In a country like ours where nothing unifies us better than the diversity itself, many a strange customs are practiced. In many communities the daughter-in-law is rechristened and is given a name which is supposedly more auspicious for the groom and his family. A few years back, two and half to be precise, I was confronted with a similar ritual in my office. I really can't recall the exact naming ceremony, but since my employment in this company I have been invariably called 'Madam'. (I guess I wouldn't have minded so much, had it been the more trendy 'Ma'am' word, but then I was never given a choice). So thus, without realising it initially, from being Kinshuk, I became a Madam.
As a precursor to this ‘naamkaran sanskar’ I had witnessed sufficient acts to prepare myself mentally for what was in store for me in near future. (Or so I thought!) Now-a-days every corporate loves to impress its new recruits by making all the bigwigs address them during the induction module. In PSU jobs, since promotions are more time bound than performance based, thence the average age of the big shots is never less than 50 years. Though I am not too sure about what exactly goes inside their minds, but something always impels them to behave in a ‘youngish’ manner in front of the newborns of the company. As a result of this policy, we met at least 4-5 Directors, umpteen numbers of EDs and other similar ‘lesser’ mortals during our initial training sessions and a major percentage of these people loved to shake hands with a few and quite often all of us. What was a little surprising to me during these hand-shake sessions was that irrespective of their seniority (professionally as well as biologically), they invariable folded hands in front of me and did a well rehearsed ‘namaste’ instead of the usual crisp handshakes which were fervently bestowed upon my male colleagues.
I noticed this process during the three months of my training, but it didn’t really register in my mind. Personally I found the arrangement somewhat convenient esp. because of two reasons. One, being the candid rebel that I often tend to be, I was rarely appreciative of the people shaking hands with me (reasons for my dislike ranged from the pointless class that person might have taken to the smirk on his face implying that what did I want to prove by trying my luck in a ‘man’s world). Secondly, since my name is somewhat incomprehensible to the uninitiated, dodging the hand-shake often helped me in skipping my intro altogether.
After the initial common training program, where we were 17 girls in a batch of 123 (I must admit that the gender ratio was better than my college’s), we were sent off for our divisional training where I realised we were just 2 ‘madams’ in a batch of 13. So, from being one of the female new recruits of my company, I went on to become one of the madams. To be more honest, due to some reasons my colleague never actually became a madam but since my appearance always tends to portray an aged me, (sorry me) no one ever had a problem tagging me thus. However, there was still some solace to be found in the fact that my batchmates were still new to this PSU culture and could still recall my name. I thought that everything shall be fine as long as I was able to hear my name being used to address me by at least 50% janta. So, comforting and consoling my heart thus, I continued to ignore the conspiracy that was being plotted in the background by the 98% janta of my division.
Soon enough the training sessions were over and we were headed for our respective slaughter houses. I realised that 8 of us who were trained together were to be posted at the same station. I was quite comfortable with the arrangement for I thought that at least there would be familiar faces around (who knew me by my name too). However, the trailer was over by now and we were in for the real action of office life. After joining, my first realization was regarding the age of my bosses. They actually discussed their kids’ careers with us! The second revelation for me was my gender. I suddenly realised that I was a female and this fact had implications deeper than biology and psychology could ever summarize. (Perhaps I should have thought about Sociology then, but back then I used to associate Arts subjects with slight disrespect.)
‘Whether I asked for a construction posting?’ is one question that I have been answering since last 2.5 years. People usually ask this in a sympathizing tone hoping to evoke the damsel in distress and to eventually gain a favourable reputation in my eyes. But then they are not aware about my rebellious offensive side. ‘Vaise’, don’t get me wrong I usually don’t spill venom other than from my eyes. (Quoting a school friend, I rarely need to comment; the gaze in itself is sufficient to stop the non sense :) On a serious note, I never asked for a construction posting. All I had asked for was to be posted anywhere near
Moving back to the time when I was still a novice at being a madam. I was suddenly aware of the fact that I was a girl. It is not that I was totally new to the concept of being the odd one out, but the ratio out here was shocking. Including me, there were just two females in my office and we were distinguished on the basis of our departments (even though we had lot many more differences, I must say). So while she was ‘Finance waali Madam’, I soon became the ‘Construction waali Madam’. Soon enough the whole office knew me at least by this tag even if not by face and rarely by name (Ahh! I do have a tough name). The real shock was when I saw canteen waiters and CISF personnels writing my name as Madam on bills and visitor passes!
