THE KABUL BEAUTY SCHOOL, By Deborah Rodrigues

Just finished reading this book and I am eager to share with everyone Debbie's incredible story. At first glance, a small-town American hairdresser volunteering in war-torn Afghanistan after the fall of the Taliban in 2001, would have strictly nothing to do there. But here's a typical, amazing example of being at the right place at the right time, and turning a small advantage into something much bigger than yourself.

Shyly standing amongst her co-aid workers, Debbie listens at everyone being introduced as doctor, epidemiologist, educator, and dreads what explanation would be given about her presence there. But at the moment she is introduced as a hair dresser and beautician, the whole room of foreigners living in Kabul erupts with applause, and before she knows it, she is busy, from morning to evening, cutting hair, giving highlights and pedicures to people from all different nationalities.

From here comes an idea, which, little she knows, will start a mini-revolution in the lives of many an Afghan women. Debbie realises that in the patriarchal Afghani culture, being a hairdresser or a beautician, is one of the very very few professions which give a woman the legitimate reason to leave her home and earn money. So she decides to start a beauty school, as a mean of empowerment and livelihood for Afghani women. Back in the US, she starts collecting donations from customers and even manages to involve big cosmetics companies to contribute money and supplies for the school. Ecstatic, she goes back to Kabul (leaving her mother and two teenage sons back in America) and thus starts a story worth a blockbuster - a lone American woman struggles with prejudice, threats to her security, finances, the rough conditions in the country and bureaucracy, to not only initiate social change, but also change her own life forever (getting a glimpse of life behind the veil, committing every possible cultural faux pas, and even marrying an Afghan man 10 years younger than her - knowing she is his second wife). This is a story of incredible guts, living life to the fullest, of unlikely friendships, and a simple truth I only too well understand - sometimes it is hard to change an injustice happening right in front of your eyes. It is not easy to go into a country with such harsh realities and ancient, rigid culture, and just wave a magic wand. It needs a lot of patience, understanding, treading with a velvet glove.

Another moral of the story for me, personally, is: even if you are wondering about a place and thinking 'what the hell am I doing here?', you never, absolutely never know what life has in stock for you, and sometimes the most unexpected thing can empower you and give a meaning to your existence.

Read more on http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/04/11/DDG5SP5EOE1.DTL

CLICK!

Recently, stuck at home with high fever and an awful cough, too tired to work online or even read, I found solace in some long-forgotten daytime TV. Sweating it out under a blanket, amongst mountains of used tissues and swigging from a bottle of nicely intoxicating cough syrup, I spent two days into a blur of movie repeats, soap operas and shows that I would normally miss while in office the whole day.

PASS THE SOAP!

THE BOLD AND THE BEAUTIFUL
Can you believe this is still going on? I mean, at this point, everyone has married and re-married everyone possible in this series; Brooke has conceived every single or married hero’s child; Stephanie has plotted and implemented an evil plan against every woman her sons cast an eye upon; all imaginable disappeared or illegitimate relatives have shown up… Many of the heroes already have gray hair. But no, the action continues, and honestly, even if you have missed a few hundred episodes, there’s no problem in catching up thanks to nagging flashbacks. And yes, Brooke is still sleeping around and crying, Ridge is still not sure about her, and Stephanie is still as evil as can be.

THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS
This is where The Bold and The Beautiful rejects live a parallel life, with their own affairs and plots. Switched channels within 5 minutes.

THE BEST OF FRIENDS
Did you know that Zee Studio shows back to back episodes of Friends?! I didn’t, and it made my day. This is one show which never bores me or tires me up. Each joke is a gem, each episode is unique!

HEROES
Ok, everyone is watching it. But allow me not to be part of the herd. Already past the freshness of the first few episodes, the protagonists’ tricks and travails have become like something the dog chewed on and then left in a corner – stale and boring. I love the way Claire (Hayden Panettiere) has transformed from a high school cheer leader into a beautiful young woman, and the Brit accent of India-born Mohinder Suresh (Sendhil Ramamurthy), but that’s about it…

NEVER WATCHED BEFORE…

HANGING UP
I was ecstatic to catch this movie with Meg Ryan, Diane Keaton and Lisa Kudrow. I had read some reviews and was looking forward to a feel-good two hours. But fell flat on my face. I didn’t quite understand why the two sisters played by Diane and Lisa never went to visit their dying father, while a Mother Theresa-ish Meg never left his bedside despite all the mean things he had said to her. And the three sisters dynamics was somehow weak. At least it helped me fall asleep…

