Lets be the change we want to see.

This conversation is important for obvious reasons. Yes, I choose to call this a conversation, not a blog post. If this post catches you nodding in acceptance or tugs some strings in your heart, it will obviously become a conversation between my pen and your heart and I hope it does.

America or India, we have a very long way to go before we call ourselves a progressive civilisation. Globalization has helped people like me understand that the situation is just about the same everywhere. The US Presidential elections and the way Brock Turner case is turning out to be so nauseously similar to Nirbhaya are so telling of the place that women have in the society as of today. Irrespective of culture and country, when assault happens, it is so convenient to say that the woman asked for it. Nirbhaya was out for a movie with a man and Brock's victim was drunk. As if these are reasons enough to violate a woman's body in the most horrifying ways. I wouldn't wish such torture even for the perpetrator. An eye for an eye would make the entire world blind. And NO, locking up girls or asking them to not look pretty or asking them to cover up is not the solution. 

The only two definite long term solutions that I can see: 

1. Inspire more and more women to ignore judgement, accept responsibility for their own lives and live it up. Yes, there is something definitely intimidating about strong and strong / badass looking women ( Weird but true, I certainly get lesser stares at the gym since my short haircut! ) 

2. Get more men into the conversation. The kind and good men of the world (there are many) need to get vocal and dismiss their misogynistic male friends, stand up for the women in their lives, including their mothers. Understand that it is NOT okay for one parent to treat another like a doormat and the only people who can intervene are the children. If the father treats the mother like shit, stand up for her, even if it means fighting the father. If the sister is treated like shit by his brother in law, don't ask the sister to adjust for the sake of family honour. When a girl dumps your friend, don't gang up with him to call her a b****. Say NO to marital rape, domestic violence and abuse. If a friend gets assaulted, stand up for her. It is excruciating to go through abuse and unless we have more men talking about it, the world will remain where it is. Guys, your sisters, daughters and wives have the same anatomy too. Why wait until something happens to them?

The more I think about it, the more I believe EACH ONE of us is responsible in some way or the other for the mess that we have created. As women, we have either been submissive or ignorant and as both genders, we have deliberately chosen to turn a blind eye to the day to day atrocities all around us. 

We all react where there is a rape - but unless we act by making small lifestyle and mindset changes, our roads, trains and public places will remain unsafe, our girls guarded, our mothers ill-treated, our female friends touched inappropriately every single day in public transport, our DAUGHTERS and SONS molested by unknown men and paedophiles and they won't even tell us about it because 'cultured Indian families won't discuss sexual issues', our wives condescended at work because she is a woman, our country considered as one of the most unsafe places for women in the world. 

What are we going to do differently, from TODAY? 

I pledge to stand up against atrocities in my own way, whenever and wherever I see it. I pledge to bring up a good young man into the society. I pledge to impart proper sex education to my child as a responsible parent. I pledge to inspire women to stand up to themselves. I pledge to help well meaning men understand how they can help. 

Lets be the change we want to see.

P.S: This post was what triggered me to write: https://medium.com/@laura.louise/michelle-marks-is-dead-brock-turner-is-a-rapist-men-are-still-blaming-literally-every-single-b107c02fada3#.x24zi0mb7

Rendezvous with Rhododendrons #4 – Barsey beckoning!

I know, my posts have been sporadic for a while. Life has been trying as much as possible to shear me away from my blog, but I stubbornly stick to my commitment to tend to my baby (blog, I mean! My biological baby isn’t a baby anymore, he is a little boy). It is still taking baby steps, so nurturing it is of prime importance to me. Once in a while, it becomes a little overwhelming, but I manage to successfully overwhelm the overwhelming feeling!

So, where was I?  Yes, I went to bed that night in Sherpa Lodge, Okhrey, dreaming of dancing amidst Rhododendrons.  Did that happen? Did I really dance amidst those lovely flowers? Read on.

I still vividly remember that morning. The birds were still waking up. The cold mountain air and fog was still holding the beautiful valley below in its wraps. The orange ball was yet to make its appearance in the horizon. That was when I stepped out of my room, bundled in layers of warm clothing, clutching my camera to get that glorious first shot of the sunrise, as is always my habit wherever I go.  I held my head high, feeling a little proud that I was the first to wake up, that I’m going to be the only one to witness the gorgeous sunrise.  As I marched outside the lodge, in search of the most appropriate location to perch my camera, I heard him.

