From a staunch spinster, to letting off myself in love

Two years since I am married.

I remember when I was 26, a beautiful young woman was addressing friends and saying how at 25, she thought she was past her "shelf life" because she wasn't married! Horror! I felt as if somebody just punched me on my face. Shelf life of a woman?

Years later, I married. At 30. Without pressure. Without gold. Without dowry. To the man I wanted. With joyous parents.

If you are not a malayalee, you might not understand my emphasis on gold. But if you are an Indian, you would understand my emphasis on dowry or expected love tokens. Or well, the lack of both of them, at my wedding. A choice I made. A choice my then-to-be-husband made. Actually, a decision both of us had taken years before - during our respective formative years. Invincible convictions.

From my wedding, which broke conventions as we danced to Pharrel Williams "Happy" (a friend's idea)- to a marriage, which has made me smile, cringe, laugh and cry. Not me alone. Us. Both of us, in equal measures.

From a young spinster, who said "I don't want to get married" ... to a woman at 30, who told parents, "I want to marry him" ... to a woman whose heart still skips a beat at her husband's smile. It's been a short journey, or so it feels. As if everything went by in fast forward mode.

To my parents credit, not once did they make me feel being spinster is life half lived. And allowed me the privilege of walking into marriage - as my own choice.

And as I wallow in my marriage - it's in a very unconventional manner. Either he is travelling, or I am travelling or we both are travelling together. People ask us how do we manage time with each other? We both look amazed at this question. No, actually, pleased at ourselves. Because, we've made every minute count and pulled all strings to spend time and days with each other. Many times, keeping to just ourselves, away from others, who also mean a lot to us.

Again. My point. As we celebrate our wedding anniversary - for me it's a celebration of what Abraham is. And what he has been to me.

As we complete two years, I realise a wrong decision, could have snuffed the life out of me. But this right one, has fueled more passion.

The two years of our marriage, is also about our parents. Rock solid. Loving. Giving. Strong. Patient. Understanding. And, forgiving.

But foremost, our marriage has been about Christ.
A personal walk of faith which has kept us together, holding each other's hand sometimes, and pushing the other at other times.

Love. I know what it feels like. More, as each day passes by.

Happy Anniversary, to us.

A 'brat' turns teacher, at the age of 7

So I ask the child studying in 3rd class in an aided school at the outskirts of Hyderabad, "What did you draw today?"
Mohammad replies," A house"
"But what does that have to do with global handwashing day?", I ask curiously.
"Nothing"
"Then, why did you draw it?"
"I dont know how to draw anything else."

We all laugh. He was laughing the loudest. Some smiled.
Just to ensure that he had a 'decent' response to give, I tell him..."Okay, when I ask you this question... say this- we are suppose to keep our house clean and wash our  hands well every time we clean it up."

So, I ask him again... "Why did you draw a house?"
He said loudly...boldly..."I don't know how to draw anything else."

And, that's when my duplicity hit me hard. Really hard.

I was twisting this young mind's honest, confident initial response, into a manipulated lie to make him look "intelligible" for the sake of a story...

So, I smile... after apologising to him... I ask again, "So now onwards, after you have participated in this awareness campaign, do you think you will wash your hands often?

"I never used to wash my hands regularly, he sheepishly admitted, but I will start washing regularly now onwards."

I was stumped. Such honesty when other children around him have been claiming throughout the day that they wash their hands 5-6 times a day?

I give him an eclair and ask him if he knows why he is getting one?

"Yes, for talking on camera."

"No", I respond quickly. "You are getting this because you spoke only and only the truth in front of the camera.  He giggled... and wasted no time in popping up that eclair into his mouth.

The interview was over, I had more than enough for the story I was supposed to deliver.
But I got another story...a story that a 7-year-old taught a 30-year-old.

It's a boy! It's a girl!...And a slice of life lived in between these cycles

“I would love to have a daughter, of course much later”, I told this to Abraham as I was getting ready for a dinner with him.

“I want a son”, he said.

I looked at him. I smiled. A kind of a smile that only he can interpret as being a frown, waiting for him to explain.

Abraham continued, “I actually don’t mind either… but I just said that because of your remark, though I am not surprised that you said it, Sneha. C’mon … a child is a child… why bracket them into genders already”?  Of course, our discussion continued.

I tried to defend myself. Though I didn’t agree with ‘everything’ that Abraham had to say, I realised…in this case I was wrong. And, he had understood my bias, even before I had. I remember ending the discussion by saying, “true, both are treasures.” Incidentally, we had one of our best Chinese meals together that night.

 Two months down the line…

I was enjoying a lovely Kerala meal with few friends from old and a teacher. We were catching up with life and future plans.

Just when I was digging into my fish curry, rassam and rice…my teacher tells me, “Oh you've only seen my first daughter. I have a second child too.”

He smiles at the others sitting and declares with a laughter, “My second child is a son, so all further production has stopped.”

 Something happened to me. My heart ached. I looked at his face.

We all were enjoying our food. It was evident from the occasional silence.

