An unpopular opinion

There seems a willingness to say on Facebook, twitter and other social media, things we could never say in front of other people. I can understand that – I often feel more comfortable writing something I want to share than saying it. However, the relative sense of security that this indirect method of communication fosters also results in some questionable shares and posts. More than once in the last couple of months, I have debated removing someone who posted something I found deeply objectionable. Honestly — I don’t mind people having a different perspective than me – it makes life much more interesting. But when one shares a post, I have to assume that one shares, likes or agrees with the views in that post. And when a post supports, condones or implies bigotry, sexism, racism or narrow-mindedness, I do begin to question whether I want to be associated as a “friend” with the ones who post or share it.

Today I was stunned when I saw a post that seemed to support Hitler’s act of annihilating Jews – a post I assume was somehow in protest of the ongoing attack of Gaza by Israeli forces. My immediate thought was : Wait – WHAT?? How can someone justify sharing this? Yes, there are terrible, brutal and inhuman things happening in that region – but if you look deeper, you know they have been perpetuated by both sides, and even third parties – as almost always happens in a war or armed conflict. Yes, I understand that as a muslim, you feel solidarity with Palestinians. However – there is no way – NO WAY whatsoever – that the systematic murder of millions of people that was the Holocaust – one of the most shameful events in human history – can be considered as justified. Even implying it shows a lack of respect for life that I am stunned, shocked and saddened by. The conflict in Palestine and Israel is sad and terrible, I agree, and I empathize with the millions of people who live in a land torn by war for decades – both Israelis and Palestinians. But the conflict is as much or more about land, and power, and borders and a deeply entrenched history of conflict and mistrust as it is about religion. And truly, even if it were about religion alone, implying support for genocide is unspeakably inhuman.

Topics like religion, politics, nationalism, gay rights, immigration and so on seem to be deeply polarizing forces that somehow bring out the lack of tolerance, compassion and even simple human respect – in largely normal people. Nearly every major religion – Judaism, Islam, Christianity, Hinduism – has a trail of blood in its history. Many countries have histories of armed conflicts where terrible acts were perpetuated in wars. There have been wars, murders, brutal treatment, discrimination and suppression in the name of race, color, religion, nationality, caste, gender, political affiliation, sexual orientation and many other reasons all over the world. And here’s my take on it. There is NO good reason to kill, harm or treat as less than equal, another human being. An eye for an eye, a life for a life, an act of terror in retaliation for another act of terror– this will only get us to blind, dead and destroyed communities – and our capability to destroy ourselves is increasing rapidly with technology. We are all complicit in the long list of wars, genocides, brutalities and discrimination in human history, and there are more ongoing. We all inherit the past and the present of the human race as a whole, and as long as we do not learn from it about the vicious cycle of violence, we will keep repeating it in our future.

We are all different, we hold different views and beliefs, have been through different life experiences, have been born in different cultures, religions, races and countries and have different histories, preferences and ideas. We live in an incredibly complex and connected world with increasingly intricate and interlinked histories. It’s easy to find reasons that divide us if we look for it – but what if we instead looked to find reasons to connect and empathize, to build, to share, to learn and to forgive?

To Dad…

When I was about 16, I found my “baby book” in my dad’s cupboard – a little book that had a record of nearly everything from when I was born till I was in grade 4! It details my being born, who came to see me as a baby, when I grew my teeth, when I crawled, when I walked, my best friends – and though the book itself had ended after the first year, my dad had scribbled on the edges, and at the back and kept recording the events and people in my life. To me, it was probably the one thing that proved to me how deeply my dad cared about every tiny little thing in my life.

My dad was always incessantly asking me questions when I was a kid (rather than the other way round!!)… I remember that when I came back from school, he would keep asking about my day, my teachers, my friends, my friend’s parents, their other friends, my classwork, my classmates and the things we had done. I remember being somewhat annoyed at the continuous questioning… usually the questions went on until I had to tell him that I simply did not know… He loved that I was a bookworm and usually let me buy all the books I wanted – and occasionally, he bought books for me, some of which helped evolve my taste for classics and literature, and shaped a good bit of who I am. He loved that I wrote, even when I wrote stuff so long and boring that he fell asleep reading it. He would tell me to participate in everything that was going on at school — even stuff like extempore speech– which I was really terrible at – and I am not exaggerating! (My one attempt at extempore speech had me walk up to the mic, say the customary “Respected Principal, Teachers and my dear friends” and then stare at the audience wordlessly for a few seconds wondering what the heck I was supposed to say, before saying – “Thank you” and getting outta’ there). I wrote essays, sang songs, acted in dramas, danced, recited, created wall magazines, drew, painted and quizzed my way through my school life. (I did balk at athletics though– at which I sucked so much that even “terrible” is an understatement – but my brother more than made up for that – football, cricket, tennis – he did them all – but that, of course, is another post altogether!). Growing up in a country like Saudi Arabia, I probably had more fun at school than many girls in much less restrictive environments, because my dad taught me early to make use of every opportunity to try something, even if I did not win it, because it was an interesting experience. I also learned to deal with competition without expecting to win every time! – a lesson that’s pretty useful when I met the “real” world.

