Boys And Girls Can Never Be Friends

I grew up with two sisters – one elder and one younger. We had neighbours who have 4 children – 3 girls and 1 boy. I grew up with 2 of the girls who were closer to our age. My early years were filled with games and activities that the 5 of us did together. Hence, I didn’t recognize the difference between boys and girls until I joined school.

My first awkward experience around a girl was in my 4^th grade. I used to sit on the first bench sharing it with another girl. I have heard a story from my parents about how she kissed me on my cheek once. I was made fun off and embarrassed by my parents, teachers and friends. I don’t think I understood what the big deal was about.

In my 5^th grade, I used to sometimes participate in games with girls during lunch break and my boy friends used to laugh at me and make fun of me. Having grown up around girls, I didn’t understand what the fuss was about but definitely felt awkward and soon I stopped playing with them.

In my 7^th grade, I used to share my seat with another girl. Adolescence was setting in so while there was awkwardness, we soon overcame it and became good friends. Our 7^th grade class teacher was very special and encouraged both genders to sit together and interact. However, my class mates thought that was weird. Soon enough, there were rumours abound about us liking each other.  When she left school (her father was transferred to another city), I remember I cried and I missed her around for a long time. I have fond memories of how we used to compete to finish an algebra problem first.

During 7^th to 10^th grade, as full blown adolescence hit all of us, equations of friendships changed rapidly. We became more conscious of each other’s presence. While some of us explored, most of us were too shy and scared to explore. My parents made it abundantly clear that every girl in my class was my sister. During school assemblies, our principal made it a point to state that every boy and girl in your school was your brother and sister. Most giggled and some like me believed it to be true. During Raksha Bandhan (a local Indian festival where a sister ties a band on her brother’s wrist and a brother promises to protect and care for her), my hands would be filled with bands from my classmates.

It was during one of my co-curricular activities, I met my best friend for life. While we don’t stay in touch often now, we both share very special memories of our time together in school. She was possibly the first girl that I became truly close to. After our classes, I would often walk her to the bus stop and wait until she got her bus. I would then cycle home. Sometimes, we would stand by the bus stop and talk for hours – sharing our life stories, our dreams and our aspirations. It was one of my most special times. We had been to each other’s homes and while parents were suspicious, the stamp of approval came when we declared we were brother-sister. I don’t think we cared much as long we could be friends. Best friends. I am glad we still are. There were rumours. We were conscious. Concerned. Felt awkward at time. But, the relationship felt right.

Once, in my 10^th grade, our class was punished for missing our PE (Physical Education) class and we were made to write an imposition – “I will not miss PE class” 500 times. What a wasted punishment. Anyway, we did it. The next day when submitting my imposition, another teacher said it out loud, “Give him an additional 500 times imposition; I have seen him talking to and hanging out with girls!” I lost it and ran away sobbing uncontrollably in front of the whole school. I was a spectacle in front of the whole school and was called a sissy by many. Embarrassment galore. I was called into the Principal’s office, who was a lovely lady, but made it very clear, “I hear you hang out and talk to girls after school hours. You have been seen hanging out with a girl at the bus stop. We don’t allow such behavior in our school and I expect you to stop immediately. You are spoiling the reputation of the school. Being the School Captain, it is unbecoming of you.”

Luckily, I must say, at that time, she didn’t call and complain to my parents. I was an embarrassment in front of the whole school and felt deeply hurt and ashamed for no fault of mine.

I am glad that incident didn’t affect our friendship and we are the best of friends even today. I can’t even imagine the shame and embarrassment my friend must have gone through.

For years since then, I have struggled to build healthy relationships with the opposite gender. My early relationships with girls were fraught with guilt and shame. My view of myself, when I looked at women or felt attracted to them, always left me guilty and shameful. I never knew when my sisters got their first period, where the pads might have mysteriously disappeared and why on certain days during the month, my sisters missed school. I can’t even imagine the guilt and shame they might have grown up with.

Yet, at a certain age, I was expected to get married to a girl, make love to her, understand her, build a lifelong relationship with her and spend the rest of my life with her. I was expected to be able to communicate with this person, share a home with her and make her my best friend. I also have many colleagues at work who are women and I am expected to communicate and have a healthy working relationship with them. At this point, I have a woman as a colleague (in this case also my wife) who shares my vision and we are building an organization together. 

All of my life, I have heard messages to stay away from girls and then suddenly I am expected to work in the most important team of my life with a woman, and navigate life’s complex changes with a wife.

Am I missing something here? Do we see the irony of it?

The problem is deeply entrenched in the way we are bringing up children – be it parents or teachers. In our work at Dream a Dream, we come across young people every day (men and women) growing up in a gender insensitive environment. Young men saying they will beat up their wives because they have seen their fathers and uncles do it. Young women accepting violence from men because they have been taught to accept and endure.

“My parents want me to get married at 16. What can I do Uncle? They know best.”

