tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16794668392846201672024-03-13T12:35:09.244-07:00My sincere & honest studentsJoe Pintohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09816903724816351432noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679466839284620167.post-79164195215905507102020-10-10T08:04:00.000-07:002020-10-10T08:04:15.188-07:00How can pads be differently special?<p><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My dear students, family, friends, colleagues and well-wishers,</span> <br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Here is an un-usual piece about a common essential of personal daily life, which is at the same time intimate and public. <br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Mayuri Joshi-Dhavale is
from my Class of 1999, SIMC; with her fellow-students Madhura Majumdar-Mandal,
Daisy Borah and Anu Chitnis.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Mayuri says: “I’ve
thought deep and hard, before posting this intimate account of a personal topic that
is considered a taboo to talk about today. I write because it’s important to
talk about it. If it reaches your heart, please support the
#padssquad initiative to ensure that we reach sanitary pads to the women
who can’t afford it.</span></span>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">---------------------------------</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond;">By Mayuri Joshi-Dhavale</span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">The day I started
menstruating was a day of celebration for me.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">“It” arrived in my life
so fashionably late that I had started questioning myself if I was in fact
actually a girl! Every girl in my class had started their periods between the
6th and 8th standards. I was in the 10<sup>th</sup>. And yet no sight of the
damn thing for me.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">I felt it was ages ago
that I had attended a seminar in school on menstrual health and hygiene and I
had come back home with my very own packet of pads; so excited to become a lady
and to start using something that is just for us. It made me feel “special” to have
& use these pads. Most women in India were still on cloth. Just how
special, I realised much later …</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">My
turn was just not coming. Being skinny in frame, I hardly looked like a
girl. Added to that, being a total tomboy didn’t help. Often, I was the butt of
jokes. I waited for “its arrival” patiently, despite being told “it” is painful,
“it” is discomforting; “it” changes your life for good. But when “it arrived”
in the last quarter of my 10th standard, I celebrated. And that was also the
last time, I ever gave “it” a thought.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">The
next time I thought about “it” was when I missed my period and found out I was
pregnant. Once again the feeling associated with “it” was only joy. This time
though for “not” having “it” …</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Because
in return I was getting a baby. Nothing could be better.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">For me, menstruation was
never a challenge. Never did I suffer any pain; always had the money to buy
what I needed. Pads were a joke in our family of one man and four women: That all
of my Dad’s salary went into buying sanitary napkins for one woman every
week. My home was safe and the atmosphere was liberal: we spoke freely about
women’s issues.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">The first time I realized
the seriousness of “it” was when we visited a family friend. I stained the bed
and my Mom and Dad were much embarrassed and spent the next few hours cleaning
it. I would always wonder: What’s the big deal? Would they be as embarrassed, I
wondered, if I bled from my knee? Strangely, my heart was always a rebel
and I only felt proud to be a part of the circle of women I was such a late
entrant to. Now everyone knew; and that was strangely comforting.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">The second and the last
time I stained my clothes was when I was in the 12th standard. It was the
annual sports day, so I was wearing an all-white uniform and I didn't realize I
had stained my uniform. My classmate, a boy, came up to me and told me about it,
as he walked me home. He covered me like a shield. He was shocked that I was
not embarrassed by it. To my dismay, I remained the talk of the school for the next
few weeks. All in all, I had totally, completely embraced “it” and I was
fortunate to have been born in an environment where the treatment towards me
did not change, because I was having my periods.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond;">And then Covid-19 happened …</span></b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">
</span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Years passed and I did
not give “it” much thought until … Covid-19 happened. By fate, I was pulled
into relief work. Starting with giving out rations, I went on to helping
migrants to get back home. During this pandemic, I became a part of
Padsquad, a movement of 40 pad-squadders working relentlessly in 21 cities
to ensure that sanitary pads reach the poor & needy. A few drives and
multiple discussions later, I have now been exposed to the reality of women’s
health and hygiene in India,
as it stands today.</span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Women remain the last
priority: sanitary napkins are a luxury, menstrual cups a faraway dream.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Village women are treated
as outcasts during those days and are not allowed to touch anything, lest it
get contaminated. Many women in India
use straw, grass or cow-dung in place of cloth or pads. With no water to drink,
where is the water to wash cloth-pads? Since food is a priority, sanitary
napkins are a luxury. On that front, the women think like the government,
which treats sanitary pads as a luxury item and not an essential commodity.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Women suffer silently
with UTI, due to poor sanitary conditions and lack of good clean cloth or
sanitary pads. Malnutrition leads to excess bleeding and painful periods. PCOD
goes undetected. Young un-married girls conceive, because no one told them
about the connection between menstruation and pregnancy. Girls get married as
soon as their periods start. They bear many children, because the husbands
refuse to fix themselves and the women have no money for contraceptives or
pills.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Now I realize that mere distribution
of sanitary napkins is not enough. For now, reaching sanitary pads is the
urgent need. How can it be that the same pads, which made me feel so special,
are differently special for other women, who have no access to pads?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">What is a privilege needs
to be treated as a basic right and need.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Is this an issue about
gender, class, culture, education? Or is the whole health-care system broken?
