Rukaiya

Gaslighting on an international level

 

How gaslighting works on an international level:

This war between Israel and Palestine is a good way for us to understand gaslighting and how intensive its effect can really be. Here are some signs of gaslighting that have risen up in the recent conflict: it helps to think of Israel and Palestine as husband and wife:

1. The Hamas act of terror was, let's be clear, absolutely terrible. Nothing justifies the murder of civilians. Let's say it's equal to the wife slapping the husband.

2. So now, the husband says, "well, don't i have the right to retaliate?" And proceeds to attack her brutally.

2. You, watching this, are expected to forget the years of abuse that he put her through.

3. You, as a commentator, are expected to unequivocally condemn the slap even as he locks her up without food or water, and continues to hit her in a way that you didn't think was humanly possible.

4. Every time you say anything about maybe letting her breathe, letting her eat, getting her wounds treated, he says, "how can you even say that? You saw how she slapped me. Why are you not even talking about it?" It puts you on the defensive, so you find yourself having to reiterate that her slapping him was not okay, and this happens every time you speak; even as you watch him maul her, you have to accept that the slap was still a terrible thing to do.

5. You can't look into the reason why she slapped him in the first place. You can't say, "all right, let's try to resolve the issue" you can't say, "maybe don't use a baseball bat", "maybe don't use a knife," "maybe don't use a corkscrew" because every time you do, the husband accuses you of hating him. He says, "see? You've always been unfair to me. See how easily you forgot that she slapped me. What about my feelings? Don't they matter? Why do you hate men so much?" So now you find yourself having to defend yourself. You don't hate men.

6. You want to resolve the issue. The carnage is disturbing you. You want it to end. So you talk to the wife instead, whatever's left of her. You say, "maybe you shouldn't have slapped him in the first place". You say, "look, this has been going on for years. It can't all be his fault, right?" "If you can't take responsibility for even a little bit of this, what's even the point of us trying to have an equal conversation?" You're trying to be reasonable. Aren't there always two sides to an argument?

7. It's in the news. The moderate media is now talking about the husband and wife that always fight. They're saying, "when will they both realise that peace is a better option?" The neighbours support him, "He has a right to defend himself after what happened, there's no doubt about that". "That slap was a dark moment in their history, that much is clear." "We hope whatever he does is lawful, but we do unequivocally support his right to defend himself".

8. Slowly you forget. The husband won't let you see the wife. You can't see her, all you really know about what's happening is the media going, "it looks like another day that she didn't serve him food". The neighbours say, "we'll give her a plate of food if he can open the door just for a little while, but to be fair we will also give him a chainsaw." 

9. The reality of this is slowly slipping away. You lose touch with her, even as you continuously get updated on how much his heart is hurting, and how scared he is that she might do it again, and how anybody who can't absolutely unequivocally agree that she was wrong to slap him is hateful, probably hates all men, and shouldn't be allowed to talk. You don't want to be hateful. You're very keen to convince anybody who's watching that you're not some man-hater, that you do realise the slap was a terrible thing for her to do. 

Slowly as tensions escalate between husband and wife, you forget that they're not married: he simply moved in one day, decided he liked the house and started ordering her around as if he owned her as well. 

She's still breathing, but now she's alone. Anybody who speaks up on her behalf is branded as someone who supports domestic abuse. 

She's still breathing, but hopefully not for long. Somehow in your peace-loving soul, you start to think that one way to bring peace is if she just dies and he gets the house and this conflict will finally end.

How long will they survive?

How long will they survive

With us gone?

A long time I'm sure,

But humanity won't

Because humanity isn't selective

It doesn't have sub-clauses,

Or fine print or any of the horrors

Of capitalism that you can think of

Humanity is either all or nothing

It can't be all except...

Because then it's nothing

You don't kill us

You kill a part of yourself

And then, when humanity for the sake of humanity is dead 

Then who is important?

Because then nobody is, and you'll realise it yourself

Then you find someone else to unload your growing burden on

And then another

And another

And another

Until no one's left but your brother

And then no one's left but you

And if the others aren't important

Then maybe so aren't you

If you let your own humanity die

Will you believe in anyone else's?

If you let other people die,

Would you believe anybody should let you live?

I don't know if God exists

But the devil does

And the minute you give up your humanity for your greed

You've let him in,

And what's the price of a soul

That sold itself?

Ode To The Fight She Fought

My body is a warrior. 

She fights everyday. 

You see it, and see its flaws. 

I see it, and I see its majesty. 

I see the battles it fought. 

I see its fight to stay alive. 