Nearly after 2 minutes, I asked him… “Sir, did you just say all further production has stopped because you’ve had a son?” He laughed. Didn’t say anything. Others chuckled too.

 My mind immediately went back to the conversation I had with Abraham… And I told myself, “You can’t blame me for what I said that day, Abraham.”

Though I knew, my response in my mind to Abraham, was again knee-jerk, but then what I experienced on the table with my old friends…is also a reality, even an urban reality.

 Just 2 weeks later…

I was returning from Kannur to Thiruvananthapuram after a story on the gruesome drama behind political murders.

As I neared Kozhikode, I get a call from Delhi office asking me if I could get reactions from schools in Kerala on what they think about the Prime Minister’s speech on Teachers' day.

 I visited two schools in the rural outskirts. In one of the schools, I was interacting with girls and boys from 11^th and 12^th  classes. After we finished our programme, our real interaction started as they hounded me. I was there for 15 minutes listening to their questions.

 They wanted to know how did I become a journalist? What did I study? Where were my parents? Did I study in government schools or private schools? Do I travel all over Kerala for stories?

But very soon, there was a shift in the nature of their questions. Are you married? What does your husband do? Is he ok with your job? Did you know him before marriage? Do you fight because of your jobs? Does he support you? Did he ask you to quit this job before he married you? My answers were straight, in a yes or a no... sometimes a sentence of 10 words for a question.

 My heart sank. These girls were already preparing themselves. They had so much of energy oozing out of them. When one of them told me, she wanted to be like me, I knew what she meant. She wanted opportunities to live her life. She had dreams but she already had seen the challenges around her, from her own loved ones. Few of them were trying to see their future with the reality of my existence. At least with what they saw. As another one said, she wanted a husband like Abraham, it didn't take much for me to understand what that meant either.

They wanted me to sing for them as I was leaving. Most of the students there were muslims. I asked them if I could a sing a song from the bible which my parents used to sing over me.

As they said a yes, I sang over them a song of blessing, with a choked voice. A song that used to be sung over me when I was their age.

In those 15 minutes, it was more than a television story that we shared space for. We shared each others lives.

A reporter and a rape survivor, smile together

I was new to reporting. And, this was the first time I was meeting a girl who had been raped. Or, was she? I hadn't heard well of her. Except, from 2-3 people.

After a 3-hour drive, I reached her home.
Her smile was beautiful and persistent, as we conversed about various issues.

And then I saw her smile change. Subdued, tight lipped. Within minutes I saw her eyes swell up with tears, which she was adamant of holding back. By now, I had begun talking about the rape incident.

I quickly changed the topic. I asked her about her work. She smiled. She said, the regional media had earlier shown her minimally blurred visuals on television. "People in office know I have been raped. They had recognised me on TV. They don't talk to me, they only make comments. I go to work, eat my tiffin by myself, catch a bus and return home."

What is the thing you look forward to? I asked. She looked down. After few minutes said, "I want to live a normal life. I want to see my parents, my sister, smile."

I looked at her, intently and asked "do you remember what had happened to you?"

Yes, she said. "I can't forget that. It's my body. There were several men. I was tied several times. I was taken to so many places... for 40 days. I used to be tired and would sleep during the journey because I wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise. I used to be in pain".

"Our child was infected. She couldn't sit, nor stand for days after she managed to return. She was abandoned in a bus after nothing more of her was left." Her mother was crying as she spoke to me. I have never seen her smile. Her mother was crying. Her father was old and worried.

She was raped when she was 16, in 1996. 34 people convicted by the trial court were acquitted by the High Court in 2005. The court had asked, "why didn't she run away."?

I too asked her that question.
She smiled.She was pained.
Where would I run away? How would I run away? I was a child. I was raped so many times.

I remember talking to her. I was evaluating her mental responses, her body language, her communication.
I was sure she was raped. Her conversation, her reactions still bear the brunt.

I remember wondering, "how can someone not trust what she is saying. She lives the horror story."

My story had a become a headline and an exclusive with her interview. I had deliberately kept out PJ Kurien's angle from my story for that day. The Supreme Court had had taken note of my story since Sonia Singh had decided to play up the story at prime time television. Within days, Supreme Court directed the High Court to re-examine the case.The case was reopened. I experienced the power of media, first hand for the first time. I was amazed, and thrilled..She and her family were happy too.

This Friday, on 4th April 2014, the High Court reiterated what I thought. "There is no reason to disbelieve the survivor's statements." the judge said.

24 accused were convicted after 18 years.

But, will we allow her to live a normal life?

I spoke to her yesterday. I could sense her smile over the phone as she said, " I am happy." We both were smiling.

One of her lawyers, was a step ahead of both of us. Anila, was chuckling. 

Men are not Messiahs. Don’t raise them up to be.

