Target and Tibet

It seems like Target is the next Magellan, in the vein of consumer-driven world discoveries.

Stuck at work due to typical developing world traffic and the threat of mini-riots (another story), I felt a bit of nostalgia for my days as a Target groupie. (That store is amazing. It has all the cheap tchotchkes and plastic flip flops one could ever hope for. I've spent far too many hours of my life there.)

Anyway, I'm online target.com dreaming about the next time I can lose myself in aisles of $5 synthetic skirts when I come across something I recognize. It was a weird deja-vu at first, staring at the colorful and funky $24.99 "Felted Wool Bubblegum Bag" on my screen, when I make the connection -- I saw and bought that exact same "Felted Wool Bubblegum" purse in Kathmandu, Nepal!

I have no idea how Target extended its tentacles of globalization to reach even the highest Himalayan peaks to source the locally made and neon- dyed Mountain Yak-hair purses. But that kind of resourcefulness has to be respected to some degree.

Plus, I want that job. I can travel, I can find random "ethnic" accessories!

Here's the purse: http://www.target.com/gp/detail.html/ref=br_1_15/602-8568787-9215028?ie=UTF8&asin=B000HBQZZQ&frombrowse=1

It's not too photogenic.... much better looking in person.

I also remember when I was in Nepal, temporarily lost in a remote trekker's paradise township bounded by Tibetan refuge settlement camps, I met a really friendly Tibetan woman. We were both lounging on a patch of rough, twiggy grass by the lake. She was on a break from hawking her Tibetan handicrafts to tourists on the street, and I had nothing better to do since I couldn't find my travel companions with the hotel key.

(the rest for later! have to run)

Target and Tibet

It seems like Target is the next Magellan, in the vein of consumer-driven world discoveries.

Stuck at work due to typical developing world traffic and the threat of mini-riots (another story), I felt a bit of nostalgia for my days as a Target groupie. (That store is amazing. It has all the cheap tchotchkes and plastic flip flops one could ever hope for. I've spent far too many hours of my life there.)

Anyway, I'm online target.com dreaming about the next time I can lose myself in aisles of $5 synthetic skirts when I come across something I recognize. It was a weird deja-vu at first, staring at the colorful and funky $24.99 "Felted Wool Bubblegum Bag" on my screen, when I make the connection -- I saw and bought that exact same "Felted Wool Bubblegum" purse in Kathmandu, Nepal!

I have no idea how Target extended its tentacles of globalization to reach even the highest Himalayan peaks to source the locally made and neon- dyed Mountain Yak-hair purses. But that kind of resourcefulness has to be respected to some degree.

Plus, I want that job. I can travel, I can find random "ethnic" accessories!

Here's the purse: http://www.target.com/gp/detail.html/ref=br_1_15/602-8568787-9215028?ie=UTF8&asin=B000HBQZZQ&frombrowse=1

It's not too photogenic.... much better looking in person.

I also remember when I was in Nepal, temporarily lost in a remote trekker's paradise township bounded by Tibetan refuge settlement camps, I met a really friendly Tibetan woman. We were both lounging on a patch of rough, twiggy grass by the lake. She was on a break from hawking her Tibetan handicrafts to tourists on the street, and I had nothing better to do since I couldn't find my travel companions with the hotel key.

(the rest for later! have to run)

Bollywood's Mean Girls

Shilpa Shetty, a Bollywood actress who is famous within India, but hardly known outside India (with the exception of Non-resident Indians -- Indians who live abroad) has had a tough time making friends on a reality tv show.

The show’s female contestants, known for their “has-been” status or general Paris Hilton-esque rise to fame (trashy, promiscuous, catty behavior) aren’t too keen to be her new best friend. And unfortunately for her, they are all locked in a house and video-recorded 24 hours a day.

Living with catty girls is mentally exhausting. Trust me.

For Shilpa Shetty, this biting reality is compounded by the massive culture shock she encountered stepping out of her Bollywood identity, and into a house full of B-List clueless British celebrities. And I imagine there would also be a minor identity crisis with the complete loss of her cinematic quasi-royalty status. No one knows who she is in Britain.

So, without any famous, glamorous movie starlet reputation from which to derive confidence and entitlement, she’s reduced to being a “nobody” again. Now she has to figure out a way to negotiate respect without the intimidating “celebrity factor” to back her up.

