Beige

We voice for equal treatment of men and women, then why do women have separate seats in the bus, or a separate compartment in a train? Learn why.

“Hello? Hello?” the announcement goes. “Can you hear me?” A man’s voice thunders, followed by the customary screech of the mike. I shut my ears, even then the hairs on my hand stand up.

“The Seventh TechoBell All-day Hackathon has finally come to an end,” the voice booms into the mike. “This event wouldn’t have been a success without you. Thank you. Thank you for your overwhelming enthusiasm.” An unenthusiastic applause follows on cue. “I know you all must be excited to know the winners of the event. However the judges are in a fix. They say they want to award each team as a winner. Ha ha ha!” But nobody in the audience humoured him and so he goes on, “What say? Shall we give them an hour, to make up their mind? All righty then, we’ll be back with the results in an hour. Thank you all for your patience!”

A loud grumble breaks out in the room.

“Another hour?” Shikha whines, sitting next to me. “I think this is it. This is how I’m gonna die – out of curiosity.”

“Shikha!” Suchi laughs.

“And I’ll be dying of exhaustion,” I complain, slouching in my chair. “They were supposed to finish this half an hour back. And now they want us to wait till 10 o’clock! We are here since 8:30 yesterday morning. Arghhh!” I grind my teeth and recline further in my seat.

“Ladies!” Venkat greets, as he walks towards the table where Suchi, Shikha and I sit. Taking off an imaginary hat, he bows low in salutation.

“Hey Venkat,” I respond dull, with my chin rested on both my arms.

“Wow. Such enthusiasm and energy, Debbie,” he replies in mock surprise.

“You think this is low in energy? You should have seen her before breakfast,” Shikha teases.

“Uh well, you don’t expect anyone to be brimming with energy after making them code for 24 hours straight!” I defend.

Techobell All-Day Hackathon, which in my opinion should be named as All-Day and All-Night Hackathon, is a 24-hour coding challenge organized by the company. This maybe their seventh year, but it was our first. So naturally, we were all very excited – excited about coding, excited about staying all night at office, excited about the free meals, excited about the dorm they had arranged for us to take a nap, anytime we want. But the excitement lasted only for half that time. Twelve hours later, the food was bland, the bed stank, my fingers ached and I wanted to go home. Right now, all I want is to have a relaxing bath in my bathroom and to crash on to my bed wearing my pyjamas – which tattered maybe, but very soft against the skin.

“So anyway,” I say, interrupting their laughter and preventing them from ganging up on me, “How did your review go?”

“Fantastic.” He finger guns.

“Of course,” Shikha mutters under her breath and rolls her eyes, when Venkat is looking the other way. Then, in a louder voice, she asks impatiently. “So did you hear anything about the winners?”

Venkat’s best friend Dharmik is in the organizing committee. Which means any news from the judges panel would have reached Venkat’s ears by now.

“Well, I did talk to Dharmik before coming here. He said the judges’ marks haven’t been tallied yet. So nothing can be said about the winners. However this should be no cause of concern to you girls. You are the only women’s team in this category. So they’ll have to name you a winner.”

Wait, we are the only women’s team? I look around the room. There were around thirty teams of three members each, but I see no women. Funny I never noticed that before. And what was with ‘they’ll have to name us a winner’? I see the same question on Suchi and Shikha’s faces as well.

Paying no heed to the expression on our faces, Venkat pushes aside the sheets of paper, on which we had scribbled the designs and algorithms for our app, and hoists himself on the table. Stretching his arms and back, he exclaims, “I’m so tired. My back hurts.”

My bums hurt! From sitting on this chair for 24 hours. I want to leave.

“I want to leave!” Suchi mirrors my thought, only louder.

“Then, let’s!” I jump on my feet, fetching my bag.

Shikha and Suchi look at me in disbelief.

“Don’t you want to know if we won?” Shikha asks.

“Yes, I do. Venkat will text us.”

“Ha ha,” Venkat mocks. “I won’t.”

I am already stuffing my items back into my bag.

Looking at me, Shikha and Suchi stand up too.

“You guys are serious?” Venkat looks at us in shock.

“Bye Venkat!” We say in unison.

