Let’s talk...

Text messages and emails are all very well; but they are no substitute for a real conversation

Okay, be honest now. How many of you use a mobile phone or a laptop to communicate with people in the same house? Do you text your spouse to say that dinner is ready when he or she is just a room away? Do you BBM your kids to tell them that they are getting late for school and need to step on it? Do you phone your household help from the bedroom to ask them to lay out breakfast? I have to plead guilty to the last. I know it is a bit shaming but I find that switching on my mobile and calling on the landline to ask for coffee and toast gives me an extra ten minutes in bed. And on some days, that can make all the difference.

The reason I am asking you these intrusive questions this Sunday morning is because a recent survey conducted by a British company found that as many 45 per cent of the respondents admitted to using mobile devices to communicate with family members even when they were all in the same house. And I am guessing – thanks to an entirely unscientific and unrepresentative survey conducted among my friends – that it is much the same in India.

Kids instant message their moms to find out what was for dinner. Moms text their kids to remind them that’s there’s tennis after school that day. Husbands BBM wives to tell them they are running late (and vice versa).

Sometimes there are good reasons for using this method of communication. If you text or email your husband that he needs to pick up the dry cleaning on the way home, there is a greater chance that he will remember to do so. And if he forgets you will have written evidence that you did remind him to do that and that he forgot. Not only will this save you an endless argument on the lines of ‘Yes, I did tell you’ ‘No, you didn’t’ it will also help to conclusively establish that it was HIS fault. (Of course this will lead to endless whining about how ‘everything’ seems to be his fault; but you are probably used to that.)

So yes, it’s always good to have a record of stuff like that. Ditto, what time the PTA meeting is; which weekend has been blocked off for a visit to the in-laws; whose turn it is to pick up the kids from school; when the credit card payment falls due. Using text messaging or email to discuss stuff like this makes sense.

And who can deny that the day gets a little brighter when you see a message from your significant other in your inbox with the tagline ‘I love you’ or even ‘Miss you’. A missive like that can make even the most dreary work meeting easier to get through.

But that said, there is a lot of stuff that we really should be saying face-to-face – and we simply don’t. And however much we may regret it, there is simply no denying that non-verbal communication is on the rise. What’s more, every generation seems to be as guilty as the next. A few years ago, I would berate my young nieces and nephews for instant messaging their friends rather than simply picking up the phone and talking to them. Now I find myself texting or BBM-ing my friends, with whom I would have had long phone conversations in more low-tech times.

So, why exactly are we so leery about having a real conversation these days? Partly it is that we don’t want to seem intrusive. Everyone has busy lives and we don’t want to call and make a nuisance of ourselves. It’s much easier to respond to a text than a phone call, we tell ourselves, as we put off a nice, long chat yet again. But at least part of the problem is that simply don’t want to invest the time and effort required to have a proper heart-to-heart with those we love. We’d much rather exchange a line or two on the phone or via email than participate in a meaningful exchange.

But when we cease to have conversations, we miss out on much more than we realise. Effectively, we are raising a generation that is incapable of picking up on verbal cues and micro-expressions because of the lack of face-time in their lives. We are creating a world in which emoticons are replacing emotions; and where human interface is being nudged out by hyper-connectivity. And in the process, we are all becoming a little less human ourselves.

So, the next time you have something to say to those who love and cherish, just say it. Don’t email, text, BBM or instant message. Pick up the phone and talk.

Sometimes it is nicer to hear a human voice than a ping that announces the arrival of yet another email. And it’s always better to exchange smiles with someone (or just hear a smile in their voices) rather than see a smiley in their text messages.  

Life is too short...

So, be sure to make the most of every moment you are granted

Life is too short. Life can be fragile. It can end in an instant. Live each moment as if it were the last, because it might well be.

We hear these phrases so often that it becomes easy to dismiss them as clichés. And we trot them out ourselves often enough without ever pausing to consider what they really mean. And then comes a moment when we come face to face with the reality of how short life really is, and how quickly it can end. And in that instant, we realise just how badly we have failed to make the most of it before it ended.

The transience of life was brought home to me last week when I attended the memorial service of a friend’s father, who had passed away suddenly in his late 60s, despite being in perfect health. And as I heard the moving tributes paid to him by his friends and family, I couldn’t help but think how much we take life for granted – right until the moment when it is rudely snatched away from us.

