The best things in life are music and kissing

Music is a big part of my life. It always has been. From the first time I heard Jesus and Mary Chain and knew that there was music for me in the world - not just the insipid pop that my contemporaries enjoyed - I was hooked. It was about so much more than just the music for me - it was the words, the artist and the fashion. I've often mentioned my love of Debbie Harry, Chrissie Hynde and Kim Gordon - beautiful women and powerful singers. I always wanted to be as amazing as they appeared to me and the fact that they are still going strong is so inspiring. It was also a valuable life lesson to have the self confidence they must have had to make such an impact in an industry that traditionally favoured men.

In the eighties Patsy Kensit was the pretty girl at the front of the band, but she was still iconic. Wendy James, however screeched like a banshee, looked hot as hell and had a punk attitude. The sentiment of this song spoke to me - even though I hadn't even been in love at this point. The idea of being with someone just for what he would spend on you seemed ridiculous to me so I love this. I remember when one of the girls in school told me how much money her boyfriend had in his bank account.  I couldn't understand why it mattered to her. All that I cared about was if a boy was a good kisser. In fact that's always been the thing that takes my breath away - a kiss to make my heart skip a beat.

Of course later on when I'd had my heart broken a few times I also discovered the women with big voices and a no nonsense attitude towards their men. Etta James' voice raised my heart rate and the brazeness of the lyrics here embarrassed me beyond belief. Even at my most confident I don't think I could express myself this honestly. It's just as well she did on my behalf. I loved that there was music out there for women who owned their sexuality and weren't afraid to say what they wanted. Let's be honest if a woman like Etta sings this to you are you going to say no ?

In my first serious relationship - and subsequent marriage - my partner would spend a lot of money on gifts. I found it a bit overwhelming as I didn't feel deserving of such generosity. It also went against my upbringing of saving money and being careful with spending. Don't get me wrong I love gifts and really enjoy spoiling others. More often than not that will be something I know they would appreciate or they mentioned it once and I remembered. However, when it comes to me I would rather spend time with someone I love than have money or gifts. Don't get me wrong I am always grateful for kindness, it's just the cost isn't necessary. The best presents for me involve music - a gig I really want to go to or an evening in good company. It's pretty simple really.

The best thing about music is how it makes me feel. If I'm down I listen to the music that fits my mood. Ok that is wallowing, but it's also allowing me to feel the emotion and often I find a way through the heartache or loss through music. Whenever I was dealing with a break up I'd always turn to certain songs that suddenly had deep meaning for me - how did they know how it felt to be me ? Just as falling out of love is a mainstay of music there are the songs about being in love - that beginning bit where it's all wonderful and you can't wait to see each other. When every touch is like a surge of electricity just thinking about that special someone inspire feelings of love - and lets be honest lust ! It was Prince's stock in trade to create sensuous music and some of the lyrics left very little to the imagination. While it's one of the best known I still think Kiss typifies how wonderful it can be to just lock lips with someone and be lost in the moment.

I'm always going on about the movies I love and music is a major factor is what appeals to me about a film. One of my favourites is a romantic comedy which features a lot of soppy songs and I love them all. The story of two people meeting, having a magical connection and losing touch for years before finally finding each other again tugs at my heart strings. Every time I watch Serendipity I think John Cusack will get out at the right floor and meet Kate Beckinsale and they will save themselves the torturous journey to find each other again. Every time. The music is perfect with the divine voices of Annie Lennox and Nick Drake adding beauty to the simple story. However, it's this song by Shawn Colvin that completes it for me.

If I didn't have music would I be able to express myself - probably. Would it be the same as crafting a mix tape or a CD for someone - shorthand for, "here is what I feel and these words and music express it so much better than I can." Absolutely not. Sharing music with others is like a love letter. It's giving a part of myself to someone else and being vulnerable. Of course the fun and enjoyment I get from it is a bonus.

This is me - if you don't like it *shrugs*

Last night me and my mum went to a talk by Anita Anand about Princess Sophia Duleep Singh. I already knew she had been a suffragette and a favourite in the court of Queen Victoria, but I had no idea of her Indian pedigree. Her grandfather was Maharaja Ranjit Singh. I drew sharp intake of breath when I heard that - Mum just nodded and smiled. You don't grow up in a Punjabi household and now know who Maharaja Ranjit Singh was. He is an icon in Sikh history and was known as 'Sher e Punjab' - the lion of Punjab. The story of his heir Duleep Singh being brought to Britain and kept like an English gentleman is absolutely fascinating, but it's how Sophia came to be such a rebel that I was captivated by. A woman who was too Indian to marry an Englishman, but too English to marry an Indian. Who dedicated her life to the advancement of women. She broke the rules and didn't give a damn. She was a brown woman who had been a society darling and lived at Hampton Court Palace and sold suffragette propaganda outside the gates. She had been arrested, but much to her annoyance didn't get imprisoned.

