Long ago, a "learned" man arguing against women entering Sabarimala asked the most illogical question, if women would enter men's bathroom too? I casually thought, women will, if they HAVE TO. Fast forward to a few years later, I have found myself in a similar situation, not once, but god knows how many times, thanks to my field role in construction that makes me walk into men's restrooms (of course not with men) more times than I could recollect. It is no mystery that project sites in India do not have many women employees to begin with. Yet they all have at least one women's restroom, even if not maintained properly. And it is usually locked since it is seldom used, and to avoid miscreants using it. There is a job site I occasionally visit where I have to collect the bathroom keys from a lone female employee there. To my dismay, she resigned a couple of months later, and I had to request the keys from the HR. He would usually hand it over and tell me to drop it ...
One of the best books I have read is “My Father Baliah.” Baliah’s son narrates how his father raised his family through education. It is a simple book on the legacy of a father and the ordinary things our parents do that shape our lives and the people we become. I remember reading the last chapter of the book on my Kindle while on a train. The book ends with Baliah being taken to the grave, and I cried thinking about my mom. I thought to myself that someday I should write a book titled “My Mother Tamilselvi.” The thoughts reappeared when I was cooking kesari on my mom’s birthday. That is the only dish she would consistently prepare for all our birthdays. We used to tease her that she couldn't cook anything else, and she never bothered to prove us wrong. Though I may not be close to writing a book, I thought of writing down the thoughts running through my mind while stirring the kesari. People usually credit mothers for delicious meals, but to be honest, I do not remember any of he...