Mum's the word

It's time to debunk the myth that motherhood 'completes' a woman

Motherhood. It's a tricky business. And no, I don't mean mothering, which comes with its own set of complications -- and rewards. I am talking about motherhood, a state that everyone and his uncle has an opinion about. Motherhood, which is made out to be the ultimate achievement of a woman (and the inability to achieve it the ultimate failure). Motherhood, the status update that sets the women apart from the girls. Motherhood, the rite of passage that is meant to 'complete' you.

And the reason I have been thinking about motherhood over the last fortnight is down to three women: Jennifer Aniston, Sania Mirza, and of course, Theresa May.

Let's begin with Aniston, who has spent most of her adult life being stalked by the Pregnancy Police. From the time she was married to Brad Pitt to now, when she is wife to Justin Theroux, pregnancy rumors have constantly swirled around Aniston. So, you can understand why she finally blew her stack when some paparazzi pictures of her with a slightly more rounded tummy set off yet another hysterical round of Jen-is-finally-pregnant pieces.

In a searing piece for HuffPost, Aniston wrote, her rage fairly dripping off the page, that she was not pregnant but simply 'fed up' of the constant speculation revolving around her uterus. "I have grown tired of being part of this narrative," she wrote, adding that she was "not in pursuit of motherhood because I feel incomplete in some way".

Then it was Sania Mirza's turn to face the mother of all questions from TV anchor, Rajdeep Sardesai. His query was framed in terms of 'settling down'. "What about motherhood...building a family...it seems like you don't want to retire just yet to settle down".

Mirza was having none of this. She responded with a zinging backhander: "You sound disappointed that I am not choosing motherhood over being number one in the world...unfortunately, that's when we are settled, and no matter how many Wimbledons we win or number ones in the world we become, we don't become settled."

To his credit, Sardesai saw the point immediately and instantly apologised, conceding the point that he would never have asked that question of a male sportsperson.

The rest of the world is not always so obliging.  Most people see a childless - or child-free, to use the more politically-correct term - woman as a perennial question mark. Why didn't she have children? Was it down to fertility issues? (If it was, who was to 'blame': the husband or her?) Or is she just a selfish so-and-so, who didn't want kids to hamper her hedonism? What is the appropriate response to her barren state: concern, pity or scorn?

And then come the value judgements. How could she possibly understand what other mothers go through as they bring up their kids when she doesn't have any of her own. She simply can't have the same stake in the future that mothers do - as Andrea Leadsom said so famously and fatally about Theresa May, when they were both running for Tory leader, and the Prime Ministership of Great Britain - because it's not her children who are going to inherit the earth. She can't understand the depth of maternal love because she hasn't experienced it first-hand. And she cannot begin to fathom the despair caused by the loss of a child because, yes, she doesn't have children.

It's almost as if the rest of the world has agreed that a woman who doesn't have a kid is lesser-than in some way. That because an entire world of experience is shut off to her, so is the world of empathy, or indeed, sympathy.

Perhaps this is why childless women so often feel obliged to explain their empty nest to others. Even the resolutely private May had to offer up this tiny morsel about her childlessness: it simply didn't happen (like it doesn't for many people) and while it was an abiding sadness, she and her husband got on with their lives.

Jennifer Aniston, too, responded to the motherhood question a tad defensively in 2014 interview. "You may not have had a child come out of your vagina, but that doesn't mean that you aren't mothering - dogs, friends, friends' children...This continually is being said about me: that I was so career-driven and focused on myself, that I don't want to be a mother, and how selfish that is...Even saying it gets me a little tight in the throat."

But why should any woman - celebrity or otherwise - feel obliged to explain why she doesn't have children? It is nobody's business but her's and her partner's; and presumably both of them are in on the secret.

Thankfully, even Aniston knows better now. As this older and wiser Jen wrote in her HuffPost piece, "We are complete with or without a mate, with or without a child...We get to determine our own 'happily ever after' for ourselves."

And yes, whether that includes children or not is entirely up to every woman to decide for herself. And no, she doesn't owe you or the world any explanations about her decision.

