Are we done with Barbie bashing?

Barbie is after all, merely a toy!

I wish people would stop criticizing Barbie.

I used to love playing with her. She was such a big part of the first 7 years of my childhood and I have some very good memories of playing with her

I didn't notice her perfect figure and I am sure it had nothing to do with my body image. ( That I entirely attribute to movies, magazines and media AND my low self esteem as a teen. ) I feel that blaming the Barbie for body image issues is a little extreme.

You forget that the barbie has been a pilot, president, doctor among other professions. I know her figure is a topic of controversy- a thin waist, big boobs; her figure is certainly not very “real”. There are many things children play with that do not correspond with real life. And that is the whole point! It’s not real! It was never supposed to be. It’s a toy for God’s sake!

I have a problem with outrage at everything. Or maybe it is my attachment to barbie that is making me biased. I am open to a conversation.

How a kid perceive a toy ( or anything) depends on the individual.

 I feel the nature/nurture argument plays a definite role here. I grew up in a relatively equal environment. I didn’t face any discrimination based on gender at my home front. My parents gave me the choice to choose the toys I wanted to play with. I had constructions sets AND barbies. Toy trains AND kitchen sets. I had gender neutral toys (Most toys available then were gender neutral, this pink/blue things is a recent trend.) I have educative toys.

I experimented with my Barbie, I colored their hair black with my marker; I made them kiss each other ( didn't know anything about LGBT at that point, though.) I forced my mom to stitch clothes for them. Playing with barbies, making up stories fueled my imagination. So don’t dismiss barbies just yet.

 Exposure to unrealistic beauty standards is  harmful.   

I am not claiming to be an expert on how much of a role Barbie has to play in this. I just feel that maybe we’re reading too much into a simple doll that gave (and gives ) so much joy to so many kids out there.

So here’s my foolish request. No it’s a plea. ( I know it won’t change anything, but still) Please stop with the barbie bashing, already!

P. S : I scoured the Internet (sort of) and found many articles about the barbie controversy. If you hate barbie and want it banned from toysphere here's one for you Barbie bashing. And here's one here too. 

And if you're a former Barbie fan girl like me here's one for you- Barbie loving and here's one here too. 

The first step: A guest post by Amateur at this

Hey! This month I have another guest on Pigeonheadophobia. Satyabati, also known as Amateur at this in the blogging world is a very dear friend of mine. We go back a long way. We were school friends, lost touch and then reconnected around two years ago. Satyabati, though a Calcuttan at heart is currently based in Hyderabad where she is doing her masters in English. She is also a talented freelance content writer. And now that introductions are done I am handing my blog over to her. 

The First Step

I had relocated to Hyderabad in pursuit of higher education (and happiness, I might add) from my hometown Kolkata in 2012. So when my friend asked me to write a guest post for her blog, I thought I’d write something about my first encounter with reality outside home.

I’m a residential student of my university, meaning I live on campus. Of course, that the move brought a tremendous change in my life cannot be enough emphasized. It has been more than a year and a half since I first came to Hyderabad, yet at times I am still left grappling with the challenges of living alone.

Loneliness. This was the first emotion I could identify amongst the squiggling bundle of nerves that I had become in my initial days. I had never lived a day on my own in my entire 21 year old life. I wasn’t exactly nervous, but there was a constant jittery feeling in my head.

Certain things took time to get used to, like the fact that I have to go eat my meals on my own responsibility. If I went hungry, nobody would give a rat’s gut about it. Then came the usual washing, cleaning, and the occasional cooking.

In my undergraduate days, all my friends spoke the same language. And I mean that very literally. But in my university, I suddenly met numerous fellow students from various linguistic backgrounds. I feel that if I had not come here, in this multi-lingual environment, I would never have fully appreciated how important English is, to me and as a common communicative language.

Kolkata is the city that saw nearly all of my firsts. But Hyderabad has in a way become my rite to passage into adulthood. I went to my first nightclub here. I had never been able to cook anything before, so Hyderabad has had the pleasure of my first khichdi; my first chocolate-bomb on Diwali, my first DJ-Night, my first binge drinking and passing out, my first haggle with the sabzi-wala, my first getting lost in the city without a dime in my pocket...

Hyderabad isn’t home. I don’t think it’ll ever be. But yes, it is special. It is special how it rains here. It is special to look at the entire city awakening as the sun goes down from the top of Maula-Ali. It is special because, even with all the difference in language, food and culture, it gave a scared girl in self denial hope, that it will be alright. All you need to do is take the first step.