It is never easy to lose a parent. But that blow falls much harder when it lands on your solar plexus completely out of the blue. I know how that feels. In my early 20s, I awoke one morning to a phone call that told me that my father had passed away. I took a flight back home catatonic with shock. It had never occurred to me that my last conversation with him would, in fact, be my last conversation with him. How I wished then, clutching my grief to myself, that it had not been quite so banal. How I berated myself for not saying all the things that I would never again get to say.

That’s the thing with sudden loss. You never really get a chance to make peace with it. No matter how much people try to convince you that this was for the best, and that it was good that death didn’t come after a long and painful illness, it is hard to reconcile yourself to a bereavement that comes out of nowhere. However debilitating a long illness may be, and however unbearable it is to see someone you love suffer, it gives people the chance to get used to the idea that the end will come, sooner or later. And in some sense, the shock of loss is blunted, if only slightly.

But when life ends in an instant, all that remains is regret for all the stuff that you did not get to do, the things you never got to say, the fights that remained unresolved, the anger never expressed, the love never given voice to, the hugs never exchanged.

And that’s when you realise that the phrase ‘live every moment as if it might be the last’ is not a cliché. It is a truth that we should wake up to every morning and clutch to ourselves every night when we go to sleep.

On a more mundane, everyday level, this means getting your affairs in order. Don’t put off writing your will because you feel that it is tempting fate, or simply because you think that you are far too young to think of stuff like that. Make sure your spouse/parent/child knows where the keys to the bank locker are and what the combination to the safe is. If you want to be an organ donor, sign up now. Don’t burden your kids with the decision of how your medical care should go; leave clear instructions while you are still in control of all your faculties.

But while taking care of the practicalities, don’t let the emotional side of life slide past you. Hold your kids tight every day and tell them how much you love them. Kiss your spouse goodbye every morning when you leave the house. Don’t ever go to bed angry; always make up before your head hits the pillow. And most importantly, don’t leave anything – good, bad or ugly – unsaid. Express your anger and resentment and get it out of your system. Reconcile your differences. Share your feelings with those who matter while you can; or be racked with regret later.

And while you’re at it, don’t put off anything for tomorrow that you could do today. Don’t postpone that family holiday for the following summer because you are overworked at the office. If you’re missing a friend, pick up the phone and speak to her now. Get your grandmom to tell you the stories of her childhood. Start that book you’ve been meaning to read forever. Make your own bucket list, and promise yourself you’ll tick one thing off every week.

Yes, life is far too short. It can end in an instant. So, be sure to make every moment count.

Spring is in the air

And with it, comes the promise of new beginnings...

Did I happen to mention that winter was my favourite season? Well, dear reader, I lied. As the weather warms up, the nights get balmier, the days longer, I realise – as I do every year, without fail – that my favourite season is, in fact, spring. The trees begin to get green again, the flowers start to bloom, and it gets that much easier to struggle out of a snug bed every morning. What’s not to love about spring?

So, while we are on the subject, let me count the many ways I love this season; and the many things I love about it.

First up, are the flowers. I have always loved the way Delhi is transformed by the colourful waves of flowers which raise their pretty little heads, nodding in the cool breeze as if they were acknowledging the arrival of warmth and happiness. There is the brilliant red of salvia, peeping forth from deep green leaves, as if asking Nature if it was safe to come out and play. There is the riotous joy of fuchsia and the wild profusion of pansies, as they threaten to destroy the symmetry of flower beds everywhere. And then, there’s my personal favourite: the Nargis (or Narcissus) flower, with its sweet, delicate aroma and shy white and yellow petals, looking a trifle embarrassed about being made much of.

But my love for spring pre-dates my love for Delhi. Growing up in Calcutta, spring (or Basant, as it was called in my household) was heralded by the most important festival in my calendar: Basant Panchami. For us kids, this meant Saraswati Puja, where we would wake up early in the morning, have ritual baths, wear something yellow, and start the day by worshipping the Goddess of Learning. It was an utterly unasked-for bonus that this was also a study-free day, because all my school-books had to be placed reverently at the feet of the Goddess so that she could bless them at her leisure, and I could spend my time reading my favourite Enid Blytons.

This was also the first day that we were allowed to eat ber, a fruit that has come to be associated with Goddess Saraswati. The prevalent superstition was that you would fail your exams if you ate ber before the day of Saraswati Puja. Fervent believers all, we would faithfully steer clear of the fruit until Basant Panchami, and then gorge ourselves silly. This not only introduced us to the concept of abstinence but also taught us that everything tastes better after a spell of deprivation – an invaluable lesson to learn in life.