***

“Hey, did it bug any of you that we are the only women’s team?” Shikha asks, just as we exit the room.

“Yes! Thank you,” I reply, “for bringing that up. I hadn’t even noticed it until Venkat said so. Why didn’t Shivani come? She’s the best coder the company’s got!”

“How will she? She has a kid to take care of. She HAS to go back home,” Suchi explains.

“And Manisha?” I question.

“Her parents, you know,” she states it as a fact. Manisha’s parents are strictly orthodox, there’s no question of her staying all night away from home.

“How did we make it, guys?” I ask, puzzled.

“That’s easy,” Shikha answers. “Because we don’t live with our parents, and my mom thinks All-Day Hackathon means All-Daytime Hackathon.”

“And my mom,” Suchi adds, “doesn’t even know I’m at this contest. She just called me a while back to see if I got ready for work.”

We laugh. The kind of laugh you give out to make yourself feel better.

***

We come to the crowded lobby. The crowd is bigger than usual and the worse part was it is entering while we are exiting. It’s like swimming against the current, they keep pushing you backward.

Suddenly recalling, I ask, “Taruna was supposed to come, wasn’t she? I know for certain she registered. I had helped her in registering.”

“I don’t know,” shrugs Shikha. “She was supposed to come. I think she was with…. Keerthan and that guy from Testing?”

“Yes, Keerthan and That Testing Guy,” confirms Suchi.

“What was his name?” Shikha ponders.

Suchi goes, “Divyan? No, no. Dinesh? Nope. Deepak? No, Parthak? Nah..”

While they were busy figuring out That Testing Guy’s name, I take out my phone and type out:

    Hi Taruna, I didn’t see you at the hackathon. Are you fine?

I hit send and look up. There, standing just few feet away from us was Keerthan!

“Hey Keerthan!” I call out.

At 6′ 3”, Keerthan stands tall making it easier for anyone to spot him. And also at 6′ 3”, he has the best vantage point. He finds us right away.

“Hi Debbie,” he waves, making his way towards us.

“How did your review go?” I ask.

“It was terrible,” he responds, shaking his head vehemently. “Taruna ditched us at the last minute. So it was a… it was a complete mess.”

Suchi and Shikha begin speaking at the same time.

Suchi: “Why did she not turn up?”

Shikha: “So who were your team mates then?”

The difference was: Suchi asked concerned and Shikha asked feigning concern.

I’m pretty sure Shikha only wanted to know the name of That Testing Guy.

“Answering your question,” he points at Shikha. “One was a fresher, you don’t know him. His name is Ashok. And other is that Testing guy, you know of. The one who sits diagonal to me? Him.”

And so forever in our minds, his name shall be etched as That Testing Guy.

I look at Shikha and find her grimacing in tragic disappointment. I silently chuckle.

“Now coming to your question,” he turns to Suchi and pauses.

“I don’t know!” he shouts in frustration. “I don’t know why she said she’ll come if she doesn’t have her mind in it. I simply don’t know. She is never interested in these. Come, work and leave – was always her policy. We were a fool to have taken her in our team.”

“Whoa! Somebody is much grouchier than Debbie,” Shikha butts in to ease the tension.

“You don’t get it, Shikha,” Keerthan answers rather gloomily, “While we stay up late every night for the past week, she goes home on time and sitting in the comfort of her home, shoots out directions to us. Never should I have relied on her. Lesson learnt!”

“Chill, Keerthan. It’s just a contest,” I allay his vexation.

Someone waves at Keerthan from far and he waves back.

“Easy for you to say. You are the only women’s team, you are definitely winning,” saying this, he takes leave, jogging in the direction of the guy who waved at him.

I’m a strong, modern woman. I do not have to put up with this, I remind myself.

But he has already left!

Why do people say that? You spend a month and a half preparing for this contest. No, we never have the luxury to stay out late. So we dash home and connect on Hangout. We worked our asses off. Hey, but what do we get the credit for? Not for the effort we put in, but the Y Chromosome we are missing.

***

We reach the main entrance. Bidding goodbye to Shikha at the bus stop, Suchi and I make our way to the metro station. In about two minutes, a train arrives. A crowded train brimming with the office-goers. I don’t even have to peep into the Ladies compartment to find if it’s packed, it’s definitely packed.