I remember this was one of those rare evenings when I was really dressed up. I was wearing a green saree, a little make up, loads of bangles. I was not alone. There were a group of 4 young girls with me. In our early 20s, we were all dressed up. We had just finished dancing our hearts out at the ‘sangeet’ ceremony of a very dear friend, whom we considered as an elder sister. As we finished, one of the girls offered to drive us to the home where we all were meant to stay. So we bid our goodbyes and moved towards the car. I stood there admiring the girl who was maneuvering a tough reverse, but with super ability. And just as we all made ourselves comfortable in the car, an aunty from church who is very dear to us, pushes a boy into the car. We hear her shout, “its past 11pm, you girls cannot go alone”. I scowled within myself but smiled outwardly. I did not want to create a scene. I wasn’t that upset over her for saying we girls couldn’t go by ourselves. I could live with that, but I couldn’t come to terms with her source of comfort- a young teenager meant to protect 4 girls in their early twenties!

So I looked at this boy, our protector, our shield. He was 16-years-old. He was thin, his jeans just about managed to cling on to its place. I looked at him closely, again. And I looked at our group of girls. I wondered, if something was to go wrong, what would this young boy be able to do? I felt humiliated as a girl, not by the innocent teenager but by the ‘apparent wisdom’ of a woman in her 40s.

Over the years, as I have revisited this incident again and again in my head, my answer still remains the same. ‘Nothing significant’. That teenager would have been able to do nothing that we girls wouldn’t be able to do.

What troubles me is the fact, many a times a sense of security that the presence of a man brings to a woman is, misplaced. But families, institutions and even the churches (since I am a church-goer) only seem to reinforce this sense of misplaced security.

As I write, it’s not the men I have in mind. It’s the women.
The mothers, the sisters, the daughters, the female friends who time and again have through thoughts, words and gestures bruised, scarred and stunted the self-image of young girls, instilling in them a sense of inadequacy and fear.

True, the times that we live in are very troublesome, worrisome et al.
But do we women even want to be able to provide our girls with an atmosphere where they can grow up to believe that they are capable of ensuring their own safety? I ask this, because off late I don’t see that as a concern anymore among our women folks. And that is where the danger lies.

Let me at this point clarify, I don’t think that women are better than men, or that we all are self-contained. But I do believe as men and women we have been wired in certain ways that complement each other. Sadly, we have allowed tradition to distort what God intended to be a brilliant masterpiece of inter-dependence. And we seem to be not only ‘comfortably numb’ with all the distortions but even their propagators.

Over the past few years, I have heard men in influential positions and women, stand up and say that girls should know how to make boys their brothers. They claim that such women will always find boys/men protecting them in their time of need. I stand horrified and appalled at such advices for more reasons than one.


To begin with, every relationship is beautiful and the boundaries need to be respected. For few of us, (I wish I could say many of us) a brother is a brother, a friend is a friend and an acquaintance is just an acquaintance. Each of them has their place in our lives. Women, need to know, that we don’t need a brother made out of many men to protect us. Every woman is responsible and capable of protecting herself, just the way a man knows.

Relatively speaking, a woman might be physically weaker than her male counterpart. But how often do you see these days a man rising in his shining armour, conquering his opponents with his aerial stunts and sword to protect a woman? I haven’t seen this happen in my life till now but I still will concede that I know many could and would do so. But how many of them would succeed? Within 1 year itself, we’ve had 2 infamous rape cases out in the limelight, where the male companions were helpless witnesses and targets of cruelty. Just like the women, they too were not to be blamed. But the guilt that at least one of the men has been struggling with is that he failed in protecting the woman. God has blessed each of us human beings with all the faculties required to avoid, foresee or even deal with any situation. Can we allow that to be nurtured even as we continue to help each other out?

If only, we could liberate our men from burdens that they are not meant to carry alone, by equipping and enabling our women. By changing our psyche.

Interestingly, for the church goers like me, the bible says, when God punished the Serpent, Adam and Eve- one of the things pronounced on the woman was, “Your desire will be for your husband and he will rule over you”.

Sadly, how many of us are living under that very judgment despite being given the freedom of restoration. We worship God claiming to do so in spirit and truth, but our minds are shallow, gripped by traditions that still hinder a woman from growing into all that she can. So how then is that a true worship?

But before I conclude, I have many trustworthy male companions, just like many trustworthy women in my life. And recently, I was bailed out of a tight spot by my male friend. After a meeting that got over around 9:30 pm, I was stranded without a car, cab or auto. He drove nearly 90 kms to and fro, out of his way to drop me back home because he was my friend. Not someone responsible for my safety alone. I remember thanking him and actually being filled with gratitude. But I also know this, whether he was there or not, I was responsible for my safety and I had my back up options clearly laid out in my head. Most importantly, even as we both drove to my home that night, where my parents were waiting, I know this for sure that through the lonely stretches on the road he was as unsafe as I was and we both were aware of the threats. I should have planned my return in a more prudent manner, something my parents have always trained me in. With better planning, I could have ensured that he and I felt safer.

I have always loved Jesus in the Bible because he has liberated, restored, stuck to the truth and created a new culture, questioning the traditions where it was required. I am hoping that we church-goers would emulate the same, embrace freedom that equips and enables. And, that we women all around would help each other in living our lives.

As I travel and meet people from various regions and strata, my heart's desire is that we would be seen first as human beings, and only after that as men or women - so that we together can bring out the humanness within us.