Adjust: Because You Are a Woman

A few days ago, I went to a self-service restaurant and ordered chapati and curry. I was the first person to order, and eight men ordered after me. It took about 15 minutes for the rotis to be made. When they were finally ready, the restaurant started serving the men who had ordered after me. When I pointed out that I was there first, I got a cold stare and was eventually served last. By then, the sabji was cold. I told the manager that I wouldn't be coming back. Later, when I mentioned this to a colleague, she told me that my reaction was unjustified and that I should simply adjust. That word stayed with me. Why should I adjust? I paid the same amount, waited just as long and was there first.

Adjust your friendships

When I was studying mechanical engineering, most of my friends happened to be men. My father once asked me to delete photographs with my male friends because he thought it would make it difficult to find a groom for me. I was expected to change something completely normal in my life because I was a woman and someone might judge me for it. Why was it my friendships that had to change?

Adjust for the wedding

Even during my own wedding, I had almost no say in many things. Decisions were made, expectations were set and I was expected to go along with them because I was the woman who had to adjust. What hurts when I look back is that I can't remember many occasions when someone else adjusted for my choices. Somehow, my preferences were always the flexible part.

Adjust even in the smallest things

After I got married, I remember having a preference for putting the whistle on the pressure cooker before the steam started building up. It was such a small thing. There was no great principle behind it. It was simply the way I preferred to cook. Yet even something as ordinary as that became another thing I was expected to adjust. I remember thinking, really? Even this? How many parts of myself am I supposed to keep changing?

Adjust for the husband. Adjust for the family. Adjust because this is how things are done. 

Women hear this so often that it becomes almost automatic. We are taught that being accommodating is a virtue and that a woman who tolerates more is mature. A woman who questions something, asks for what she wants or refuses to accept something unfair can quickly be called difficult, stubborn or demanding.

Of course, every relationship requires compromise. I am not saying we should never adjust for anyone. The problem is when adjustment only goes in one direction. When one person's choices are always treated as negotiable and everyone else's choices are treated as the default, that isn't really compromise.

I think that is what bothered me so much about the restaurant incident. It wasn't really about a plate of cold sabji. It was that familiar feeling of being expected to quietly move aside. Let someone else go first. Don't make a fuss. Don't make people uncomfortable. Adjust.

I am tired of that word.

I want my choices to matter too. I want compromise to go both ways. I want to be able to say that something isn't fair without immediately being told that I should adjust. Maybe women don't need to become better at adjusting. Maybe we need to become better at recognising when we shouldn't.

Because there is a difference between being considerate and constantly making yourself smaller. And I think it is time we started asking why it is so often the woman who is expected to do the shrinking.

The Road I Never Knew

Anyone who lives in Bengaluru knows that a 10 km journey can sometimes feel like a small expedition. The same road can take 30 minutes one day and more than an hour the next. Google Maps has basically become a part of daily life here.

I travel between Koramangala and Marathahalli almost every day. Usually I have two options. The Outer Ring Road, or ORR, and the Intermediate Ring Road, or IRR.

Today, when I left Koramangala, both routes were showing more than 1.5 hours. On ORR, the traffic seemed to be closer to the end of the route. On IRR, it was jammed almost right at the beginning. So I decided to take ORR. I thought maybe if I got through the first part, the traffic would ease by the time I was three-fourths of the way there.

It didn't.

I kept crawling along and after some time I realised there was no point just sitting there and hoping the traffic would suddenly disappear. But I had already come quite far on ORR. Going back and starting again on IRR felt even more frustrating.

At some point, I opened Google Maps again just to see if there was anything else I could do. That's when I noticed a tiny road connecting ORR to IRR. I had never really noticed it before. It was barely a kilometre long and it connected the part of ORR that was completely stuck to a section of IRR where the traffic was actually moving.

So I took it.

Within a few minutes, I was out of the jam and moving again.

What stayed with me was that the road had probably been there all along. I had travelled these roads so many times and never noticed it. Google Maps had never really brought it to my attention either. I only saw it when I was stuck and actually started looking for another way.

It made me think about how often we do the same thing in life. We look at the obvious choices in front of us and assume those are our only options. Either we keep going even when something clearly isn't working because we've already invested so much into it, or we think the only other option is to turn around completely and start again.

Maybe there is another way that we haven't thought about yet.

