The Unconscious Bias

My friendly new neighbors are artists. One designs user-friendly good-to-look-at tech solutions. And the other one makes beautiful designs on paper, cakes and rangolis.

The other day I happened to compliment them on their creativity…and ended up saying,” So both of you are artists, but in the reverse way. While she is the techie, he is the painter!!”

And as soon as I said it, I realized my mistake. I allowed the bias to creep in. And I allowed it, even though my own father was a painter.

“Who helps your daughter with her studies and home-assignments? I see you usually working till late in office.” My colleague questioned.

“My husband does. And actually, both of us prefer it that way.” I replied. “He is a better teacher than I am and he enjoys teaching.”

She seemed surprised. The bias had crept in. And it came even though she is a working mother, balancing between work and family, with equal contribution from her spouse.

The other day we were getting into our car, when we were greeted by an elderly neighbor. Seeing me get into the driver’s seat, she teased my husband, “See, good you taught her how to drive. Today it’s convenient for you too.” The bias had crept in.

“He didn’t teach me how to drive.” I retorted. “I have been driving from the time I was in college, much before I met him. He only taught me how to cook omelettes.”

A group of us were casually chatting the other day, when the conversation reached the recent MeToo movement. My friend picked up his mobile and showed us a recent pic of an ex-colleague. This was a comment on a female colleague’s dress, and its correlation to any unethical behavior.

The bias had crept in. And it did, even though he is a liberal and open-minded individual, with modern thinking and ideologies.

And this is what experts call as ‘Unconscious Bias’. The bias which creeps into our minds, words and actions, and many a times without us even realizing it. So even though in principle we dont have a bias, for eg against men cooking or helping in household work, it may still show-up in our words or actions or reactions. 

Unconscious bias plagues people from all age groups, ethnicities, socio-economic and educational backgrounds. And though these mistakes are mostly unintentional, there is but one way to correct them. To apologize. To self and to others too. To consciously correct the unconscious bias.

The Beauty and The Boring

They came from different worlds. They were totally different, totally opposite. But just as it was told in the famous fairy-tale, they were meant to be together. And they were together. Happily ever-after.

And thus the story began…..

She quickly packed his lunch. Rice in one box and daal in another, and ran towards the door, locking it behind her. She started with a long apology note as soon as she got into the car, narrating the reasons for delay. He only smiled and drove ahead. For the entire journey, she led the conversation. He only responded intermittently.    

His weekend plans were lack-luster. He preferred staying at home, glued to his tv and books, content with simple meals she would prepare. She was a free-bird, waiting to explore and experience everything outside the four walls of her air-conditioned high-rise office building. She called it her time in the ‘real world’. But he always accompanied her.

On a lazy evening, she would play songs, would dance around the house, could be seen humming a tune. When in a good mood she would prepare elaborate meals. When pensive, it was two cups of coffee. And he always watched this from the corner of his eyes, meekly smiling. He simply adjusted his mood and behavior to compliment hers.  

On special occasions she would plan elaborately. From surprise gifts to sumptuous meals. From untold desires to unseen needs, she would get him everything she could think of. When it was his turn, he would become clumsy and confused, guilt weighing heavy on his heart.  

It was their wedding anniversary. They were spending it in a quiet resort, away from the humdrum of city life. Just the two of them, staring at the row of trees from the balcony.

“You must be feeling bored. I am sorry if I disappointed you.” He finally broke the silence. “But I am not boy-friend material. I can’t plan exotic vacations, candle light dinner, can’t buy red roses or mush greeting cards. Its just not in me.” ☹

“And that is why I decided to marry you and not have a passing affair.” She winked. 😉 

“True, that he’s no Prince Charming but there’s something in him that I simply didn’t see.” - Belle in the movie Beauty & the Beast

Black and White Photographs

When the team lead suggested that we share our childhood photographs for a team activity, as expected he got a mix-bag of responses. From ‘I don’t have any’ to ‘I don’t want to share’ to ‘here you go’. While some readily agreed to open their old storage cases, others refused that they had any. Their hesitation was evident and maybe even justified to an extent. ‘Why do you need it? Is it compulsory to share? What will you do with it? What if people laugh at me? What if someone misuses those? What will others think about me?’ So on and so forth. Everyone had multiple questions running in their minds. It was as if something extremely personal and private was being made public.