“Suchi, should we get into the General compartment?” I point to a not-so-crowded compartment filled with only men.

Suchi takes a long look at the compartment, shakes her head and decides she’ll still prefer the packed Ladies compartment. So we get into it, or should we say the boarding crowd pushes us into it!

To save us from getting crushed by the crowd, we move away from the door.

“I hope you didn’t mind getting into this compartment, Debbie.”

“What?” I exclaim. “Of course not!”

“It’s just,” she pauses. “It’s just I never liked being in the Men’s compartment, you know.”

“I know,” I say understandably. “I don’t like it either.”

“Yeah,” she sighs and looks far into the distance.

“The stench of sweat from men… Ugh!” I joke.

She smiles. “Yes, the stench.”

And so, we blame it on the stench. That many compartments in a train. But only a handful is reserved for women. It’s not that women can’t get into the General compartments, but who in their right mind would?

“I can’t stop staring at your bag,” Suchi declares, interrupting my chain of thoughts.

“What? Oh yes! It’s really cool, isn’t it?”

“It really is! The colour, the texture. I’m definitely going to that store this weekend.”

And with that, we begin a discussion more socially tolerable.

After alighting at Cubbon Park station, I finally catch the bus home. Since it was 9 AM, the bus was crowded too. But who cares? Twenty more minutes and then home-sweet-home!

I stand wedged between an obese woman and an old frail woman. I try not complaining and instead chant ‘home-sweet-home, home-sweet-home’.

“Hey, love your bag,” a girl sitting down on a seat says.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “Clearance sale at Shoppers Stop. You should check out.”

“Oh, thanks! I will,” she replies gratefully.

“I’m getting down at the next stop. Do you want the seat?” she offers.

I had only four more stops, so instead I tell the old woman to take the seat.

Ah! With the old woman seated, I can now stand conformably I think. Just as I think, that happens.

A sense of foreboding comes over immediately. No, no, no, that can’t be that. I try to wriggle myself far from the man behind me. But I see him inching closer. The conductor whistles out a warning to the passengers about the upcoming stop. I get hopeful, thinking he’ll get down there. The bus slows down as the driver applies the brake. The passengers are thrust forward, though mildly. Shit! The man, taking this opportunity, moves further closer to me. NO! I scream inside my head. I can feel him against my behind, very distinctly now. But all I do is purse my lips and scream inside my head.

I’m a strong, modern woman. I do not have to put up with this, I remind myself for the second time that day.

Yet do nothing. I can yell at him, I can draw people’s attention to him, I can kick him in the nuts. But I do nothing. I stand there, eyes shut and lips pursed, silently praying it stops, he stops.

The man uses my silence to his advantage and pleasures himself in front of a crowd. Not being able to tolerate any longer, I elbow him. One, to cause him pain and two to ensure there’s at least half an arm’s distance between him and me. That stopped him, but only for a while. He’s pushing my arm aside and edging closer. And I can feel it again. As a final way out, I tug on the shoulder strap adjustor of my bag and lengthen the straps. The bag falls lower now, coming right in between me and him.

The bag’s my shield now. My beige Baggit mini-backpack.

***

For what seemed much longer than twenty minutes, I brave the bus ride. The moment the bus lurches to a halt at my stop, I nudge him one final time with all my might and get down the bus hastily. I rush home. Taking two steps at once, I dash across the stairways to reach my second floor apartment. It took me 30 seconds to steady my shaky hands and be able to turn the key in. Once inside, I head to the bathroom, turn on the shower and stand underneath it, not even bothering to take my clothes off.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still under the shower. I had cleaned vigorously with the body scrub, so vigorous that it had left red patches on my skin. I had shampooed twice, I had cleaned even the back of my ears; and yet I don’t feel clean. I feel dirty, I feel like trash. Not wanting to finish the water in the tank, lest the landlady finds another opportunity to quarrel again, I step out of the shower and dry myself with the towel.

I put on my tattered, but soft pajamas and clamber onto my bed. I slide the blanket over me and lay there for a few minutes. An hour ago, how I wished for a bath and a bed. Here I am having had a bath and lying on my bed and somehow this wasn’t what I wished for.