Those rituals of childhood – and the superstitions that came with them – are long gone, but the arrival of Basant Panchami still puts an extra spring (pun entirely unintended) in my step. And adulthood has brought its own spring rituals with it. A pedicure to spruce up unsightly winter feet, hidden away for months behind socks and boots. Waxing arms and legs, so that sweaters can be peeled off and skirts worn without any embarrassment. Packing away winter clothes and digging out the cottons and linens languishing forgotten at the back of the closet. And bidding goodbye to layering, which can turn the slimmest among us into little butter-balls.

It’s not entirely surprising, then, that so many of us embark on special fitness programmes around this time. The weather is just right to go for a morning or evening walk. And there’s no excuse for that glass or two of alcohol to warm you up at night. You can forgo the dense soups for a light salad made from crunchy spring vegetables and not feel deprived. You can give up calorific cappuccinos for refreshing iced tea. And if you’re lucky, maybe in a month or so you can get rid of all the lard you’ve accumulated over winter and get back into your old summer clothes.

Or better still, you can do that one thing that actually takes its name from the season: spring-cleaning. Throw out all the old stuff that is cluttering up your life (not to mention your mind-space) and create the space to bring some newness to your life. This could mean anything from last season’s Anokhi kurtis which no longer fit to old acquaintances who bring you down with their negativity. Throw out everything (and everyone) who doesn’t add anything to your life. And use the space cleared to fill your life with positivity, joy and good cheer. 

So, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and enjoy spring while it lasts. Go for a walk. Eat an ice-cream. Enjoy the feel of wet grass on your feet. Buy a beautiful new dress. Paint your nails green. Wear flowers in your hair. Start a journal. Sign up to learn a new language. Take dance classes. Be brave. Make new beginnings. It is the season to do just that.

His name is (Shah Rukh) Khan

And he is entitled to have a conversation about what it means to be Muslim in India without having his patriotism questioned

By now I am sure all of you are au fait with the latest controversy to erupt around the Badshah of Bollywood, Shah Rukh Khan. But for those of you inhabiting a parallel universe, here are the bare bones. Khan gave an interview to an international publication called Outlook Turning Points in which, among other things, he discussed being a Muslim in a post 9/11 world.

It was in this context that he made his now-infamous statement. “I sometimes become the inadvertent object of political leaders who choose to make me a symbol of all that they think is wrong and unpatriotic about Muslims in India...There have been occasions when I have been accused of bearing allegiance to our neighbouring country rather than my own country – this even though I am an Indian, whose father fought for the freedom of India. Rallies have been held where leaders have exhorted me to leave and return to what they refer to as my original homeland.”

No sooner had this interview hit the stands than Hafiz Saeed, no slouch when it comes to self-promotion, issued a statement inviting Shah Rukh Khan to come live in Pakistan if he felt unsafe in India. The Pakistani terror mastermind added generously that Khan could stay in Pakistan as long as he liked.

Cue, shock, horror and outrage in the Indian media, best summed up by the headline Firstpost gave to its comment piece on the controversy. “King of Victimhood,” it screamed, “Shah Rukh Khan bites the hand that fed him.” After much fulminating about how Shah Rukh didn’t really deserve the adulation of the Indian masses – who worshipped him without worrying about his religion – the writer went to exhort Khan to “grow up” and “take it on the chin like a man” and not provide space for “low-life terrorists like Hafiz Saeed to take pot-shots at India”.

Okay, now that you’re all up to speed, let’s just see what happened there.

Shah Rukh Khan’s jibe at some political leaders who targeted him was clearly a reference to the late Bal Thackeray and the Shiv Sena, with whom he has had a troubled history. Has the Shiv Sena doubted Shah Rukh Khan’s patriotism on occasion? Yes, it has. Has it accused him of being a Pakistani sympathiser? Yes, it has. Has it held demonstrations during which Khan was asked to go ‘home’ to Pakistan? Yes, it has.

So far, so true.

Now that we have cleared up what Khan said, here’s a quick summary of what Shah Rukh did NOT say. Did he say that he had been targeted by the people of India because of his religion or his surname? No, he did not. Did he complain about how his film career had suffered because he was a Muslim? No, he did not. Did he accuse film-goers of being biased against him because of whom and how he worshipped? No, he did not.