Book fair 2014 and some nostalgia

Book fair has lost it's charm for me. I came here for some work but then my friends were late so I entered and walked around to see if I could get back my years and years of stored up nostalgia. I didn't. I didn't feel anything. I don't feel excitement at seeing so many stalls; I don't feel any kind of joy that I have felt earlier. 

Today. there are so many more avenues for me to buy books. There's flipkart. And family friends with bookstores who give you discount throughout the year. And the annual British Council sale where you get books dirt cheap, literally. The book fair does not offer me something new, something different.

The premises are huge, ofcourse. It's held at Milan Mela. Which is bang opposite science city and ITC sonar bangla Hotel. So, pretty accessible location. A huge crowd of people are here. It's a big thing here; not as big as Durga Puja but it's still a pretty big deal in Calcutta. It's also become a touristy picnic-y thing to do. And people in Calcutta are generally book lovers. Well, most bongs are (sorry for the stereotyping ) 

Kinda

Kinda funny, kinda not.

You promised but you forgot.

Kinda like a quiet blot,

which did twist the plot.

Kinda funny, kinda not.

My very first guest post : Living the daylights by Samik Bhattacharya

Let me introduce to you a very talented guy who happens to be a very good friend of mine.  Samik Bhattacharya is a  blogger, guitarist, freelance graphic designer and photographer. You have to know him to believe it. And when I requested him to write a guest post for me he agreed instantly. That's how great he is :D

Anyway, I should stop talking and let him start now.

LIVING THE DAYLIGHTS

The other day, I read that post about a time-capsule. I had seen the concept being exercised in movies, but I never really knew what the phenomenon was called until now. When Anjee mentioned she had written a post about How to create a time capsule, my head wandered and revolved around the concept of time-machine. I know everyone has their own vices and excuses to hitch a ride in a time-machine every once in a while; maybe even have a secret stolen time-machine hidden in the attic for quick escape, and all I can say is - I am one of them.

The eventful life I've had till now (don't mistake my craving for time-travelling be related to having "regrets" because I have no any; or maybe just one), I often want to revisit, if not for anything, then only to smell the air of the past.

So, I lay on my back wondering what were the times that I would visit if I did have a time machine. And suddenly it felt like somebody had magically vanished a metaphorical dam of thoughts inside my head and every damn thing in my knowledge was rushing inside the invisible theatre to take the front seat, to force me to notice them. I was stupefied for a while. Then I took the pain of settling all of them in order before I could actually start the thinking process in a rational manner.

After they were settled down (against their will) and didn't dare make any occasional excited outbursts in the middle of my contemplation, I began to brood from the beginning of the timeline and here is pretty much what I arrived at...

1. I would go back to 1920s and see Charlie Chaplin actually direct City Lights.

2. I would spend a day with Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Picasso and Gertrude Stein like Midnight In Paris.

3. Then to 1941 and see Orson Welles play Citizen Kane.

4. Hang around the sets of Fellini and Bergman just for fun.

5. Steal the roles of Cary Grant for "An Affair to Remember" and Gregory Peck for "Roman Holiday".

6. Watch The Beatles live in Rooftop.

P: Preserve your memories

People have forgotten how to take photographs. Its now about how good a picture looks and is it upload-able on facebook. Its now about posing and giving the perfect smile and wondering if you are looking good. Its now about getting a great angle and sufficient light and the right background.

It was supposed to be about capturing memories. About giggling and everyone coming together for the "kodak moment".

M: M n Ms

Maida is here to stay in my life.  I think I must have used thousands of kgs of maida in the last four months. In the bakery, whatever we make requires maida. You just can't escape from it. Actually I should say flour, but we Indians tend to call atta flour. Technically, atta is whole wheat flour and maida is called flour. 

Anyway, maida with sugar; maida with butter; maida with eggs. There is maida in everything we make. It's intriguing how one ingredient can taste so different in different recipes and in different proportions. 

I taste every product I make. Before joining my course I have hardly consumed  maida. I have never really baked cakes, nor do we use that much maida while cooking. Except in pasta.  I love pasta. Making and eating it. 

My mom has been a friend for a long time now. I think it was three years ago, when she had accompanied me to Pune, where I had gone for an interview. Those three days I had her all to myself. After a long, long time. Those three days we bonded over cheese spread sandwiches and murku for breakfast. That's when she became my friend. 

I am glad I am close to her. I am glad I can be myself with her. I am glad she doesn't judge. I am glad that she is so generous. I am glad she is my mom. 

Memory is one of my favourite words. We all have a story to tell because we all have memories. And memories matter. What would you be without your memories. Think about it. And that is why Mneme is my favourite Greek Goddess. The muse of memory. I have named my laptop after her. 