You dare to ask me how old I am? My body is exactly the right age. She's as old as the sun, and the moon and the tigress prowling through the jungle. She's as old as anything that fights to stay alive. She's as old as the ant that braves foes much bigger than itself, that goes through poisoned rooms and possible snakes and monsters trying to stamp out its existence to bring a bit of sugar back home to its queen. I am the ant, I am the queen. 

My age is the fine lines in my brain, that are full of my history, my experiences, all the things I've seen and all the things I've done conveniently shrunk to fit inside my head. Numbers are a scratch on paper; they don't define my age.

Who are you to call me fat? What do you understand about my fatness? What do you understand about the trauma it hides, about the sadness and the betrayal, and the things I've lost and gained and won? They say people have layers. What's your problem with mine?

You say my eyebrows are too thick or too thin, my hair is too straight or too curly or too frizzy or too limp, or my skin is too bright or too dark or too pock-marked for you. What do you understand about my skin? 

Every dot on my face is a testament to the places I've been, every wrinkle has a story to tell. Who are you to tell me about the shape of my chin, or the colour of my skin? 

What problem do you have with my ass? Why should it wonder if it's the correct size for your eyes when instead it can sway with joy, with the unending pride of being, with the spirit of life itself?

If I have a limp, it's because my legs fought a war. Don't call it a hunch if you don't know why its hunching. It hunches like the lioness, shoulders down, eyes sharp, ready to pounce.

Every last fight I've fought shows on my body, who are you to tell me which parts of my war are acceptable? What does it matter which parts of my fight are pleasing to your eye?

What do you know about my rough hands, or the cracks on my feet? Why are my lips either too big or too small? I'm not Goldilocks, I don't have to be just right. If my fullness of being is a problem for you, then you're the problem, not me.

You think my ears are too big? Open yours and listen: that's your problem, not mine. 

There's nothing wrong with the dots on my skin, the curl of my hair, the colour of my eyes, the colour around my eyes, the hair on my chin, the knuckles on my fist. I don't care if you think my breasts are too small, or too big; they're the proof of my bounce back. 

I don't care if you think my legs are too long or too short. They're exactly what I need to walk away from you. 

You say you speak with concern, but where were you when the war was fought? Where were you when I needed a hand, or a sword or a shoulder, or a shaman tie-up? 

You don't speak out of concern, you speak out of hate, you speak to control. You think if you can get me to start polishing my chin, I won't see the ugliness you're trying to hide within yourself. 

Well, my chin is fine, and I see you for what you are. I see your jealousy, I see your smallness. I am not you, you are not me. 

I'm not hiding the unacceptable parts of myself to please you. I am here. I am full. And you? You with the small eyes and the fat opinions - you don't matter.

Sent them all away

Sent them all away.
Waiting for the one that makes it all right.
Is there such a thing?
All my life, I've waited to belong.
All my life, I've danced to someone else's song.
Waiting for the one who can make all right
Is there such a thing?
Or am i mistaken?
Am i the one who's going to make it work?
God, I hope not. My life in my own hands? God, i hope not.
But im trying. For the first time in my life. Im trying.
And maybe there's no such thing.
And maybe there is.
And maybe i can save myself.
At least I'll know i tried.
I don't know what's in store
I don't know what I'm hoping for.
But now at least im hoping
Now at least im waiting.
Im better than before, when i didn't even know i was broken.
I'm better than before when i thought my life was sealed.
Im making an effort, I'm scaring myself every day, I'm opening my broken heart.
Im closer now than i ever was to be healed. 

Cricket when it was passion; JK Mahendra (innings in Kerala - 50 N.O!)

Soft-spoken, unassuming, stylish. This was my first impression of the man who has contributed enough to Kerala cricket specifically, and cricket in general to be counted among the greats. And I was right. Even as he told me about his many achievements, I had to work out for myself how important these achievements were, because he said it as if they weren’t really that much, were they? This is the story of cricket as he knew it...

His interest in cricket started in 1958/59 which was when he saw his first match.

His family were traditionally textile merchants from Gujarat, established in Cannanore since 1875. His own father was a sportsman and a cricket aficionado. He took Mr. Mahendra to his first match, played between Kerala and Mysore at Mangalore in 1958/59. That started what would later become the story of his life.

After his father’s tragic demise in late 1959, Mr. Mahendra was moved to Cannanore, and schooled in St. Michael’s.

Those days, there was nothing to do, no way to pass time – definitely no TV. There was just this huge ground in front of his school – the Fort Maidan. He spent most of his time there, watching older people from the Cannanore Cricket Club play.