REEL TO REAL

WIFE SWAP
The person who invented the concept must have been a genius, and the way the show has been shot and edited is just brilliant. Imagine two families, can’t be more different from each other than that (a couple with two sons and a daughter living as pirates vs a super-organised household where each and every thing is labeled; or a family where the kids have to go to the bathroom on schedule and sign against their daily chores graph vs a family where the three sons are allowed to do whatever they want, with mommy succumbing to their every wish). The two wives swap homes for two weeks. The first week, they have to live as per the existing household rules. The next, they have the right to implement their own rules. Watch the fun as clashes and fights occur, while also subtle, gentle change happens, and both families find balance in their extreme existences.

COOKING UP A STORM

I could finally get a glimpse of the much talked-about celebrity chef Nigella Watson and see for myself what all the fuss is about. Men find her very sensual – tick against that point – I agree nature has gifted her the right assets (and some more, having in mind that at the end of the program they showed her going to the fridge at night and polishing off the leftovers). However, I found her drawl very unappetizing, and her cooking too oil-heavy.

KYLIE KWONG
From the way she talks food, to the frequent “mmmm”s interspersing her demos, everything about this program is absolutely delicious! I watched her for half an hour, mesmerized and hypnotized, dishing out a Peking Duck with plum sauce and fresh condiments. And decided the first thing I’ll do after getting better is dust my cookbooks and re-arrange my pantry.

ANTHONY BOURDAIN: NO RESERVATIONS
This man’s taste for adventure and unusual flavours is just too sexy! The way he can describe a place and its food, and mingle with the locals, is extremely down-to-earth, honest and raw. Love it!

PAST PERFECT
It’s official – daytime TV gets all the old, done to death movies. Several times I got stranded flicking channels for something decent to watch, only to end up recycling ancient UFO movies and horror flicks (although I must say they are much less scary during the day – The Grudge would normally get me screaming with nightmares, but this time I survived through it like I would through an episode of Sesame Street). However, I was very happy to catch up on an old favourite of mine - Practical Magic, with Nicole Kidman and Sandra Bullock. Brought up by two aunts who are witches, these two sisters are also witches, and so are Sandra’s character’s two daughters. It is a cute, heart-warming story about love, family, loss, fighting and making up. Plus, I can’t remember a movie where Sandra has looked more sexy, feminine and absolutely beautiful! A must-see! I balanced the very girlie aftertaste of this movie, by watching, back-to-back, The Jackal. Bruce Willis and Richard Gere… Need I say more?

Only in Bombay...

... you can see "Shantaram", or ex-Australian convict and now a bestselling author of the book with the same name Gregory David Roberts, and the princess of Sweden, riding a beautiful black motorcycle on Regal Circle. Both in leather jackets, she, sporting oversized shades. Both in their late 50s, they are nevertheless gorgeous - tall, slim, fit and both with long blond hair.

Between worlds

This is an excerpt from Anthony Bourdain's book NO RESERVATIONS, based on the TV show with the same name (airing on Discovery Travel + Living). It really "spoke" to me, althought he talks about travel to many different places.

"... When you're a tourist on vacation, coming home means coming back to real life: familiar places, relationships, work, love, the rent... But when you travel for a living - when "work" is drinking ayahuasca with a jungle shaman or standing on a glacier, when you're as likely, on any given day, to be trudging down a riverbed in Borneo as standing in line at Starbucks - you start to ask yourself: Which of these is my "real" life? And if the answer is that the road is the real thing, how do you go back? How do you pick up your old life, your normal life, after you've seen all this? Returning to grilled cheese and bacon, or even a good piece of fish - sauteed Western style with a drizzle of butter sauce and microgreen garnish - seems flat and lifeless after experiencing the colours and condiments of Asia. The expectations of a meal become distorted... The clothes you see and wear back home seem shapeless and washed out... The bar at the W hotel in Westwood starts to seem alien, airless and sterile. And you fear that one day you will look at your friends and loved ones and think: "I was sitting under a bouquet of human skulls, drinking rice whiskey and eating wild pig with my new headhunter buddies last week. How do I feign the appropriate level of interest in everyday things?" It has been said that we find out more about ourselves when we travel than about the places we visit. And it's true that I always look for a universality - some common ground, a unified theory of human behaviour. A comfortable takeaway that would describe the world and the behaviour of everyone in it."

