When I stumbled upon an article about Alia Bhatt facing trolls for showcasing her makeup routine in a candid Instagram reel, I couldn’t resist lunging into the social media uproar.

My curiosity stemmed from the fact that her recent look in ‘Rocky aur Rani ki Prem Kahani’ had everyone fawning over her and Rani’s style became a statement. I was, hence, taken aback on knowing that it was her ‘looks’ that she was being attacked online for.

As I watched the reel, I was pleasantly surprised to witness Alia showcasing her imperfections with confidence, and it made me ponder: Are people so oblivious to reality that they expect actors to have flawlessly perfect skin off-screen? The trolls were quick to criticize her by nitpicking every blemish, visible black spots or other skin flaws that they apparently noticed, but honestly all I saw was a woman glowing naturally, and being her raw self unabashedly.

Alia deserves applause, not the trolling

In a society where perfection is often painted as the norm, Alia Bhatt deserves a round of applause for stripping away the façade and normalizing authenticity. Yes, I also agree with the counter argument that movie stars contribute to shaping beauty ideals, but Alia’s genuine embrace of her natural self sends a powerful message, especially to the younger generation grappling with self-image issues.

This sort of hit close to home as often I have conversations with some of my teen students about how they find themselves burdened by self-consciousness, judging their worth based on very human, natural flaws. They are insecure of their bodies and skin, and it really affects their morale. They feel pressured to succumb and conform to be accepted and appreciated. While at our end we can keep talking to them about embracing their uniqueness, Alia’s authenticity becomes a source of inspiration to squash the prevalent societal expectations and unrealistic beauty standards.

Beauty is not just skin deep

And not just the younger generation, but even women like us often find ourselves in the same position. The societal pressure to match up to a certain standard of beauty can be relentless. Conversations about skin flaws or what is deemed as ‘not pretty’ are all too common. We have all had moments where we have scrutinized ourselves in the mirror, focusing on perceived imperfections instead of cherishing the unique, beautiful qualities that make us who we are.

While I strongly believe that the onus of changing the narrative of how a woman should look to be considered beautiful is not solely on a woman, but if a celebrity with more than a million followers chooses to bare her skin ‘as is’, particularly in the meticulously curated, sanitized and ‘all pretty’ Instagram universe, I would hoot, cheer and clap for her. Inadvertently, she makes a strong, crucial point here that acne, spots, blackheads, whiteheads, blemishes, wrinkles, dark circles are all not aberrations but are ok and normal, and absolutely common.

This is a teeny-weeny but praiseworthy step towards dismantling insensitive, ridiculous beauty standards to foster a culture where imperfections are not only accepted but are considered as normal as someone not even giving it a second thought.

The trollers can take a hike, while I sincerely hope more and more actors, models and public figures from the glamour world show it as it is.

“Imagine a very sad scenario and cry.”

Yasha stared at her friend, and wondered why she was friends with her.

Labita put down her cup on the glass table and leaned slightly forward, “Imagine your husband cheated on you, and left you for another woman. Imagine you’re hurting. The betrayal….blah, blah, blah.”

Yasha blinked and sipped her black coffee. She didn’t bother imagining her husband leaving her for another woman because if she did, the only feeling she would have was of relief.

Her friends noticed the subtle smile on her thin, brown lips. Rakul smirked and Labita looked disappointed.

“Okay, fine, let’s try another one. Imagine you lost your job,” Labita said.

“Oh, that would be terrible! Not that I love my job, but I don’t want to lose it,” Yasha said, without missing a beat.

“So you don’t have a problem with Naman cheating on you?” Labita drawled.

Yasha slurped the last bit of coffee at the bottom of her cup. She placed the cup on the table and met her friend’s eyes. “Well, I can’t control others’ actions.”

“Why do you want to see her cry?” Rakul asked. Unlike her friends, Rakul possessed a slim figure that women twenty years her junior were usually blessed with, thanks to avoiding sugary drinks and foods, and exercising regularly – something Yasha could never bring herself to do.

“Have you ever seen her cry? Because I haven’t!” Labita grumbled.

Yasha bit on her lower lip to keep her from smiling.

“So? Just because you haven’t seen her cry doesn’t mean that she doesn’t cry or hasn’t cried ever. But, why do you suddenly want to see her cry?”

“Because I have never seen her cry!” Labita said almost exasperatedly, “Think about it. We have known her for 33 years, and I haven’t seen her cry even once. Have you?”

Rakul shifted her whole attention to Yasha and studied her face. Yasha’s lips began to quiver and she looked away. She allowed herself to smile.