That was where he saw his first Ranji game, in 1960/61. He’s seen popular players like C.K Bhaskar,T.K Madhav, Balan Pandit, Ravi Achan, B Bhaskar etc, play in that match and counts himself blessed to have been given the chance to play with some of them later.

In the Cannanore cricket club as a teenager, he played with some of the famous old cricketers who told him stories about the history of cricket in Kerala in general, and specifically Malabar – about people like the Aaron brothers, Sandy, Leslie, Lindsay, BNW Ford, KV Ramanan, Babu Acharath, Dan, and his very own club secretary N Madhavan, who actually ran cricket in the area for three or four decades.

He counts himself lucky to have travelled with CCC during his teenage years, and played with older cricketers in places like Mercara and Polibetta in Coorg and Wayanad where some of the old British players still played.

Cricket in Kerala was introduced by the British and the planters from Coorg, Wayanad, and places like that. It was completely non-profit – which meant, remuneration was minimal, and there were no facilities that the club itself provided. People brought their own equipment.

But there was real passion for the game then, and those who played it were all but addicted, just like Mr. Mahendra himself.

“I was told that Sir Colin Cowdry, who would later play test cricket for England, used to come to Fort Maidan with his father for nets, at the Cannanore Cricket Club”, he remembers with a smile.  

The British would frequently use Indians to fill up the eleven. Kerala was one of the first places in India where common Indians played cricket, along with British counterparts.

This started quite a plethora of firsts in Kerala. Mr. Mahendra himself, as president of the Cannanore district association in 2002 hosted the first – and only, so far – bi-centennial game played in the country between India and Sri Lanka veterans.

Famous cricketing families from the area include the Aarons, the Mampally’s, the Kayi family – not to forget the royal families which have been patrons of the game since time immemorial, and if not for who we would not have had one of the last remaining cricket grounds – the Tripunithra Palace Oval.

As it is, he counts it tragic that some of the best grounds of the time – the Cannanore Fort Maidan, the Mananchira cricket ground in Calicut, Palghat’s Victoria college ground, etc, where famous Ranji matches were played. All of these grounds had beautiful surroundings and will be missed by all those who played there.

But, like Mr. Mahendra says, it’s heartening to see that the KCA has managed to substitute these grounds with other beautiful places exclusive to cricket, like the Perthanmanna and the Thellichery grounds.    

Mr. Mahendra remembers the time when the organisation couldn’t even provide proper transport facilities– all of the team members would travel to different parts of Kerala tightly packed in unreserved compartments of trains – none of the luxury that today’s players enjoy!

Today, thanks to funding by the BCCI (again, thanks to sponsorship because of cricket’s gaining popularity), the KCA has got better equipment, better grounds, better facilities and can provide better remuneration to its players. Even the organisation itself, which was only a small offshoot of the Sports Council of Kerala, has reached amazing heights today.

His own career in cricket started in 1960, loafing in the Fort Maidan grounds, watching older people play. He attended a coaching camp in 1962, under Balan Pandit, famous coach and cricketer of the time, and yet another camp some time later under T.S. Worthington – a player for England, Derbyshire.

His first big break came in ’65, when he was selected to play against London school boys, as part of the South Zone team. That was the 1st international game played in Kerala at Alwaye, FACT grounds, and JK counts himself lucky to have been a part of it.

The following year he led the South Zone schools, and was selected to play for all five test matches for schools against Australian school boys.

Then, in 1967 he was asked to attend trials to be selected for India’s 1st schoolboy team to tour England. That was a big surprise, and a pleasant one at that. But Kerala in those days had no turf wickets – only mat. So he had to go to Bombay a month before the trials to practice, which, again, was funded by my own family. He practised, there, along with Eknath Solkar, who would later become a star test cricketer.

The one-week trials were held at CCI with twenty six boys competing, overseen by selectors like Mr. Vijay merchant, Col. Hemu Adikari, Kandu Ranganekar, Mr. V. Pattabiraman and others from Bombay.

“One of the best moments of my life,” he recalls, “was when I was standing in the CCI grounds on the last day and Mr. S. Sriram, the then secretary of BCCI, patted me on the back, and signalled that I was hot to be selected for the team the next day”.

And he was. That, he claims, was one of the most defining moments of not only his life in cricket, but his whole life.

In 1968/69, Mr. Mahendra played for the Mangalore sports club in a tournament which was the only one of its kind in the world – which was played to finish. It lasted five to six days and Mr. Mahendra played with some of the big names of the time, like the Suvarnas, the Alvas, and the Kamats of Mangalore. This was along with another former cricketer, Mohammed Ibrahim.