In other words, he did not bite the millions of hands that had fed him. He did not spit in the face of the fans who have made him what he is. So why attack him on completely spurious grounds? I can understand taking on a man for what he said. But targeting him for something he did not say? That is just plain stupid.

Is it Khan’s fault that Hafiz Saeed pounced on this interview to extend an invitation to him to come live in Pakistan? No, it isn’t. And it would be the ultimate triumph of the two-nation theory if we can’t even have a conversation about what it means to be a Muslim in India without getting all defensive about Pakistan.

Which of us can deny that it isn’t always easy having a Muslim surname in India? Never mind the festering wounds inflicted by the shameful riots of Gujarat, everyday life comes with its own set of challenges. Just finding someone willing to rent you a house becomes a Herculean task. Negotiating a job interview can be a minefield. Getting a passport is a veritable nightmare. (And when you do, racial profiling follows you to every immigration counter in the world.)

And yet, such is the inherent strength and strange beauty of India’s secularism that the three biggest stars in the Bollywood firmament – Salman, Aamir and Shah Rukh – can rejoice in the name of Khan. Surely that is something to celebrate in a world that is increasingly fractious and divided?

We should take pride in the fact that it doesn’t matter how much political leaders try and divide us on the basis of religion. At the end of the day, the people of India worship who they want to, irrespective of which God they – or the objects of their devotion – worship.

Attention, please!

In this age of hyper-connectivity, have we lost the ability to live in the moment?

Last week in Chennai I had my first experience of an A.R. Rahman concert. Given that I am a huge fan, I was looking forward to seeing him perform live along with his troupe of super-talented musicians. And Rahman did not disappoint, playing all his biggest hits and then some, with Hariharan and Sukhvinder coming on to do their bits.

What intrigued me, though, were the people sitting around me. Instead of immersing themselves in the music, clapping in rhythm or even singing along – as keen concert-goers should do – they were all busy on their phones. Some were holding them aloft to take grainy pictures; others were recording (even grainier) videos; some were updating their BBM status to tell their extended social circle that they were watching Rahman LIVE; others were doing much the same on Facebook.

None of them were doing what they had presumably come here for: to listen to Rahman and his band play. They were so busy recording the event or telling other people that they were at it, that they had lost sight of the essential purpose of why they were here: to listen to a live performance.

Many musicians have complained about this cell-phone nuisance, where people are more engaged with their mobiles than the music during a performance. And some have even said that this new practice of everyone ‘recording’ what it is going on actually takes away from the energy of the show. And given my own experiences of live music events, I have to agree.

But more than that, I can’t help but wonder if this is not just another indicator of how we have lost the ability to live in the moment.

We can no longer just listen to a singer belting out his greatest hits. We are not content to hum along, clap in time, or even dance. No, even the event unfolds before us, we feel this compelling need to record it and then share it on social media to prove what interesting, fulfilling, fun-filled lives we lead. I can bet that none of the people recording the Rahman performance on their mobile devices will ever look (or hear) that clip again. The only time they will whip it out is when they need to tell someone else about how they were at this ‘awesome’ concert.

And it’s not just music concerts alone. Even in movie theatres, people seem unable to succumb to a willing suspension of disbelief for a couple of hours. No, they must post their thoughts and mini-reviews on Twitter or Facebook even as the action unfolds; or at the very least, BBM or IM their friends to tell them how it’s going. Thankfully, it is illegal to record a movie on a mobile device or else we would have to contend with the mobile-held-aloft syndrome in cinema halls as well.

But it is on holidays that our inability to live in the moment becomes most obvious. Instead of enjoying the sight of a riveting sunset, we are busy adjusting camera settings so that the redness of the sky can be faithfully captured for the family album. Rather than feast our eyes on the majesty of a tiger in the wild, we are struggling to frame him perfectly against that clump of trees. Instead of feeling the sea breeze in our hair, the warmth of sunshine on our backs, or the flakes of snow as they waft past our faces, and just enjoying the moment, we are so focused on recording it that we destroy its essential magic. In making sure we remember the moment, we fail to actually savour it.

Focussing on even the simplest thing seems to beyond us these days. We cannot watch a TV debate without venting our outrage on Twitter. We cannot read a book without stopping to check the newsfeed on our phone. We cannot try a new recipe in the kitchen without posting a picture on our blog so that everyone can exclaim over it. We cannot eat in a restaurant without taking pictures of every dish so that we can share it on social media.

Oh well, you get the picture.