Where is home?

It's one of these days, when there's a woman inside my head, screaming and demanding answers. Looking for a meaning. Looking for a straw of logic to hold on to. Trying to reconcile "loving India" with "making sense of India". Struggling to remember the person I once was, before moving stock and barrel thousands of kilometers from everything I knew and everyone who knew me upside down. And almost burning all bridges behind me.

There are sometimes days, when I realise that I have gone through months of total haze and robot-like motions. Then I look around and it hits me: I live here now... Yes, after 8 years I still have "moments of truth". I don't know if people around me realise it: the monumental nature of this move. Although I did it totally in love, not caring of any consequences. With a heart wide open. Till recently, I did not realise it myself. I wonder if then I had this knowledge, I would have still made the move. I look at my husband, and I know - I would have done it in a heart beat.

But nevertheless, here I am today, ridden with questions and so few answers. The most important one being - who am I? Trying to put together the pieces I have left behind, and the new traits of Me in India. Struggling to remember the idealistic beliefs in humanity I had, many of which I have had to put to rest here. The dreams and visions of myself which will probably never come true. The belief that love conquers all, no matter what circumstances life throws at you. The conviction that people change, and tradition, religion and pre-conceptions of how life should be, stop to matter when you are consumed with so much passion...

With the adrenalin rush going down, it all starts to sink in. This is not an adventure, it's life. This is not a wild ride, it is a marriage, which I have accepted to live in a totally foreign, sometimes incomprehensible culture. And this is not a country on my list of 1000 Places To Visit Before I Die, this is home... This is the time when the hundreds of small rivers of life come togeher, and one big stream starts flowing full strenght to the unknown.

This is the time for some important decisions and reconciliations.

- I may never be able to raise my children the way I was raised, the way my parents are raised
- they will have very different memories from mine
- they will live customs and everyday things completely foreign to me
- I may have a son with long hair - who may be a complete misfit in Bulgaria
- I will speak with my children a language their father does not understand, and they will speak to their paternal grandparents a language I do not understand
- I may have to accept that most of my Bulgarian relatives will go through the most important moments of their lives without me around
- and I will go through some of the most important moments of my life without them around
- I may have to burry a very large part of my rebelious self and start being "more accepting"
- there are certain things about myself that my husband will never understand
- there are things I loathe about India that will NEVER change - I am the one who will become harder
- I will NEVER wear a floating white dress and will never be kissed in public
- I may have to accept cremation as a last rite, although I fear fire more than anything else
- I may have to accept that one day, after everyone around me is gone and my kids are away studying in whetever country they choose, I will be here alone

I miss home today SO MUCH! But I am afraid that if I say it to my mother, she will say "I told you so" and if I say it to my husband, he will feel guilty for no fault of his.

As promised, Mauritius photos

MAURITIUS: Sugar & spice & all things nice

How can you not fall in love with a country which...

- names its cities Moka, Tamarind, Flick en Flack (after the noise chappals make when walking in the rain), Rose Hill, Cure Pipe, Bambous, Belle Rose, Triolet, Vingt Cinq (!!)
- has inhabitants of all coulours, sizes and shapes, who all proudly say "I am a Mauritian"
- produces cane sugar, coffee, tea, white rum and vanilla
- has honest taxi drivers
- starts the working day at 8 and no matter what goes home to their family by 5.30 pm
- has zero per cent unemployment rate
- has a dodo bird as a national symbol
- is like a really clean India
- has gorgeous climate, gorgeous seas and volcanic mountains

Photos to follow...

A faithful moment

I had an interesting experience recently. I decided to do up our bedroom while Gurtaj was away on a business trip, as a surprise. So I hired a contractor to coordinate the 5-day effort. In India, workers and contractors are normally bad news. They never deliver on time, they ask for huge advances, and they trick you into also doing this and that around the house, so as to get more money.

However, Akram bhai was the most pleasant surprise! This thin, bearded gentleman with a steely face appeared on my doorstep to inspect the room shortly after I had called him. He scanned the walls and ceiling with expert eyes, and before he could say anything, I told him, in my most earnest broken Hindi, that this was all a surprise for my husband. He looked at me, quiet and confused how to react, and I knew I had won. He said he would call me in half an hour to confirm. "Yea, yea," I thought, "Let's hope he will call me tomorrow". But in half an hour shap my mobile rang and Akram bhai formally committed to start work at 9 am the next day.

