These words can safely summarize my time skiing near Salzburg, Austria. At the end of my one and only ski adventure, falling became a lot of fun. I embraced it whole-heartedly. Would I fall on my bum or on my stomach? Those were the elementary questions that needed answering.
Fittingly then, the first lesson I learnt was how to get up unaided after a fall. After labouring for 20 minutes and sweating like a pig, I was finally up on my feet. Learning the fine art of performing the ski plough was up next. A ski plough is a v-shaped manoeuvre that helps you to stop and is the lifeline for beginners.
The morning after my first day , I could barely walk straight. Thanks to all the falling, my muscles were stretched in ways they had never been before. I was advised a visit to the sauna by my Austrian friends. And that really fixed everything. Now I understand why skiing and sauna go together.
I spent a lot of time on the ‘green’ slope. All around me, Austrian babies were fearlessly diving down the slopes at top-speed. I concluded that Austrians are born genetically free of the ‘fear of heights’ gene, which I possessed in large quantities. There was a boy who left me speechless. Though he was tiny, he kept coming back up the ski lift to toboggan down. Each time he went down a little faster.
I had several instructors. Each one had their very own technique. Some were very strict and gave army-sergeant like instructions, some were patient and very encouraging, and others motivated me to overcome my fear of heights. Despite the differences, they all had one thing in common – they wanted me to ski. And ski I did.
The high point of my trip was when, after three days of training, countless crashes, sore bones and a fear of heights, I managed to come down a slope without ski poles and with Mozart’s symphony playing in my head.
I felt as free as a bird.
A joyous moment that still stays with me , along with the breathtaking landscapes.
The magical adventure was capped by a meeting with Hermann Maier , who is to ski what Sachin Tendulkar is to cricket. He very kindly offered to give me a lesson but alas I was leaving the next day.
These special memories from a spectacular trip to the heart of Austria’s winter wonderland make me feel alive even today.
Jacaranda tress in full bloom in the Nilgiri mountains in southern India. Photo : Sabrina Sidhu
Watching the US Open Women’s finals this year brought back a flood of memories. It took me to my childhood, when as a 14-year-old, I learnt to play tennis in the Nilgiri mountains of southern India.
I was often the only girl on those courts of the Wellington Gymkhana Club back then. But that did not prevent me from enjoying the game to the fullest and going head-to-head with the boys. No matter how tiring the day had been, I played my heart out.
In hindsight, I can only thank my father for signing me up for the classes. I am sure he still doesn’t know how powerful the experience was for me. Learning how to play tennis gave me the confidence to believe that I can do anything, if I worked hard. The life lessons that were learnt on the tennis courts have stayed with me for years to come.Today I am firm believer in the power of sports , especially for girls.
My parents, who were officers in the Indian Air Force, believed that both their children should receive the same opportunities. In the Indian Air Force, we had easy access to a wide variety of sporting facilities at very little cost. From a young age, my parents encouraged us to explore a wide range of sports and outdoor activities such as horseriding, croquet, squash, hiking, swimming and badminton. They always believed that physical fitness was paramount , so we were outdoors at least two hours in a day after or before school.
I remember the first day my father took me to the tennis courts with my brother. The players were hitting the ball so fast and hard. My brother loved it and enrolled immediately for classes. I was not so sure about the whole deal. In fact I was scared. The courts loomed large in my head. It all seemed a little daunting.
The tennis courts at the Wellington Gymkhana club. Photo : Wellington Gymkhana Club
After some encouragement from my father and brother, I said yes. I felt reassured knowing that I would come with my brother every day. He was my safety net so I always followed him blindly. If it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me .
And that is how the love affair started.
Every day after school ended at 4pm, my brother and I would run down to the tennis courts for coaching classes. The courts were situated in the middle of picturesque tea gardens and a stream. To get to the tennis courts, we would have to run down these muddy ‘short-cuts’, with breath-taking views in the foreground.
The 65-year-old coach, who was called a Marker, had a personality to reckon with. Even though he was as thin as a rake, he could command attention from old and young with his strokes and agility. It was always surprising how he barked instructions over the net despite his set of missing front-row teeth. Given his years of experience coaching children, he was always full of useful tips.