I would imagine that no one has been mean to this girl in ages. No wonder she’s bawling on every episode.

But, where it gets compounded is when this catty female bullying is turned into a race issue. A very hot topic...

25,000 supporters of Shilpa have signed an internet petition demanding that the show’s producers end the racism, basically atoning for their sins and cancel the show. Thus, restoring their beloved Shilpa’s integrity.

Many people are complaining about the show: If the cat fights are indeed cases of blatant racism, or just unfair reality TV bullying.

But aren’t we missing the other issues? As Germaine Greer pointed out in her article which somewhat defends Shilpa, no one seems to be bothered by the fact that her feminine qualities are also being degraded in addition to “racist” remarks. The focus is on the cultural bigotry, instead of treating all the insults equally.

The public nerve is struck only when her ethnic qualities are the topic of a joke.

“Every time someone sends in a complaint to Ofcom [Show’s producers] about racism in the Big Brother house, the profile of the show is raised and Shilpa earns a bit more of her huge fee. But it's a funny old world, to be sure. You can call her a "dog". Sexism is fine.

What you mustn't do is call her a "Paki". As if to be Pakistani was to be worse than being a dog. Our very tenderness on this issue is the flip side of racism, and still part of the same coin. If you call me an Aussie you don't insult me because Aussieness is OK. Pakiness is evidently not OK.”

Out of the thousands of articles floating around the internet on this issue, Germaine Greer’s is the only to call into question why we are solely focused on the race issue. Yes, those other people in the house are probably bigoted. But why has no one found it upsetting that disparaging remarks were also made against her femininity? Is it too routine and inconsequential to call women bad names?

Only if those names are somehow related to her ethnicity, then you’ve got a problem. As long as there is no discernable racial connection to the insults, name-calling and derogatory remarks are perfectly natural.

Is being mean on any level acceptable? No. Are people jealous, racist, and/or catty? Of course. And isn't reality television just a horrible idea anyway?

After all is said and done, she is getting paid a nice sum of $700,000 USD for her troubles. Rumored to be more than her total career earnings in India... Not to mention the invaluable publicity! She'll never have to worry about not being unknown again.

Greer's Article

Diversity's Relevance

One of my latest and probably more complex projects is to begin addressing “diversity” at my company. With a recently opened “diversity office” and ambitious plans to become a major global IT services provider, the matter of workplace diversity (or lack thereof) is an issue that must be addressed before any global dominance can be established.

So the first challenge is taking a workforce that is largely (almost oppressively) homogenous, and conveying the indisputable importance of cultivating superficial and deep diversity. Communicating the implications and long-term benefits of creating and maintaining a diversity strategy to the average employee will be difficult.

Most of my coworkers (with exceptions) are individuals who rarely associate with others outside their community – residents of the most privileged group of high-caste, wealthy middle class graduates of the country’s top educational institutions (IIT/IIM).

Then there’s the patriarchal, subtly sexist corporate culture to confront.

And also, integrating both concepts of national and international-related diversity into the framework.

A good starting place to bring all employees onto the same page, is to abstract “diversity” to its fundamental basis. But after hearing about this concept for years, at school, through the media, even in cinema, I’m almost too deeply entrenched to make an objective statement!

What not to wear

Since the issue of women choosing to wear the veil in their professions (as in the case of the schoolteacher in Britain) has been bouncing around BBC lately, I've become attracted to the issue, because recently I also faced similar clothing challenges.

Of course, both situations are completely different -- I'm not shunning my stillettos or V-neck tops for religious reasons -- but underneath both contexts is the concern of how a woman should appropriately dress herself in foreign professional settings: Do I want to stand out in my typical clothes? Should I wear something more conservative?

In the case of the Muslim school teached in Britain, I have a few points of contention.

Personally, I don't agree with the argument that the veil makes these women more comfortable, which arguably allows a certain freedom from male (and female) evaluation of their physical appearance. No one should feel ashamed or nervous about how other people view their body. These women have obviously succumbed to the (societal, male) pressure of striving to look arbitrarily, and implausibly, beautiful. To accommodate these unrealistic demands, they’ve totally rejected having any physical attributes at all.