It doesn't always have to mean making some huge change. Sometimes it could be approaching a problem differently. Sometimes it could be having a conversation we have been avoiding, setting a boundary, asking someone for help, learning something new or simply allowing ourselves to do things differently from what we have always done.

I kept thinking about this while driving home. There are so many situations where we feel stuck because we have already come too far to turn back. We keep looking at the traffic in front of us and wondering how long we have to sit there.

Maybe sometimes we just need to look at the map again.

That little road didn't change where I wanted to go. I still wanted to get to Marathahalli. It just gave me another way to get there.

Maybe life is like that too. We don't always have to change the destination. Sometimes we just need to find another route.

There may be a small road we haven't noticed yet. And sometimes, that is all we need to start moving again.

Divine Intervention: A Story of God's Guidance

I want to share a remarkable experience that showcases God's mysterious ways. After my arranged marriage, I discovered that my in-laws owned an apartment in the city, and my best friend's mom owned the apartment below them. Five years later, my brother-in-law's plans to move abroad were stuck due to a missing document: The Approved Building Plan.

The search for the document began, and I reached out to my friend and her mom, but they didn’t have it. We then contacted other apartment owners, a local doctor who knew some residents, and even the builder’s company, but all efforts were in vain. The builder had passed away, and his company didn’t respond to our queries.

In desperation, I started going through the papers we already had and found two names. I searched for one of them and found an architectural firm with the same name. Their founder had worked on the project, but they needed at least four days to find the document, which was impossible given the tight deadline.

My husband and I then approached the city planning authority, but they only had documents from 2009 onwards. That’s when I remembered that Chennai was Madras in 1994, the year the building was constructed. We began searching documents from the 1994 archives, but without success.

Then a memory from over a decade ago resurfaced—my friend’s mom had casually mentioned visiting the building site when my friend was two months old. This hinted that the site might have been chosen in 1992 as my friend and I are around the same age, and the building plan would have been prepared around that time. It made sense, as the builder wouldn’t have shown prospective buyers the site without a plan. So, the plan should have been around in 1992 itself.

With renewed hope, we started searching documents from 1992. Within minutes, we shortlisted 15 files that had either of the names we were looking for. To our surprise, the fifth document turned out to be the building plan we needed!

God’s guidance was evident in this journey. My friend’s mom’s remark, made years ago without any context, proved to be the key to finding the document. There’s no way she could have known her words would help me, her friend’s husband’s family, years later.

We gave copies of the document to all the flat owners, and many were thankful, as this document had been a blocker for them too. This experience taught me to trust in God’s plan and timing. Sometimes, He works in mysterious ways, and we might not understand the bigger picture—but in hindsight, it all makes sense.

To those who believe their God is the only true God and others are wrong, I want to share that my friend, who was instrumental in this search, is a Christian. We are Smarta Hindus, and some of the people who were thankful for the document are followers of Islam and Jainism. This experience has shown me that God is ultimately one, and there is surely a divine force guiding us all, regardless of our faith or background.

Let’s focus on the divine guidance rather than the differences in our beliefs.

I travelled from Bangalore to Chennai for this document search. While the memory with my friend’s mom could have resurfaced while I was still in Bangalore and spared me the trip, it didn’t—and I was thankful. Though the travel left me fatigued, since we found the document on the first day itself, my husband and I got to spend some quality time with my grandparents 😁.

I’m grateful for this experience and the opportunity to share it. May it inspire others to trust in God’s guidance and timing.

A Tapestry of Tradition: Growing Up with Four Grandparents

Growing up, my brother and I had the privilege of being surrounded by all four grandparents. My parents, brother, and I lived with our paternal grandparents, while the maternal folks resided just a short drive away. We visted and spent a lot of time at our maternal grandparents place, the house our mother grew up in.

Despite belonging to the same community and celebrating the same festivals, our households (Yes! We were part of both) boasted distinct traditions.

Take Pongal, for instance. At our paternal home, it was all about the sweet chakarai pongal paired with vadai, while our maternal folks opted for a subtler venpogal with an onion/garlic-free gotsu or sambar. As kids, we simply followed our mother's lead, reveling in the culinary diversity—a bowl of chakarai pongal here, a piece of vadai there, fully aware that the next course awaited at our maternal grandparents'.