I reach out for the phone on the table beside me. I had two messages.

One from Taruna :

Sry yaar Debbie.. My bro thinks its unsafe for women to stay out all night. I rlly tried persuading but he dint agree.. I feel so bad for cancelling at the last min. 😦 Hope the guys did a grt job even without me!! 🙂 🙂 How was yours?

Other from Venkat:

Hey Debbie! You came second. Told ya, you are the only women’s team. The HR had to award you. Anyway congrats. 🙂 🙂 🙂

Somehow the second message makes up for all the likes of the first message every woman receives in her life.

Why the title ‘beige’?

Beige is a pretty common colour. But ask a man what beige is, and he probably wouldn’t know. Ask a woman what beige is, and there’s no way she wouldn’t know. Such is beige. Much like feminism, women empowerment, girl power, female friendship, female bond etc.

Like how Debbie’s beige bag comes to her rescue as she shields herself from the harasser, female bond and friendship shields women from patriarchy.

Yellow

We’ve seen enough movies to know what it is like to be in the girl’s shoe when she breaks the news of her man to her father. Ever wondered what it’s like to be in the father’s shoe? Read on.

The room is waiting in bated breath. Two pairs of eyes are on me, wondering what my response would be.
Sadhana’s last sentence still hangs in the air.
“Appa, there is this guy…”
My daughter likes some guy. She likes some guy. Some guy.

It was a slow Saturday. First weekend of the month. The newspaper guy came to collect the bills, the electricity guy took the readings… The weekend was like any other – starting off with the initial excitement of the weekend until the boredom ebbs away any leftover excitement – until the dinner.

“Appa, there is this guy,” she said at the dinner table.
Latha looks at her daughter as if she has gone crazy. And then at me.
Just because I am the man of the house, do I have to say something? Did I have something to say?

“I want to meet him. Tomorrow.”

Latha looks at me startled. Two people in this house has gone crazy.
I get up from my seat, leaving my dinner half-eaten and retire to the bed.

I’m lying on the bed, listening to the sounds of the table being cleared up, the dishes being washed, muffled conversations between mother and daughter.
After an hour, Latha comes into the room and slides next to me under the blanket.
After a couple of minutes, she breaks the silence. “Are you awake?”
“Hmm.”
“Are you really going to meet him tomorrow?”
“Hmm.”
Another couple of minutes of silence.
“What about Pradeep?” She hisses. “His parents keep calling us. What answer do we give them?”
“I’m only meeting the guy, Latha. I haven’t committed to anything.”
“Hmm okay,” she resigns.
And silence again.

Pradeep is a great guy. He is an IIM graduate working in an MNC in Bangalore. He’s from a good family. He can keep Sadhana happy. If only I can make Sadhana see that too.
This Loafer she says she loves – we know nothing about him.

***

The next day, Latha and I are at the market buying the month’s grocery.
“Are you serious?” She’s arguing with the apple seller. “Last time I bought the same for 75 Rupees a kg.”
“75 rupees? When was the last time you shopped? 1947?” The shopkeeper scoffs.
“Huh! Look at his audacity!” She complains.
As a dutiful husband, I should be jumping in her defence. But trust me, she wouldn’t want that. Even if I did, she would tell me to stay out.
After 2 minutes, she walks out the stall, carrying the apples that she bought for 75 rupees.

“What’s the time now?” She asks.
“Almost 12,” I reply without even checking my watch.
“Hmm… one, two,” she mutters as she counts mentally. “Four hours until you meet him,” she declares.
I say nothing.
“What do you think you’ll talk?” She prods.
That was a topic that had to start.
“I will ask him about himself.”
“Hmm… that’s a good start. You can find out about his job, what his parents do…” and she goes on and on.