You go, girl!

When a triumvirate of female leaders comes to power across the world, it inspires young women everywhere

So, it’s done and dusted. Theresa May is now the new Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. And if Donald Trump keeps up his gaffe-a-day performance, Hillary Clinton is a dead cert for the White House. If you take in the fact that Germany already has a female Chancellor in Angela Merkel, this will be the first time in history that we see a triumvirate of powerful women ruling the world (well, vast swathes of it, at any rate) at the same time.

At the risk of sounding sexist, I have to confess that I find this a rather thrilling prospect. A female US President, a female UK Prime Minister and a female German Chancellor. What are the odds of this ever happening again – at least in my lifetime? So, even though I can see some of you (mostly those with that extra Y chromosome) shaking your heads and tut-tutting at my naivete, I refuse to curb my enthusiasm.

Whenever I express these views – both in real life and in social media – there are a few stock responses that are invariably thrown at me. How does it matter if these leaders are women? Surely, leaders should be chosen for their abilities and not their gender? And why do I assume that having women in positions of power will be good for other women?

Well, first of all, none of these women is in pole position because of her gender. All of them have proven track records in politics and have come through the same hurly-burly (or rugby scrum, to use a more recent analogy) that their male colleagues have failed to negotiate successfully. So, they are not women politicians. They are politicians who happen to be women. Or even women who happen to be politicians.

And yes, leaders should be chosen for their abilities and not their gender. But I am sure that even their most committed rivals would grant that Clinton, May and Merkel have more than proved their political chops during their careers. So, when it comes to ability and talent, they are easily the equals of their male counterparts (though, frankly, it is farcical to compare Hillary Clinton to the abomination that is Donald Trump).

So then, we come to that old chestnut: are women leaders any good for other women? Do they stand by the sisterhood? Is the feminist cause better served by having a female in a position of power?

Well, by way of answer, all I have for you are two words: Barack Obama.

As Obama nears the end of his two terms as America’s first African-American President (well, okay, mixed race, if you want to get all pedantic about it), race relations in the USA are at an all-time low. Just over the last week, we had two young Black men – Alton Sterling in Louisiana and Philando Castile in Minnesota – shot and killed by police in circumstances that would have earned most White folk a ticket or a caution at the most. And they were just the latest in a long roll call of Black men who have died at the hands of the police. Michael Brown, an unarmed teenager, was killed by a police officer in Ferguson. Trayvon Martin, another unarmed teenager, was killed by a neighbourhood watch volunteer in Florida. Eric Garner, who was put in a chokehold by NYPD officers, was heard saying ‘I can’t breathe’ over and over again before he died. His dying words became a rallying cry for those protesting police violence against Blacks.

According to the Guardian, which runs a project to track police killings in America, at least 136 people have been killed by the police in 2016 alone. And the Washington Post estimates that 258 Black people have died at the hands of the police in 2015. Not surprisingly then, last week saw countrywide demonstrations in the USA against police brutality against Blacks (#BlackLivesMatter). And in Dallas, the police force itself became the target of an African-American sniper, who shot on a protest rally and killed five cops and injured many others.

All this, while the first Black President of America was still in the White House.

So, if the presence of an African-American at the helm of affairs can’t make things better for Black people, why should we imagine that the presence of a female leader will make things better for women?

The simple answer is that it is not so simple at all. Electing a Black President or a female Prime Minister does not mean that the problems of those sections of the community will magically disappear. No, that magic wand does not exist, so nobody – whatever their sex, colour, ethnicity – can wield it to make our problems vanish.

Let’s take an example closer home. The BSP leader, Mayawati, who styles herself as ‘Dalit ki beti’ has been the chief minister of UP four times over. But Dalit women continue to be raped and Dalit men killed if they overstep the bounds set out for them.

But that doesn’t negate the symbolic value of having a Dalit woman at the helm of affairs. By her sheer presence, she serves as a beacon of hope sending out glimmers of possibility to every Dalit girl studying in a remote primary school that one day she too can attain those heights.

And it is that message that will hit home for young girls everywhere when women do – quite literally – take over the world. And I for one can’t wait to see that happen.