This dichotomy wasn't exclusive to Pongal; it defined our Saturdays too. In the morning, our paternal grandparents hosted a 'Sani Kizamai Pooja' with neivedyam featuring vadai and a sweet, doubling as breakfast. Meanwhile, our maternal grandparents hosted the same pooja in the evening, treating us to sundal as prasadam—a delightful pre-dinner snack.

What I failed to recognize as a child was the incredible convenience and richness this duality brought to my life. Conflicts (two poojas or functions happening at the same time) were rare, and we grew up intimately acquainted with both families, immersed in their cultures, and, most importantly, spoiled with good food.

My brother's exclamation, 'It has been a good food day,' became a regular refrain for both him and I, after indulging in the culinary delights of both houses.

As for understanding Tamil months and their sequence, well, that was a mystery until I was around 8. 

What I did know was that there was a month of evening lamps (Karthikai), followed by Margazhi, during which my paternal grandmother's early morning temple visits turned our into a wake-up alarm for the entire locality owing the the wails of our pet dogs who didn't want to be left behind at home and wanted to accompany her in her walk to the temple. Seeking refuge at my maternal grandparents' meant avoiding the canine commotion and waking up to the exquisite kolams drawn by my grandmother or the lovely househelp, Saroja.

Margazhi, with its early morning bhajans and vibrant kolams, eventually led to the pinnacle of our festivities—Pongal, marking the end of a month-long celebration.

Reflecting on those years, I realize how seamlessly the traditions of our grandparents intertwined, creating a childhood steeped in love, diversity, and, of course, delicious food. It was a privilege—one that has left an indelible mark on the fabric of my past.

The Wizard of Happiness

Guess what made my day brighter today? Brace yourself for a heartwarming tale of unexpected kindness and mangoes! So, picture this: I've been battling a whole army of troubles, feeling grumpy and down in the dumps. Wait, I am not going to complain, because a sprinkle of magic came my way!

Enter my incredible household help, the superhero who cooks and cleans. She arrived today gleefully swinging a basket (that had a lid to stop that magoes from falling out, duh!) that contained not just one, not two, but three kili mooku mangoes! I was ready to pay her for this fruity delight, eagerly reaching out for those juicy treasures. Little did I know, a surprise was cooking up in the kitchen.

After wrapping up all her chores, I heard a delightful commotion emanating from the little kitchen. Curiosity got the best of me, and I rushed to the scene of the culinary crime. Lo and behold, my amazing helper was concocting a batch of mango pickle just for me! How did she know? Well, she remembered that a friend had once showered me with this delectable treat, and she thought it would lift my spirits.

Grinning from ear to ear, I instinctively reached for my phone to compensate her for the mangoes by making a deposit to her account. But wait, she had other plans! She put her hand up, stopping me, halting my generosity in its tracks, and shared the most heartfelt story. Turns out, her dear departed dad had planted that mango tree because he believed it would bring joy. And boy, was he right! The entire family continues to revel in the mangoes' glory. So, she insisted, "No need to pay me anything. Just savor those mangoes and bask in happiness."

Talk about being deeply moved! This remarkable lady has never taken a day off without letting me know in advance. She's always given notice, and if she has to travel, she even prepares food in advance, ensuring I won't starve. Sometimes, she goes above and beyond, leaving behind a delicious gravy so I can add veggies to it when she's away. Cherry on the cake: When I had a nasty cold, she went the extra mile and bought Sorakkai to whip up a comforting soup, all while juggling her regular duties. No complaints whatsoever!

Let me tell you, this extraordinary woman has been a saving grace for many families over the past ten years. The only reason she's had to bid farewell to a few households is due to their unfortunate relocations. But her entrepreneurial spirit never wavers, and she effortlessly balances caring for her six daughters and mother without uttering a single complaint. She even works in a mid-day meal kitchen and collects the excess food from the school canteen to serve other malnourished kids. She does this without having any formal education whatsoever! Can you believe that? Oh, and did I mention that she once borrowed 3k from me for her daughter's hospitalization? Well, bless her sweet soul, she insisted on deducting it from her future paycheck. Of course, I couldn't bear to take a single penny from this darling woman who deserves nothing but the best!

Today, my friend, I found happiness in the simplest of gestures, wrapped in the sweetness of mangoes and delivered by a superhero in an apron. Life's challenges may have been tough lately, but moments like these remind me that kindness exists in the world, waiting to brighten our days and put a smile on our faces.