In the tough corporate environment, everyone, at all times is trying to portray a respectable image. An image decorated with confidence, intelligence, knowledge and capabilities. This is certainly no match with the image of a kid, lost in his ignorance and innocence. They say a picture is like a thousand words and bringing out a picture may also bring out the stories connected with it. Stories that make us look clumsy, vulnerable and naïve, which again doesn’t match with our current know-it-all status. In a culture that is deep rooted in virtues of constant learning and evolution, the present is considered as an upgraded version of the past. And thus, many individuals don’t take pride in sharing and talking about the past, unless and until there is a glorified success story associated with it.

Also, there is a constant need to separate the personal from the professional. We are comfortable being friendly with colleagues, neighbours and a wide array of people, but cannot be friends with them. We as a generation are very conscious of our personal space and make efforts to protect it. ‘My space’ is a symbol of and is closely associated with ‘my individuality’. Sharing the picture and accompanying memories was something like sharing a piece of oneself. In all practicality we don’t expect others to identify this piece with the same emotion and sense of attachment. In all likelihood the fear of becoming a butt of all jokes also plagues the heart.

Thus while everyone loved seeing their pictures in private, they hesitated in sharing it publicly. The black and white picture became symbolic of their good and ugly past, frozen in time, coexisting in its factuality, hidden deep behind closed doors.

I also went back searching in old albums, looking for my childhood memories. Memories from past, often relived in dreams. Memories from past, unmatched with present. Memories from past, that can only be felt but can’t be touched. Seeing those pictures was like opening a pandora box. Each picture had some stories associated with it. Some untold, some forgotten and some cherished. It was nothing less than seeing a movie replay.

There was a series of random pics my father had clicked using a borrowed camera. He had made me do the photo-shoot over two days, changing clothes, poses and locations. Then there was another series, each taken on certain special occasion, each to complete a film roll. From my first birthday to my brother’s wedding, from my first week in school to last week prior to graduation, from family trips to studio pics. The first twenty years of my life were spread out in front of me.

Flipping through those old albums I couldn’t help but notice the stark differences. Its true that today I look nothing like those pictures. Chubby cheeks have long thinned down. Long oily platted hair now adorn a more contemporary look. Shiny big eyes are now laden with dark circles and thick glasses. The shy timid kid has grown up to be a confident out-spoken opinionated individual. Today I am more sure of my choices. I am less apologetic about my mistakes. I have learnt some new lessons, have unlearnt some old ones. My present is not a reflection of my past. Neither is my past a testimony of my present. This is as true today, as that was back then.

Yet the biggest difference was in my reaction to this entire episode. Unlike on previous occasions, I didn’t stop myself from bringing out the pictures. They are an integral part of my existence, in which my present and future are very deeply rooted. And in some unknown sub-conscious way, I am still trying to add rainbow colors to those black and white pictures.

Rain and a Short Story

Geeta is a voracious reader. For her reading a book is like drinking water. Words go down her throat with same ease and leave the same satiated feeling. Writing too comes naturally to her. Every word with a different meaning, for a different feeling. At an age when her friends would play with dolls, she would play with words, jotting down songs, poems and jingles. Some her own, some borrowed, some copied and some revisited. Over the years she has participated and won many an accolade for her writings.

But today she is sitting in front of her writing desk, staring in blank space. Words are avoiding her, ignoring her, refusing to see straight in her eyes. She cant seem to find the right word to bring out her thoughts. She is almost regretting having accepted to write this piece.