“Hey, sunrise dekhnaa hai? Yahaan se mast dikhtaa hai. aao!”

Someone poked a pin into my ballooned pride and enthusiasm. I scornfully looked at who that intruder was. He was the person, who stayed in the neighbouring room and it was his second day at Okhrey. He obviously knew better. I reluctantly dragged myself to the spot where he was standing. There wasn’t any time for my grumpiness showcase. The sun was already rising. 

Soon, my fellow travellers joined me. We had our morning tea, entrusted our bags to the trustworthy Sherpa and set off to Barsey. Joining us on our journey was our guide, Mr. Hissay Gyatso Sherpa. We drove up to Hiley, which is the entry point to Barsey Rhododendron Sanctuary. Mr. Sherpa had arranged for our breakfast at Hiley. After devouring the yummy Poori-Sabzi, we set off on our trek.  

Wild berries

  

Air moss

Lichens

Having Mr. Hissay trek with us was the best part of the trek. Armed with a Himalayan birdwatching guidebook, he helped us spot every little bird that flew by, helped identify every exotic plant that we beheld on our way and helped understand the locals and their ways. He also provided insights into the problems plaguing the sanctuary – such as the heavy influx of local tourists during festival season and the consequential littering, thereby disrupting peace in the jungle. He also briefed us about how the supplies to the forest guesthouse are transported in the absence of connectivity. Sherpas, naturally have great lungpower and a number of them double up as porters to transport the groceries and provisions uphill, offering to carry them on their backs for a paltry sum of three hundred rupees. Tough lives.

Mr. Hissay, our trek guide

After a couple of hours trekking, spotting Magpies, sunbirds and the exotic(?) Himalayan crows(no luck with spotting the elusive Red Pandas though) and learning to tell the difference between Rhododendron Barbatum/Rhododendron Arboreum and Grande/Falconeri, we reached the forest guesthouse, ‘Guras Kunj’. There wasn’t much of literature on the net about this place, hence I wasn’t sure what to expect. However, what I saw was beyond my expectations. It was an elegant wooden cottage with basic facilities, but the location was simply stunning. Painted green and standing amidst raging-red-fire like Rhododendron blooms, it seemed lifted straight from a fairy tale. Probably the most romantic of all places I’ve been to, ever.

‘Guras Kunj’ is basically a dormitory. It has one big hall which can accommodate 20 travellers easily. There is also one double bedroom with attached bath, which needs to be pre-booked. However, pre-booking is tricky as it is a herculean task to reach the owner’s mobile phone. Hence, you have to be lucky to have that room. And not to mention, we were incredibly lucky that day. 

Guras Kunj, the forest guesthouse

That evening was one to remember. I lay down on the cool grass, watching the clouds penning poetry, listened to the whistles of the wind, admired the stark color contrast of the ravens and rhododendrons, peeped into a rhodo flower, witnessed a hailstorm at 10000+ feet, snuggled up and watched ‘As good as it gets’, invaded the kitchen, dished out some French fries for us as well as the cooks and much more. In short, I had the time of my life that day. Never before, had I felt so emancipated. Every mountain in the vicinity seemed to echo my excitement.

Raven and the Rhododendrons

Rhododendron Grande

That evening, I also had to prepare myself for the last bit of the trek – the steep climb to the Barsey point/Sunrise point and back. Why prepare, you may ask. Well, I have a weakness that I hate to admit, that any self-confessed traveller would hate to admit – I am scared of heights. The minute I look down from a height, vertigo engulfs me and bogs me down.  However, I constantly try to work on my weaknesses. From being scared of climbing railway over bridges, I’ve come a long way - I’ve parasailed, climbed temple hills, done one day hill treks etc. However, mountains still manage to scare me out of my wits. I just can’t walk over a ridge or look from over a cliff. And this last part of the trip had both. I just had my fingers crossed.

Dear reader, please let me gather myself to come back and narrate the rest of the story. Till then, hold on and stay tuned.

Fellow bloggers! Care to spare a minute???