“Well, I can’t think of any such moment when she cried, but—

“Exactly! Me neither. Can you imagine not seeing your close friend cry even once? I have seen you cry so many times. Like when you had your first breakup, then second, then third, and when your mother was diagnosed with cancer, and one time you bowled your eyes out when your senior advocate reprimanded you, and when your father had a huge fight with your brother. You have seen me cry too.”

Yasha was slightly bored, but nevertheless, she enjoyed her friend’s company on Sundays and, therefore, remained seated in her plush chair in a posh cafe in the city.

“It’s fine,” Rakul said, seemingly uninterested in pursuing the topic.

“No, it’s not! It’s not healthy!”

“Well, she looks healthy to me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Labita looked at Yasha, “Do you remember the last time you cried?”

To appease her friend, Yasha tried to remember the last time she cried.

“I almost cried when I couldn’t find my car’s keys last Thursday. We had a meeting in the office and I wanted to get there before others.”

Labita’s raised eyebrows suggested she wasn’t happy with her answer. “Any other times?”

Yasha wasn’t happy with Labita’s sudden curiosity in her cry-less life. She would have preferred to talk about her recent promotion or the second car that she bought. Instead they were talking about the less appealing aspects of her life. She glanced at Rakul hoping to catch her eyes and plead with her to change the subject, but in their friendship, Labita held the reign to their conversations. Rakul was taciturn and never initiated a conversation nor steered it in any direction.

“Yeah, two nights ago, my cook made pumpkin curry for dinner and I felt like crying. I hate pumpkin curry, and I have told her multiple times, but Naman loves it. I’m not complaining about her. She is a decent cook, but I wish she would stop bringing pumpkin into my house and preparing dishes out of it just because my husband loves it.”

“Wow! You ‘almost cried’ and ‘felt like crying’ over things not worth crying for. Have you ever cried for something worth crying for?” Labita asked.

The phone in Labita’s lap vibrated and she answered the call. Yasha and Rakul exchanged looks and smiled.

Yasha never cried for a human, that much she was sure of. When her mother died of pneumonia three years ago, she didn’t shed a tear. The only thing she associated with her mother was the feeling that she should be grateful for being adopted. Both her parents were in their forties, and she was five years old when they adopted her. She would never know if it was their choice or if they adopted her because they couldn’t conceive a child. While growing up, the question pestered her : Why did they adopt me? They don’t even like me! 

That wasn’t true. They liked her because she was an obedient and studious child, but they didn’t care to pretend to love her. Neither her parents nor her grandparents. Her maternal grandparents and her parents were known for their philanthropy. They donated money to education, arts and other cultural pursuits. People admired them, looked up to them. They were generous, altruistic people who “gave money for good causes”. Look, they even adopted a child; she’s not even cute. They have a heart of gold!

Yasha never saw it that way. She knew that her parents’ charities were motivated by reasons far less noble.

She remembered reading Socialism for Millionaires in college. The Irish playwright George Bernard Shaw quipped that a rich man “does not really care whether his money does good or not, provided he finds his conscience eased and his social status improved by giving it away.” Soon after the lesson, there was a discussion in the class. One of the students, who got a scholarship to study at their prestigious college, expressed, “I believe that rich people are morally obligated to give back to society because no one becomes rich by themselves. Society bears certain costs to enable that wealth.” His opinions didn’t go down well with other wealthy students.

While one by one all her friends and classmates were expressing their options, or agreeing or disagreeing with each other, Yasha felt nothing. Her brain couldn’t conjure any opinion regarding the subject. She always felt like an outsider in her family. She never felt she belonged. She felt like an imposter.

“So, where was I?” Labita asked, giving her attention to her friends.

“You want to make her cry,” said Rakul, tilting her head towards Yasha.

Yasha chuckled.

“Yeah! Wouldn’t that be awesome? To see someone doing something they haven’t done before?” said Labita.

Both Rakul and Yasha grimaced.

“Has your husband cheated on you?” Rakul asked Labita.

Labita looked flabbergasted. “No!” She almost shouted.

“Do you want him to cheat on you?”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“Has your son bullied anyone?”

“No! You know Shaan, how can—

“Do you want him to bully anyone?”

“What the f—-

“Do you want your cook to burn down your kitchen while preparing your meal?”

Labita didn’t say anything.

“Darling, my point is that you don’t always want to see someone doing something they haven’t done before. I could go on and on with different examples, if you want,” Rakul explained.

While Labita sulked for not more than 1 minute, and immediately afterwards started bickering with Rakul, Yasha’s mind couldn’t stop asking, Have I ever cried for a human….. or even an animal?

The beetle! 