I liked the Marker because he always treated me equally . He made me work out as much as all the other boys on the court. I would have to run the same number of rounds and do the same number of push-ups as them. Under his vigilant eye, we would practise for hours on the wall or on one of the courts. I was never daunted by the fact that I had to play with the boys. Elsewhere in India, girls were discouraged from playing games that were ‘meant’ for boys. In my world, it was perfectly normal that I was there. The Marker, my father and my brother never let me feel otherwise. You won some matches and you lost some matches. And that was that. It had nothing to do with being a girl. A loss was a loss.
After the Marker was satisfied that I had duly respected his daily ‘warm up’ ritual, I would be called up for my class. There were three courts – one clay court and two hard courts. Whilst taking a class with the Marker, you had the privilege of playing on the clay court. I can’t quite describe what it feels like to play on clay. It is meditative – a bit like magic. The court felt so smooth, sometimes I thought I was ‘walking on water’. On clay, I was transported to another world. Only three things existed – the ball, the Marker and the court. My eye was always on the ball and my only aim was to hit it across the court.
Once my Marker was teaching me the importance of covering the court. I was so fixated on impressing him that I ran across the court to reach a shot, but could not slow down. I ended up in the middle of the court next to me. It was an exhilarating moment.
The best part about playing on clay was the red colour that got imprinted on the soles of my shoes – a sure shot sign that you were a respectable tennis player.
Tennis became even more fun when I started following the professional tennis circuit. I would get revved up watching the greats like Steffi Graf, Martina Navratilova, Gabriela Sabatani, Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario and Monica Seles. Somewhere, this really inspired me to carve out my own dreams and life path. “You know, I find it fascinating that they travel all over the world, and that they play at this level,” I would tell my brother, Rubin. If they could do it, then one day I could also rise to those heights in my career.
In those days, we did not have cable television, only a national channel. During the Grand Slam tennis competitions, the only matches we could watch were the quarterfinals, semi-finals and finals. Watching the women’s finals was a question of life-and-death. I believed that if I wasn’t watching, Steffi Graf might loose. I watched those matches as if my life depended on them – sitting in the same position for hours as I thought this would help my favourite player to win.
I still vividly remember a Saturday when we finished tennis early to run back home to watch the US Open women’s final between Steffi Graf and Gabriela Sabatani. One friend shouted out, “Go home Gaby Sabby, the match is about to begin.” That is how I was usually known – Gaby Sabby.
As an Argentinian, Gabriela Sabatini stood out from the rest. She was one of a handful of players who did not hail from America or Europe. In that sense, Sabatini was truly one of the pioneers, especially for women’s tennis. She broke through many barriers, which was an inspiring lesson for me to learn.
I definitely emerged as a stronger and wiser Sabrina from my tennis days – a Sabrina who would keep going on, much like Gabriela Sabatani or Steffi Graf did even when they were one set down.
Radha with Neena, the eldest at an orphanage for abandoned girls. Photo credit: Alok Dixit
Radha Bedi is a 28-year-old British Indian who travelled to India in the aftermath of the gruesome gang rape of a 23-year-old medial student in New Delhi in December 2012. Radha spent time with women and men affected by violence across the country, resulting in an hour-long BBC documentary through which she tries to understand the situation faced by Indian women.
The documentary, “India: A Dangerous Place To be A Woman,” was aired on BBC several times. In my interview with Radha Bedi for the Washington Times Communities, she introduces us to the women that she met.
Read my interview with Radha Bedi where I ask her more about the documentary.
What is your documentary about?
Bedi: India: A Dangerous Place To be A Woman, is a BBC documentary about my journey as a young British Indian woman, returning to my motherland, exploring the reality of life for the women and girls in India.
What made you think of this documentary idea?
Bedi: As a journalist working in television news and documentary I maintain a key interest in untold stories from South Asia and in particular my ancestral homeland, India. The initial idea came about after a previous visit to India last year. And of course, in December the world came to know of the unprecedented Delhi Gangrape case. I was shocked. Because as an NRI (Non Resident Indian) from the UK, I had always thought it was us, the foreigners, the back packers that were subjected to such sexual abuse, not women and young girls living in India. I was naive in my thinking and was shocked in what I was seeing and hearing across the Indian media.
I tracked the story like a hawk, the more I read and watched, the more I became aware that is was a much bigger problem facing the women of India than I had anticipated. For women in India, it’s the unwelcome reality every time they step out of their front door. I knew this was a story I had to get commissioned. It is a strong story and coupled with the high profiled Delhi rape case – I knew I had to tell it.