To me, this is a sad example of relinquishing ownership of one's body. If want to escape the weighty judgments of others, they should develop confidence in their appearance, regardless of current beauty standards. They would then regard whatever judgments, looks, comments came their way with the appropriate value – nothing whatsoever.

Opting to have no physical presence, and preferring to exist solely as abstract, disembodied voices and thoughts, deprives woman of their whole identity.

In any case, these are excerpts from a Slate article "It is rude to wear a full-face veil at work"

".........Defenders say the veil is a symbol of religious faith and that it allows women to be "free" in a different sense—free from cosmetics, from fashion, and from unwanted male attention. Debate about the veil inevitably leads to discussions of female emancipation, of religious freedom, and of the assimilation, or lack thereof, of Muslim communities in the West....

.....If Western tourists can wear sarongs in Balinese temples to show respect for the locals, so, too, can religious Islamic women show respect for the children they teach and for the customers they serve by leaving their head scarves on but removing their full-face veils.....

.......a Muslim woman who wants to cover her face has no absolute right to work in a school or an office where face-to-face conversations are part of the job. It isn't religious discrimination or anti-Muslim bias to tell her that she must be polite to the natives, respect the local customs, try to speak some of the local patois—and uncover her face."

Appropriate Dress Codes in multi-cultural environments are messy, uncomforable issues. Especially when the disputed environment pertains to your job.

An issue that, as the only Western woman employee in an office of 16,000 here in Bangalore, has more than exposed me to.

I got involved with the Dress Code here at IndiaITServices company when one day, when an email was randomly sent out to all women informing them that from now on a new dress code would be strictly enforced-

Monday through Thursday: Formal wear- Western

n Pleated trousers (no dressy pants)

n Formal skirts- well cut with matching panty hose

n ¾ or full sleeved Shirt : Plain or Striped

n Optional : Blazer / Jacket / Stole / Scarf

n Closed, platform heeled shoes (preferable)

n Or matching socks with shoes

Friday Optional: Jeans, cargos, khakis. Well cut matching Shirt / T-Shirt with collars

No- No all days: Short & figure hugging blouses, Sleeve less or half/ semi half sleeves, Fancy embroidered blouses, T-Shirts with loud quotes and with out collars, Capri pants, wrap-around skirts / ruffled skirts / gathered skirts

(Note: what is so wrong with Capri pants and dressy pants, or even “3/4 sleeved shirts that aren’t plain or striped”? I’ll never understand.)

And then there was a separate page for “Ethnic Wear”.......

Monday through Friday : Indo western / Indian

• Neatly stitched Salwar kameez, with or without matching dupatta

• Short kurta, matching parallel with a stole preferably for a formal wear

• ½ or ¾ or full sleeves – Monday to Friday

• Dupatta worn in order to meet the purpose!

• Sandals / closed shoes preferable and go less on “Slippers” for formal wear

• Saree - preferably non transparent fabric, draped in a professional manner

No-No on all Days: Sleeveless blouses, sleeve less / tight / figure hugging Kurtas.

(Note: This explains why, despite the heat on the non-AC 3 hours commute, so many sweat, sweat, sweat then faint due to their many billowing layers of fabric. Just impractical.)

I found this email to be the most patronizing, ridiculous and ambiguous instructions any corporation could demand of its employees.

Since many women rebelled against this patriarchal dictum, phone calls were promptly organized to voice our opinion to the Dress Code Nazis. (Surprisingly, or not – depending on your familiarity with Indian culture, this dress code was, in fact, decreed by the “Women’s Inclusivity Network” – the very same people who are supposed to be committed to defending our rights to be treated as equal professionals to men.)

Moreover, it was in this phone call that we discovered the real reason for the new dress stipulations: apparently, a few “racy” and immoral women wearing sleeveless shirts while eating lunch in the food court overloaded a few men’s emotions. It was a sight at which some very proper “religious” men could just not handle. Those women were tempting them, those strumpets!

They argued they could not control the sexual thoughts caused by their bare shoulders: It is the women’s responsibility in her dress to ensure that these “impure” thoughts never manifest in their perfect, holy, and clean minds.

The only solution was to immediately change their shirts and dress entirely. Thus, these men complained to the Women’s initiative, and the new and improved patriarchal dress code was born.