The only problem is that we don’t. Or at least we don’t see it for what it is. Instead, we are deluded enough to tell ourselves that all this flitting between stuff is a good thing. We pat ourselves on the back and tell ourselves that we are really great at ‘multitasking’. Oh look, how clever I am! I can watch a TV show, check the latest news headlines on my laptop and tweet on the phone AT THE SAME TIME! Isn’t that AMAZING?

Well, since you ask, it is anything but amazing. It is, in fact, a bit shaming that we cannot bring ourselves to commit to any one thing at any one time. It is, in fact, a sign of our ever-decreasing attention spans, a sad corollary of our frenetic lives in the age of hyper-connectivity. And it doesn’t look as if it’s going to get better any time soon.

When winter comes...

It’s the gastronomic delights of the season that I love the most

The most annoying thing about winter in India is that it ends no sooner than it has begun. Just as you’re beginning to enjoy the cool winds, the balmy afternoons and the chilly, occasionally misty nights, the weather turns on you. The sweaters start to feel a bit scratchy, the feet begin to sweat in those heavy-duty boots, and the trench looks like overkill rather than a dashing fashion statement.

But it’s not the lack of opportunity to show off my winter wardrobe that annoys me the most about the transience of the season. No, it’s the fact that I never get a chance to indulge in winter gluttony as I would like to, having fantasised about it for the entire year.

Truth be told, what I love most about the Indian winter is the gastronomic opportunities it presents. So much so that (and yes, I know it makes me sound pathetic) I often while away hot summer afternoons, thinking of all the gourmet delights that the cold weather will bring.

I guess we all have our favourite seasons when it comes to food. There are some people who live for the summer and its gift of ripe, golden, juicy mangoes (though I would rather gorge on lychees instead). And then, there are people like me who count the days down to the winter, to feast on the goodies it brings.

So, here, in no particular order of importance, are all the things that exemplify the taste of winter to me.

# Sarson da saag: What can I say? I am a Punjabi and for me winter never truly begins until the first batch of sarson da saag has been cooked up in the kitchen. Needless to say, it is made in industrial quantities because it always tastes better a day or so later. All you need to do to refresh it is re-heat with a generous blob of white butter added. Spoon it up with a softly-crisp makki di roti, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bliss!

# Makki di roti: Yes, if sarson da saag has made an entry into the kitchen, then the makki di roti cannot be far behind. This is a match made in gastronomic heaven. The golden hue of the roti is a perfect counterpart to the deep green of the saag, feeding your eyes as well as your taste-buds. I always grate a bit of gobhi into the makki atta while kneading it. The moisture left by the gobhi makes the roti just a wee bit softer and sweeter, to balance out the slightly bitter taste of the saag.

# Methi: There is nothing to match the taste and smell of the winter’s first methi. The leaves are green and tender, wilting quickly under heat, and releasing the most heavenly aroma that perfumes the whole house. This is a versatile leaf, which can be used as a vegetable, an herb, or even a condiment. I like it best as a subzi, sauteed quickly with par-boiled potatoes but you can experiment with it as you will. Add it to theplas or parathas and it adds an extra dimension of freshness to the dish. And if you love it as much as I do, buy up loads while it is still in season, air-dry and store in jars to use through the year. It is guaranteed to bring a whiff of winter to the hottest of summer days.

# Oranges: There is something so meditative about peeling an orange, isn’t it? Especially when you take care to peel it slowly and carefully so that it comes off in one long whirl, curling and curving seductively as it reveals the inner core of the fruit. Then, you remove the long fibres still clinging to every segment so that just the quivering sliver of pulp is left. Plop into your mouth and let the flavours explode on your tongue. That sweetly acidic attack? That’s the taste of winter for me.

# Peanuts: The first sign of winter in the north of India is when the rehriwallahs start doing the rounds of the streets, their carts laden with mounds of unshelled peanuts. When you buy some, they heat up the moongphali on the spot, on a small fire that stays burning amidst the piles of nuts, and hand it to you in a paper bag. If you have any sense, head straight for the nearest spot of sun, settle down with a good book, crack open the shells and pop the warm peanuts into your mouth, one at a time. It really doesn’t get better than this.

# Paranthas: Yes, I know you can have them all the year round. But why would you want to eat them in the sweltering heat of summer or the cloying humidity of the monsoon? Winter is when parathas really come into their own. You can stuff them with the winter vegetable of your choice: mooli or gobhi. Or you can stick to the tried-and-test aloo version. But whatever the stuffing, you can’t go wrong with white butter, full-fat dahi and loads of achaar (try the winter combination of gobhi, shalgam and gajar; it’s brilliant!).