She wrestled about whether to order another cup of coffee. If you concentrate and filter out the traffic noise, you can make out the sound of Tytler’s leaf warbler, Yasha thought. Being a member of Vizag Bird Watchers Society, her paternal grandfather – whenever he was in an extremely good mood – used to take her to bird-watching destinations in Visakhapatnam. In such spots, she’d find people with binoculars and cameras strolling through the trees with their gaze turned upward hoping to snap the perfect shot. Those birding enthusiasts would look happy and content in the activity. Yasha never took interest in it. The activity required patience, persistence and waiting, and ‘waiting’ was not her forte. She often lost interest in things she had to wait for. But from those excursions, she learned one or two about local and migratory birds.

“I’ll have another cup of coffee,” Yasha said.

“Why don’t you have something to eat?” suggested Labita.

She wasn’t hungry, and blurted, “A beetle.” She stopped and looked at other customers seated around them, busy in their own world. Her hand lifted and touched her lips, prodded them while wondering whether to continue. “A few months ago, I don’t remember exactly when, I found a tiny beetle near my flower pots on the balcony. For five days, in the morning, before leaving for the office, I’d watch it scampering all over the leaves, sometimes in the freshly watered soil. On the sixth day, I found it on the floor near a pot. It didn’t move.”

Yasha could never even imagine saying such things to anybody, including her husband. Rakul and Labita looked at her without any expression.

“Did that make you sad?” wondered Labita aloud.

Yasha didn’t answer that. She didn’t need to. Though she wanted to shake her head, or say no, she couldn’t bring herself to do either of them. She turned her head, and found herself looking at a lone girl sitting on a wooden wall mounted bench against the glass wall with a book in her hand.

What is her story? Is she content in her life, or managing to get by? Has she cried over someone or something recently? 

“Did that make you cry?” Labita changed the question.

“You cried over a beetle,” stated Rakul without a hint of mockery in her voice.

Yasha smiled wryly.

Image source: sad woman by Dziggyfoto from Getty Images Free for Canva Pro

I was very young when Britney Spears’s first album titled “Baby One More Time” skyrocketed to the top of the charts and became an overnight success. The album actually went on to sell a whopping 10 million copies in a year and became a chartbuster in 15 countries. In fact, it was the biggest-selling album ever by a teenage artist. And lo and behold, a star was born!

Those were the times of MTV and Channel V. I would rush home from school, just in time to catch this program called MTV Select. My mom and I would pour tall glasses of lemonade and settle down in front of the television in her bedroom. That truly was the best half hour in my entire day! And yes, Britney Spears was one of my absolute favourite singers. Her music, the beats, the lyrics, I found it all hugely uplifting.

Admittedly, her sense of style was unique as well, and inspired many young girls like me. Red leather, bling, sparkly boots, kitten heels, black eyeshadow, there was so much she taught us to wear with confidence and flaunt with attitude. I actually went through an entire “Britney Phase”, I even bought a gorgeous long wig in the hope that it would make me look like her. Then my girlfriends and I would have these sleepovers and we’d dress up, put on sparkly make up and high heels and groove to “Hit Me Baby One More Time”, pretty much through the night.

The Woman In Me is painful to read as a woman

So, it wasn’t surprising that when I heard that her memoir had been released, I got my copy and started it right away. I already knew that she’d had a troubled life, and I was aware of issues she’d had with the media, her family, and some details of the infamous conservatorship. I have to confess though, that I hadn’t followed everything that had happened with her. So now that I had the chance, I wanted to know why her fans were screaming themselves hoarse, calling her a survivor and saying things like “It’s refreshing to see her in control.”

Let me tell you right at the outset that reading the book is like a journey, perhaps even a quest.

It’s not an easy read. Oh, the writing style of the book is simple and straightforward enough. It’s the content which is distressing. There is however, an uninhibited honesty from the very beginning which will warm the heart.

A candid narrative about everything she went through

Britney has spoken candidly about her childhood and how despite all the troubles, her music came to her rescue every time. Her admissions about her parents, her sister, her relationship with Justin Timberlake and the dark places she disappeared into after the breakup, her marriage and divorce, and the subsequent heartbreaking separation from her kids, will make you stop and wonder how one human being could have withstood all this.

Wait, there’s more. The constant attempt by others to control her life, the insensitivity (that’s a mild word actually) of the media and paparazzi, the extremely disturbing conservatorship and institutionalization, were brutal to the extent that this huge star, this beautiful and successful “princess of pop” as she was called, almost lost her will to fight for herself. And then, just when you think it’s already too late, just when you begin to give up too, comes the light at the end of the tunnel.