It shouldn’t be such a big task after all. It’s a simple ask – write a short story about your best rainy-day memory. She can write anything, memories of playing in muddy puddles as a kid, roof-top rain dance with her friends, a bike ride in rain with her husband or the evenings she had spent sitting next to her window, sipping hot tea and looking at dancing droplets. But every time she started writing, her eyes were flooded with memories of that one day. And more she tries to brush it aside, more it comes and stands in front of her. Just like a motion film. 

Why do I feel guilty about that day? She questioned herself. There is nothing wrong in it. She argued with herself. The light drizzle that night can hardly qualify as a rain, she tried another logic. Yet nothing seemed to be working. It was certainly the most memorable memory of her life. While she had always enjoyed looking back on that day, to put it in words was becoming difficult. 

As is always, it was a long long time ago. Geeta had just entered the glamorous and ambitious corporate world. For the first six months of her job she was sent on a whirlwind tour, attending conferences and workshops. Coming from a simple and modest background, the comfort and luxury of her 5-star residences made her believe that she had finally arrived – in career and in life.

During one of these conferences, they were staying at a sea-side resort. After dinner, she changed from her formal suit to a long flowing skirt and strolled towards the sea. On her way she picked up two beer bottles from the conference room and then made her way towards the beach, leaving behind footprints in sand.

As she settled on a rock, she felt life couldn’t get any better. Sand, sea, moon and breeze – were her all time favorites. And it just got better with the light drizzle wind carried on its wings. It was the kind which only makes the skin moist.

As she sat staring at sky, taking in sound of sea, she saw him for the first time. Or rather the second time. She remembered seeing him in the conference earlier in the day. He was standing there facing the sea and sky. Another dreamer, she thought.

After that moment life moved just the way it happens in movies. He saw her, he came and sat down next to her. Initial pleasantries led to conversations, formalities transformed to candidness, smiles changed to laughter and everything around them worked its magic.

She could read his thoughts, as though they were her own. And none ever understood her the way he did. She could complete his sentences. He somehow almost always knew the right thing to say. The right word, the right expression. Talking to him was like talking to a mirror. They both shared the confidence of youth, apprehensions of future and fear of inexperience. 

Being complete strangers, the rendezvous had its own thrills. They could open their hearts, without any worries of being judged. They were not scared of being wrong. They were honest, they shared their true selves. Their fears, their dreams, so very different, yet so same. They were alone, but not lonely. Everything around them was silent, with only words flowing, flying on winds, warm and moist in little drizzle.

That was probably the longest, and yet the shortest night of their lives. Only if it could extend into a lifetime.

Geeta Sighed.

The spell was broken with the first few rays of sun lighting up the sky. She gathered herself and ran back towards her room. Grass in the lawns was still wet from previous night and looked greener than always.

They never met again. The evening did not need a perfect ending, it was perfect in its incompleteness. And it remained the best rain and the shortest story of her life.

I, You and We

I, You and We

                                  – and in that order

The lines from the newspaper article were stuck in my head. This was so conflicting to what I was taught since childhood. But this truly is the new-age mantra.

In case of emergency landing of an aircraft, first put your own oxygen mask. Only then extend a helping hand for someone else. Even if the person sitting next to you is your child or the love of your life. Save your life first, reach a strong and firm position, and then pull up the weaker one to stable grounds. Else we run the risk of putting both lives in danger.

Yes, this is totally conflicting with the stories of Savitri and Annapoorna I heard while growing up. A mother and a wife doesn’t worry about her own needs. She keeps greater good ahead of hers. She is believed to and is expected to go to great lengths ensuring safety and well-being of her loved ones. 

My grand-mother strongly believed that if the lady of the house observed fasting on certain days, it'll bring health and prosperity for her family. Similarly putting vermilion on forehead of married women is expected to bring long-life to her husband. Thus it is a ritual which is not to be missed by married women. No one speaks about the scientific, medical and spiritual benefits associated with abstinence and self-control. 

The pressure is no less on the other gender. Twice a year, every year, all brothers in our community are reminded that they have to protect their sisters from all evil. Fathers are expected to keep aside a considerable chunk of their savings for their son's education and their daughter's wedding. And it is a husband's responsibility to provide for his wife.