Hello brethren,

I'm currently enrolled in a short term course and I need to run a survey as a part of it. So here I am, to seek asylum in the blogosphere. If you are a WOMAN living in India, especially BANGALORE, I request you to take this survey. If you are a traveller, you have more reason to participate :)

GENTLEMEN of the blogosphere, you can contribute too! Please forward the link to all the ladies you know. Thanks much!

http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/S9KGNZD

One train, two perspectives

The vanity attached to doing or attempting something before others do is exhilarating. That way, I should admit I’m even a bit jealous of all those veteran bloggers who took up to blogging years ago! Coming to the point, I pride myself on being one of the early adopters of Bangalore's Metro rail system. Having ridden the metro trains in Paris, Singapore, Kuala Lumpur, Rome and Kolkata, I was yearning to ride one in my own city. This dream came true with the flag-off of ‘Namma metro’.  'Namma metro' became 'nanna' metro in just a few days of its launch.

Bangalore Metro trains. Courtesy: Google image search

The glossy stations, spic-n-span platforms, prim purple trains, blinking auto  turnstiles – all may seem normal to a well-travelled Bangalorean, but to the average Indian, they are still eye candy and larger than life. That also explains why the train was running full for the first few days despite the little distance covered.  A ride on the metro is still on top of the weekend to-do list for many people, including families with children.

Talking about the ride itself, it is a smooth one, no doubt. But to me, it is a ride that is thought provoking, enlightening. One may ask why. This is why. For the first time in Bangalore, we have a place where people from different rungs of the society congregate.  Men in business suits and women in stilettos, construction labourers, loud and giggly college girls, sari and flower clad ladies, families with children - all travelling side by side makes for a very interesting, uncommon sight. It evokes in me, a sense of relief. Think about it, this city is known for being extremely hostile to the urban poor and the middle class(read, the Ejipura eviction). In Bangalore, even buses have classes. The poor ride the ordinary buses and Pushpaks while the Vajras and Vayu Vajras cater to the elite crowd. The rich turn to  malls, bowling alleys, multiplexes etc. for recreation while the poor still go to cubbon park, lal bagh and museums. The urban poor's hands are tightly bonded; they are the ones bearing the brunt of the rising social inequality. Be it basic needs like conveyance, sanitation and health care to recreational activities, their options are grossly limited.  Thanks to this new mode of transport, they, for a change, have a clean place to hang out without shelling out a bomb.  After all, isn’t it cost-effective for an entire poor/middle class family to hop on an a/c train and enjoy the joyride than do anything else in this expensive city?

Well, that is just one way of looking at it.  I’m sure the college girls are complaining already. The lewd stares from men are certainly bothering them. As the network expands to include the length and breadth of Bangalore, ‘Namma metro’ is likely to build up its own repository of harassment stories.  Even the plush people from posh areas may not be very amused. The other day, there was this lady who was visibly annoyed by the little boy constantly peeking into her laptop; and there was the mother of the boy, who was occasionally comparing her hairy hands to the other woman’s waxed hands. Bangalore’s inequality packed into one shocking frame!  Yes, shell-shocked I was, but relieved by the promise the sight held. The promise of bringing the city’s elite closer to the poor. The promise of making them FEEL equal, at least in some sense.

Today, with a meagre station count of 6 covering less than 9 kilometres, the system isn’t that great or happening yet.  However, a few years down the line, I can visualize it becoming the lifeline of the city and people taking it for granted, when I would proudly proclaim, “It used to be my metro. Now it’s our metro!”

Dare to dream!

Updated on 29th March 2013:  This post has been selected as one of the top 10 entries in the International Women's day blogging contest conducted by Sulekha. Details here.


A YEAR AGO:

Radha was fuming. It was official. She will not be leading the new project.  Than the sense of betrayal, the unreasonable reason that her boss had quoted for not choosing her was more vexing.

“Look Radha”, he had told her earlier during the day, “You may be consistent, you may be enterprising but what I’m looking for is commitment. That’s where I think Suresh fares better.”

When Radha dared to ask him what made him think so, pat came the reply, “ You see, Suresh is unmarried and fully committed to work. But you know…you… have other commitments; I mean family…, kids…. This project has very strict deadlines. If your child falls sick and you suddenly go on leave…like how you did a year ago… hmm, hope you get the point…”. His words reeked of chauvinism.

Radha was dumbstruck.