Religion? The absence of a progressive mind? Or just a biological issue that
was taken for granted as a way of life and thus ignored?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span><b><span style="font-family: Garamond;">So I ask:
If the men bled like women do every month, would pads still be seen as a luxury
or a need?</span> </b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">---------------------------------</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">If Mayuri's piece reaches your heart, please support the
#padssquad initiative to ensure that we reach sanitary pads to the women
who can’t afford it.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Her email address: <mayuridhavale@hotmail.com> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Your support is my strength. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">Peace and love,</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">~ Joe Pinto, Saturday, 10 October 2020, Pune. </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Garamond;"></span></p>Joe Pintohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09816903724816351432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679466839284620167.post-21293031441939752002020-10-10T00:46:00.000-07:002020-10-10T00:46:22.857-07:00Poles apart, but under the same sky … <p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">My dear students, family, friends, colleagues & well-wishers,</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">I announced this blog in 2015. But did not upload any pieces by my students. Here is the first of pieces in the pipe-line.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Niketa Mulay is from my Class of 2007, Dept of Communication & Journalism, aka Ranade Institute, Savitribai Phule Pune University (SPPU).</span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;"> She writes poems under the pen-name "Glassbeads".</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Niketa ditched a cozy bank job to pursue a Masters in Journalism and Communication
in 2005: "The career change was not a smooth ride, but the satisfaction of
doing something I was passionate about, outweighed the odd balls that I faced.
After my son Vikrant was born, I took a break. And in 2010, I returned to free-lance writing and editing. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span>"I have kept my inner poet alive in this
labyrinth of commercial writing. I love to read, write and scuba-dive. I root
for human rights, conscious living, whole-some parenting and music."</span></span> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Words: 841. The <a href="http://mtonline.in/gZUWTZ/lmy">original</a> in Marathi appeared in <i>Maharashtra Times</i> on 27 July 2019. Translated into the English by her batch-mate Karuna Gosavi.<br /></span><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;"></span></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">------------------------------------------------------- <br /></span></b></span></p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">By Niketa Mulay</span>
</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">POLES</span></b><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">apart, but under the same sky, is the story of my long-distance relationship
with my husband Ranjit. Our entire lives have revolved around communicating
across miles, right from meeting ‘on-line’ for the first time – till now.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Our long-distance relationship survives on three strong
pillars – trust, empathy and communication. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Trust, both giving and retaining, is of prime importance
in my relationship with Ranjit who is a marine engineer and works on a ship.