Although he played mostly for the North Zone, Kerala, he’d also played two years for the Central Zone, where he worked for FACT in 1969.

His career has spanned miles across Kerala, as he travelled with the ECC team to Mudis and Munnar, played cricket in Fort Cochin, Tripunithra, played at the Pooja Knockout Tournament and many other prestigious places alongside some of the biggest names in cricket at the time.

The late 60s and 70s, he says, were the golden years of cricket in Kerala. Balan Pandit brought about a big change in terms of technique, and the basics of cricket – he was responsible for having created a score of really good cricketers for about three decades.

JK quit playing for the Ranji Trophy in 1978 to go back and take care of his family business, which was when he moved to Chennai, then Madras. He continued to play here for the MCC, and returned to play his last game for Kerala in Ranji against Karnataka at Fort Cochin in 1980.

After that he took a break from cricket to concentrate on making a career for himself, since cricket was not a career then. He spent a few years in Bangladesh and Sri Lanka, playing there only socially.

JK’s best memory of cricket:

“...was in 1968. Kerala was due to play a game against Tamil Nadu at the India cements ground, Sankar Nagar.

I was part of this team along with Balan Pandit, Madan Mohan, Ravi Achan, SP Malik, TVS Mani, etc.

I was injured in a previous match against Hyderabad and my place was taken by OK Ramdas, who scored good 70. Hence in this match, I didn’t find a place in the eleven. But I batted well at the nets the previous day, and here I remember my coach and a great cricketer, Balan Pandit, went up to the captain and opted to stand out and put me in instead. Fortunately or unfortunately, the next morning, cap. Madan Mohan was injured and I was included. I scored a neat 40 in both innings. This incident is an example of the sportsmanship of those days.”

His Best Match:

“Was in 1974, when Kerala played Karnataka in Thalassery, my own home ground. There were seven Indian cricketers playing for Karnataka namely Chandrasekar, Prasanna, Kirmani, GR Vishwanath, Brijeh Patel, and Sudakar Rao

Although I was a leg spinner, I asked the captain to let me bowl medium fast, and took five and three wickets respectively in both innings. I also scored 49 in the first innings. This is rated as my best match in my own home ground. In fact, Viswanath, whose wicket I took in both innings early, came to me after the match and said ‘you made me your bunny’.”

But if Mr. Mahendra has had his good moments in Kerala cricket, he’d had his share of bad too.  

Back in 1968, when he’d led the Kerala state schools, he had already played Ranji and two years of Indian school boys prior. The interstate matches were played in madras. Their then manager, Mr. Krishnaswamy attended the South Zone schoolboy’s selection after the matches. Here, he showed unfortunate lack of diplomacy while arguing for JK regarding change of captaincy. Dr. Thirunapaiya, who was selector with S. Sriram, among others, wanted to replace JK, who was captain, with a boy from Karnataka.

What resulted from this was that Mr. Mahendra did lead the inter-zonal matches in Karnataka.

But the repercussion of Mr. Krishnaswamy’s words were felt later, when the Indian schoolboy’s team to tour Australia was announced.   

Mr. Mahendra had been told, in no uncertain terms, that he was tipped to lead the team. But when the names were announced, Mr. Mahendra realised that he was nowhere on it.  

“The journey back to Kerala then was one that I will never forget,” he recalls with regret, stressing that no one even knows about this incident, not even his team members.

Today we have the mass media, and even the KCA association is in a far better place to speak up for upcoming cricketers, which was something that Mr. Mahendra didn’t have then.

This incident in his past gave him strength when he was made national junior selector by KCA in 97-98, and he vowed to himself then, that he would not let any cricketer be marginalised, who deserved better. That is how, when Srikumar Nair performed, he selected him with no further ado for the under-19 world cup in South Africa.

Today, Mr. Mahendra is still part of cricket as part and co-founder of the Kerala Veteran Association. They have played many matches around the world through this organisation, and hosted India-Pakistan veteran matches at Calicut and Cochin.

Today, he’s come full circle, with his son – who played for the state, in the Ranji Trophy, and now plays for Denmark. This is something for Kerala to put down in its history – a father-son who’ve both played internationally.

Mr. Mahendra’s best years were spent in Kerala, playing cricket; his best memories belong to it and, in his words, “I’m really happy to see the kind of growth that – not only KCA, but also cricket all over the country have gone through”.

But Mr. Mahendra is slightly disappointed with how few cricketers have come up in the last few years from Kerala.  