I was disgusted.

But, the question here, and for these burka-clad woman is the same -- Who has the authority to dictate what a woman should wear in a professional, multi-cultural environment?

The Physical Effect

The sedentary cubicle life, delicious Indian buttery curries, and general poor health standards of my environment are catching up with me.

Today, on the rowing machine at the gym (a machine which brutally measures and calculates every once of effort you put in and can get out), I had my moment of epiphany. Based on the comparison of the current time it takes to finish 500 meters versus back in the day... I can determine that I can no longer be qualified as “athletic.”

To make matters worse, I was coughing up a lung today. I will attribute this, and all other respiratory problems (burning throat, wheezing/sneezing), to the atrocious air quality on my daily commute.

It doesn’t feel good.

The athletic thing is fixable. (Probably.) The fact that I inhale a few gallons worth of noxious fumes complemented with gritty pavement dust, is not. Neither is the fact that the national cuisine is entirely based on large quantities of oil/sugar/butter.

The story from a couple weeks ago regarding the “pollution in the face” occurred as I was crossing the street to catch the bus. I was caught in the middle of the road, between two lanes of traffic, dodging dump trucks and motorcycles. Then a bus came tearing around the bend.

The thing to remember here, is that when the little old ladies who sweep the road with a homemade broom of twigs come by to gather the dust/debris off the main road, they sweep it into the curb and along the median.

So, a bus is coming directly at me, kicking up pavement particles and spewing grey-brown clouds of exhaust in its wake. I know I can’t jump in front of it and leap to the other side to avoid its grossness because A) generally not safe B) the driver may very well speed up.

In the following seconds the bus swung by me, teetering on 2.7 of its wheels, and within those few seconds, the rickety bus hurled 1. the dirt piles the ladies swept up 2. steamy black fumes 3. sharp pebbles from the pavement 4. a mixture of discarded chewed up food bits from the nearby snack stand, all over me. The hot, sticky concoction of the road traveled up around my legs, through my white skirt, in my hair, and of course, in my mouth/nose/ears/eyes.

It was a long bus ride.

In other news, I finally figured out that monkeys can indeed crawl in between the monkey bars on my balconies. (there are steel rods crisscrossing the entire outdoor areas from floor to ceiling). Only the young ones can fit through, which makes me believe it may be some kind of simian hazing...

The Physical Effect

The sedentary cubicle life, delicious Indian buttery curries, and general poor health standards of my environment are catching up with me.

Today, on the rowing machine at the gym (a machine which brutally measures and calculates every once of effort you put in and can get out), I had my moment of epiphany. Based on the comparison of the current time it takes to finish 500 meters versus back in the day... I can determine that I can no longer be qualified as “athletic.”

To make matters worse, I was coughing up a lung today. I will attribute this, and all other respiratory problems (burning throat, wheezing/sneezing), to the atrocious air quality on my daily commute.

It doesn’t feel good.

The athletic thing is fixable. (Probably.) The fact that I inhale a few gallons worth of noxious fumes complemented with gritty pavement dust, is not. Neither is the fact that the national cuisine is entirely based on large quantities of oil/sugar/butter.

The story from a couple weeks ago regarding the “pollution in the face” occurred as I was crossing the street to catch the bus. I was caught in the middle of the road, between two lanes of traffic, dodging dump trucks and motorcycles. Then a bus came tearing around the bend.

The thing to remember here, is that when the little old ladies who sweep the road with a homemade broom of twigs come by to gather the dust/debris off the main road, they sweep it into the curb and along the median.

So, a bus is coming directly at me, kicking up pavement particles and spewing grey-brown clouds of exhaust in its wake. I know I can’t jump in front of it and leap to the other side to avoid its grossness because A) generally not safe B) the driver may very well speed up.

In the following seconds the bus swung by me, teetering on 2.7 of its wheels, and within those few seconds, the rickety bus hurled 1. the dirt piles the ladies swept up 2. steamy black fumes 3. sharp pebbles from the pavement 4. a mixture of discarded chewed up food bits from the nearby snack stand, all over me. The hot, sticky concoction of the road traveled up around my legs, through my white skirt, in my hair, and of course, in my mouth/nose/ears/eyes.