Sometimes god does send superheroes to help us. This time it was a ladle-wielding, bundle of joy who made my day, and even my week perhaps. 

She is perhaps a magician whose wand is a ladle. Maybe, she's a happiness-bringing wizard who doesn't use a broom to fly, but instead uses it to sweep away sadness, one swish at a time.

Each one to their own

My phone buzzed continually as I tried to sleep, a debated Whatsapp exchange was going on in a group. I muted the phone and fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to over a hundred messages. Most of the people referred to a particular Tamil promoting politician as hypocritic as his daughter ran a school where Hindi was taught. I began to wonder whether it was such a big deal at all, as the politician and his daughter are two different individuals, with different ideologies and mindsets. Having a child, whose ideology does not necessarily subscribe to yours, doesn't make one hypocritic. Going back on one's one ideology is what makes one hypocritic.

I wear dresses to work, and my mother wears salwar kameez. My grandmother on the other hand believes that saree is the most appropriate attire for a woman and only wears sarees. While my grandmother believes that sarees are comfortable, my mother and I do not feel particularly comfortable in sarees and do not wear them on a daily basis. 

Does that make my grandmother hypocritic? Does it make me or my mother hypocritic ?

It absolutely does not, because my grandmother believes in her principles and sticks to it. She does not enforce them on her children or grandchildren. It doesn't make me or my mother hypocritic, because we follow what we believe in.

If you are still unconvinced, let me give you an example. Hiranyakashipu was a Rakshasa who tormented people, who had a humble son named Prahlad. Lord Vishnu took the form of Narasimha to kill Hiranyakashipu and save Prahlad. We consider Prahlad a hero, despite being the son of a Rakshasa. If we can accept this, why can't we accept the fact that a politician and his daughter can have entirely different mindsets. 

Why can't we agree that all of us are different from our parents and each individual has his or her own beliefs and we need not subscribe to the exact same values and beliefs as our parents?

Each individual is entitled to have her or his own beliefs, motivations and ideologies. While some of these are imbibed from the parents, other external factors such as school, friends and media have a role to play in shaping a persons mindset. This in turn influences the person and makes each individual a unique entity.

The next time you criticise someone for being hypocritic because his child or parent does not subscribe to the same ideology, just remember that you and your parents, or you and your children do not necessarily subscribe to the same beliefs. If this does not make you hypocritic, it surely does not make them hypocritic either.

The cold bitter-sweet truth

As I closed the tank, I felt an icy chill passing through my hand and the rest remains a haze. I got into panic mode, washed my hands several times and then finished my work. Half and hour later, my fingers felt numb and I couldn't move my hand. I rushed to the hospital and on the way bumped into an acquaintance. That day, I did not realise, that she would one day become a very good friend. She checked on me every few days, and bolstered me in the recovery process. It taught me that acquaintances needn't always be distant, some can be friends too.

While checking into the hospital, the receptionist asked me to sign a set of forms. My hands were numb and could barely hold a pen, I called a friend, who worked less than fifty metres away to help me sign the forms. He merely said "It will be okay" and cut the call. This was the end of the supposed friendship I shared with him. I held the pen and scribbled my name with my non-dominant hand is an unintelligible fashion. That moment, taught me to cut away people who use you and do not step up when you need them, even if it is not particularly difficult for them.
My supervisor, whom I feared (co-supervisor actually), turned out to be a great ally who ensured that I received the best medical treatment possible in Singapore. My lab safety lead and my counterpart in lab (two different people), ensured that I was well fed and took my medicines on time. They made me realise that the best in people is hidden and comes out only when needed.

Three of my friends in Singapore became my sources of support and champions. One of my friends would patiently unknot my hair and plait it everyday, another would cook and feed me, while the third would continually tell me that everything would be alright soon. 

My world changed significantly, leaving me dependant on people for a weeks and I am actually thankful for the accident as I realised that all friends, aren't 'Friends' and surrounding yourself with the goodness brings prosperity and incidents like these actually help you remove the parasitic weeds and retain the good people in your life. Those who realise you are wounded and cannot help them will leave, while those who truly care, will stay back.


My hand was exposed to cold liquid nitrogen, and I was exposed to the cold bitter-sweet truth of reality.