Frankly, my dear, I (no longer) give a damn!

After a lifetime of people-pleasing, it is incredibly liberating to not care what anyone else thinks

I spent most of my life as a people pleaser. As a child, I was that annoying, prissy little one who actually volunteered to sit in the front row; who raised her hand to answer a question even before the teacher had finished asking it; who actually asked for homework; who swotted through the night before exams. All because I desperately wanted to please my parents/my teachers/any other significant adult in the hope that this would make them love me.

Nothing much changed when I turned into a young adult. When my friends were cutting classes in college and getting up to no good at college festivals and late-night parties, I was too busy playing the cleverest girl in class.

I devoured my entire reading list in a week; I handed in every essay on time; and when it came to classroom discussions on Chaucer or Shakespeare or Marvel or Yeats, you simply could not shut me up. Needless to say, my teachers loved me (you cannot imagine my happiness when one of them referred to me as "a ray of joy"). But, for some unfathomable reason, it did not make me very popular with my peers; and I stayed up many nights worrying about that.

When I started my first job in journalism, my people-pleasing instincts were entirely intact. I went out of my way to become best friends with the page-makers in the art room (ah, those primitive times before computers; how I miss them!) and the boffins in the office library. I volunteered to stay late so that my bosses would be impressed by my work ethic.

Even my interviewing technique was based on endearing myself to my subject -- and thankfully, it worked a charm. One of the highlights of my early reporting life was when Uma Bharti dragged me in front of a mirror and marveled at how alike we looked. (Ah, good times!) Apparently, you do catch more flies with honey than with vinegar!

My personal life mirrored my professional life as well. Rare was the occasion on which I stood my ground during disagreements with friends. It was just simpler to go along with what other people wanted; or so I believed, in my anxiety to make and keep friends.

On social occasions, I was always the one doing all the running. There was never a silence that I did not rush in to fill. There was never a conversation that I allowed to flag. There was never a lame witticism I failed to laugh at. And there was never a moment when I truly relaxed and enjoyed myself, so anxious was I to get it right.

I can still remember the moment when it finally dawned on me that I was playing it all wrong. Then in my early 30s, I had been invited to a black tie dinner hosted by a great champagne house. And as a mark of great favour, I was seated next to one of the wine makers. Unfortunately, though he was undoubtedly a dab hand at blending grapes, he didn't have much by way of conversation. And it didn't help that his English, rudimentary as it was, was almost incomprehensible because of his French accent.

Nonetheless, I persevered in my usual way to keep the conversational ball rolling. But 10 minutes into the dinner, having met with monosyllabic responses, I asked myself: Why are you bothering to do this? You will never meet this man again in your life. He is plainly uninterested or unable to keep a dialogue going. So why are you trying so hard?

I thought about these questions in one of those conversational lulls I had always felt obliged to fill. And then, I gave myself permission not to try so hard. I stopped talking. I ate my food, I drank the excellent champagne, and I told myself that I didn't care if this famous winemaker thought I was rude. And you know what, after a moment, I truly didn't.

You cannot begin to imagine just how liberating that was. From that moment on, I retired my people-pleasing self and decided that the only people I would ever care about are my family (well, at least, those members who I could still bear to be in a room with) and my friends (you know who you are). Other than this small group, I could not be bothered to be charming or endearing. Of course I would be polite, so long as it was possible. But that was all I was prepared to offer, in addition to unflinching honesty.

Thus it was that when a friend invited me to one of the events her guru, Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, was presiding over, I didn't say yes just to please her. Instead I offered her the truth. Thanks so much, I said, but I'm really not into all this spiritual stuff. She was startled for a moment. But then she laughed good-naturedly and said, "Ah, well, at least you are honest about your feelings!" And strangely enough, there was no threatening clap of thunder, the heavens didn't fall down, and we continue to be friends to this day.

As the old saying goes, we would all stop worrying about what people thought about us if we realized how seldom they do. I am only sorry that it took me half my life to learn that lesson.