Not a great way to start the day.

In other news, I finally figured out that monkets can indeed crawl in between the monkey bars on my balconies. (there are steel rods crisscrossing the entire outdoor areas from floor to ceiling). Only the young ones can fit through, which makes me believe it may be some kind of simian hazing...

This week

Pollution in the Face, 2 Hour Bus Ride to Work, and Monkey Attack in Bedroom.

Stories to come, new photos on www.bangalora.blogspot.com

Maneaters

Nelly Furtado’s new song finally made it overseas (courtesy of VH1) and, of course, I can’t get it out of my head. Maneater brings to mind so many colorful episodes… For one, sitting on my outdoor stoop senior year with Whitney in our unattractive ensemble of thick, fingerprint-smudged glasses and baggy blue medical scrubs, while drunken boys of our acquaintance would stumble pass us on their way home declaring we were "maneaters."

We could only wonder what they were talking about as we regarded each other in our fantastic “I’ve been working 19 hours working on my term paper and haven’t seen the light of day” state of affairs. Maneaters? Wishful thinking.

In related happenings, an AFP “agence france presse” reporter I spoke with 2 weeks ago on the subject of “Atypical Expats,” published his article. I suggested we talk about my intermittent involvement with a group called Blank Noise, which tries to eliminate social stigmas surrounding the public sexual harassment of women.

The article was good, and I’m glad I could help “eve-teasing” gain much-deserved attention in international media outlets. However, using the fact that I’m foreign to help sell the article doesn’t sit well with me - I’m no more qualified than the other women actively involved with Blank Noise, who have been working on this far longer than I have.

It’s unfortunate that the article heavily relied on the angle of a white chick who dabbles in women’s rights in India during her free time. Hopefully, in the future more will be written about the true story – the bold Indian women who are trying to change their society.

From Yahoo News { http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20060714/wl_sthasia_afp/afplifestyleindiawomen_060714141054 }

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BANGALORE, India (AFP) - On the streets of this booming Indian city, Laura Neuhaus says she is constantly on guard against men who brush against her body.

“People run up and grab my butt, my breast and brush against me purposely," Neuhaus says. "It happens so fast."

"I will be walking with my boyfriends and it makes no difference. After that I go through post-traumatic stress. You are so angry and humiliated," she says. "There is no one to talk to."

To help stop the practice, the 23-year-old technology executive from the United States joined Blank Noise -- a group that fights "Eve teasing," a euphemism in India for the sexual harassment or molestation of women.

According to official statistics, around 7,500 expatriates came to Bangalore for extended stays in 2005, and there are now around 15,000 foreigners working in the city, India's technology hub.

Many of them spend much of their time in walled enclaves, safe from the streets while living in villas that often cost several hundred thousand dollars.

But a few say it is time to break out and work to make their lives and those around them better.

"Many live in expat bubbles of private cars and five-star hotels or are not in India long enough to experience harassment or grow connected enough to the community to become active in women's issues," says Neuhaus, the only foreign member of Blank Noise.

"Foreign women such as myself usually are not exposed to this hidden side of Indian society and violent repressed sexual aggression," she says. "I thought I should do my bit."

On Sundays, Neuhaus spends her time trying to recruit more expatriates, who have borne the brunt of Eve teasing, and participating in demonstrations held by Blank Noise.

"It is not an activist or radical group. My aim is to help increase public awareness for street sexual harassment because it not only perpetuates the subjugation of women, but often erodes self-esteem of young girls," she says.

A year ago, police arrested 39 people for Eve teasing in Bangalore. The law provides a maximum of two years in jail but offenders are rarely prosecuted.

In India's male-dominated society, 16 cases of various types of violence against women are reported every hour, according to the National Crime Records Bureau. More than 18,000 rape cases are reported against women every year.

Some 8,800 women are killed in India every year in dowry disputes, the bureau reported.

India is currently mulling laws to combat sexual harassment.

Jasmeen Patheja, the 26-year-old founder of Blank Noise, says she started the outfit in the high-tech city to encourage a public debate on eve teasing.

"This group encourages women to open up and question the harassment on the streets," Patheja says. "In India your family or your peer group dismisses the topic of Eve teasing. A vast number of women choose not to question it.