The vegetable market is always crowded on Sundays, and I hate coming here on crowded days. But Latha insists it is cheaper and better on Sundays and drags me here against my will. Dodging the bikes and the auto rickshaws, I try to get us safely out of here. The walkable path is wide enough for only one person, so I let her go in the front and I follow her, carrying all the bags. This makes it easier for me to not lose her when she gets in and out of those stalls to buy something without any warning.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s still rambling on. I couldn’t get her to shut up. She speaks and I listen – that’s how our marriage has been working for 27 years, why would it be any different today?
Zoosh…
An auto whizzes past her, almost brushing the pallu of her saree. I leap up and pull her away. In the attempt, an orange from my brimming bags slipped out and rolled on the pathway.
“Offo! Look what you did. You lost a perfectly good orange,” she whines. “No problem though. So I was saying, he should be from a respectable family too. See if you can find out their caste… Not that we care about it, but what would others say…”

Ada!
My heart is still racing from the dreadful fear for her safety a moment ago and this woman is blithely yammering, completely forgetting the world around her.

***

“Is he coming?” I finally ask, after checking my watch for the tenth time.
“He is on his way.”
“Why is he late?”
“No, Appa, he isn’t late,” Sadhana replies. “We are early.” She smiles trying to decimate the tension between us since last night. Albeit fruitlessly.

We are waiting at a table for four in a cafe.
“Appa,” Sadhana nudges. “That’s him.”
The Loafer walks in and quickly scans the crowd. As his eyes meet my daughter’s, he beams and then as he notices me, he puts on a brisk, more focused look and greets me in a manner a salesman who knocks on your door does – seeming very eager to make a good impression, but you know you are going to close the door on him anyway.

“Hello sir,” he puts forth his hand.
Reluctantly, I stand and shake his hand.
“I’m Vijay. Finally nice to meet the person Sadhana adores so much.”

I do a quick glance over. Pradeep, from what I saw in a photo of him standing beside his yellow Chevrolet car, looked smarter. And he, the Loafer, is wearing sports shoes – which is yellow.
Pradeep – 1; Loafer – 0
He draws the seat opposite mine.
“So sir,” he begins. “I wanted to thank you for meeting me-”
“Shall we order first?” I interrupt.
“Of course, sir. Of course,” he shakes his head smiling understandably. He then calls out in a voice not loud, “Waiter!”

A waiter hurries our way. He asks us our order.
Vijay looks at me. I clear my throat and read aloud from the menu, “One Classic Filter Coffee, please.”
“Sure sir,” he says scribbling into his notepad and turning to Loafer, “And sir, what would you like?”
“I’ll have a latte,” he lets the waiter know and turns to Sadhana, “Mocha as usual, right?”
She happily nods a yes.
“All right then. So that will be all,” he informs the waiter, smiling.

Vijay looks at me, unsure if he should now start the conversation or not. He looks at Sadhana, hoping to get help.
“So Vijay,” I help him instead, not wanting to see him look at my daughter’s eyes.
“Yes sir.” He sits straight, alert.
“So let’s discuss what we came here for. Sadhana told us about you yesterday and I-”
“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter, who took our order, comes over. “The Filter Coffee isn’t available. We are so sorry. Would you like something else?”
What? I wanted the filter coffee.
“But I always have that here,” I grumble and look into the menu. I always choose the Classic Filter Coffee, though I make a pretense of reading from the menu. So now, I’m actually reading the menu. I hate this.
“Sir, you could try Cafe Americano,” Vijay offers. “We can get milk on the side too. That’s really good here.”
“Okay.”
After the waiter leaves, I complain, “I always have the Classic Filter Coffee here.”
“Ah! Sadhana always has the same coffee too. Now I know where she gets her stubbornness from,” Vijay jokes.
He thinks I’m stubborn?
“Oh no, sir,” he says as if reading my mind. “I didn’t mean that. I was just joking.”
It wasn’t funny, I answer him in my head. Go, read that!

“So where have you done your MBA? I ask him, cutting through straight.
He looks startled and exchanges glances with Sadhana. “I haven’t, sir.”

What? No MBA. Pradeep did his MBA in IIM, Bangalore. Pradeep – 2; Loafer – 0

“How much do you earn?” I ask in quick succession.
“Appa,” Sadhana exclaims admonishingly.
“My monthly salary,” Vijay answers, “is sixty two thousand, sir.”