All in all it is a cohesive model, where everyone takes care of everyone. Sacrifice is glorified, selflessness is believed to be a virtue and self-interest is looked down upon.

This new theory is totally different and yet it seems logically as correct as the previous one. A nursing mother needs to first feed herself to be able to pass that nourishment to her child. A well-read teacher can share more knowledge with his pupils compared to one who is limited to text-books. A doctor needs sufficient rest for him to be able to efficiently diagnose the patient. The same logic applies for people following mountaineering. Only the one rising first is able to pull others to greater heights.  

A happy heart spreads joy, a smiling face spreads smiles and while laughter is infectious so can be tears. While its true that ‘we get what we give’, its also true that ‘we can give only if we get’. That ‘getting’ can be from an internal source also – like peace of mind, patience or strength of character. Yet, it has to be first received, imbibed and internalized, before sharing.

My friend starts her day in a gym, charging her batteries for the day. After reaching home, she packs of her kids to school and then attends to other pending household tasks. This prioritization allows her to focus only on the task at hand. It also ensures that needs of each are met without compromising those of others.

My better-half moved jobs and thus changed cities. We followed him wherever he went. Each change brought better career prospects for him and improved financial stability for us. If he had put family stability over his growth, maybe we would have had a stable life, but it may have been at a lower plateau.

Recently one of my colleague’s name was doing rounds in grapevine circles. He had volunteered his name for a high risk high visibility project, but at a cost of additional work hours for his team. Needless to say this decision wasnt considered egalitarian by many. A few months down the line, successful implementation of the project brought him better visibility and better growth. He used this opportunity to get additional training programs sanctioned for a few chosen team members. And completion of the project brought, along with certifications, better career prospects for all. If he had first thought of creating work-life balance for his team, maybe they would have scattered away, each searching for brighter pastures.  

Very honestly it has taken me a long time to fully understand the true meaning behind this new-age ideology. Like many others I also believed that by behaving selfishly, I may harm the larger wellbeing. What I probably missed was the thin line between ‘self-centred’ and ‘self-interest’. Only if ‘I’ exist, can I be a part of 'we'. Only if ‘you’ are taken care of, will there be a ‘we’. And if ‘we’ are happy, then all is well.

With Love.....From India

"Main tumse pyar karta hun!!! Bahut pyar karta hun!!" (I love you. I love you loads.)

I looked at the big sparkling eyes and smiling face delivering the rehearsed speech.

"So who is your favorite?" I asked. "Of course, the King Khan!" She made it sound so obvious that I couldn't help but smile. Almost as if there cant be another possible answer to my question.

Born and brought up in a not-so-remote corner of Africa, she was a walking and talking encyclopedia on everything Bollywood. These movies have been her guide book on India and its people. For next half hour or so she was sharing with me her views and reviews on movies, movie stars, their personal and professional choices, their strengths and weaknesses and their upcoming ventures. she had done extensive research on their career graphs, mapping exceptional performances, highlighting the highs and lows, and monitoring changes.

"Have you ever been to India?" I asked at some point in between. "No, not yet. I am not ready for it." She seemed hesitant. "I need a lot of money before I plan that trip. I know I will end up buying almost everything there. So I need to be sure I have enough money to be able to purchase that stuff." Her eyes twinkled at the thought.

From Indian food, to Indian dresses, from our culture to our festivals, she loved everything Indian. And this was only and only because of the movies she had been watching since a teenager. Now more than a decade later she had managed to gather sufficient information about the place of her dreams - the land of colours, land of dance and music, land of beauty, land of aromas and the land of love and laughter.

I wasnt sure if I should have mentioned it to her that we are as human and as normal as people in any other part of the world. Maybe I just wanted her to continue believing in the world she had imagined. The world she dreams about. And to let her love it the way she sees it. Bahut bahut pyar ke saath (With lots of love).