#FreeBritney by her fans

This movement which was initiated by Britney’s fans in 2009 became a rage and ultimately gained so much momentum that it became the primary motivation behind this woman finally attaining her freedom.

Freedom. It’s something she’s defined very beautifully in the book as well. It’s honestly one of my favourite parts. After all, freedom can mean very different things to different people but most of us tend to take it for granted until the time it’s wrenched away from us. That truly is a revelation, a realization. It is no wonder that somewhere toward the end of the book, she expresses her complete and total gratitude to her fans. In her words, “If you stood up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself: from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

Male pop stars making the same mistakes didn’t face the same

While the book is extraordinary in its entirety, there is one thing that I feel deserves special mention. So, of course she isn’t perfect, after all who is, and she has made mistakes and misjudgements, she does at one point stop and question why the same treatment isn’t meted out to men in the music business. She gives several instances of male pop stars making the same mistakes, the same errors of judgement and yet, never were they ever treated with the same cruelty and ruthlessness.

And that’s what hit me the hardest. It got me thinking. Why are men and women, always, unfailingly, treated differently? Why is the world so harsh on women? Why?

“The Woman In Me” is the story of a pop star, a woman who truly took the world by storm. It is a book about the struggles of this woman, her battles, her successes, her inner demons, her life. But it is also a book about survival, about freedom and about human rights. It is a book about fighting for what is right, about never giving up. And that is why this is a book that should be read, must be read. As a fan of Britney Spears, but even more as a woman, as a mother, as a human being, I loved it. I hope you will too.

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Book cover Amazon.

Ex- Pakistani cricketer Abdur Razzaq recently talked about his team’s dismal performance at the World Cup tournament, in a public forum.

He mentioned that unlike earlier, the current team lacked Neeyat (good intentions). And then suddenly, totally out of context, he shot his comment, ‘If you marry someone like Aishwarya Rai, you cannot be expected to have pious and good Neeyat wale children.’

Like what? Where did this even come from?

But some thought, and I guess I could understand what he wished to convey.

One, only a Mother can decide how pious (whatever he meant) and good intentioned a child could be.

Two, That Mother definitely couldn’t be a strong, independent, famous and an immensely successful woman like Aishwarya Rai.

Regressive, distasteful, embarrassing

Call it whatever you wish, but what surprised me the most was, his comment was met with laughter and applause, from some other cricketers seated on the dias, and the audience.

Couldn’t the anchor or someone from the crowd have called out and interrupted the man? He should have apologized then and there, but unfortunately none of that happened.

Perhaps that goes to say, that all of them harboured the very same sentiments. Alas.

Yes, Abdur Razzak and the other cricketers have been receiving lot of flak online, the two cricketers washed their hands off the incident, and Abdur Razzak himself has apologized, calling it a slip of his tongue.

But the damage has been done already

It’s the 21st century, these men are young and famous athletes who have represented their country at international level, but the mindset is still as backward as it can get.

At an event where he was supposed to discuss the performance of his country’s Mens’ Team, the man, for no reason, tried to character assassinate a woman, miles ahead of him in all aspects. And he unabashedly sat there with a smile on his face, while some others cheered.

Aishwarya or for that matter, any one else, Abdur Razzak’s statement I’m sure is a product of his jealousy for a woman making it big in a man’s world.  And I wonder where’s it’s still going wrong, I mean, Millenials or Gen Z, how do we tackle the patriarchy that’s etched so deep.

Meanwhile, Abdur Razzak and all those who clapped, I wonder whose Neeyat is actually questionable here.

In a world captivated by aesthetics and appearances, the concept of beauty has evolved into an intricate tapestry woven from societal expectations, media influence, and personal perceptions. While beauty truly rests in the eyes of the beholder, the unfortunate truth is that unrealistic beauty standards often cloud our self-perception, leading us to question our worth and identity. This blog aims to delve into the detrimental impact of unrealistic beauty standards and shed light on the importance of embracing our authenticity and reclaiming our confidence.

From glossy magazine covers to carefully curated social media feeds, we are bombarded with images of an idealized beauty that seems both unattainable and homogeneous. These standards, set by society’s ever-changing norms, force us into a perpetual cycle of self-doubt and comparison. As someone who spent half of my life as a dusky girl, I’ve encountered hurtful comments, jokes, and belittlement.