I remember my dad calling a family conference when I was six – which was of course, me, my younger brother and Mom. He told us gravely that he had been offered a position in a different city and he wanted our opinion on whether he should take it. He explained that it was a better position, but that my brother and I would have to change schools, and so would miss our friends and teachers. I thought about it and said OK (I think!). This was my dad – he always made us feel like we were part of the family decision-making process, that we had a choice and could share our opinions. I was rarely arbitrarily asked to do something. It was explained to me why he believed it was what I should do, and left up to me to decide – and he was usually good at accepting when I made a different decision as well.

He had me start to travel alone from Saudi to India and back from when I was ten– which, at the time, meant I would fly to Mumbai, go through immigration, customs etc., take the shuttle to the domestic airport and catch the connecting flight to Calicut – and sometimes even get the ’pre-paid’ cab to my home. While I am sure he had his friends check on me at every point on the way – for me, the fact that I could do this small thing alone helped me believe much more in what I could potentially do. As a girl, instead of over-protecting me, my dad gave me opportunities to stand and do things on my own, manage situations and make my own decisions from when I was young. I have made some pretty bad ones, and some pretty good ones, but it is unbelievably empowering to me that I made them – not anyone else. It made all the difference in the world because I always knew I was no helpless victim.

I get a lot of things from my dad, some good, some maybe not so good 🙂 – my love and interest for trying different cuisines, for debate and discussions, of tea, of family, of ghazals and song lyrics, of politics and world events, my respect for and interest in education – and also my dislike for crowds, my introverted nature, my dislike for financial risk-taking, my small and intimate set of friends… I could probably go on for hours. I also get an intensely emotional nature from him. I can guarantee you that my dad got teary-eyed every single time my brother or I stepped on stage or won something, no matter how innocuous the occasion. And I confess – I am as bad or worse – I get teary eyed about six times a day – with everything from news to cute internet videos! And while I might not advertise that and may blink it away blaming dust or eye strain or some such thing – I actually do like that about myself. I feel and care deeply about things, and the ability to care, to be passionate, to be so invested in life, to experience it so fully – is an amazing gift.

Fathers’ day this year happens to fall on my dad’s birthday. I am rather far away — I could send him flowers, or have him go out to dinner, or gift him something. But I know he would like this more than anything I buy for him. I think it’s about time that I thanked him for being the wonderful dad that he is – I can honestly say that I owe a lot of my successes to my parents, and to their wisdom in the things they taught me – and many of my failures to not learning that well enough! I know I could probably have been a much better daughter, but there is really no way my dad could have been a better father.

Happy Birthday, Daddy- and Happy Father’s day! There is no one who deserves to be celebrated more…!

[P.S. – Mom, I owe you one of these as well :). You’re no less amazing, but it is Father’s day ;)]

Random Thoughts – On Social Cruelty

Do you remember the odd girl or boy everyone used to make fun of when you were at school or on the playground? Maybe he was a little fat, or she was shy and awkward. Or maybe they were different in some other way: loved books instead of sports, or spoke with a stammer or wore thick glasses. Everyone would remember some social pariah, or class dunce:  the butt of all the jokes and sly remarks, the victim of every silly prank that made everyone else laugh, the one everyone would try to avoid sitting near at lunch, or being stuck with in the group.

How many of those people did we reach out to and talk to as they tried to make themselves invisible to avoid the hurt? How many did we comfort, or stick up for when the rest ganged up against them? How many of those people who considered us a friend did we let down, by succumbing to peer pressure and joining the prank being planned to tease them? How many have we had a hand in hurting instead of helping? Have we ever stopped to think whether they deserved it?

I know that most of us are capable of great kindness, but we are also capable of great cruelty, sometimes with no real intention of being cruel. Too often, I think we let our better instincts be subdued by the need to just fit in.  Sometimes, we fear becoming the victims by association, or being thought preachy or odd or goody-goody.  Sometimes we just want to have fun, but too late, we see that the fun is at the expense of someone’s pain or embarrassment.  I don’t know all the reasons, but I think there is much social cruelty that is needless, directed against someone who is a square peg pushed by the system into a round hole, and trying to make the best of it. Is “cruelty” too harsh a term for it? I don’t think so, for the pain of being victimized, even in the mildest way, is not trivial.

Hidden among those may have been some wonderful, smart and talented people whom we never got a chance to know or befriend.  Perhaps the loss was ours rather than theirs. And in the end, it does not matter what other people think of us: it’s what we know of the best and the worst in us that matters.  What do you know about yourself, and are you proud of all of it?