Six years ago, this very same corporate life seemed like a bed of roses. A fantasy turned into reality.  A programming job in one of the IT majors. Not sure if that was what she wanted, but she, for sure wanted to ride the wave. A first month salary that was way higher than her father’s last drawn salary. Whether well-deserved or not was a question deserved to be asked at that point but remained unasked. As a multi-talented, intelligent and diligent person, Radha basked in her new found financial independence and expressive freedom. She almost bordered on being a workaholic. In addition to working hard, she gave vent to her creativity too, participating in office cultural events and what not.

Lives change. Hers did too. The sugar castle started crumbling, slowly but surely.  As work became more and more hectic, the changes in her personal life sheared her from her work more often than she wanted. Marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, maternity leave etc. crossed off several days from her working calendar. Radha had to admit it – she was not really enjoying this life. When in office, her mind lurked around home and vice versa. She just remembered how long it had been since she penned down anything. It used to be her favorite pastime. “What was the last book that I read?”, she thought. She felt as if she was being whisked away into a gloomy black hole.  

“Enough is enough”, thought Radha. This was it. The incident had driven her into the retrospective mode. “What makes me stick on to this job? Do I take pride in being a technologist? Well, not really.  Creativity is my forte. Then what, money? Hmm, how do I make money and still be entitled to living a guilt-free life?”

Radha thought hard. Then it dawned on her. The power of internet seemed to be the panacea for all her woes. With the moral support of her understanding family and to her boss’ utter dismay, she succeeded in getting a 6 months long sabbatical. She weighed her strengths – she had a flair for writing, had a working knowledge of four languages, could design logos and doodles and had a leaning towards jewelry designing too! She went ahead, enrolled herself in many freelancing websites and subscribed to their feeds. She established the much needed contacts – she interacted with many writers, translators and designers on social networks and local hangouts. Her semi-orphaned blog too got a new lease of life; she started posting almost on a daily basis, all the while aggressively marketing the same.

The first 2 months were almost dry. But soon after, work and hence money started trickling in. She took up a part-time, work from home job as a social media consultant – her job was to update the company’s facebook, twitter and blog accounts. While this ensured a fixed income every month, she got ample time to hone her skills and be on the lookout for fresh work. She understood that not all her hobbies could fetch her revenues – she had to be really good at what she was doing, keep doing it consistently and most importantly, stay afloat and visible. Hence she stuck to writing and translation.  She eventually learnt which jobs required lesser time and effort yet paid more. She figured out how to spot that one interesting, well-paying piece of work from a host of other mundane jobs. She also built up a loyal clientele for her niche skill – top class regional language translation work combined with excellent writing abilities. Through her friends in the media, she landed on a regular ad-scripting contract. She definitely wasn’t making as much as her well-heeled job, but it was a glimmer of hope.

TODAY:

Radha has quit her full time job and established herself as a good freelance translator. Her company is very happy with her blog posts and status updates. Her monthly income is a little over half of her corporate salary, but her heart brims with contentment and a sense of accomplishment. Financial independence + Quality time with family + creative freedom. What more could a woman ask for!!!!

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Courtesy: Google image search

Radha is fictitious, but has shades of me in her. Having successfully established a work-from-home career in the past 2 years after many years in the corporate world, I bet it’s a realizable dream. However, here are a few words of caution:

1.       Freelancing/working from home requires a great deal of discipline. If you love lazing around/sleeping, then this may not be your thing.

2.       You have to be critical of yourself, almost all the time. The day you feel you are the best, is your doomsday. However, be confident and exude this confidence when bidding for a new project or talking to a prospective client.

3.       There are zillions of jobs out there – be selective. Apply due diligence. Do what you think you can do best. Translation, Social media consulting, focused writing(food, travel, web, media etc.) designing (jewelry, clothes, accessories, websites, furniture, logos, pamphlets, brochures and more), tailoring, painting(for sale), dubbing etc. are some good options, especially for women.

Now, dare to dream! Dare to quit!

(This is my entry for the Sulekha blogging contest - 'Alternate careers for women')

THE DAILY STORY OF AN INDIAN NAARI - a practical analysis

(This is my entry to the IndusLadies 4th Annual International Women's day Contest. )

The daughter-in-law is crying.  Tadaaa!  Wanna know my fairness secret? CUT.

 Sheila happily gyrates, crooning all about her youthful glory. CUT..

Even Angels fall for Axe. CUT..

Munni laments about her loss of reputation. CUT.