# Gajar ka halwa: It must have taken a genius to think of transforming the boring carrot into a delicious dessert with the judicious addition of sugar and milk (and many, many hours of cooking). Whoever she was, God bless her soul. And while the winter lasts, bon appétit to you all!

Behave!

There’s plenty of advice out there for how women should stay safe; here are a few handy pointers for the men as well

Over the last month or so, Indian women have been inundated with gratuitous advice on how we should conduct themselves in public so as to keep themselves safe from sexual harassment and violence. Politicians, religious heads, media commentators, women’s rights activists, and well, pretty much anyone with a voice to be heard, has come up with new and innovative ways to keep the women in our society ‘safe’ from sexual crimes.

Right off the top of my head, these are some of the suggestions that have been offered in all seriousness. Women should not be allowed access to mobile phones. Co-education should be banned. Girls should be married off the moment they reach puberty to keep them safe from predators. Schoolgirls should wear overcoats over their uniforms to save them from the gaze of perverts. Teachers should wear lab coats to prevent male students leching at them. Working women should not be so adventurous as to travel back home alone from work late at night. Women should not wear skirts or other ‘revealing’ outfits because that just excites the men and provokes them into attacking them sexually. And certainly, women should not complain about being ‘raped’ if they willingly go out with men, because honestly, what were they expecting?

That is, by no means, an exhaustive list. But I guess you get the general drift. The message is clear and simple: stay covered up; stay at home; stay silent; and if you’re lucky, you may stay safe.

So it is in the same spirit that I now offer my own two bits of gratuitous advice to men as to how they should live their lives.

·  * First off, don’t ever venture out into the night alone. And most certainly, don’t head out with a group of male friends. If you are seen prowling the streets late at night, we will assume that you are up to no good. That you are, in fact, ‘asking’ to rape someone. So, be a dear and get home by 9 pm. If you do have to venture out after this ‘curfew’, then ask a woman – your wife, sister, mother, aunt, any other female relative – to accompany you. If you fail to do that, then be prepared to face the consequences. If you are out late at night and ‘cross’ that ‘Lakshman Rekha’ we will assume that you are Ravana and treat you accordingly.

·  * Be warned. If you dress in an ‘immodest’ manner, we’ll be judging you. Put away those shorts you wear to the beach/mall/gym to show off those hairy legs. Don’t wear those tight, crotch-hugging jeans. And button up that shirt while you’re at it; nobody wants to see that provocative expanse of chest. What kind of message are you sending anyway by flashing all that flesh? Cover up already. Don’t you know how to stay within your ‘maryada’?

·  * When it comes to socialising or making friends, stick to your own sex. It’s much safer that way. If you hang out with girls; go to the movies with them; party with them; or, God forbid, drink and dance with them, things will get tricky very quickly. So, don’t risk going out with a girl unless she is your sister or you intend to marry her (not if she is your sister, of course). If you do, then we will know just how dodgy your ‘morals’ are. And that may well destroy your marriage prospects. Nobody wants to get hitched to ‘that kind of guy’, you know.

·  * While we are on the subject of marriage, do try and enter the holy state of matrimony as early as possible. It’s best if you are hitched by 21 but we will allow you some leeway till around 25. If you hit the age of 30 without acquiring a wife then we will assume that there is something seriously wrong with you. And if you are still single at 35, or worse still, at 40, it will be taken as a given that you are either sexually depraved or morally deviant.

·  * Don’t rock the boat. If someone passes a snide comment, makes a personal remark, invades your personal space, touches you inappropriately, makes unwanted sexual advances, just ignore it. If the harassment persists, submit meekly. Don’t make a scene. Don’t raise your voice. Stay silent and pray that it goes away. But never – no matter what the provocation – retaliate or even react. Just go with the flow. Because if you stand up for yourself, there is every likelihood that you will be ground into the dust.

Okay then, that’s my five-point ‘advisory’ to all men. And now here’s a question for all the men who have persisted in reading thus far: how offended are you by all the ‘suggestions’ listed above? Very offended indeed, I’m guessing.

Good. Now you know how every woman feels when she hears people holding forth on how she needs to do a, b, and c (and avoid e, f, and g) to keep herself ‘safe’. And maybe that will teach all of you ‘experts’ out there to shut the hell up.