Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.
I decided to interview the Mailman. I thought it would be better to get a neutral and external perspective.
“Hey, Mailman”, I said.
“Hi” was a cold response.
“Did I say something wrong?”, I said defensively. Wondering also, why did I ask the question, because there were only two words in my pleasantries. “Hey” couldn’t be wrong. But then what was wrong with ‘Mailman’?
“How did you presume I am a Man?” came the colder response.
“Yeah, you are right”, blurted the defensive me. Perplexed with this turn of event.
Now there was a silence, longer than the usual one. One generally is aware, which silence is longer than usual.
So, rest conversation was more of an internal conflict within myself.
I asked myself, what made me presume the gender, without asking? I admitted to have fallen into the trap of the age old bias.
So, I corrected myself and asked in a gender neutral way…
“Hey Mailperson”
This time the response was cold again
“You have reached the end of of storage space in your mailbox. Please buy extra storage or manage your storage”
I knew I had antagonised the email. It wasn’t a male or female, or any other preferred gender expression of life. The imposition of gender is in our mind. It just worked efficiently, without the burden of gender. It did not need any such classification.
That made me realise…
Why do we?
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The moving road take the swaying trees along I watch rooted Through the unmoving window of the speeding car And a racing mind
I watch As they move past Behind, to the past To the road I travelled On this speeding car And a wishful heart
I watch the views I had and the destinations I have travelled beyond On this speeding car And the ambitious eyes
There, I know They move past My previous me Little recognising the different me Peering through the stained windows Of this speeding car And the turbulent mind
That’s when I see I am the road Stretching across the past And now the present Ever changing, yet static beyond the changeless window And the transient mind
I realise As far I travel I am still here Still yearning for the place of rest Beyond this speeding car In the restive mind