This ‘Madam’ word had such seductive powers that soon enough many of my batchmates forgot my name and could never refer to me without this suffix. Somehow I have always found it embarrassing whenever anyone (except my juniors, who started joining six months later) referred to me thus. I happened to be the youngest employee and used to be addressed in a manner suitable for may be the first lady of the house. Sometimes I felt bad to see the efforts of my parents (in naming me) being wasted and sometimes I felt that it was an attempt to sabotage my identity. However, being human, I could not keep myself away from this trap for long. It was just a matter of time when I myself started referring to me thus. Very soon I was making calls to the canteen reception and was describing myself as ‘madam from construction’.
Now after two and a half years of a relentless struggle to make people address me by my real name, I often wonder whether the ‘saamne waala person’ is even aware of my name. However, I have surely been successful in my struggle, even though just partially. Even though my HOD, who prefers to think himself to be nothing less than a king, is still unable to use my name, yet presently there are at least 10 people in the office (out of the total 140) who are able to call me ‘Kinshuk’. However, this doesn’t really stop me from being a Madam. Almost every moment that is spent in office makes me realise my gender by actions ranging from complimenting to endearing to shocking to offensive to embarrassing to challenging to out rightly demeaning at times.
During my professional experience so far I have faced a variety of situations which can be attributed to my gender alone. I have observed that people tend to take an extra interest in my appearance (read clothes), quite vocally so. Many of these idiots are brainless enough not to be able to read my discomfort in listening to their nonsense and invariably I have to resort to offensive measures to curtail them. Also, I have noticed that some of the elderly kinds tend to take such interest in my well being and safety that it might even make my mother feel that she is not caring enough. Well, I do agree that this is not something to feel bad about, but it does seem unnatural and is quite unnerving at times. Many colleagues have preconceived notions about my abilities (and the lack of them) and prefer to think of me as a technical clerk rather than what my degree reads. Then there is yet another class of colleagues and seniors who are happy to se me working the way I do but they prefer not to hide their surprise at it as well. However, another experience which deserves a mention out here is the way the eyes of the female labours (at site) light up when they see me going on a round. Their expression and smile is worthy of all the gender fights I might have fought on a given day. I don’t want portray myself as women rights’ activist, but it is a bond only two females who are trying to make their mark in a men’s world can feel.
Going through the above paragraphs made me feel that I have been quite a feminist in this article. Well, its not that my employers have wronged me all the time and have always interacted with me with this prejudice at the back of their minds. It is more like that finally (after struggling for my rights with most of them) we have reached an agreement of sorts. My being a female does has its own limitations which need to be taken care of. There are certain constraints which have to be looked into before assigning any work to me. However it would be highly improper on my part to ‘mis-use’ my gender based liberties. So while my employers take care of my limitations, I try to ensure that I am able to use my potential.
Moreover, though it is usually the masculine sect which gets blamed for the prevalent gender inequality, yet I have often felt that more often than not, we ‘females’ are not too willing to accept the equality as well. Numerous times I have witnessed girls n Madams vying for gender based priviledges at places which offer none. Some might term it as the charm of being the fairer sex, but if equality is what we want then perhaps we should first set our minds on it. Equality should not be used as an opportunity and the clause should never become ‘equality or favouritism, whichever is more beneficial’. Also, we ourselves find it difficult to accept another female making her mark and are always looking for some ulterior methods she might have adopted in being what she is. Last year, at a dinner party I was busy chatting wid my colleagues when we were introduced to a few Bhabhijis. After an interaction of over half an hour, one of them enquired that how did I spent my afternoons; that is when I realised she had been mistaking me to be yet another Bhabhi. The wise lady was clever enough not to name ‘my husband’ once she realised her folly, but her behaviour set me thinking that why is it always difficult for us to accept each other in ‘other than normal’ scenarios. Similarly, I have often observed that whenever I meet any unfamiliar officer (irrespective of gender), it is always assumed that I must belong to the 36 hrs duty department. On a very serious note, we females are as much to be blamed as our male counterparts for propagating the gender biases that we are subjected to.
I have been a Madam for quite some time now and even though it hasn’t been a very pleasant experience on the whole, given a chance I will not be willing to exchange it for any other thing. After all, humans can go to any extent just to be outstanding and different and I get it all ready made :)
