Workplaces and some men

Now that Tarun Tejpal’s sexual harassment is prompting women across the nation to share their own stories of workplace harassment, I want to share mine too. As incidents go, mine was minor. And I recall this incident not with horror, but with a chuckle and some disgust.

My first job. It was a young organization, still experimenting and finding its feet. The employees were like one big family – most of them had been there from scratch. They had been through training and all the nerve racking excitement of a new television channel. A few of us had joined later but had easily fit into the team.

Into this came a new news editor. A priest. A middle aged man with a way of looking at you over his glasses. It was a stare that was part sneer, part mocking, part creepy. Then he started pinching girls. When he looked through copies, he would call them over, question them, and invariably pinch them. The girls took to standing ridiculously far away from his desk, beyond the cubicle partition and such. But he would still get them to his side of the desk. Quite predictably, he picked only those he was sure wouldn’t protest.

And then he decided my turn had come.

He had this way of stealing up behind you and standing right against your chair to read over your shoulders. One such time, he found something to correct in my copy and put his hand out to pinch me. It was a quiet time in the newsroom and my voice cautioning the man rung out loud and clear. Even before I finished my sentence, the man had thrown his hands up in air and jumped back saying, “I didn’t do anything.” And all I had got to was, “Father, don’t”.

A little hell broke loose. The men wanted to know what was going on. The women figured what was going on. Soon I was with the editor, explaining what was happening. The pincher even got an anonymous phone call from someone claiming to be from the women’s commission. (If he had bothered to trace the number, it would have taken him to the office board numbers.) We all had a good laugh over it.

The man’s explanation was that he saw us all as children, and he was only trying to correct us. How professional, no? He also got a very apt new nickname. 

Now, while it seems all funny and worth a laugh, it there is the reality that the incident was not made official. The editor was sympathetic and appropriately enraged at the situation, but he did play it down, parroted the man's line of seeing us as kids, and at the same time agreeing it was unprofessional. In short, diplomatic and dismissive. Small things that add to certain attitudes.

Kathakali

My most favourite kathakali memories are from early childhood. The annual ulsavam at the local temple when we would go, late at night, to sit on sand and watch the grand tales be told in grander style. The smell of the temple -- oil from the lamps, earth, musty sandalwood, a suggestion of incense. Falling asleep from a combination of boredom and fatigue. At the age of 5 or 6, really, there is only so much that you can be interested in a performance that goes on for hours. Returning home at early dawn and being wide awake as soon as I hit the bed.

There was this one time when I woke up to see one of the kathi veshams running through the meagre audience, with a blood curdling scream. Fearsome it was; to me it was magnified by sleep as well. At once awe inspiring and scary.

My uncle always took me to watch the artistes preparing for the show. We often watched through windows as they got their faces painted. I remember watching in wonder as they went from mere mortals to gods. The room would have, neatly hung on the walls, the finery -- the mirrors and clothes. Crowns carefully in a corner. The mild smell of the colours.

Magical times those were.

And then a week ago, against the backdrop of Singapore's glass and chrome highrises, I spent an hour watching the gods again. Surreal as the combination seemed, the magic was still intact.

Things have minds of their own

And they should come with informative labels. At least when there is an Internet of Things, the things should have tags.

For instance: "Spoon. Globetrotter. Will disappear if not kept an eye on." Or, "Knife. Impulsive. Will take its own course even if user is careful." And "Socks. Flitter. Will be found with partner other than own." (Though that's all moralistic and judgmental. But they do that. All the time.)