Monsoon is my favourite season. And it has hardly rained in Mumbai; this year. It has hardly rained anywhere ; this year. I miss rains. I miss getting wet in the rain. I know, it sounds weird; but I still love jumping in puddles. 

Moody, is the first thing you will notice about me. Ok, maybe not the first thing. But if you know me well, you will know that I am moody. That I have no control on how fast my moods change. And if you are close to me, you have somehow handled my moods pretty well. My mom, my sister I, AK, A, Kaniti have all dealt with my mood changes with elan. Thanks! 

Mixed bag. That's what this post is. There were so many things starting with M that I wanted to write about and I just could not decide. So I decided to write about  all of them!

Cross your fingers and wish on a black car

I smile whenever I see a mail van. When I was a kid wishing on mail vans was very popular. When you spot a mail van you make a wish and cross your fingers. You can only uncross your fingers when you see a black car. This is how your wish will come true. All my adolescent and teenage years I have done this. I remember one day I had seen a mail van on the way to school and crossed the  fingers of my left hand. I didn't open them the whole day because I hadn't seen a black car. In the evening I saw another mail van so crossed  the fingers of the other hand too. And then waited on the road across my place for a mail van.


So whenever I see I mail van I feel like wishing for something. And then I smile. They remind me of the time I was allowed to be silly and stupid. Not that I am not silly or stupid now, but I am not supposed to be.


Remember wishing on your eyelash? The stray ones that would sometimes fall on your face? We used to call it wish hair. Even today, whenever I see a stray eyelash on someone's face, I urge them to wish.


So what did you wish on as a kid? And what is it that you wished for? I am curious. 


I think the next time  I see a mail van  I will wish for more time to blog. 

A case of romance and wrong timing

The following was written in Jan 2011. I was at a very miserable place emotionally. Was suffering from a serious case of loneliness and helplessness. As an emotional person I need to cry. At that point of time though, crying didn't feel justified. 

***

I don't know how you managed to break my heart. How did you get to it? How do I mourn for the loss of something I never had? Why do I feel so doomed? Yet, no tears come. I can only produce a slightly tired half smile. To compensate for the un shed tears I cannot even sigh. Trapped, by my own restrictions. Life will go on, and so will I. 

Such a loss cannot be explained. Just can't be. I can't remain idle. When I do I can only think of my loss. My mind is in such turmoil, I can't think straight. When I am alone a terrible loneliness engulfs me. Being with friends is not enough for me. This is almost desperation. 

It's a Wednesday. A Wednesday I am unlikely to forget for a long time. I can't help feeling so hurt over a person I barely knew. I am hurt. I just can't believe I am so hurt. 

But I can't shed tears. My tears won't help me this time. I know, no one can collect them. As I keep my non-existent tears aside I wonder why I am so hurt. I wish I could cry. Crying would help. Maybe. 

Something I can't admit to myself that even though I am happy I am lonely. Is it possible to be both at the same time? I can't understand myself. I have lost control over my emotions. I hate losing control. 

I am not confident about the matters of my heart anymore. And I am so scared, so confused. I can't even be depressed. I am a happy person. Positive. Optimistic. 

I will still believe in Aphrodite. For she matters to me. 

***

Update: I got over this phase in a week. I remember feeling an immense sense of relief after writing my feelings down. Didn't feel like posting it then. Came across it today in an old notebook.

The events of the past

The other day my mom was talking about this regression specialist, who had come as a speaker at her Rotary meeting. People who can actually take us back into our past lives. When, you were a dog; a cat or a needle. Apparently our problems in this life can be related to our previous lives. So if you are claustrophobic it may have something to do with something that happened when your soul was in some other body.

And all the while I thought only the life we live currently is important. “Hinduism” and grandmothers do talk about past lives and the afterlife. But I never bothered coz I figured it wouldn’t matter since I didn’t remember it. And now I realised that they have ways of making me remember!

Of course there was this show called “Raaz Pichle Janam Ka” and the specialist did take contestants to their past lives, but they made it so dramatic that ultimately it seemed like a soapy drama.

I also recently spent 3 bucks to know who I was in my past life. You know, those SMS‘s network providers send you-“Know your love” ;“Know the secret of your name”; “know your past life”. Well, I tried it. They asked for my birth date which revealed that I was a builder. I had a “dynamic nature with huge energy”. I was also “excellent in planning and supervising”. Now I know so much about my past life.

Yet, I am not too sure if I want to bother with my various past lives. The present itself is so complicated. We have to figure out so much. To connect it to the past is taking it too far. 

You've come a long way, Kid! Part 2

My natural instinct is to be over-sensitive, moody and reserved.