I remember a poignant incident from my childhood. During my fourth-grade year, I participated in the founder\\\\\\\’s day skit. I portrayed one of the fairies, positioned at the back of the stage. The event pictures were proudly displayed on the notice board, and I eagerly looked for my presence. To my dismay, I found myself absent in most of the photos. In one picture where I was barely visible, I approached my event teacher for an explanation. She attributed it to a possible mistake and suggested I could participate the following year. This incident shattered my excitement. On my way back to class, I was confronted by a group of so-called “cool” girls. They cruelly remarked that my absence in the pictures was due to my supposed ugliness. Their words were like daggers, leaving me shocked and wounded. I shared my pain with my teacher, only to receive a superficial response that did little to soothe my hurt. This experience made me realize how the pressure to conform to unrealistic standards not only erodes our self-esteem but also makes us feel inherently worthless.

The burden of unrealistic beauty standards is often heaviest on women and girls. As societal expectations dictate how they should look, dress, and behave, it becomes a challenge to express their true selves without fear of judgment. Comments like “apply some cream to make yourself fair,” “don’t go out, or you’ll become darker,” “don’t eat too much,” and “wear heels to appear taller” are all too common. This unrelenting pressure to be perfect can lead to a host of negative consequences, from body dysmorphia and eating disorders to mental health issues like anxiety and depression. It’s crucial to acknowledge that these standards perpetuate harmful stereotypes and undermine the diverse beauty that exists in all individuals.

The toxicity of beauty standards is such that even if we strive to meet them, we are subjected to judgment for every aspect of our bodies, from head to toe. Attempting to conform to unrealistic beauty ideals can be a futile and emotionally taxing endeavor. The pursuit of an ever-shifting ideal can leave us feeling inadequate, constantly chasing an unattainable goal. Moreover, the energy expended in this pursuit often diverts us from more meaningful endeavors, such as personal growth, self-discovery, and cultivating genuine relationships.

I came to the realization that outer appearance is not everything, and understanding that our value extends far beyond appearances is the first step toward breaking free from the shackles of unrealistic standards. Authenticity is a wellspring of power; it empowers us to appreciate our unique qualities, quirks, and imperfections, all of which contribute to our individual beauty.

By acknowledging our worth independent of societal judgment, we can reclaim our confidence and strength. Instead of striving to meet someone else’s idea of beauty, we can focus on nurturing our well-being, pursuing our passions, and fostering self-love. This transformation is not only empowering for ourselves but also sets a positive example for others, inspiring them to embrace their authenticity as well. As we unburden ourselves from the weight of unrealistic beauty standards, we pave the way for a society that celebrates diversity and individuality in all its forms.

Representation of women is still an topic for discussion. Many institution are still on the way to give women her much needed representation. Living in a patriarchal atmosphere and fighting for the deserved rights is an challenging task for women. Wherever we go, the position which is meant for us is only achieved after a lot of struggle. Indian Parliament recently passed a bill for women representation in Lok Sabha assembly and State assembly. The bill conveys that one third of seat should be reserved for women in both assemblies. Even though the bill has its flaws, but its still an appreciative move. Likewise many systems in our society needs to change the ratio of women and man representation.

The fictional works are considered as the reflection of the society. Especially movies which shows most of the societal aspects. But in movies also women representation is less. Most of the movies are made with a male hero figures. We have seen such celebration of male characters in recent times. Like Arjun Reddy of Sandeep Reddy, where the movie actually celebrated the aggressive and dominant nature of man. And that movie gained commercial success also. While the movies represented by women characters are less viewed. It is in this scenario Bechdel Test comes as the measuring tool to check the women representation in fiction.

Bechdel Test first appeared in a 1985 comic book “Dykes to Watch Out For” authored by cartoonist Alison Bechdel. It is also called as Bechdel Wallace test or Movie Measure.

For measuring the representation of women in fictions such as Movies, Tv shows, Novels etc. there are three rules that should be passed according to the Bechdel Test. They are :
1. The Movie or show must contain at least two women characters in it.
2. These characters must talk to each other.
3. Their discussion must be about something other than man.

If a movie is taken for bechdel test, then it should pass all these rules. Many movies which are popular and commercially successful failed in bechdel test. “The Avengers” (2012), “Lord of the rings” Trilogy (2001-2003), “Gravity”, “Arrival” etc. are some movies which failed in the Bechdel test. Movies that passed the test include the Oscar award winner “Parasite” (2019) and “CODA” (2021), “Frozen” (2013), “Wonder Women” ( 2017), “American Pie 2” (2001), “Twilight” (2008) etc. and the very famous “Titanic” also passed the bechdel test.

Let’s apply Bechdel Test on two Indian Cinema’s :
1. Charlie (2015)
2. Gangubai Kathiawadi (2022)

Charlie

Malayalam movie “Charlie” directed by Martin Prakat with Dulquer Salman and Parvathi Thiruvoth as the lead is an movie which differs from other movies that released at that time. Also still maintains its freshness all because of the quality content. The story of the movie is unveiled through the character Tessa which is played by Parvathi. The mystical element in the story makes it more beautiful. Also the character of Tessa is someone who inspired many girls.