"We are in an environment where every girl has to protect herself in a public space. Women are made to feel that they are asking for it."

The group holds silent demonstrations on the streets of Bangalore, holding posters and banners reading "Y R U LOOKING AT ME".

Volunteers for Blank Noise, which has offices in all major Indian cities, distribute pamphlets and literature on eve teasing and also hold workshops on the topic to boost public awareness.

The group is in the process of collecting clothes, ranging from school uniforms to saris to jeans, worn by women when they were sexually harassed on the streets.

"All these will be strung together and put up at a public place to prove that the clothes you wear, whether it is western or saris, have nothing to do with the harassment," Patheja says.

Neuhaus says she felt a "huge sense of relief and hope" after joining the group.

"I saw there were other women who were planning to do something about it. Sexual harassment happens everywhere in the world. But only in India have I experienced Eve teasing," she says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yes, Master"

Since some friends are out of town for the next few weeks, and in the interest of taking a faux vacation from my industrial-esque company apartment, a friend and I moved into their warm, cozy home, playing the role of a house, dog, and servant-sitter.

Obviously, the main purpose of my house-squatting is to take care of the obese food-obsessed dog, but this house-sitting gig has other perks as I'm slowly realizing how weird, twisted, complicated the world of employing domestic help really is.

Typical of most middle-class Indian families, the couple has a full-time maid/cook/dog-nanny. Also, slightly more luxuriously, they have a car and driver. Both employees are reasonably friendly, say "yes mam" approximately 2,000 times a day, and gush about how much they love their vacationing employers. Kinda strange.

Despite the occasional crisis of consciousness that I’m single-handedly perpetuating the caste system and promoting inequality of human beings, driving to work with car and driver is simply amazing. I’ve momentarily forgotten the trials and tribulations of my usual commute in Indian public buses, as I’m now lost in the Bangalore Expat Chauffered world of luxurious faux-leather seats, abundant leg, elbow and head room, and-- of course—the most magnificent invention of the modern world, Air Conditioning.

(As I couldn’t possibly do justice to the full, aromatic, rollercoaster experiences which color my daily bus commute, I’ll save the full description for a more detail-laden account later.)

Really, having the driver is great. Having cook/maid is fine too, and as soon as figure out what she actually does during the day, I’m sure I’ll appreciate her much more.

Due to her “real” employer’s absence, I think she’s also taking a break in her duties and probably half-wondering what the hell us strangers are doing in her house, spoiling her vacation. Nothing is really clean (all the towels are musty and there’s no toilet paper to be found) and I’ve enjoyed her home-cooked meals only 3 times this week.

One morning, after assuming we had already left for work, she switched on the TV to a local soap opera, and from what I’ve been told from an eyewitness, began to settle in. (I’m sure she was just about to break out the Chardonnay, the 700-page Vogue Summer Edition, and manicure kit too for a full day of spa-like relaxation.)

When we eventually wandered into the living room, catching her red-handed with the remote, pure horror and petrified confusion ricocheted through the 1,300 sq ft apartment.

It was a very awkward morning, to say the least.

Actually, it’s just an overall awkward relationship, with zero hope of normalcy.

As its been described by an anonymous source: “My relationship with the maid/cook is mostly based entirely on histrionics... if she comes late, she'll make up some story about how she was actually there at 6 am walking the dog.... then I have to make up some story about how we really like her food, but are eating at a restaurant for dinner.”

The driver also may have gone on vacation, as he went completely MIA this morning. (I’m hoping he comes back tomorrow, but his phone is off and we have no way to contact him.)

When he didn’t show up this morning, the cook/maid took it upon herself to investigate and call on his "cousin brother" who works down the street. She came back to the apartment 5 min later, breathless and hyper, with an overly complicated story about the "cousin brother" being "gone, gone. no one was in home or in office who he works for holiday" -- which I still haven't quite deciphered.

I think she was secretly proud of his inexplicable disappearance, consequently elevating her to the hotly contested position of "Most Favored #1 servant" by virtue of doing absolutely nothing.

As a careful student and observer of the lives of aristocrats (Beauty and the Beast, Gosford Park) I expected the world of full-time domestic help to be much more fulfilling and glamorous. Sadly (or thankfully), it takes a certain kind of finesse I just don’t have.