Months away from each other, we have now gotten used to this life, because both
of us knew this fact – before we got married. Maybe, that is vital factor for a
marriage to work – knowing before-hand and well, what you are getting into. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Trust is crucial. If he trusts me to look after his
family, then we’re headed in the right direction. I have to uphold his belief
that, in his absence, I will be competently responsible in handling issues that
prop up at home. In the same way, I trust him to be loyal to me physically and
mentally, despite temptations. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Forget these bigger things, even small stuff like doing
the banking work and paying bills requires some level of trust. U have to prove
that U can handle day-to-day affairs. And, in the partner’s absence, handling
big issues like medical and personal emergencies builds immense faith in each
other. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">I can’t be a representative for shippie wives or others
who make such relationships work, because every couple has its own logic and
magic formula. From my personal experience and the recounting of experiences by
friends and relatives, however, I am summing up my inferences on whether long-
distance relationships work. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">It’s hard work, I admit. But the minute you sink into
self-pity, the delicate fabric of empathy is torn. When I think of Ranjit and
empathise with his situation of missing the comfort of home and his dear ones,
I realise my self-pity is so inadequate. When I am having fun with my colleagues
at an office party, I remind myself that Hubby is some-where in the middle of
the ocean working 12-hour shifts. That helps me to appreciate my position and
value my comforts.</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">He understands the same when he is back home on a
vacation: that I have been handling things at home and he has to help to make
things easier when he is around. He figures I need a break and packs me off to
a solo holiday at times! Such understanding doesn’t happen overnight, it takes
years to build and a lot of positive communication. In our case, it has taken
16 years! </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Communication is vital in such a situation. In the era of
WhatsApp and video-calling, keeping in touch becomes easy. But sometimes a little
becomes too much, too quickly. In our case, e-mail is the most favoured medium
of communication. E-mails allow both of us the time to think about our thoughts
and write about them, and also give the other person the time to ponder over
what has been written. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">We know that most problems happen when we react to what
is said. In e-mails, the time for instant reaction is very less and there is
more scope for understanding. Also, patience levels go up, because I know my
husband can’t respond immediately. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">With WhatsApp chat, the reply and response is expected to
be instantaneous, but sometimes it is difficult to do so. Hubby may not know my
state of mind at a particular time and yet expects me to instantly respond to
his messages. Such communication becomes stressful at times; in our case
although we can stay in touch better, it also causes misunderstanding and
fights at times. So, over-communication is also a problem: he doesn’t have to
know what I have cooked; I don’t need to ask him what pyjamas he is wearing! </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">There are days when I need to speak to him desperately,
but I can’t because there is no network on the ship. At such times, it gets
frustrating. But one gets by, staying distracted with other tasks. We miss each
other's birthdays and anniversaries and festivals and important days. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Ranjit was sailing when his father expired. At such times
to comfort a person is difficult and important. He was present, however, when
our son Vikrant was born and loves being a hands-on dad. He strives hard to
match his schedule so that we can enjoy a vacation together. “Being there”
during our boy’s formative years is so vital and Hubby does that. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Such events bring us closer to each other. We have our
arguments and fights too – it’s not all pink and rosy. But both of us want to
see the bigger picture, how it is helping us come closer and develop as
individuals and as a couple. The gains far out-weigh the minus points in my
opinion. </span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Often friends ask me how we manage to keep our long-distance
relationship strong. I tell them: “The distance has taught us to value each
other’s presence more than we imagined. So the love grows stronger.”</span></span></p><span style="font-size: medium;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">------------------------------------</span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Please send your pieces to my email address:</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;"><editjoepinto@gmail.com> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Your support is my strength,<br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">Peace and love,</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; line-height: 115%;">~ Joe Pinto, Saturday, 10 October 2020, Pune. </span></span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></p>
<p></p>Joe Pintohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09816903724816351432noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1679466839284620167.post-50485217978771985512015-01-27T04:32:00.000-08:002015-01-27T04:32:07.640-08:00To my sincere & honest students: Be good<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My dear sincere & honest (s&h) students,</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I would like to dedicate this blog to:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. Gauri Gharpure, the first of my s&h students to remove my fear of the Internet and suggest that I may want to start a blog of my own for the sake of my students. I started "<a href="http://sangatizuzay.blogspot.in/">Against the Tide</a>" on 2 October 2008.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. Smriti Mudgal, Kajal Iyer and Smita Aggarwal -- the earliest among my s&h students, who encouraged me with comments and suggestions.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">3. Abhilasha Padhy, Aditi Kumar, Aparna Das-Sadukhan, Arpita Dey, Chinmaye Bhave, Deepthy Menon, Harmanpreet Kaur, Shrinkhla Narula, Sindoora Iyer, Shilpy Balakrishna (in alphabetical order by name); who were the earliest of my s&h students to start blogs of their own.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">4. All my s&h students, who have commented on my blog-posts and especially those of U who encouraged me to write the five-part memoir on my mother.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">5. All those who keep me alive with their questions. For, what is journalism in one word, if not "Question"? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The purpose of this blog is to:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. Carry the writings & work of my s&h students</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. Introduce them & the work they do</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">3. Build & sustain a network of my s&h students, a part of the larger "community of the good".</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">4. Pay tribute to those of my s&h students, from whom I have learned.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Please send in your suggestions and comments.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Your support is my strength.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Peace and love,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">- Joe.<br /><br />Pune, India; Tuesday, 27 January 2015.</span></span></div>
Joe Pintohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09816903724816351432noreply@blogger.com0