In her later life when women had been given partial suffrage she became a nurse and tended to the Indian soldiers who were being tended at the war hospital in Brighton Pavillion. Horrified that they had been sent to fight for the British without the correct kit she made it her mission to raise money to buy them boots and coats so they wouldn't die of cold. This woman was just amazing. She was also a pain in the arse to the government and specifically to Winston Churchill. I am so in awe of her !

I like to think that the Sher part of her punjabi heritage was what made her so forthright. I should know, after all I come from feisty stock. My grandfather fought in the British Army, so he was told before partition that it was on the horizon and took his wife and 1 year old daughter (my Mum) out of Punjab for safety. It's possible that in doing so he saved all their lives. My grandmother went on to study to be a teacher while my grandfather took care of their children. She ran her own school and raised 5 children pretty much alone when she was widowed at a young age. Her energy levels were legendary, she had a wicked sense of humour and it was well known in the family that she loved ice cream. She would always say, 'give it to the children first,' be we would make sure there was plenty left for her. It meant so much to me when she met Hubbie and declared, 'he's definitely punjabi' - it was the highest possible compliment !

Then we come to my mother, a woman who while softly spoken and seemingly gentle has a core of steel. Kaur - see what I did there ? She is a licensee, used to play darts, worked full time until only a few years ago and to this day is the one person I know I can call to ask pretty much anything. "Mum how do I set my economy seven heating ?" She talked me through it over the phone. True story. Oh and did I mention that she can whistle. I mean proper fingers in the mouth ear splitting whistle. I have never had the guts to ask her in what context she learned to do this. She is in her seventies and can still do it. Mind blown !

So my point is I'm from a long line of fierce punjabi women - this is in my blood. It's my heritage and it's in my DNA. I can't be any other way. Woe betide you if you make the mistake of thinking I am a pushover. I'm not some passive indian woman - never make that mistake. Once in my days as a procurement manager I had a meeting with a salesman about a printer he wanted to sell my company. I went to the offices for the sales presentation and then we had lunch. Over nachos (or something) he said, "When I first met you I thought you were a small, quiet indian woman, then you opened your mouth." It was then I realised that being me, looking like I do comes with certain preconceptions.

Last week I went for a run at lunchtime - I'm training for a half marathon - and headed towards Bushy Park. I ran halfway across the zebra crossing and then came to a stop (still jogging on the spot) as a motorbike and cyclist came to a stop on the other half. The guy on the motorbike took out one of his earplugs and yelled. "Why you running ?" I looked at him with my head to one side, not quite understanding the question. "You're supposed to walk" and he helpfully made a walking gesture with his fingers in case I didn't understand him shouting at me. I looked at him, again said, "what ?" and he pointed at his head to indicate I was stupid so I slowly raised two fingers towards his face and said - with a smile. "Fuck you !" and ran the rest of the way. As I got to the end of the crossing the cyclist called out to me, "Don't worry, you're fine." I thanked him and carried on. As I processed my anger (and shame) through running I wondered, if I'd been a white woman would he have talked to me like that ? I bet he wouldn't. He would know bettter in case he got a mouthful of abuse. Oh well.

Today I was going to pick up the boys from school. As I got to the bottom of our road it was clear there had been an accident as traffic was building up and I decided to go back up the hill, park outside our house and walk to school so I wouldn't be late. As I turned my car round I saw a line of cars who had taken my road as a 'short cut' and were queuing on the wrong side of the road blocking my way back home. I waited for a few to pass and then inched forward to where there was a gap for the oncoming car to pull in so I could pass. He refused to move. I got angry. I shouted at him to move. He refused. I got out and said, " I have the right of way so I'm not moving." he told me to get back in my car - I guess 'like a good girl' was implied. Now his first mistake was in thinking he could talk to me like that. His second was in telling me what to do. Oh I will get back in my car. And I will sit here and wait until you decide to move. So I did. He shook his head. I smiled. We could both hear the drivers behind him getting impatient and I stood my ground - I was in the right after all. Eventually he reversed into the space - badly - and I couldn't resist shouting out, "See I knew you could do it." His reply to me is unrepeateable, mostly because I didn't stay to hear it. He tried to intimidate me and get me to move even though I was in the right - he lost. To a brown woman. Oh for shame !

Yep I was being a dickhead. I can be. And you know what I don't care. I don't have to be a good girl because it upsets someone else's narrative about me. I am done with anyone who wants me to be their idea of what an indian woman is supposed to be. If having an attitude and being angry is not what you expected from me so what ? I'm not a meek and quiet woman. For years I would beat myself up for being too outspoken. I'd try to train myself to keep my thoughts inside, to shut up and not express an opinion so as not to cause upset. It never lasted. I did this for years and I'm done with that. I am not going to apologise for who I am. Not any more.