I however realized that these characteristics could end up becoming my Hamartia- my fatal flaw. So I needed to change that. I started to de-sensitize myself. Every small thing needn’t hurt me. I started letting go of my grudges. And since I was confident about my abilities now, I stopped caring about what other people thought of me, my actions, my words. Yes, I did and still do care about what my friends and family think about, but that’s about it.

I am still moody but I have learned to control my moods to a certain extent. I still get cranky when I am hungry.

And about being reserved? I am still a reserved person at heart but somehow people have a different image. I am friendly, I talk to people. Smile, sing, laugh, joke around, act crazy. Who would say I am reserved?  Not that I am faking all this. All the jokes, the fun is part of me. But I do have a quieter part. Only a handful of people have gotten past the surface and seen my serious side. My shy side. I don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve. ( except when I write, that is)

I sometimes wonder if I can become the quiet girl again. I don’t think I can, even if I wanted to. Whenever I am a bit quiet my friends think something is wrong. Not many people like silences. But its true that I talk more now and cant go back to being the person I was. I used be able to stay quiet for hours. Not anymore.

I can now move on. Let go. Accept changes. Let things run its course. Or just let them be.

I believe a lot in destiny. I was destined to write. But if I sit tight, don’t do anything about it, don’t write. Then it’s my fault. Yeah its my destiny, but it is to some extent in my hands. I believe in the stars and everything. But I also believe in hard work. in making things happen.

Sixteen year old me wouldn’t have imagined such wonderful things happening to her. I did turn out to be OKAY. The future seems bright and atlast I can swim!

You've come a long way, kid!

Very recently a very sweet junior of mine described me as a “mastikhor”. That was the first time someone used such an adjective to describe me. I was surprised and very very pleased. Who would have thought that the erstwhile quiet girl like me would be called a “mastikhor”. WOW!

That got me thinking about myself. I turned 21 a few days back and that got me thinking some more. I have come a long way. I know everyone does. Just that I am so amazed at the changes in me that I would like to share it.

I was a terribly under-confident teenager for several reasons.

I was an average student to start with. And was demoralized so much for my poor performance in science subjects that I stopped believing in myself and as a result became a below average student. I hated it. More so because my parents believed I could do better. They could see it, I just couldn’t.

I wasn’t very athletic either( I still aint but I don’t really care about it now) Not being picked for any sport kinda hurt.

Since I was epileptic as a child I was on medicine till I was fifteen. I hated that. A lot. And I kept it a secret, none of my friends knew my medical past. I had to go for annual check ups and EEG tests. I wasn’t allowed to learn how to swim. Then of course by the time I was allowed life got to busy for lessons and well I was too embarrassed to learn.

So till I was around sixteen I wasn’t sure about my abilities in any field. I wasn’t even confident about my writing.

People grow up. They grow out of their gawkiness and so did I. somehow I gained confidence a few months before my class 10 boards. I got even more confident when I changed schools in class 11. ( More
of that some other time maybe)

People change. I am glad I did. I like the ‘new’ me better.

What I hated about 2010

Its the last day of the year. 2010 personally was a good year for me. Tommorow a new year begins. its just another saterday. Mornings will still be the same. The sun will shine in the same way it had today. Nights will still be dark. Yet it will be a new year. But we Indians celebrate New Year so many times, be it Poila Baisakh or Baisakhi. But then its a new year tommorow according to the calender most of us follow.

Today, on the last day of the year I want to list some things I hated about 2010. Here goes

The IPL teams/Lalit Modi controversy



I like cricket. Just don’t ask me the rules. IPL has made the game more understandable and much more fun for non-sports people like me. But this year the controversy regarding ownership of teams spoiled all the exhilaration of the game.


The bad publicity India got for hosting CWG


I Am all for India and her achievements. And if being able to host the CWG is counted as an triumph for India, so be it. But then do a proper job of it. What’s the use of taking up something if you cant handle it. This basically led to something worse- the over hyped bad publicity before the games and the Kalmadi scam after the games took away the spotlight from the Indian participants who had done so well. No one remembers who won gold silver or bronze at the games but ask anyone about the mismanagement and Kalmadi’s skills and everyone will have an answer. Basically instead of the focus being on the games the controversies surrounding it became the center of attention. Not Good.


The late winter


I love every season-summer for the mangoes, monsoon for the poetry and winter for the blankets. The late arrival of any season irks me. One looks forward to something and that something is so damn late. Punctuality is supposed to be a virtue. Virtue or not winter was late and on top of that it’s not very cold. The sky didn’t really turn “a hazy shade of winter” nor was December “deep and dark”. So am not happy with winter 2010


The soaring prices (specially of onions)


Not that I am the one emptying my pockets for veggies. But because of the sky high prices onion consumption was rationed. And yes the high rates became “the” topic of conversation. Mention onions and ears were pricked, people swayed their heads in disapproval and voila a conversation on onions has began, followed by a discussion on onion less recipes and how there are people (unlike us) who have always gone without consuming onions.