Drawing the line

Your privacy is worth protecting; even at the cost of being thought rude

So, there I was in an airport lounge, sitting quietly in one corner, minding my own business. My husband, who was travelling in a wheelchair, wanted some water so I went to the buffet counter to get it. Barely had I reached into the fridge, than a voice behind me said, "Excuse me." I turned around, thinking it was a staff member offering assistance. But no, it was a complete stranger, smiling brightly at me. "Yes," I asked.

"I just saw that your husband is in a wheelchair," he said. "What is the problem?"

I suppose the easiest response would have been to explain that he was suffering from a bout of sciatica. But I was so appalled by the blatant disregard for my privacy (not to mention my husband's) and the barefaced effrontery of asking about a stranger's medical condition, that I had to pause while I got my temper under control.

So, I counted to ten and then asked in the most icy tone I could summon: "Are you a friend of his?"

Impervious to my annoyance, he responded cheerily, "No, no, I was just wondering what had happened to him."

I could have made the obvious comeback: "How is that any business of yours?"  But my manners got the better of me. "He is in pain," I said tersely and moved away.

But he was not done. "Anything serious?"

That's when my reserve of patience ran out. I turned my back to him and went back to my quiet corner, fuming all the while at the intrusiveness of strangers.

Thinking back on the encounter during the flight, I began to wonder why I had been quite so annoyed. After all, as an Indian, I have grown up in a culture where the concept of privacy doesn't seem to exist. Where even the most personal matters are the subject of public discussion. And where intrusiveness is such a fact of life that most of us cease to even notice it after a while.

Growing up, as the youngest of three kids, with a brother and a sister who were more than a decade older than me, I lost count of the number of times I heard people joke about how I must have been an 'accident'. After all, my parents had 'one of each' so the third one could only have arrived because of a failure of contraception. It was probably said good-naturedly but ever since I began to understand what it meant, it always came as a shock to hear that I had never been wanted in the first place.

More recently, I have seen much the same scenario unfold with a friend of mine. She has three daughters, all born with a year or two of one another. And every time she goes anywhere with all three of them -- whether to a PTA meeting, a family function, a birthday party, or even on a routine trip to the dentist -- she is sure to get one of the following three responses (and sometimes all three). "Three daughters? Oh, you must have been hoping for a son." "Is the shop shut? Or will you try one last time for a boy?" "How lucky, girls are the best. But doesn't your husband want a son too?"

I can only imagine how those three young girls feel when they hear these careless remarks thrown about within earshot. Do they feel worthless because, apparently, a family is never complete without a son? Do they wonder if their parents are disappointed in them because of their gender? Do they feel like failures for no fault of their own?

But somehow, everyone feels entitled to comment on other people's personal choices, or even query their life decisions. Here is just a random sample of questions that you grow up being asked in India -- not just by parents, family members, neighbors or friends; but by complete strangers in doctors' waiting rooms, on the train, and yes, even in airline lounges.

* How come you are not married yet? Divorced? Oh, what happened?

* How many kids do you have? Just the one? He is 5 already? Isn't it time you had the second one. You know, only children can grow up to be selfish and lonely.

* How long have you been married? No children? Any problems? You know, I can recommend a specialist. He helped my cousin conceive -- not once, but twice!

And then, there are the questions that are asked so that you can be placed in the social order:

* Where did you go to school?

* Did you go to college in India or abroad?

* Where do you live? Do you live in a flat or a house? How much did you pay for it? Oh, your parents left it to you? How much do you think it is worth now?

* What car do you drive? Do you drive yourself or do you have a driver?

* Where did you go for your summer holidays? Where are you planning to go for Christmas/New Year?

The questions just pile on and on and on till the intrusiveness becomes such a part of your environment that you don't even register it, let alone find it offensive.

But then comes a moment when a complete stranger walks up to you and asks you about your husband's medical condition as if he has a perfect right to do so. And that's when you begin to lay down boundaries in your own head. And promise yourself that you will safeguard them even at the cost of being seen as rude. Because, sometimes, offence is the best defence.