That’s all? Pradeep earns 1.6 Lakhs a month. Pradeep – 3; Loafer – 0

The waiter brings out order. And so momentarily, we are silent. While laying down the coffee, he gets sloppy and the coffee gets spilled slightly. A drop of coffee stains Vijay’s sleeve.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir,” the waiter apologized and hands him a tissue paper.
“That’s okay,” Vijay replies. He takes the tissue from the waiter and dabs on the sleeve. Yet an unmissable brown spot still remained. “It will wash off,” he says reassuringly to the fidgeting waiter.

Idiot. Coffee stains do not get washed off.

***

After half an hour of investigation, I scored Pradeep 12 and Vijay is still at zero. The answer was very clear. So now all I need is to go home and make Sadhana understand that.
“Shall we leave now?” I say, finishing the last remains of my delicious coffee.
Sadhana and Vijay look stunned. But I ignore their reactions and gesture to the nearest waiter for the bill.

“But appa,” Sadhana protests. “You didn’t let him speak.”
What is she she saying? I let him speak. He answered all the questions that I asked. What more does he have to speak.
“Sir,” Vijay begins. “I know I do not earn a lot, or own a house or a car, but I know I can keep Sadhana happy.”
“And how do you know that?” I ask with my hands crossed, fervently hoping he doesn’t say something sappy like ‘I love her’ or ‘Love is selfless’ or in those lines.
“Because that makes me happy,” he shoots back, without a moment’s hesitation.
I was taken aback by the sincerity of the tone in which he delivered. But I wasn’t going to let him fool me with his play of words.
“Son, even I know what keeps her happy. I’ve known that for 26 years now,” I reply. “That’s the reason why I have come here today to meet you. And if you think in 3 years, you know what makes her happy, you could be wrong.”
“Appa!” Sadhana protests.
“Sadhana, I know what’s best for you. My conversation with him is over. We’ll talk the rest at home.”
“But Appa,” she still protests.
“Sadhu, it’s okay,” Vijay silences her.

Sadhu? He has a nickname for my daughter?? How dare he! Loafer – MINUS ONE!

My phone rings. It’s Latha. She’s never been the one to be patient.
“Is it Amma?” Sadhana asks me.
“Hmm…” I say with half a mind to reject the call. We just stepped outside the cafe.
“Appa, talk to Amma. If you want, I’ll wait there,” she informs and taking Vijay with her, she moves away and stands at the parking lot.
“So did you meet him?” She asks the moment I accept the call.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And you’ll know about it when I reach home.”
“Yes or no?” She pushes.
I look at Sadhana and Vijay. Sadhana was facing Vijay, with her back towards me. She’s talking to Vijay excitedly, gesticulating a lot. Vijay, leaning his back on a parked bike and his hands crossed, is listening intently to her.
“He’s nothing compared to Pradeep,” I tell into my phone. “He earns less than half of Pradeep, he is not very qualified… I don’t understand what Sadhana sees in him. He’s absolutely useless.”
Vroom vroooooooom…
A bike speeds past Sadhana.
No no no!!!
I panic. Before I could react, before I could run to her and pull her to safety, I see Vijay drawing her away protectively, in the nick of time. My pounding heart relaxes. I can see Vijay calls after the biker in anger and then puts a protective arm around Sadhana. Sadhana, oblivious to all this around her, continues her conversation with renewed excitement. Vijay looks at me, puts his hand on his heart and gives me a reassuring nod – a nod that spoke volumes about how much he cared for her, about how much I needn’t worry about her when I know he’s there, all because she makes him happy.

I come to my senses. I had forgotten to breathe and I inhale faster but shallower. I had dropped my phone when I almost started towards Sadhana, with parental instinct kicking in. I pick that up and wipe it against the sleeve of my shirt.
“Hello? Hello?” Latha is screaming from the other end.
“Haan Latha.”
“What happened? You are fine, right?” Her voice is filled with apprehension.
“Yeah, yeah. I dropped the phone by mistake.”
“Oh.” I hear her let out a sigh.
“Okay, so,” she continues. “He isn’t the right guy for Sadhana then?”
“What?!” I hear myself exclaim. “He’ll make the best husband for our Sadhana.”
Pradeep – 12; Vijay – 100

Why the title ‘yellow’?

Because father’s love shines brightly like the sun. And of course, to put emphasis on Pradeep’s yellow Chevrolet and Vijay’s yellow sports shoes!