A tall order

Reading “Committed“.  Quite an analysis of the history and evolution of marriage :)

Wondering – are my/our/this generation’s expectations from love and marriage way too high?
Over the last few decades, we’re moving to a mode/culture, where the individuals choose their spouse. And increasingly we want this decision to be based on “love”. We also want this person to be our partner for life. In every way. We expect – and want – them to be our best friend; the perfect lover, the perfect provider/homemaker. And ofcourse, the perfect person.
We want them to understand us. To ‘know’ us. To be there for us. Always. We get upset when they’re less than perfect; when they dont love us the way we want to be loved; when they arent there for us – the way we want; when they have habits that we dont like; when they fail to read our minds, or our moods; when they dont think the way we do. We forget – they’re different people.

Some quotes from the book

“If you are a Hmong woman, then you dont necessarily expect your husband to be your best friend, your most intimate confidant, your emotional advisor, your intellectual equal, your comfort in
times of sorrow. Hmong women instead get a lot of that emotional support from other women. “

“In Hmong society, for instance, men and women dont spend all that much time together. Yes, you have a spouse. Yes, you have sex with that spouse. Yes, your fortunes are tied together. Yes, there might well be love. But aside from that men’s and women’s lives are quite firmly divided into realms of their gender specific tasks.”

The Hmong sound like India 50 or a 100 years ago. I’m beginning to believe they were on to something.

The weighty issue

warning: crazy rant ahead from an exhausted new-gym-goer.

Not sure what to make of it. I love exercising – but the new routine doesnt quite seem right for me.

While I do get a kick out of being able to push 15 and 20kgs on the machines, it leaves me exhausted. My eyes hurt like hell for the rest of the day. I dont quite know why. The internet didnt throw up much conclusive information.  It’s always been this way – way back in the BC (before child) days as well. And so I never moved beyond the humble 2.5 kg dumbells. I never weight trained. Stuck to good old free exercises.

But this new gym seems to have a set belief. That everyone MUST do weights. Heavy weights.  I count anything beyond 10 kgs as heavy.  I see 45 yr old aunties and 55 yr old uncles doing more weights than me – every day. The instructor pushes me to do 11kg ie 25 pounds on the machines for upper body; and 30-40 pounds for lower body. Just because I can. He asks me why I’m cribbing – esp since I manage to pull through the 15 reps. I tried telling him I’ve been carrying around a kid the last few years – currently weighing in at 14 kgs. I’m kinda used to it.

This workout routine leaves me drained. By 10 am, my eyes hurt like I’ve had a few night outs. The rest of me is fine though. No muscle ache. But the eyes refuse to stay open. Dont know what to make of it.

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I hate upselling. Every alternate day one or the other trainer walks up to me, coaches me for a while; and then pushes me to sign up for their personal training program with the spiel that it’ll ensure the weight loss – esp the 10 kgs I need to loose. They just keep insisting I need to loose weight – 10kgs. I’m 64 kgs. The ideal weight for my height is 54kgs. Hence I MUST loose 10kgs. It’ll be good for me.

They never stop to listen to what I want from exercising or why I signed up.

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Now why did I sign up – because I want to get back into shape. Meaning I want to get fit. I’ve had it with feeling flabby. I want to get back to the way I used to be BC. I like that light feeling. That no flab, well toned, fit as a fiddle feeling. And the energy levels.

I’d tried ‘exercising’ on my own the last few months. But I lack the discipline. More often than not, it came down to a 20 min walk, 2 or 3 days a week. Which is pretty close to nothing :)

So I signed up with a reputed gym for a fitness program. Hoping the fact that it’s paid; plus the environment would kinda force me to er, actually exercise.

And while I’m not quite thrilled with it, it is forcing me to question my beliefs about exercising and fitness. For eg

- This is the first gym I’ve seen that’s so packed. It’s large. It’s well equipped. And yet it’s always packed. Even at 6 am sharp when it’s pitch dark outside.

- It’s packed with “fit” people. Most of the early morning crowd is lean and well toned. Few are a ‘bit flabby’; and very few, if at all, are actually fat.

- It’s not a ‘young’ crowd. Large portion is the 30+ age group; and a sizeable 40+; men as well as women.

- EVERYONE does heavy weights and machinery. Age no bar. Gender no bar.

- Very few, if at all, any people do free exercises; or abs.

- There’s no ‘proper’ warm up or cool down that at other places was always drilled as being mandatory. And instructors dont pay attention to the breathing.

Normally, I would’ve walked away . But everyone here looks fit. And I’ve paid up for a few months. I’m wondering if I’m missing something – are my exercise notions outdated?

Of airports and flights and travel

There’s something about airports that I love. I get a rush when I’m at the airport. I like sitting there, watching people. A slice of life. A slice of their life. When all else stops. When you’re forced to almost doing nothing. Out of your daily routine. In a limbo of sorts. Time stops in anticipation.. in waiting for your flight. Waiting for the next event. With nothing else to do in between. That transitioning. And observing everyone else in transition.