Daughter-in-law resumes crying, as the apathetic mom-in-law bitches about her.

“Che, what horrible things they show on TV nowadays? Not even a minute can we watch with family, no?”, remarks my mother-in-law, not expecting any reply, as she settles down to watch the wailing ‘Bahu’, post the break time channel surfing session.

“They have to ban these ads, at least during family hours…”

“….”

 “These ladies, no shame, ready to do anything for money…Haiyo Rama”

“….”

10 AM - I am listening, but keeping mum. I am in the midst of my daily morning frenzy.  Oh yeah, nowadays, 10 AM, with the exam season and all that. Packed lunches, plasticized smiles, hurried hugs and off we are, to face the drudgeries of our own lives.  Oh, the plasticized one isn’t mine. After all I’m the mother! How can a mother...? Hmmm, well, it is the little boy. Exam tension, you see! And the man… as well. A big day at the office, it seems. I can feel the lack of pressure in the hug. It’s ok hon.

I have to wash dishes before I leave. The maid isn’t in today- she is in the hospital. Her husband is one angry drunkard chap. I should go and meet her.   

11 AM – I just reached office. I regret for having taken public transport today, despite my elevated fears after the recent incidents reported in media. That idiot groped me TWICE in a matter of 30 minutes. How dare he? Leave it. I need to start working NOW. A coffee will fix it.

11:30 AM - I’m still pointlessly staring into my monitor filled with some code, chat and FB windows. How could I forget? May be I AM getting old. NO WAY. I’ll definitely do it today. A knot in my hankie will help me remember.

1:00 PM –   I’ve finally finished coding that major feature. Now, it’s time to check on the status of the delegated work. Have to prepare for the important call with the UK client late evening.  I hope Rohit brings back his tiffinbox empty, and of course his tummy full, at least today. ‘He has nutrition deficiency’, his doctor says. Did I have any of that as a child? I should probably call Mama and find out.

1:15 PM – I’m lunching at my desk today.  I really have to go and visit Kaveri. I hope she is ok. Her husband hit her with an iron skillet, her daughter told me yesterday. That girl has just attained puberty and now has her own share of problems in the slum where she lives. Her father himself has tried getting cozy with her, she told me once.  I wonder why Kaveri is still married to that monster. Poor Rohit, he is really getting tired waiting for the tooth fairy. His permanent teeth have started popping out already. Before he develops a complex, I should take him to the dentist. Perhaps, an eye check-up too.

2:00 PM – I’ve gathered all the important points to be discussed in today’s call.  Why hasn’t he called me yet? Did the appraisal go well? I’m sure he’ll come home with sweets tonight. I’m not making Rohit dance to Rowdy Rathore song during his annual day. I have to talk to his teacher about this. Oh! To hell with today’s idea of entertainment.

3:00 PM – Rohit’s teacher just called. She asked me to pick him up. Poor thing, he’s running temperature.  What do I do? I just can’t walk up to my silly Romeo Doppelganger of a boss and talk about skipping the call.  I’m fed up of him and his lewd stares. I’ll ask mom-in-law to go with the driver to the school. Sorry Rohit baby!

4:00 PM – I just completed a mentoring session. Rohit has 101 degrees fever. Mom-in-law has given him Calpol. Hope it’s the correct dose.

5:00 PM – Hmm, a talk by the Biocon lady happening at the auditorium? How I wish I could go!  Oh, the call is at 5:15, I better prep up.

6:00 PM – Uff! Done with the call. Rohit, Mama’s coming darling.

6:30 PM – This darned bus! Hope Rohit’s fever has come down. I need to help Kaveri in some way, but how? Will she agree for a divorce? Should I, perhaps take her to ‘All women police station’? What if that goonda fellow targets us?

7:00 PM –  “Am back Rohit darling! Mummy’s gonna spend the rest of the day, just with you, ok?” I hear myself saying.

10:00 PM – Rohit is asleep. His is afebrile now. The knot in my hankie is now vying for my attention. I slowly untie it as I sit down with my laptop to key in my entry for a blogging contest. I am planning to visit Kaveri on my way to office tomorrow. Time for another knot in my hankie.