The workers turned up on time, worked efficiently and orderly. Akram bhai used to come every morning to discuss the tasks of the day, and every evening to check out the result. I was truly amazed by the porfessionalism. By listening to their conversations, I soon found out that he was simultaneously supervising projects at 5-6 other houses, some as far as Thane. Work never ceased even on Sundays.

This made me look at him and his workers with deep empathy and respect for their hard work. So I would make sure that every day they got unlimited tea and sandwiches. And I made sure I greeted them with a smile and small talk every time they came. Soon enough, I was calling the eldest painter "mama" (uncle) which thouroughly amused them all.

One day, I don't really remember how, I started with Akram bhai one of these endless doorstep conversations, just as he was leaving for another site. Our conversation drifted off in the porcelaine-like fragile area of religion. By now, those of you who know India well, would have realised from his name that he was a Muslim. And here, like everywhere in the world, there is a lot of prejudice and preconception. To me, passing thorugh predominantly Muslim areas, means casting my eyes down, and making sure not too much skin is showing, and also averting my eyes from the slaughter houses along the road. I remember Muslim boys on JJ Flyover breaking cat's eyes. And huge Muslim gatherings on the ground next to Bombay Gym Khana, with propaganda blasting from huge speakers, and crowds of men clad in white gawking at us taking our evening walk in our privileged cocoon.

Two of the most charismatic Muslims I had met were the deadly funny fimls head of my ex-employer, ad agency Leo Burnett, Firoz, who used to make us roll on the floor with laughter, and treated us (200 of us!) to biryani et the end of each Ramzan; and Mumtaz, a Singapore-based Indian woman of 43, GM of Club Med for Asia Pacific, a deeply religious and spiritual woman living in a joint family, who could dance the night away and put us all to shame with her energy to party.

But I am deviating here...

Akram bhai asked me, "you have traveled around the world, which do you think is the best community?" I said something which is quite a cliche, but in which I firmly believed till this conversation. I answered that while in writing religions may seem different, at the base they are all represent the same values - love and the victory of good over evil. And that unfortunately a handful of people use religion to pervert it to suit their own interests.

I though that the conversation was over, but the simple Akram bhai surprised me with some deep thoughts. First, he said he disagreed that all religions were the same. And he explained how, according to him, Allah was in the beginning of all other religions. He also surprised me with an explanation of why Allah was different from Jesus (something about the status of a fallen angel and Jesus being born by humans). He also recommended the works of a particular Muslim scholar who could make me understand Islam better.

He predicted, that in about 30 years, there will be harmony between religions, but that in the meanwhile there will be many wars. Which made my skin crawl. I did not dare to ask him if he thought that these wars were justified, and in vain I scanned his face to see if he supported them. But all I could see was acceptance of something he saw as inevitable, for whatever reason.

He also showed me on his mobile phone a call for a Muslim peace conference and invited me. "We will take care of you there," he said (I did not go as I am highly uncomfortable in big crowds). And promised to get the Quran for me.

And well enough, after the work was over and the house got empty, I looked at the dining table and saw a neat parcel containing two volumes of the Quran, along with a dictionary of terms... Left there without any fuss.

I have kept it carefully on my book shelf, wondering if it is a sin to read it even before I have read the holy book of my own religion - the Bible. I guess this will prompt me to read both (watch this space). But what I appreciate most about this conversation, was the fact that once again it helped me see a face amongst the crowd, and hear a voice that made me think. And despite what Akram bhai said, I am still convinced that in our core, we are all the same, and we want the same things out of life.

I am wondering how would he react if I gift him a Bible for Christmas :-)

Remains if the day

My spirituality and outlook to life has been challenged way too frequently lately and I wonder why. Because, you see, I believe that everything happens for a reason. And the last two weeks have been like a roller coaster of emotions.

Three people are dead, in just the space of these two weeks...

First, the son of one of our closest friends, almost family. He was coughing, so he went to the chemist with his parents to get cough syrup. He dropped right there... A massive heart failure.