Tell me a little about your experiences while shooting for this documentary?
Bedi: During the making of this documentary, I met many young girls and women who had been a victim of all kinds of horrible sexual harassment. I met a 15-year-old girl from the eastern India state of Bihar, who had acid thrown over her entire body for simply not wanting to talk to a boy in her class; to a young female from Guwahiti in the north eastern state of Assam, who had been severely molested and stripped of her clothes after leaving a birthday party at around eight nine o’clock in the evening, all the while having her ordeal filmed by a local journalist.
Even my own cousin from a small village in Punjab in northern India who I hadn’t seen for a decade, told me of her own personal story concerning her first born child. When her daughter Liza was born, her father in-law rejected her granddaughter and was upset, simply for the fact that Liza was born a girl and not a boy and it took a while for him to come to terms and accept her. I then visited an all girls orphanage, also in Punjab – a home for abandoned girls of all ages. This was a bitter sweet encounter – in the sense that Veena, the lady who runs the orphanage, takes in any girl of any age – baby or child and raises them as her own daughters, educates them and helps the girls become independent and when coming of age finds them a suitable boy and family to marry – without demands for dowry. In another part of India, Pune, I met a doctor who runs a small hospital who makes a point of celebrating every girl child born and educates parents and families to come to terms with accepting their girl child.
A graphic for the documentary. Photo credit: Alok Dixit
In Delhi, I met an upper class Indian female who is currently engaged in a long legal battle of taking her in-laws to court on grounds of female infanticide and for allegedly forcing her to have a sex selective abortion after her husband and in-laws discovered she was pregnant with twin girls. As you can tell there are so many tales. I met former Miss India 2009 and now rising Bollywood star, whose own mother battled to save her from being killed – again because she was born a girl. I met a poor family who has three young teenage daughters and when speaking to the mother, is struggling not only economically but has been living each day in extreme worry as to how she and her husband (a labourer working in construction) will manage to marry off her daughters. The experiences were vast.
What was your hardest moment during this shoot?
Bedi: Two moments come to mind. Meeting Tuba, a 15-year-old girl who suffered from a horrific acid attack last year in September 2012 touched my heart in a profound way. I have never met someone who had acid thrown on them. It’s very difficult to put into words, when I first saw Tuba. To say I was shocked is to put it mildly. The first thing that struck me was her face and in particular her loud breathing. The acid had so severely burnt her face that Tuba cannot not move her lips or open her mouth. What does acid look like on a human body? To me, it looked like a deadly growth all over her body, pulling and eating on top of her skin. You could see her tiny purple blood veins underneath the hardened acid on her skin.
Radha with Tuba, the survivors of an acid attack. “The bravest girl I have ever met,” says Radha. Photo credit: Alok Dixit
Tuba told me she was on her way to daily tuition class, a routine walk she made every day when she was attacked by four boys, one of them from her class. Insisting Tuba should talk to him, she walked on and rejected his advances. Her rejection damaged his ego. So one of the boys splashed from a two-litre Cocoa Cola bottle in her face. At first she thought it was boiling water because of the burning sensation. She never thought it could possibly be acid. When she bent over to cover her face, screaming, the boy then poured the remaining acid from the bottle over Tuba’s back, shoulders, arms and legs. It was only when her clothes had melted away, on-lookers knew it was acid and rushed to help her.
When I saw Tuba’s pictures before the attack, I broke down in tears. I remember turning away so Tuba couldn’t see me and I cried. I have never felt so helpless in all my life. Tuba was a beautiful young girl. What do you say, what can you say? I felt helpless.
Tuba told me her dream is to become a doctor and cannot wait to return to school to complete her studies. Her favourite subject is mathematics and she is a very talented Henna artist. I was lucky to have Henna painted on my hand by Tuba. She joked with me and said she’d paint Henna on my hands when I get married! Her attackers are in jail and the case is ongoing. They may have taken her face, but Tuba still has her beautiful personality, her warm heart and intelligent mind. Tuba is the bravest girl I have ever met.
Meeting the parents of the 23-year-old Delhi rape victim was another difficult and painful experience. I remember arriving at her family’s home, barely two small concrete rooms with white-washed walls. I’ve never seen pain like I did on the family’s face. Her mother was mute, could not utter a word. She just pointed to her daughter’s picture on top of a wooden bench. Her father showed me her university Physiotherapy results. He told me her dream was to become a doctor. Her brothers used to look up to their elder sister for everything.