“Women are all like this only. They want money and gifts and then they leave you and go.”

Judgments and impressions that are formed through hearsay and being exposed to a highly stereotypical media.

Growing up in a gender imbalanced world and then expecting to have a healthy relationship with the opposite gender is crazy. Today, I struggle to understand my wife, her views and opinions, her feelings and her needs and she struggles to understand mine. We often talk and wonder about how we are brought up in an environment where we hardly communicate with the opposite gender and are yet expected to magically resolve all our conflicts as adults. While we are still committed to work through this paradox, how many couples out there are stuck in unhappy marriages or walk out of them, because they don’t have the skills to deal with each other?

Creating healthy environments in schools for children of different genders to talk, share, interact and play together could solve the challenges they face in relationships as adults. Creating spaces and conversations that foster healthy relationships, empathy for each other, respect and dignity will help build healthy adult relationships. Dispelling stereotypes, guilt and shame around love, sex and friendships between genders will help build a positive self-identify and responsible behavior.

I know it’s taken me years to heal the scars left from those early gender experiences filled with guilt and shame and I wish we would stop perpetuating these experiences amongst children today.

I can still hear my mother telling me during one of our school picnics, “Stay away from women, smoking and alcohol!” I know she meant well but it really made it think of women as evil. I am grateful that deep down I didn’t believe it since my mother, being a woman, is an angel and I have found a best friend for life in my wife. 

Invisible Hanif

I will call him Hanif. I have known and unknown him for nearly 15 years or more of my life. For days, weeks, months and years on end, he has served me and my family during the sweltering summer months. Quenching our thirst while keeping himself thirsty. He is my Coconut Man – Hanif. I have seen him grow old over the years. I don’t think he would remember me. But, he has an unforgettable face. Dark set, with the signature cap, squinted eyes, scarred face and sad lips. I cant forget the face that has grown from an ‘angry with the world’ look to a deep, sad, defeated look.

I have often thought about writing about him and for some reason, I decided to write today. I saw him on the road today after many months and just felt the urge to give him an identity in this invisible world.

As a kid going to school, I remember him bringing in a bicycle full of coconuts into our neighbourhood. Walking in the sweltering heat, sometimes barefoot, tugging along pulling his cycle in the hope that the way back home in the evening will be on an empty cycle. He used to be an angry salesman then. Understandably so. Everyone bargained with him. He would ask Rs. 6 and his customers would pay him Rs. 5 and even then complain that his coconuts didn’t have enough water, they were not sweet enough, he was cheating them. On some days, he was in a good mood and on that day he would talk to the children on the streets, laugh with the ladies ordering from their first floor balconies and with his charm get his customers to pay what he asked for. I always wondered why my mom always, always bargained with him. It would be just Re. 1 yet she would bargain as if its a birthright. I could sometimes understand my mom because she had grown up having little in her childhood, was married into a family with no income and had to save every single paisa to feed her family so Re. 1 was important to her and she valued it. However, that attitude remained even after we became slightly wealthier and it showed in her attitude towards people like Hanif.

Anyway, I am digressing. Young angry Hanif continued his service to us and other families in our neighbourhood. I always wondered where he came from, who was Hanif, did he have a family? How far did he live? Did he make enough money? I wondered in a neighbourhood where every bit of space was being picked by the elite, where did he live? Was there space for people like Hanif to have their small houses and their invisible existence? I never really found out yet everytime I saw him, I wondered. I wonder why I never really asked him, spoke to him, asked his name?

A few months back I saw him trudging his bicycle from Hosur road, nearly 8-9 kms away from my neighbourhood. Wow! Did I ever realize that this man who has quenched my thirst for nearly 15 years, pulls his bicycle laden with coconuts for maybe 10-odd kms everyday and then takes the same journey back every evening. Have we really just slowly, steadily and ruthlessly pushed the poor out of our neighbourhoods and yet demand them to serve, think its our birthright to bargain for Re. 1 with them and not even accord them the dignity of speaking to them like human beings.

Our family income has grown from Rs. 500 a month sometime in 1975 to nearly Rs. 1.5 Lakhs a month in 2011. Hanif started selling his coconuts at Rs. 5, 15 years back and today he sells them at Rs. 12 and sometimes even lower so that his stock is finished.

I wonder how Hanif’s story will end. I see him today. I don’t see the ferocious angry man, willing to fight his fate of a few years back. Today, I see a hunched old man, sunken eyes, seem to be going blind, sagging skin, more scars and a very sad face that has given up on hope in life. I wish to see him angry yet again but that anger has given way to a defeat so pronounced that maybe only death can release him.

Hanif is one of the many invisible people who have made my life richer, easier and better with their invaluable services. Yet, I don’t seem to have added any value to their life but seem to have contributed to sucking out every bit of their energy and jest for life.

Here is my small attempt to give meaning and dignity to Hanif! Albeit, he might never know about this and will probably disappear one day from my neighbourhood without being missed.