A week later, I found out that a person who has been a constant presence in my life in Bombay, Janet Fine, has succumbed to cancer. She had sworn the few who knew into secrecy. I will remember her as one of the liveliest and most energetic people I have ever known. But most of all, as someone extremely enterprising and full of ideas. Another very rare thing about Janet was that she was so very unselfish about her contacts! If she thought someone could be useful or interesting for someone else, she would do anything to facilitate these two people meeting and being in touch. There were times she has called me out of the blue just to say that something she knows I would love is happening across town, and promptly offering to give me a lift. She also made sure I became a member of American Women of Bombay, which gave a brand new dimension of my life here. I will always be grateful for that, and will always fondly remember her CoHO Saturdays - some of the best spent in my life! I went to her apartment the next morning after I found out, to check on Janet's beloved cats. Looking at her apartment and not having her around was a hard, throat choking experience. The cats looked happy. Which reassured me. I believe animals have a sixth sense. So if they were happy, janet must have been in a better place.

But what really hit me was the way life was just going on...

The same evening, the son of my husband's company's VP, just 17 years old, died in the most tragic accident.

We were both stunned... What was happening around us? Why? What was life trying to tell us? Why so many coincidences.

We went to the hospital where the body was kept, just to see if we can help. The father was crushed. I don't think you EVER recover from anything like this.

The hospital looked terrible. I did not even want to go inside. Everything looked dilapidated and old. There was a stray dog coming in and out as if it was his home. Hospital staff was pacing up and down in dirty uniforms. Some of them were just standing around in lungis. a really old, shabby woman walked into the morgue... A wounded man was brought in by a rickshaw, and unqualified drivers and cops just helped him shuffle into his wheelchair. A prisoner was taken back to jail after treatment. Despite the tubes sticking out of him, he was just put down to lie on the bench of the police van, far from being long enough to let him rest comfortably. And I suddenly realised. That there are high chances I may die in this country, in a hospital like that, surrounded by completely foreign people. I will not even be understanding the language they are talking. I was terrified. And I just wanted to go home, to things I am familiar and comfortable with.

An even scarier thought occured to me. The few christian cemeteries I have seen here were in a complete state of desolation, with garbage dumps right next to them. The thought of cremation terrifies me. I have always been uncomfortable around fire.

The next day, life continued, I drove past movie halls showing mvies these three people will never see; heard songs they will never hear again... Life was going on... Is life really just waiting for death?

India from the sideview car window

I'm in a relationship on four wheels. Literally. We drive... A lot. For Gurtaj, it's like a drug. As for me... Sometimes I love it, sometimes I loathe it. It allows me to see the best and the worst of India. From the arid, stunning landscape of Rajasthan, to the lush greenery of Madhya Pradesh's natural parks. Picturesque villages, herds of sheep and goats, colourful people, tucked away forts... Rivers and lakes. I wish I had a camera in my head, to do "click" every time I saw something that touched my heart. And then, the other side: runover dogs splattered all over the road, 4-hour long traffic jams of ugly, pollution-spewing trucks with despondent drivers, dirty little desolate towns with piles of garbage along the road. Sometimes, I don't want to see all this. I want to live in a dream... But sooner or later, we are on the road agan, and the movie begins...

We have driven from Bombay to Chandigarh and back (through Rajasthan) innumerable times, in a yellow convertible Merc (this must be the most driven sports car in India); our honeymoon was a road trip; we have done Bombay-Goa in a single night, in an open Gipsy (me the only girl amongst 5 rowdy guys); I have lost count of the impromptu day drives to Lonavala and Pune; we have been to Indore & Mandu (on a moon surface road) in a Ford; we were driven (with Gurtaj looking completely out of place in the passenger's seat) from Chandigarh to Leh, all over Ladakh; for my last birthday, we drove through Madhya Pradesh in a huge silver Mitsubishi Montero.

When we drive, it is just the two of us, in a bubble, in our own world. We are the only ones in control. I know he is watching the road. I know the way he sees it, the way he reacts. I know how other drivers think. I can predict theirs and his next actions. We know how to take care of each other on long drives. He knows when I get sick, he puts his hand over my eyes when there is an accident or a dead animal ahead. I know when he is tired, when to change the Cd and when to hand him the water bottle. It's perfect team work. I've had some of the best times of our marriage on long drives.

It tires me... A lot... And yet once it's a reality, there are moments of amazing thrill. Like driving up through a bustling tiny lane to Deogarh palace (if I take my hand out, I can literally do window shopping from the car). Or discovering a virgin, lush green road in MP (are these rocks on the road a sign of dacoits???).

BOTTOM LINE: We recently bought an SUV. It is the BEST car for India. I don't feel claustrophobic in traffic jams - I am actually at the same level as those traveling on buses (they can't peek into my cleavage from high above anymore!). We can go off road and avoid huge traffic jams. We can go through all the holes in the road. I am not scared of flash flooding anymore. It's like riding on top of my own big grey elephant!