I sat on the side of the bed with her father and we talked about his beloved daughter. In Hindi there’s a well-known phrase that a daughter is a goddess of the home – ‘Ghar ki Lakshmi.’ He said, Jyoti wanted to improve her family’s standard of living, lift them out of poverty and give them a brighter future.
I asked her father what was the worst thing he had faced? He told me that a few days before she had slipped into unconsciousness, that the biggest grief for him, as a father is that he didn’t get a chance to share his deepest heartfelt feelings with her. He told me he will not rest and will not get peace until the five remaining men are found guilty. He said no family should ever have go through what they have faced. It was their worst nightmare.
What difference do you think this documentary will make?
Bedi: What I hope it will do is to raise awareness how difficult it is to be a woman in India. The programme provides an outlook of the situation in India today. There is a lot of emphasis around the world on women empowerment and gender equality. I’ve met incredible women with incredible back-stories. Through their experiences we learn that India is and can be a savage place to be for a female. I can’t make milestone differences, but what I can do is help India to take note of what is going on. On a personal note, I’m trying to do all I can to help raise awareness to stop acid attacks in India having met Tuba. Also, in the programme, I visit an orphanage for abandoned girls in Patiala and today I still maintain a close connection with.
Why is this issue important for India?
Since the Delhi rape case, it’s been a turbulent and volatile time as the world’s largest democracy has found itself splashed across global news for its sometimes brutal but always pervasive sexual harassment of women. We’ve read more about it and seen more in the media. But rape and other sexual harassment against women have happened long before the Delhi case. I think this case in particular has made the issue of sexual harassment against women an even more prevalent one. It’s caused such uproar and people are calling it a tipping point. Men and women across India had spoken up and protested against what has been quietly tolerated and accepted for too long. They had openly criticized a patriarchal system that has traditionally blamed women for the shame and abuse of sexual attacks. Traditionally, if a victim was raped, she was usually told to forget about the matter, to think about her family honour. In the more rural parts of India, she’d be advised to marry her rapist, then it will not be rape and he would become her husband. Or some would say next time cover up more and don’t leave your home. But now we’ve seen huge protests and movements, calling for change in India.
Do you believe that change will happen in the future?
India is going through a seismic change. Indian women want individuality, autonomy, and to be valued. All core values, which I take for granted living in the West. They imply need equality. And India is responding, albeit slowly. I’ve seen small improvements. I visited a new emergency helpline for women in Delhi and gender training for police. I’ve seen separate women helpdesks at police stations and fast track courts specially set up for crimes against women. Small changes will lead to big significant ones, but that doesn’t mean rapes will stop, crimes against women will stop.
It all boils down to mindset, attitudes, education, social and political change. I believe, the root of the problem lies within the home – within families. Indian mothers need to raise their sons and daughters as equals. They need to break the deep-rooted patriarchal cycle of placing more importance on their sons and less value on daughters. This is where the change in attitudes need to take place first and foremost for any change to be significant.
India: A Dangerous Place to be a Woman aired on 27th June 2013, BBC3,9pm – UK only. Dates for worldwide transmission are to be confirmed.
Suneeta, the Khabar Lahariya journalist from Banda district, with women readers of the newspaper. Photo credit: Yashas Chandra
Suneeta is a 27-year-old from Banda district in India’s northern state of Uttar Pradesh. Born a Dalit (untouchable), she left school at the age of 9 and was married at 12. She goes often to Bhagolan, a village that has no water, electricity or roads. In March 2012, Suneeta wrote about the long delay in highway construction in an article for Khabar Lahariya, a weekly newspaper published in the northern states of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. The highway was constructed a few months later, reducing travel time to this drought-prone area. Sunita is one of 40 rural women who function as editors, reporters, photographers and designers for Khabar Lahariya in rural India. Read my story about these courageous Khabar Lahariya journalists on my Washington Times Communities Column: Khabar Lahariya: Women run, local language newspaper creates waves. Follow them @wtcommunities
I captured an idyllic moment in sepia along Mumbai’s Marine Drive. For me this photo epitomizes Mumbai, its very own spirit and charm. The Sea lends perfectly to Mumbai’s chilled out image. I love a walk down Marine Drive – especially when the sun is setting. For that is indeed a moment of sheer tranquility and calm. Photo credit: Sabrina Sidhu
Two stories have touched my heart in the past month – stories of courage, determination, compassion and humanity. These stories give me great hope for India. By writing about them, I hope that we will have the courage to imbibe the amazing spirit of Mr Sharma, a philanthropist teacher and Arunima Sinha, the first female amputee to climb the Mt Everest.