I feel at home. I’m invisible. Walking around, looking around, observing. I’m comfortable. I can make my way around just about any airport with ease. I dont know why. Or how. I just figure it out. I’m a traveller. Maybe its just in my blood.

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But then, I hate the actual flights. The compressed air makes my eyes raw and gives me a headache. I prefer sleeping through them as far as possible. Evening flights are an exception. I grab a window seat. I love the view. When you’re above the clouds. And they change colors as the sun sets. Orange then pink then grey.. before vanishing into the black sky.

Cities look so different from the air. It’s the one chance you get to actually see how the earth looks. How humans have conquered the land. Sad at times. Large patches of farm land give way to smaller, uneven patches. They in turn give way to a few scattered brick and mortar structures. With few roads. Then come the wider, outer roads. More houses. More brick and mortar. Till you see only the roads and the buildings. No land. At night they magically transform. A black canvas brought alive with shimmer, twinkling specks of yellow gold and white. Bulbs and tubelights. Roads weaving their way into the landscape lit by a trail of headlights. Weary travellers like me, maybe, heading home. Or explorers. Out on an adventure.

And then the airport. And landing. The time warp’s over. Everyone springs to action. To get their bags. To sprint out of the aircarft. As if they fear they’ll be left behind. Or that someone will steal their life. You can see the uneasiness. The pretenses. The wanting to look good, bigger, better. Impressions matter. Even in an aircraft full of strangers.

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I like travelling alone. I like the freedom that it gives. That I can do anything I want, whenever I want, however I want. Decide on a whim to go for a walk, or sit at a cafe, or visit whatever. I like the sense of adventure it brings. To Explore. I dont have to coordinate with everyone, I dont have to ask a second opinion, I dont have to conform. I love the charm of it. Being on my own. Being my own person. Just me.

Before Dawn

.. the world is so different.

Been heading out by 6am each day the last week, er ahem, to gym.

As I drive out, the entire world is asleep. It’s silent.

It’s the only time I drive with the windows down. Feeling the cold air.

It’s pitch dark. With just a few street lights on. I need headlights.

The roads are empty. I get to see them for a change. It’s lovely.

I’m a morning person.

I like this quiet time to myself. Before the rest of the world stirs.

The 10 minutes as I drive to the gym on empty silent roads. The whole world is mine.

Money may not buy you happiness, but it can buy you a voice. And options.

Got into a debate of sorts about ‘women in the workforce’ and ‘financial independence’. Here’s my 2 cents on it.

I’ve come to believe women MUST work outside the home – at a paying job. Because having a steady income is the most empowering tool for a woman. It entitles her to a voice of her own. It enables her to stand up for herself. To make her own choices.

I was brought up with the notion that money doesnt matter, money is just incidental – it lets you pay the bills. Money cant buy you happiness. But I’ve seen that it sure comes darn close.

A woman who has her own money, get’s that bit of ‘extra’ respect vs a dependent wife or a SAHM. That income is the first step for her to be counted as a ‘contributing’ member of society. An individual. Otherwise, she’s “just a wife”, “just a mom” and not an independent identity. I wish it were different. But it is so painfully ingrained in the society and world that we live in. And if that’s the only way we can be counted – well, then lets.

Yes, there are husbands and families that respect the wife, the mother, and treat the woman as an ‘equal’. But very rare. And if you dig deeper, even in the most ‘gender equal’ families and people, you’ll unearth the hidden biases. Deep rooted. Camouflaged.

Our society has a long way to go for true gender equality.

Till then, the women have to stand up and be counted on the same grounds as men. Because that’s the criteria that men, and hence society uses to measure ‘contribution’ by. No one puts a measurable value, or even vague renumerative value for the hard work women put in at home – the countless thankless hours spent cooking and cleaning and keeping house; making sure everyone has clean ironed clothes; feeding and burping the baby a hundred times a day; or staying up nights when anyone in the house is sick. She does it out of love. She is rewarded with well, a grunt, or maybe a thank you, or a dinner out once in a while.

I believe it’s much more important for a woman to be financially literate – and independent – as compared to men.  It gives her the option to meet life on her own terms. To stand up for herself. In all her relationships. In the worst case, it gives her the choice to walk out of an abusive relationship. That she doesnt have to be dependent on the whims of others – be it spouse, parents or inlaws. While a man gets that freedom inherently as a right in our society, for women, its the financial freedom that buys her all the other freedoms. Or maybe it’s that way for men too. Just that most men anyways work outside the house and earn money.

Along side, I believe that a woman should take time out from her career when she has kids – ideally, I’d say a year or two – but I also believe that it’s equally important to get back into the workforce and be counted.