“Malabar,” he says, “was a force to reckon with in Kerala cricket during the sixties, seventies and eighties. We had a bunch of cricketers who represented Kerala Ranji Ravi Karsandas, OK Ramdas, Ashok Sehgal, PV Surendran, N Amaranth, Ivan D’cruz, Ferny d’cruz, CK Gopi, KP Ravi, A Sathyendran, Sushil Haridas, etc from Cannanore. and from Telassery, MA Nandakumar, T Shivdass, P Mackey, Nizar, Muhammed and others who brought glory to Kerala cricket whereas in the last 20-25 years, there have been very few representations, which is disappointing, given the kind of improved facilities that are being provided”.

Kerala has come a long way from a group of sweaty boys packed to the full in unreserved compartments, and playing with crude equipment mostly provided by themselves. Today, the KCA is an organisation that has brought forth players like Tinu Yohannan, and S. Sreesanth.

Today, Kerala also has its own team in the prestigious Indian Premium League, and we’re even looking forward to an upcoming international stadium in Cochin in the next two-three years. This promises to be a boon to Kerala’s cricket.

BY SOPHIA YUSUF

What has the country come to?

I just read a news article about how a man got into an accident, and died on the pavement while they waited for the CM’s convoy to pass before they could take him to a hospital.

What has this country come to? What have its people come to? Since when did a supposed public servant become more important than the public? The entire system of democracy was invented so that people could vote a person from among themselves to take care of the State while they took care of other business.

It’s a job, Chief Ministership. It’s not supposed to be about power, it’s supposed to be about responsibility. The entire state has been given to him, but that’s just to take care of.

He doesn’t have the right to take tax money to fund his own household interests. Nobody said anything about traffic being pushed out of the way so that his car can pass. He can’t, ideally, be allowed to put his own children in expensive private schools, even send them abroad, while the schools that his own government run go to the dogs. Ideally, his children would be required to study in a government school, since he is a government employee.

Of course there is a certain amount of power that comes with the position, but the power is not for misusing, the power has been given to you so you can use it to fulfil the State’s requirements.

And to make sure that people don’t get lazy and misuse the post, they came up with the five-year system.

But it seems to be backfiring. The five-year system is making potential candidates paranoid about “The Seat With All the Power” rather than ensuring that they serve the public trust as they’re supposed to do. Rather than do the job which they were appointed for in the first place, Keeping the Chair has become of paramount importance; Power, at the cost of State, at the cost of its people, at any cost.

Corruption has set in, because of laziness, bribery, greed.

And because corruption has set in, the people who can’t fuel the corruption (the ones without money, basically) get sidelined. The State becomes about amassing more money, getting more power, associating with and protecting the people who can afford its protection.

The poor suffer. The rich, who understand the power-play better, because they go to the better-managed, more expensive private schools, suffer in their turn because the voting majority is still the poor. So freebies are offered, rather than roads being built, the tax the rich pay goes, basically, into buying TVs for the poor, and that’s a complete waste of anybody’s money. All that can ensure is you might get voted next time by people who realise that long-term changes are scarce, betterment of the State is a laughable goal, and maybe if they get another free TV next time too, at least they’re getting something out of it.

This game, of Keeping the Chair goes beyond a simple play with people’s minds into something more sinister, because power, or the promise of it, turns people’s heads. Fully around in some cases.

Because of the imbalance of awareness caused by a neglected education system, the poor are in no place to actually stand for election. The rich, on the other hand, are two things; unpopular because they are seen as exploiters of the poor, and uninterested, because America’s got better jobs and a better quality of life.

So who stands for election? The people with the clout. The people who can back their claim to power with a more sinister, physical sort of power.

And they have to Get the Chair at any cost – whether it means bribery, or false promises, invoking emotions, or even physical clout. “Politics” is invented – a word that becomes dirtier every time you say it.

Suddenly, the definition of equality changes. Because people are suddenly just some sort of object to be manipulated for your own needs, so you can Keep the Chair, they lose importance as people. And since you have all the power, and those people you’ve neglected could get angry at any time, you make sure that doesn’t happen by keeping them in fear at all times. The Minister becomes the most important person in the State, as opposed to a person who’s supposed to take care of the State.

The police become tools to be used, the people become vote-fingers, nothing more, and then the scene described above takes place.

In this case, the common man became so common that even his life was less important than easy passage for the Minister.

The Minister is not important. The State is. And since the State is made of common people, the people are far more important that the Minister.

When this is forgotten, when people become insignificant, when a life doesn’t matter anymore if it doesn’t belong to the influential class, that’s when the system has failed. That’s when it needs to be changed, including everyone in it.