Arunima Sinha became the first female amputee to scale the Mount Everest in May 2013. She had lost her leg after being thrown off a moving train. She was resisting some men who tried to snatch her necklace. Her feat is more than a feat of courage – it is an act of determination and sheer will power. It must have been a journey of immense pain and struggle but Arunima has triumphed!
They both are an inspiration to me, and I hope to the entire world.
Life in 21st century urban India is invigorating , exciting and fast-paced. But many of us have seen a different India. A ‘slower’ India.
Those in their 30’s today have made extreme transitions. For they have bridged the divide between the old and the new. Between TV and digital media. Between mobile technology and landlines. Between Cable TV and Doordarshan. Between Mahabharata and the new-age Ekta Kapoor soaps! Between Newstrack & hundreds of news channels. Between reading and internet browsing!
We used to read as if our life depended on it. Books, magazine and newspapers were our sources of information – so we devoured them. We visited libraries weekly, if not daily. There were no distractions from the non-reading world – no internet, mobiles and games to take us away from the riveting stories and novels. We were patient with information – we didn’t expect it to appear in a matter of seconds. We were in love with reading. I still remember my first book. I still remember how amazed I was to read Enid Blyton, Agatha Christie, Amar Chira Katha’s or the Famous Fives. They fired up my imagination.
The much touted Information Explosion has re-defined the ways Indians are communicating. You can get information in a matter of minutes, and reach out to people even faster. The possibilities for communication are endless: email, twitter, facebook, skype, mobile, text message! There are now over 100 million internet users, with some projecting over 45 million internet users soon!
With the speed and increased access comes impatience. People have become more demanding. We need information in seconds – so how can we spend a week reading a book? There is simply not enough time to read – unless you are on vacation.
Reading today is nothing like it was two decades ago – when there was nothing else to do but watch Ramayana on Doordarshan.
Today my grandfather sang to me in my dreams in his rich and melodious baritone. He was humming his favourite ghazal – one that he taught us to sing years ago.
Every summer, we would make the annual pilgrimage to our village, Khabe Dogra, in rural Punjab with my grandparents in an aging blue Fiat car. Those journeys seem epic now that I think of them. The five grandchildren would be packed like sardines in the back seat, rubbing shoulders with bags and other equipment.
On the way, my grandfather would play his favourite ghazal from Jagjit Singh. Then, he would transform into the lead singer, and we would become his chorus.
We were encouraged to sing – at the top of our vocal chords. ‘Sing and sing fearlessly,’ he used to urge us from the front seat of the car. My brother would start, and all of us would follow suit. I would sing at the top of my lungs even though my vocal chords did not match my grandfather’s in the very least. After all, it didn’t matter how you sang – the lesson was about throwing your cares to the wind. The idea was to let the music take over and to be hypnotized by it. And so I started singing…and have not stopped ever since.
During those idyllic summers, I would spend a lot of time with my grandparents. I would sit besides my grandfather and watch him reading his 20th book of that summer. And then I would proceed to ask him a thousand questions. What book was he reading? Who was the author? How did he manage to read the books so fast? After patiently answering my questions, he would recommend some books to me, and I would attempt to digest them. Thus began my love for books. My father was the reason I started reading but my grandfather sealed my reading fate.
When I was done asking him questions, I would gaze for hours at his windowsill, where amongst the sepia-tinted photos stood a very inspirational frame with the words – ‘Not why you can’t but how you can! – Anonymous’. The quote really did capture the essence of what my grandfather was about – a solid banyan tree that never gave up till he eventually did. These words have defined my psyche as well, and helped me to focus on the ‘solution’ not the ‘problem’.
When I sing now in the bathroom now, I always think of his words and the spontaneous orchestra in the car – a fond childhood memory.
My deeply cherished grandfather died on my birthday more than two years ago. He continues to inspire and talk to me. The person dies but the love and memories never do.
sabrinasidhu 