The case of Bombay vs Delhi

It happens every time I go to Delhi... This feeling of "what on Earth am I doing in Bombay?!". Delhi has wide, even, clean roads. Big, beautifully landscaped gardens and parks. Less slums. New, environmentally friendly, clean cabs in a very good condition. Same for the rickshaws - and they are painted in cool green and yellow colours!! The houses are huge and it seems there is an unofficial competition of who's garden will be the most beautiful of them all. People are stylish like hell. And since there is something like a winter here (temperatures drop significantly from November to March), they actually have a "winter wardrobe" with boots, stockings, beautiful shawls, jackets, polo necks... It's only in Delhi that I feel like layering and throwing on an elegant pashmina over my shoulders when I go out. The Delhi Golf Club has winter outdoors dining, with the creme de la creme of the city picking up delicacies from al fresco cooking stations, chatting over their Gucci shades, surrounded by blooming chrysantemum.

There is so much greenery in the city, that the bird population is huge, colourful, cute and interesting, unlike the Bombay nagging, ugly crows. Here, you can actually see flocks of green parrots, a peacock here and there, and even deer at the Golf Club (we were sitting at the pub one night and a deer crossed the green in the moonlight - in the middle of a bustling city - surreal!!)

If you feel like cooking here, all the exotic ingredients are easily available - even filo pastry sheets and vine leaves for my favourite dolmades!!! I also love the shopping areas and markets, with all possible goods and brands stuffed together at a walking distance.

When I see all this, I think I can live with the North Indian aggressive attitude, with all the staring and eve-teasing males, without partying on my own till 4 am. I just need one of these beautiful houses with gardens, one of these big kitchens, and a car & a driver to be happy (that itself amounts in total to more than a million dollars but what the heck :-)

P.S. But you see, Bombay loves to hate Delhi. And it's true - Bombay is on the go, it means business, it's kinder to its women, lives and lets you live, its cool quotient is up there and its vibe is uncomparable, it has the vast expanse of the sea... Well, it's also polluted like hell, every hour is peak traffic hour, it's filthy, slum infested, cramped, hot all year round. So the question remains - is it just an illusion that I am happy here?

Chandigarh Whispers 2

Chandigarh Whispers

I am lying on the bed in an airy, cool, green room, in scented rose-patterned sheets.

I am looking at the pink and white blossoms of bougenvillas swaying in the November breeze.

A bird is peeking at me from outside the window, then another, and it shows off its tail to me, unfolding it like a white fan.

Two dogs are sleeping under my bed, and I can hear them shuffling in their sleep.

I have a wonderful book to read.

I am served lunch in the blue sunny room - crunchy okra, amber-coloured lentils, puffy chappatis, and plump red tomatoes with sweet red onions. Delicious simplicity! Followed by a moist cake with black coffee. The dogs are begging.

I am alone in the house. Nobody is asking for my attention. I can do whatever I want, on my own pace.

I can see the sun outside, but inside the air is crisp - this house is built the old way, to keep the cool (and the warm when necessary) in.

I am actually... at complete and blissful peace....

Twisted feminist

Sometimes we have really conflicting views on what an empowered woman is. We spend hours mulling over how things should be, how we should behave, how we should put our foot down. But what if the really empowered women are those who...

- come from backward families, and yet manage to get educated and find jobs

- get up at at 5 am, prepare breakfast and lunch, get the kids to the school bus, then dress up, put immaculate makeup, then board a train stuffed with sweaty bodies and bad moods, and arrive at work with not a single crease in their sari

- work quietly on their desks while the men have countless tea breaks

- fearlessly ride scooters in crazy traffic

- leave cushy jobs to start their own businesses with very little or no money

- are able to dish out a 5-star meal after a 10-hours working day

- are not scared, while at the village well, to share with other women the problems they face at home, without being worried that "the perfect picture" will get spoilt

- are able to revolt and close down all liquor shops in their city, in order to stop men from spending all their savings on booze (http://in.news.yahoo.com/070621/139/6h855.html)

- can't read but learn to save and become independent (http://www.workingwomensforum.org/)

Food for thought...

Stayin' Alive

This is how thousands of Indians commute daily. In the bus picture, what I missed was the conductor climbing up to the rooftop from the outside, collecting fare from those sitting on the rooftop, and then getting back in via the outside ladder...