Charlie, with its progressive story telling passes the bechdel test with few scenes. Even though the scenes have least duration.
Scene-1 The starting scene where Tessa and her grandmother having some sweet conversation after her mother went outside angrily. Her grandmother can seen saying tessa that “My child is simply cool”.
Scene-2 The shot which is continued from the previous conversation of grandmother and tessa. Her Molly comes there asking tessa to get ready for Margamkali.
Scene-3 The scene after tessa escaped from her mother’s home and reached at her friends flat. Her mother calls her and asks where she is while tessa replies that she went to beauty parlour.
Scene-4 The first meeting of tessa and kani where tessa can be seen saying that she came there to know rest of the story.
Scene-5 The scene where Kani asks Tessa to get ready in morning as she is planning to take her somewhere.

The plots of Charlie evolves through the character Tessa. It is through her that we get to know about the mysterious character of Charlie. The most conversation of her are with a man or is about Charlie.

Gangubai Kathiawadi

The second movie Gangubai Kathiawadi, directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali and played by Alia Bhatt is one of the movie which is hugely discussed for its content and making. The majestic frame of Sanjay Leela Bhansali enchanted the audience eyes. The movie with the length of two and half hours contains lots of scene which encompasses the rules of Bechdel test.

Scene -1 One of the starting scenes of Gangubai Kathiawadi where they shows the brothel of Rashmi Bai has a shot with a women and Rashmi bai having conversation regarding a 14 year old girl who is locked in a room for three days. The women in the brothel can be seen asking Rashmibai to find a solution as the girl was crying from continuous torture. Rashmibai can be seen asking her that “what should I do”. The women replies her that call Gangubai for solution.

Scene-2 When Gangubai came to meet the girl, Rashmi welcomes her to the brothel. They had an talk on their business.

Scene-3 Gangubai after telling her story to the young girl, gives her two option to choose. She gave the girl two chocolates and asks her to choose only one. If the girl chooses yellow packet, then she should stay at the brothel. And if the girl chooses the black one, then she will die. The girl chooses the black one which was a shock for Gangu.

Scene -4 The scene where Rashmi bai asks Gangubai whether the girl chooses to stay here and Gangubai replies that the girl is going back to her home and offers Rashmi that she will give 10000 rupees for her loss.

Scene-5 Gangubai is asking her neighbour Rajjo if she has eaten the laddoo that was sent by her. Gangubai says she will make more laddoos for Najma tomorrow for her school. But in reply, Rajjo said, What’s the point in taking her to school when she is living in a brothel? Hearing her reply, Gangubai gets offended.

Scene-6 A scene on the terrace where Gangubai is doing skipping rope exercise and Kamli came there to show her the poster for election campaign. Gangubai while talking asks Kamli to join her in exercise. And Sanjay Leela Bhansali shot that scene so beautifully that it showed a glimpse of their lost younger self.

Scene-7 In another scene, Nimmi a member of Gangu’s brothel came to her saying that she is leaving to her home town with the hope that her mother had forgiven her for the mistakes. Gangubai says her that if she is not welcomed in her home then she can come back, there are many here to pay last rites for you as Nimmi is having Tuberculosis.

Scene-8 It is an most emotional scene of Gangubai Kathiawadi where the best friend of Gangu, Kamli is on deathbed. Gangu laid besides kamli and both look at each other while crying for her fate.

Gangubai is an strongest character of Bollywood cinema. And it really is progressive in nature. Bechdel test is flawed because some films pass the test but still have misogynistic contents and stereotypes regarding women. In Gangubai Kathiawadi, there are lots of scenarios that are strongest in its content but fails in Bechdel test. Gangu’s conversation with Rahim Lala and Razia have that strongest elements of story telling in a women’s perspective.

The world of toxic corporate jobs and nasty bosses is more glamorous than a Farah Khan movie – where daily presence for most of them is like a stroll through a field of tulips and orchids, wearing chiffon saree designed by Manish Malhotra and dancing to melodies or item songs of Vishal & Shekhar, but the reality I faced is that the roses with thorns are on fire and the field is in the seventh circle of inferno.

I artfully dodged the bullets of my workplace and bid farewell to my delightful boss. I am proud that I freed myself from a toxic job and saved myself from getting admitted into a mental health facility.