Dishing it out

How our relationship with food has changed over the last decade or so

Remember a time when food was just food? When it was something that you ate without thinking too much about it. When the highlight of your weekend was your mom's rajma-chawal (or fish fry or chicken biryani or whatever your comfort food was, growing up). When going out for a meal was something you did only on special occasions, like a birthday or an anniversary. When the only item of food that ever got photographed was your birthday cake -- and that, only because you were in the process of cutting it.

Well, if you are above the age of 30, you probably do. That was probably the last generation to come of age in an environment where food was just food. There was no obsessing about the calorific count of various dishes. There was no concern about the harm that sugar/carbohydrates/fat were doing to your health. Food wasn't something that you obsessed about; it wasn't something to fetishize on TV shows. Cooking was seen as mere drudgery; there was nothing glamorous about whipping up a three-course meal for your friends. And if you eschewed entire food groups on the grounds that they weren't good for you, your mom was more likely to give you an enema than cook a special meal for you.

But, as you may have noticed, things have changed since those innocent days when we mainlined maida (and snorted up industrial quantities of sugar) through the day without giving it another thought. Now, we are all mindful of what we eat. Wholewheat bread rather than white. Free-range eggs, not those produced by battery chickens. Olive oil rather than butter and cream. Lots of vegetables. White meat not red. Steaming rather than frying. And so on and on and on.

We all have a 'food theory' or a fad diet that we subscribe to. Some of us believe in 'clean eating', which translates into lots of fruit and vegetables with minimal cooking involved. Some follow the Paleo diet, eating food that only the Paleolithic man ate. Some still swear by the tried-and-debunked Atkins diet (lots of red meat, cream, cheese, butter, with a side order of cardiac arrest). Some don't let a morsel pass their lips after 7.30 pm in the belief that this will make them thin.

And then, there are those fancy themselves as 'foodies', with an abiding interest in different cuisines and the desire to gorge on them all. They are the ones trying to recreate that dish they saw on Masterchef in their kitchens. They are the ones most likely to whip up a 'mean Thai red curry' or bake a 'flakier than flaky croissant'. They are the ones who plan their holidays around the restaurants they want to eat in. Call them gourmands or gourmets, it matters little. It is food that drives them all.

Food allergies have had their day. Now we justify our exclusionist diets by evoking those two words that strike terror in every hostess' heart: food intolerance. So you have your regular lactose-intolerant folk, who won't have anything made from milk (except dahi, it has something to do with lactic acid apparently; but don't ask me more because the explanation was so boring that I fell asleep halfway through.) And then there are the newly-minted gluten intolerant folk (no, they haven't had tests, silly; they just understand their own bodies so well.) But the truly annoying ones are those who claim to be 'vegan' because it sounds so much more exotic, when they are, in fact, just plain 'vegetarian'.

How we eat has become a status symbol. If you eat parathas and dahi for breakfast you are a bit desi. The truly sophisticated would have rye bread and free range egg white omelette. Rotis or dal chawal for dinner? How very infra dig! You should really be having some grilled fish or chicken with a green salad on the side.

As for how we cook -- well, we cook mostly to show off. The potluck dinner is a thing of the past. Now, the way to impress your friends -- or even your boss -- is to create a restaurant-quality meal in your own kitchen (the more 'exotic' the cuisine, the more the bonus marks). If it's Italian, then an easy-peasy pasta or risotto won't do; you need to put at least an ossobuco on the table. If it's Thai, then a simple curry doesn't cut it; an omelette stuffed with crab would be a better indicator of your skill. If it's 'Continental', then you need to pull out all the stops: savory soufflé, lamb done pink and a chocolate fondant to end. And if it's Indian...well, really, why even bother?

And remember how the food looks is as important as how it tastes. Because, you know, Instagram. And Facebook. And Twitter. That's where all those dishes are destined to live on forever, scooping up likes and compliments, long after the meal is long over.

Because food is no longer simply food, to be wolfed down as soon as it makes an appearance on the table and forgotten soon after. Now, every meal is something to be mulled over, every dish a photo-opportunity, and every ingredient a statement.