                                                                        -----------

     The story above may look just like a peek into our own daily lives, but there’s more to it. Reading between the lines, one may observe that the protagonist lady seems to be living in the ‘audience’ mode, rather than the ‘actor’ mode. Most of us exist in the audience mode, waiting for a story to be told, shed emotional tears, ponder, yet slowly but surely, get ripped away into yet another quotidian day.

     When I had to choose from a list of topics for this contest, I felt I had to touch upon many of them, as most of them seemed interconnected. A typical Indian woman has to face more than one of these problems on any given day. To elaborate, let’s consider scenarios from the above story:

• The sleazy content in media : Today’s world is all about glitz and glamour. We all agree that ladies are portrayed in poor light. Should we go ahead and say that all actresses must put their foot down and say they will not appear in such commercials/endorsements? That, I’m afraid, will practically never happen. No one wants to stick out like a sore thumb. Especially a beautiful, popular woman, UNLESS, there is a reliable support system in place. A system which censors such content in the first place at least from the main stream media.  A system that has people who respect women for what they are, and not how their bodies are. A system that has strong laws for protecting women in the media, or any field for that matter.  Till then, but for a few activists, most women will succumb, just the way WE commoners do. We may never know, the divas may aggressively and anonymously be blogging about it somewhere in the cyberspace.
• Motherhood: The protagonist, as we see, is struggling to achieve the ever-elusive ‘Work-life’ balance. Today’s mother certainly has more hats to juggle and more things to brood over. Again, a support system becomes mandatory for the woman to successfully carry out the balancing act – a good, understanding family consisting of the husband, children and both the partners’ parents. While, it may not exactly be necessary/possible to be living with the in-laws under the same roof, maintaining a cordial relationship with the extended family does help a woman in the long run. NO ONE can love your child the way your family does – not your maid, not your neighbor and definitely not your daycare ayah!

                           

                                                 

•  Women’s safety: Should the protagonist have slapped the guy in the bus? Or showered abuse? Obviously not. Practically, no average Indian woman wants to hog the limelight even in a bus, because that sadly makes her more vulnerable to lewd remarks and comments. May be the lady in the story should have handed over the guy to the police?  Having read all the horror stories and humiliations against women happening in various police stations, (and even in their own houses by their own fathers and uncles) our leading lady probably decided against it. She feels, ‘Strengthen policing. Weaken moral policing’. Till then, she is reluctantly ready to wash away all the slime with a daily dose of Dettol.

Courtesy: Google image search

                   

• Domestic Abuse: Any form of abuse is horrifying and that too happening under the license of marriage is definitely detrimental to all our womenfolk. This, I feel, is something that can be rectified provided the victim is strong willed. Our story captures the apprehensions of an average woman who wants to help a victim and that is totally understandable. This is where anonymity can help. If the lady can call a reliable establishment which can, for sure, help the victim through all the legal tussles, thereby protecting her and providing her a respectable means of livelihood, then no woman would hesitate helping a lady in distress. Such facilities do exist even today, but are dismally inadequate.

                 

Courtesy: Google image search

•  Women in Public life:  They are the role-models, no doubt. They are the people the average Indian women fantasize. Yet, considering the percentage of women quitting their careers to fully dedicate themselves to family commitments, I have to say the average Indian woman is yet to come of age. A speech here, a talk there, by successful women isn’t enough to get an average ‘naari’ all charged up. To really get inspired, change must happen at the grass roots level. Every rural and urban Indian woman must come to think that she is entitled to her desires and choices in life, that childbirth/motherhood are just episodes in her life, not the end. 

                             

Courtesy: Google image search

• Empowered women, increasing divorce rates? – Just consider the example of Kaveri. Shouldn’t she file for divorce from a monster of a husband, who is a drunkard, abuses her and even makes sexual advances with her own daughter? Millions of Kaveris have existed and continue to exist in our country, bearing all the torture and trauma in silence. If all these Kaveris get empowered with reliable social and judicial systems, the divorce rate will definitely rise, which will only do good for the woman and the society! And this is just one of the many legitimate reasons for divorce in rural and urban India. There are many more stories, lying there, unraveled. 

Courtesy: Google image search

                    

         All that said, I wish to end my post on a positive note. I feel blessed in more than one way. My education which has helped me refine my thought process and my freedom, as an Indian woman, to pen my thoughts and post the same in a public forum, underline the fact that my life is way better than many other women in the world. We do have a very long way to go, but I can say that we have embarked on that journey.