HR for Human Rights, HR for Hotel Rwanda, HR for countless other things too

Today in Human Rights Class, we got to watch Hotel Rwanda. The movie got me thinking...about all that I had read up on Gujarat during one of my previous internships, about the riots which had happened in my city in the roads so close to my home, of the fear I feel in my gut at the sight of millions of flags of a certain colour hung on the streets and in front of churches, temples and mosques, reminding me that I am in the minority and that is in itself a crime for some groups of people, and about what could happen in the future, especially since my home State is being more frequently now referred to, even though only in academic circles, as the Gujarat of the South. I couldn't help but wonder what would be the reaction of my very hard core HR friends, some of whom I share a very close bond with, if a situation ever arose in the future where they might have to make a choice between what may then be the dictates of their ideology and the lives of their friends.

Lunch conversation with the Goatman, and I found that he too had been thinking about what might be...except, unlike my thoughts, which were religion centric, his castles were built on caste. I couldn't help but reflect that even though I don't know too much about caste and it does not make the least bit of a difference to me what a person's caste is (come to think of it, I don't even know what the Goatman's caste is!!!), if, in a hypothetical situation, the Government, the police, and all the powers that be, wanted to wipe out all people of a particular caste, even if it did not affect me directly, what would my reaction be should they, say, want to know from the disciplinary committee, in which hostel rooms all those of that caste were living. I also realized how there are so many of us, belonging to one minority group or the other, and in spite of the great ease, familiarity and even love, with which we interact with others of majority groups and they with us, deep down inside, there does exist an insecurity about what could occur were situations to change.

What that movie drove home to me is the fragility of all those established spaces and institutions we respect so highly....the Government, the Police, International Reactions, International Non-Governmental Organizations,...and the importance which fickle existences, like human relationships, favours, and individual greed, can come to play in such situations when colour, caste, religion, sex or physical build can blind races to the humanness of those they kill.

The Birds, the Bees, and a Six Year Old's Queries

The motley bunch were gathered around The Tree, and to a background conversation of the city's unpredictable weather, I was bouncing a five year old on my knee. Squealing with glee the little one gave me a tight hug and demanded we play "oh-ma-gho-shi" (for the uninitiated, it's one of those many clapping games girls play), and then, she suddenly sat upright, looked at me in a puzzled fashion, glanced down at her ironing board flat five year old chest, and then pointing at me, queried, "didi, didi (older sister), why do you always wear these two things?"

I remember quite clearly when my mother sat me down for The Talk. She drew labelled diagrams, answered all questions, placed everything in the context of our religious beliefs, societal background, family morality, and so on.

Apparently, not all children receive The Talk from their parents. I recall a day in school, when a nun was called as a guest lecturer to educate us on the finer details of hitting puberty and the beyond. She was quite scientific about it - used graphs and statistics, and pictures; even threw in a flowchart or two. And then, right at the end, she stopped, "Any questions?" Now, I was bursting with two questions, each with a capital 'Q', but the hall remained silent, and perhaps out of reverence for this, perhaps not, I remained silent as well, and the questions remained unanswered.

A lot of teens supposedly learn about the birds and the bees from their peers. I have amusing memories of my very first girly hostel conversation on The Topic. Things were going smoothly, until, with almost a shriek of shock, my conversation-mate leapt up, "You still haven't done it?? You are 20 years old and you still haven't done it??" Then, remembering that sound travels quite easily through our hostel walls, she lowered her voice, and in quite an urgent and convincing manner, while offering all her help and support, part scolded, part threatened, and part exhorted me to make sure I got laid before my 21st birthday.

Last I checked, it wasn't a crime for a virgin to celebrate her 21st birthday. But then, I might not have been so sure of this if my mom hadn't sat me down, those 10/12 odd years ago, and had a talk about the birds, the bees, and that oft misunderstood process of pollination.

Three's Company

It was a breezy dusk, the green lawns looked invitingly soft, and the usual motley bunch of us were sprawled on cheap plastic chairs around The Tree - the epicentre of the complex. Given the relaxed shorts and tees atmosphere, the tense young man pacing the main lawn stood out starkly, and it wasn't long before our speculation focused on him.

"He looks quite tense"
"He could be breaking in new shoes"
"Nah, he's probably mentally practising coming out to his parents"
"It is possible that he is just exercising"

We didn't get far, though, before another shy-tense figure joined his pacing, and we were joined by a slightly embarrassed-looking neighbour, quickly explaining unasked, as only the embarrassed can, that the two figures were to get engaged in a couple of days, and they were getting to know each other.

Embarrassment getting the better of her, she sat a little away from The Tree, gazing at the two tense ones.

Not completely well versed with the nuances of the Great Indian Arranged Marriage, I hissed to my nearest companion: "Ok, so they are getting arranged, but what is she doing here?" "Chaperon", he answered, looking a trifle shocked at my ignorance. Having had many an unchaperoned conversation with many a boy, my next question was only natural, "But why?", I hissed again. With a knowledgeably whisper he hissed back," So that they don't kiss!"

I glanced back again in disbelief at the young couple walking on the velvety lawns in the warm yellow romantic lamplight, a little more than a metre between their bodies, eyes studying the grass with great concentration and eons of silence between a few strands of mumbled questions and answers.

Indeed, I have a lot to learn about the Great Indian Arranged Marriage!