So, bon appetit to all you 'foodies'. As for me, since you ask, I'm sticking to my rajma-chawal!

Time lapse

Here's a quick glimpse of what you can expect from your 40s

Every decade of our life brings with it a few life changes. In your 20s, you are just about entering the big, bad world as a fully-formed adult, negotiating your way through it on your own. It is a somewhat scary but always exhilarating experience. Your 30s, more often than not, finding you settling down, or at the very least, attempting to, with a spouse or a partner, with a couple of kids and in-laws thrown into the mix.

And, then come your 40s. This is probably the decade when you will experience the most life changes. And this may well be the decade that changes you as well.

As someone who is on that journey, allow me to give you a quick glimpse into what you can expect from your 40s, based on my own experience and that of my friends.

* Just when you think that your kids have now grown up and can cope on their own, you will have to become carers once again: this time to your parents or parents-in-law. With a bit of luck, these illnesses won't be life-threatening. Perhaps a broken leg, necessitating a stay in hospital, and a long rehab process afterwards. If you (and they) are truly out of luck, it may be something more serious like a heart episode or a stroke. But no matter how quickly they recover and how good the prognosis, your life and theirs will never be the same again. Not just because of the demands on your time and energy. But also because parenting your parents can be heartbreaking, for both parties.

* Middle age will start to make itself manifest in your body. You will no longer be able to dance in heels all night without hobbling back home in pain. After a long night of drinking with your friends, you won't be in a position to get up the next morning and get to work (oh no! You'll be in bed, groaning and moaning, and nursing the mother of all hangovers). There will be that niggling ache in your back when you pick up something heavy or overdo it on the cross trainer at the gym. Your knees will creak in protest when you take a flight of steps. I could go on, but I'll only end up depressing both you and me.

* Just when you are in a position to afford eating out in fancy places, thanks to a generous company expense account, your doctors will put you on a strict no-fat diet ("Your cholesterol is off the charts," he/she will harrumph disapprovingly). Just as you finally have enough disposable income to buy those designer suits you hankered after all your life, you will discover that you don't fit into even the largest size on display. Made to measure, instead? You'll have to get into your 50s before you can afford that!

* Did you really think that the worst bits of child rearing were over? Ha, bloody ha! Now, instead of those cute cherubs who climbed into your bed every morning and woke you up, you have two sulking teenagers skulking around the house, answering your every query with a grudging monosyllable. Their rooms are a mess; but you are not allowed entry, even for a clean-up. They spend all their time on their phones, Snapchatting and Instagramming; but you have been blocked on both, so you don't have a clue what is going on in their lives.

* This is also probably the time when you begin to panic about your finances. Your children -- yes, the ones closeted in the bedroom, with ear-thumping music on -- are unlikely to get the grades to get into top-rated Indian colleges. So it will have to be university in Britain and America -- or Singapore, at the very least. Yes, you have spent the last decade saving for it. But who knew that the rupee would hit this all-time low? You could spend everything you have saved or even take a loan to send your kids to a prestigious college abroad. But what if you had a medical emergency or lost your job in the interim? How would you cope? Is it a wonder you don't sleep well at night?

* And then, there is the bereavement and the loss. This is the decade in which you will begin to experience the loss of near and dear ones. And not just of your parents and in-laws, who are in the twilight of their lives. No, this is when you will lose a friend, an old school mate, an office colleague, someone roughly your age, to death. More often than not, this will come as a bolt from the blue and leave you gasping with shock and horror. There, you will find yourself thinking, but for the grace of God, go I.

Yes, I know, I paint a depressing picture. But there is much to be thankful for as well. You are still around. Your kids may not speak to you but (trust me) they still love you. And most certainly, they need you. Your parents may be shadows of their former selves, but their presence still adds grace to your lives.

Yes, you may well think that there's nothing to cheer about getting older (or even, just plain old). But pause for a moment and consider the alternative. There, you feel much better, don't you?

Have you Heard about Depp?

The lessons we learn from celebrity break-ups

Unless you have been hibernating in the wilds of Ladakh, by now you will have heard about the messy breakdown of Johnny Depp and Amber Heard’s marriage. If, like me, you are something of a news junkie, you will have the details of their marital meltdown coming out of your ears.