Where only one person spoke and others just said YES to everything

My last workplace – one of the country’s so-called best EdTech companies was so toxic, it surely made Chernobyl look like a wellness retreat. My boss was the Picasso of passive aggression, virtuoso of vanity and the sultan of narcissism. None of the days started with a cheerful “Good morning” but always with a question to me by my boss- why do you ask “How are you” as a reply to Good Morning, why can’t you just reply Good Morning and keep your mouth shut?

The day started always with some unwanted criticisms followed by zoom calls with other offices, where only one person spoke and others just said YES to everything – the meetings were so thick I could cut it with a knife, but instead of cutting through it, I decided to weave a tapestry of misery and self-loathing. Ah, the joys of corporate meetings.

Reality was an elusive concept, much like finding a unicorn at a gas station. My designation and job profile had no match, they were poles apart. The idea of making new friends vanished from my mind when my colleagues sympathized over coffee and the collective sighs echoing through the office. Building a support system became less about uplifting each other and more about creating a survival squad to navigate the treacherous waters of pointless meetings and passive-aggressive email chains and WhatsApp messages at 2am in the morning.

What personal growth?

In my job, personal growth meant mastering the art of keeping a straight face when my boss suggested that working on Saturday and Sunday is an excellent team-building exercise and sleeping on Monday helps in making the week interesting.

Trying to decipher the working method and requirements of more than God like boss was like attempting to translate Shakespeare into Mandarin – utterly nonsensical.

Decisions were made with the precision of a blindfolded archer – my boss, and logic was a foreign language spoken only by me in the office.  I realized that my values, work ethic, and aspirations were fundamentally misaligned. The God-like boss was a source of frustration; it became apparent that this was a roadblock to my personal and professional development. Recognising this incompatibility was the first step towards reclaiming control over my career narrative.

I decided to quit this

The decision to break free marked the beginning of a glorious revolution. Embracing change meant accepting that my comfort zone was more like a discomfort hammock. I embraced the uncertainty of the unknown like a rope walker – imagine the rope made of spaghetti and the safety net was a trampoline missing a few springs. Plotting my escape from this corporate circus was no less than a Netflix drama series.

Breaking free wasn’t just an escape; it was a renaissance. It wasn’t just a career move; it was an epic tale of survival, resilience, and a stubborn refusal to let corporate absurdity dampen the spirit. Like a phoenix, I rose from the ashes of my toxic job, but instead of feathers, I had a newfound appreciation for good coffee from a cafe opposite to my office building and freedom from a workplace that didn’t make me want to pull my hair out. And let me tell you, my hair is too fabulous to be pulled out.

My exit as I call it today was a comedy of errors that left me with a treasure trove of absurd anecdotes and a renewed appreciation for the lighter side of professional life. So here’s to breaking free, embracing the hilarity, and navigating the corporate circus with my wide smile that says, “I survived, and I’m funnier for it and YES I DID IT.

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“Cheque Please!” I rejoiced as I gulped down the last sip of my filter coffee at my favorite breakfast joint. Paying a bill never felt so empowering and liberating before. Yes, I went for a SOLO breakfast date after 9-long-years!

It may sound small or even silly for most of you reading this, hence the context has to be established for your reference. I came to Pune from Khamgaon (a remote place in Vidarbha, Maharashtra) for my engineering. I was raised in a very free environment and with lots of love and trust from my parents. They have instilled a lot of self-respect in me. There were hardly any restrictions, I was free to wear my choice of clothes, groove to my choice of tunes, and make friends.

I made new friends when I came to Pune. I am a very social person that way, however, my life changed after I embraced motherhood.

Now everything was done keeping others in mind

I lost my financial freedom, but my self-respect in me remained intact. I was never devoid of essentials. My husband used to and still does take care of my financial needs. We both are foodies at heart. The frequency of eating out may not be very high, but we make sure we do go out twice a month. On our food outings also, there has never been any sort of pressure or restriction as to what should be ordered and what not.

Self-respect always kept alerting me, I got the habit of looking at the price side of the menu and then ordering food.

But recently, in April 2023, I took up a part-time job. And the day I got my first salary, after 8.5 years, made me feel complete. It was not a big amount, but it belonged to me. ONLY ME! I didn’t have to explain my expenses to anyone, I was free to use it the way I wanted to.

The first thing that I did after withdrawing the first amount was I bought a soft toy for my son. I birthed him, but there was nothing that I had bought and gifted him! So yes the first thing was for him and the next thing I did was I went to my favourite breakfast joint and ordered food of my choice for myself.

Celebrating the moment, and myself

I wanted to celebrate that moment, but my guilt kept snapping in my head till I reached the parking lot of the cafe.