The “Big Boss” hype and other sadist, voyeuristic shows


I must admit that even though I hate the concept of voyeurism I have watched an episode here and there of Big Boss, Emotional Attyachar and similar shows. I know Bigg Boss is not exactlyan only 2010 phenomenon but the court had ordered an “after 11” time slot for adult viewership shows. 9, 10 and 11year olds discussing the antics of contestants of adult content shows like Big Boss and Splitsvilla is just ridiculous. But that is a different issue altogether. Hype over voyeuristic shows has increased this year which will certainly lead to more dramatic trends in society in the years to come. These shows are quite popular which proves that the once suppressed phenomenon of voyeurism and sadistic pleasure over peoples discomfort, humiliation and pain is now out in the open. But I, like many do not like this trend.


A series of badly written books


These books are full of grammatical mistakes and typos. With wafer thin predictable plots, poor characterization and bollywoodized situations the books were puke-worthy. And they gave non-readers a right to claim that they “read books”, an open insult to genuine bookreaders and the other extreme bookworms. Examples- ‘I too had a lovestory’, ‘ofcourse I love you..till I find someone better’ . How I hate those books. And their creators who claim to be writers. Whatever.


Rallies in Kolkata



Almost everyday in Kolkata is spent trying to figure out who is calling a rally for what. Not that I care much for the cause but it makes travelling on the Kolkata roads a pain.


Munni and her being badnam



Sorry guys but I hate that song. Even though Malliaka Arora khan supposedly looks hot in it( I am straight)Even though Zandu balm has got loads of publicity. Gawd what a crude song. Am not playing moral police but I wouldn’t ever want to sing that song aloud even if am drunk.


There are ofcourse many other things that I could have hated but can't recall at the moment.
 
On a pleasanter note
 
A very happy New year to all!

The question of confused identities/lets call it discovering myself

As a savior of sorts Tarzan has always been liked by me. Maybe he didn’t save the world but he did save the jungle. And playing Tarzan in pretend games was one of my favourite pastimes as a child. I got to save imaginary animals from imaginary danger. And I loved being Tarzan. Ofcourse, in my game Tarzan was a girl.

Another favourite was red riding hood. Come to think of it she was liked because it was convenient. I didn't have glass slippers or a pumpkin but I did have a red jacket with a hood AND a basket. I could play red riding hood easily. And she sure did something brave. She faced the wolf and almost fought him. Cinderella didn’t have to do much to acquire a prince (charming isn't it?) Her godmother ( who coincidentally knew magic) did everything.


I didn't much like any other character. I never believed in Rapunzel as I knew hair could never be used as a rope however much one used Dove damage control or Pantene ( By the way did she try any of these?)


One thing I was sure of. These ladies always got a good looking, rich prince at the very end. (I wonder where my prince is, he doesn’t have to be rich) And almost always they are damsels in distress. Anyway as usual I am deviating.


Apart from trying out the professions of a teacher, postman, doctor and red riding hood I tried being a witch and enjoyed it. I spent hours brewing potions from talcum powder and other stuff and spoiling many of my mom’s lipsticks in the process. Yes, being a witch was fun.


Then again I have also been Alice (of wonderland), a detective, a cook and have dressed and redressed Barbies while weaving countless stories.


I loved playing alone. Well, why not when no one could defy me? As a then only child I had no other choice. Growing up in the 90s I had no option of videogames, cable TV or internet. My sister on the other hand never learnt to play alone. She was always Ishita. Never a detective or a teacher or a postman.


And now I am playing a writer and it’s the best I have ever played.

The day I saw a gorilla on the stairs.

I was about five or six when the gorilla visited our building. You saw it right. A gorilla.

My father used to drop me off from school. I used to run up to our 3rd floor flat and papa used to wait downstairs till I reached the house and waved from the verendah. Then he used to go back to his shop.

One day as usual he waited downstairs while i ran up the stairs. I hadn't even reached the 1st floor I saw a big black hairy pair of legs. A Gorilla!
I ran down the stairs calling out to papa " There's a gorilla in our staircase, gorilla papa" I screamed with all my might.

Dad came up with me to investigate.

Ultimately I realised that it was a workman that I saw and not a gorilla(no offence meant to anyone but I was a kid!)


That's my gorilla story.There are others involving dogs,bats and a bull. Some other time.