To recap very briefly, it happened thus. Johnny Depp and Amber Heard met on the sets of the movie, The Rum Diary, and fell in love. Johnny broke up with his partner of 14 years, the French actress Vanessa Paradis, who is the mother of his two children, and moved in with Amber. Fifteen months ago, Depp and Heard got married in a spectacular beach ceremony in the Bahamas.

And a couple of weeks ago, just days after the death of Johnny’s beloved 81-year-old mother, Betty Sue Palmer, Amber sued her husband for divorce and obtained a temporary restraining order against him on the grounds that he had been physically abusive towards her through the course of their short-lived (but clearly stormy) marriage. To prove her case, Amber produced pictures of her battered face, with bruises around her eyes and a fat lip. 

The Depp camp responded with denials and statements from Depp’s ex partner, Paradis, and his daughter, Lily-Rose, about what a lovely and loving man he was, and how it was impossible that he would hit a woman. Heard hit back by leaking an exchange of messages she had had with Depp’s assistant a few years ago, which seemed to acknowledge a history of abuse from Depp over a period of time. The assistant responded by saying the messages were fabricated. And so it went, on and on and on.

No break-up is ever pleasant but there is something particularly nasty about celebrity break-ups. It’s not just that the world’s attention is focused on the private lives of strangers, but that everyone has an opinion on stuff that they couldn’t possibly have any knowledge of. And before you know it, fans of both parties have come down on one side or another, sticking by their respective idols with a resolution matched only by their ignorance.

So, we have Camp Depp, which insists that there is no way that Johnny could have been abusive towards Amber. He is such a splendid, stand-up guy! Didn’t you see what a marvelous job he did as Jack Sparrow in Pirates Of The Caribbean? Not to mention his performance in Alice In Wonderland. She is just making up all this stuff to get a bigger divorce settlement.

Ranged against Camp Depp is Camp Heard, which is considerably smaller but makes up for it by being a bit shriller. Their view seems to be that women who claim to be victims of domestic abuse should be believed – or else other women will be too afraid to come forward and report their abusive partners. And why would Amber be making this stuff up anyway? It is not in the interest of a small-time actress like her to take on the might of a Hollywood megastar like Johnny Depp.

And thus it goes. Emotions run high. Arguments break out, both in real life and on social media. For some reason, people seem to take this stuff personally even though they don’t know the persons involved. 

I don’t know about you, but what this reminds me of is the time when Brad Pitt broke up with Jennifer Aniston and went off to play happy families with Angelina Jolie. Even then, the world seemed to be divided into Team Aniston and Team Jolie; for some reason, no one thought it fit to create a Team Pitt.

But while every celebrity break-up is unique in its own way – certainly, there were no accusations of domestic violence against Pitt – they do teach us the same lessons. Here, in no particular order of importance, are the top three:

• If you have a fortune to protect, whether you are a man or a woman, always get a pre-nuptial agreement signed before you sign on the marriage certificate. Yes, I know, it is not terribly romantic to foresee what may happen in the case of a divorce even before the wedding. But it is the best way to ensure that you are not risking the assets you spent years building up; and, more to the point, that your prospective spouse is marrying you for the right reasons.
• Try your damnedest to keep the media out of your business. Work out all your issues – alimony, divorce settlements, child custody arrangements – in private with your lawyers. Once you have negotiated all these tricky bits, release a joint statement to the media. Follow the example of those ‘conscious uncouplers’, Chris Martin and Gwyneth Paltrow, or nearer home, Hrithik Roshan and Sussanne Khan, who have remained publicly supportive of each other even after their divorce.
• There is a thin line between love and hate, and it is all too easy to tip over to the other side when your relationship is disintegrating. But no matter how bitter and angry you are with your soon-to-be ex-partner, try and remember that this is a person you once loved and wanted to spend your life with. Respect and civility goes a long way. And even if it isn’t reciprocated, in the long run you will be happy that you, at least, did the right thing.