Initially, I was hesitant if I should go alone, because I have always been accompanied, and leaving my family behind was making me feel guilty. Then I thought about all those moments when I compromised and sacrificed. The guilt swept away and I sneaked into the cafe and chose to sit on the seat that gave me an outside view; Just to avoid any weird looks that I could probably get for eating alone! But, to my surprise, that happened only in the overthinking compartment of my brain, in reality, no one cared about looking around, everyone was busy doing their thing. That came as a relief.

Now, I usually visit cafes after work for an hour or a couple of them. I realized, doing something on my own, for myself was the thing I was missing. I proudly click pictures of myself to share on social media, to encourage women to take out time only for themselves from their busy schedules. It has become a therapy; the frequency of solo dates is now almost fixed for me and it makes me happy and keeps me sane! YES, I DID IT! And, if I can, so can you!

Rekindling the Rhythms of Bharatanatyam: Rediscovering My Passion After 18 Years

Returning to the enchanting world of Bharatanatyam after an 18-year hiatus has been an incredibly soul-stirring journey, one that has not only reignited the flames of my childhood passion but has also symbolized a personal triumph over societal stereotypes and self-limiting beliefs. For some, this might not be a big accomplishment, but for me yes, it is! So, I deserve all the right to celebrate.

Growing up in Erode, Tamil Nadu, my earliest memories were intertwined with the rhythms and expressions of Bharatanatyam. Under the guidance of a dedicated Sister-Brother duo, I was enveloped in the mesmerizing world of dance. Their home was a sanctuary for aspiring artists, nurturing talents without discrimination. Here, I delved into the diverse facets of Bharatanatyam – the Adavus, Alaripu, Thillana, and the captivating Thambalam dance, which held a special place in my heart. The focus was purely on art, and I imbibed the essence of this dance form with reverence and joy.

My journey was peppered with unforgettable performances at temple festivals and celebratory events across Tamil Nadu. One pivotal memory etched in my heart was playing the role of God Murugan in the dance drama “Surasamharam” at the Salem Steel Plant. The overwhelming praise and support from my mentors and fellow dancers made me feel like I had won an Oscar. I loved to dance when I was young. I would rather dance than be in class learning plant families or Organic Chemistry. I did not know my worth then. I wish being a dancer as a career was a choice then (20+ years ago) I did not know. I was forced to take the subjects that I did not like. I vow to not repeat the same with my children. I applaud all the girls and Women who are pursuing being a dancer as their career or the career they want and stand up tall for the choices they make.

Despite the accolades in dance, societal pressures imposed a different narrative. My enthusiasm for the arts was dismissed as a distraction from academics. The prevalent notion that only professions like medicine or engineering mattered overshadowed my artistic dreams. The lack of guidance and encouragement toward my passion left me grappling with unfulfilled aspirations. I am also not sure why I stopped dancing which I loved the most.

Amidst these societal constructs, life took unexpected turns, and I found myself navigating the labyrinth of a marriage that ultimately led to divorce. This transition, though challenging, served as a catalyst for reevaluation and rediscovery.

The opportunity to perform again after 18 years surfaced unexpectedly at a picnic cookout. Thanks to my dear friend Rita, who has been my pillar of support. Embraced warmly by a group of individuals, I was invited to showcase my classical dance skills at the Aantorik Sacramento’s (California) Durga Puja celebration. With a resounding “yes” and a heart filled with determination, I embarked on a rigorous journey to choreograph and prepare for the event.

A supportive dance partner, Arunima, and the unwavering encouragement from a dear friend, Barnali Di, played significant roles in this revival. Despite the whirlwind of life’s commitments, we dedicated ourselves to practice, creating a performance that was a testament to our dedication and passion.

The event marked my return to dance and served as a lesson to my children. It conveyed that dreams have no expiration date, and that determination knows no boundaries. It was an empowering moment, showing them that their Amma is capable of pursuing her passions at any stage of life.

This artistic journey signifies a form of self-care—a renaissance of my true self. With immense gratitude to those who believed in me, I continue this unimpeded odyssey with a heart full of determination. There’s an unspoken promise to myself: this time, nothing will hinder my artistic pursuit.

In the cadence of Bharatanatyam, I’ve found not just a dance form, but a passage to self-discovery, resilience, and unwavering passion. I may not be that fit like I was so many years ago or I may not have been practicing Bharatnatyam for all these years as life got me through very tough challenges. But this is a start! I want to practice more and relearn the art yet again. No one is stopping me now!

This is not just a return to dancing; it’s a renaissance of the spirit—proof that creativity knows no bounds and dreams have the power to transcend time.

May the rhythm of my dance echo the unwavering strength within us all, inspiring others to rekindle their passions and pursue their dreams with relentless fervor.