that I had been running fever for two days, and both of them had been coughing since morning.

I got in touch with a doctor friend who gave invaluable advice. "Assume that all of you are positive. Track the vitals and treat the symptoms."

Luckily I'd already bought an oxymeter, and we had an extra thermometer, so all I had to do was to create a google spreadsheet to track the vitals. The kids were given access to the sheet with strict orders to keep it updated if I wasn't well enough to do so.

ATM cards and credit cards with PINs were also given to the kids for safe keeping, though I am not sure why.

And with that began the official quarantine. Inform the apartment complex. Ask the househelp not to come. Tell people at work. Dodge questions from relatives.

I'd been in the middle of putting a presentation together when the report came. Finishing that, and making a pitch to a potential partner was an effort of will. But the distance it required also put things in perspective; you just had to take it a minute at a time.

"One day at a time", became the motto when our neighbours were acting obnoxious. Every mealtime, every load of laundry, every pile of dishes became monumental when none of you was feeling well.

Small things were difficult- like teaching the dog to pee on a pile of newspapers.

But we really couldn't complain, because while we were all slightly unwell, our symptoms were mild.

While the medical response in Hyderabad had virtually collapsed, thankfully we didn't need it.

And the only thing we hoped for was that we would continue to not need it.

Two days after the test result, my husband's temperature returned to normal, and he complained that the adrakwali chai had too much ginger.

The kids had both stopped coughing, and my younger one and I were on a regular dose of paracetamol to keep out temperature in check.

We were having Vitamin C and Zinc tablets, and ensuring adequate fluid intake. And we ignored all the people who suggested homeopathic remedies and HCQ.

Eating healthy was not always possible because we depended on Swiggy to provide one meal every day. We just did our best.

His symptoms had gone by the time the three of us got our tests done. And in the three days it took for the results to come, my symptoms had worsened.

Very strangely, all three of us tested negative; it is too much of a coincidence that we all fell ill with a different virus at the same time.

We continued to assume we were every combination of positive and negative.

We kept tracking our vitals.

We tried to be in different rooms, wore masks when we came near each other. We washed our hands before touching things others might later touch, and sanitised surfaces.

And we laughed often at the irony of SARS CoV 2 entering our home when we were all so careful about masking, sanitising and physical distancing in public.

Till I found an article saying that amount of exposure could determine severity of infection, which justified masking up.

Right now, I am the only one who's ill. Fever, body ache, lethargy. But even I am getting better every day. In three days the official quarantine will be over. We would be deemed recovered. Life can go back to what we called 'normalcy' before the virus entered our lives.

If I could summarise our experience, it would be just this-

- arm yourself with facts so you know what to expect

- home quarantine is physically stressful, but better for mild cases

- tracking oxygen saturation three times a day is critical so you aren't caught unawares

- find a doctor you can trust, and who doesn't mind you bugging him with stupid fears.

- worrying doesn't help, nor does overthinking; just take it one day at a time (and this was a tough one for me)

- smile; it is not always as bad as we fear it could be

We might go for an antibody test to find out whether we actually had COVID. Or we may not. Either way, it would be an academic exercise. Mild cases do not provide immunity for more than 60 days, so we will continue as we did before- wear masks, maintain physical distance and practice hand hygiene. And SMILE.

How do you react when someone in your Apartment tests positive

The way things are now going, it is only a matter of time before someone in your physical vicinity tests positive for COVID-19.

Rather than wait for the local authorities to lay down strategies after the results, it is best to prepare in advance.

Come up with a set of guidelines on the steps that would be taken, and get the buy-in of all the residents. When framing these strategies, make sure you also put yourself in the position of the household testing positive, and ensure their needs are covered.

Since there will be movement restrictions on all the people in the household where a person has tested positive, make sure enough thought is given to how they will have access to essential goods and services.

Procure any special products that may be needed in case a household needs to be sealed off.

Asking them to put out garbage in special bags meant for toxic waste will not be sufficient- the bags would have to be made available to them because they can't go out and get it.

If possible, run these guidelines through with those of the local municipality, to ensure they are aligned. This would ensure that quarantine measures can be put in place as early as possible.

All this should ideally be in place before the first case shows up.

Once the residents come to know that a person has tested positive, everyone shows concern and offers to help.

But vague offers are not very helpful. Especially in apartments where you don't really know your neighbours.

Be specific in what you can do to help.

"If you want something from the grocer, let me know", and "anytime you want chai, ask me or my kids", are two specific offers people have always taken me up on in the past.

(I know my limitations. If I attempt to feed them, I may end up poisoning them)

Food is a major concern in any house where there is a person/ persons self isolating. Household chores can be put off, but the family needs to eat.

If the residents in the apartment complex can get together and supply food, that would be an invaluable service.

Offering to make one trip per day to the grocer and/ or chemist is another tangible assistance that the residents can take turns in providing.

If there is a pet in the house, and you are willing, do offer to board the pet. That's one less hassle for the family to deal with

Also, do check in periodically. Ask about the patient. Ask about the other people in the house. Offer to help.

When the family is emotionally stressed, kindness does make a difference

If you think the household is violating the guidelines, be gentle in your tone when you remind them. They do not want to infect you any more than you want to be infected. Using an accusatory tone is not helpful in any way.

If there is an issue, talk it out and sort it out.

Always remember that today it is someone else, but tomorrow it could be you. Treat others like you would want to be treated. More importantly, when you test positive, a family that has already developed antibodies will be able to help you the most.

Make sure they will want to.

A slippery slope towards lawlessness

Seven months back, when the four people suspected of raping and killing Dr. Priyanka Reddy were killed in an encounter, many cheered. They thought the legal process was slow and and there is no guarantee that criminals will be punished. So rather than wait for justice to come, were happy that justice was delivered soon.

They wanted closure, and they got closure. But at what cost?

Vigilantism was normalised, by subverting the judicial process.

There are many crimes today that qualify as "rarest of rare". They are all heinous crimes. The criminals need to be punished. But due legal process has to be followed by the police and the judiciary. Evidence has to be collected, guilt has to be proved beyond any doubt, and the punishment should be as prescribed by law. If we think the process is slow, we should push for judicial reforms so the legal process is fast tracked in such cases.

But nothing can justify vigilantism.

The day we support one act of vigilantism, we forfeit the right to question other similar acts. And then we get on a slippery slope to lawlessness. We surrender all claims on any legal process.

Today, because you don't have the patience to wait for justice, you justify killing a rapist in an "encounter".

Tomorrow, the rapist's brother decides you are insulting him, and kills you.

The law cannot protect you, because you have neutralized the law by letting it be bypassed.

And who benefits when there is no law to protect?

The criminals.

The strongmen.

The people who have might.

Who loses?

The weak.

The marginalized.

The ones who require justice the most.

If you believe in justice, demand better laws and better implementation of existing laws.

Else, accept that you are partially responsible for all the crimes against the marginalized. Because you helped dismantle the laws that might have kept them safe.