Do you know what ? I'm pretty fucking awesome and if you don't think so then you know where the door is.*

*Yes I am angry. Very angry. I'm not really this arrogant.

New Horizons and positive futures for young people.

As *Farah talks about her family threatening to kill her and the out of control drinking that has stopped her from achieving her ambitions her stunning smile remains. When talking about her drinking with friends she apologises for an accidental swear word and we laugh until she also mentions the self harm and violence that ensued. Farah's face is perfectly made up and we are mesmerised by her precise eyeliner and smooth skin. When she tells us she is hoping to start a successful beauty business we all admire what a superb advert she is for her own skills. It's only when she mentions the serious sexual assault for which her attackers were not punished that her eyes are downcast and she admits that whenever she's talked about it before she's cried. Today I feel the skin on my face tighten and my eyes prickle as I hold back the tears that are desperately close to cascading at how honest and brave she has been in telling us about her life.

Hazz pictured with fellow bloggers: Liz, Penny, Afra and Marissa.

Farah has just come out of a women's group session at New Horizons Youth Centre in North London. She has attended the centre for over a year having first come with a friend who needed to use their services. Now she is a regular here and the women's support worker Hazz - who is funded by Comic Relief - tells us that at times Farah has sought reassurance that people believe her because surely the case would not have been dropped if they didn't think she was lying. It is so unfair and difficult to explain why a lack of evidence can lead to her attackers walking free when she still carries it around with her. Without New Horizons Farah would still be in a spiral of self harm and drinking that has led to unsafe behaviour and robbed her of every opportunity that has come her way so far. The aftermath of the assault and the lack of justice could have sent her back to drink, but with the one to one and group support offered at the centre she is able to open up and share her experiences instead.

The New Horizons Youth Centre offers a non-judgemental place for young people where they can eat a meal, do laundry, talk to support workers if they want to and hang out with peers. On the afternoon we visited one young man was doing a magic trick in the lounge area involving a playing card and an orange. The reaction he got was fantastic and would honestly give Dynamo a run for his money !

A friendly face at reception is vital to reassure young people they are safe.

We observed the women's group session in progress and noted the empty Haribo and Monster Munch packets on the table as the women took nail varnish bottles out of colourful make up bags. While they painted nails Hazz asked them questions ranging from light hearted to deep and emotional. At one point a woman was talking about wanting to wear a sari then another described how drinking made her feel 'invincible.' It's this approach that makes the women feel safe and it's takes skill and sensitivity to work as effectively as it does. It made me smile when they talked about a future session being Bollywood themed and one of the young women softly enquired, "we can still have Monster Munch right ?" It is so disarming to be reminded that however mature they appear these women are still so childlike.

Later we talk to the young women who facilitated this afternoon's session, *Polly and *Lucy. They are users of the centre and when asked where they'd be if they weren't here Lucy answers that she'd be on the streets or doing drugs. At one point she was coming to New Horizons every day and it was her stabliity in a life where she had none. Now she has a timetable and attends on specific days to give her a chance to develop other interests and she is feeling confident about seeking work. Both talk to us about how the centre staff are more like family to them than their actual families. This is an aspect of the work here that cannot be measured, but clearly is a major contributor to improving the lives of the young people who come here.

picture cards to help young people communicate when they arrive 

Any young person can access support from New Horizons, especially those who fall through the cracks. The young people who the local authority cannot help or who have moved from elsewhere in the country and therefore are not entitled to housing. They will be supported until the age of 22, but are not entirely cut off at this point. A worker will help them work towards independence from New Horizons so that they are not just left with no support once they turn 22.

In the years I've been fundraising with Team Honk I've been proud knowing that we're raising money for great causes both overseas and in the UK. It's wonderful to see first hand how the UK grants are being used to make such a profound difference to the lives of young people who would otherwise be left in difficult or harmful situations. One thing that really struck a chord with me was that all the young people we met have family relationships that have broken down. They do not have the safety net of support that my children do if anything goes wrong. As we left the centre I looked at the young men and women standing outside smoking just before it closed for the day. To a casual observer they seem just like anyone else. The best thing we can achieve by supporting projects like New Horizon is to instil in these young people the belief that they deserve the same chances as anyone else. I am grateful that New Horizons exists for vulnerable young people and has done for 50 years.

We are raising money again this year to support Red Nose Day and Comic Relief.
If you could donate any money it would be absolutely wonderful.
Thank you: https://my.rednoseday.com/sponsor/Swazi

Thank you to Ali at Comic Relief and Stella at New Horizons for making this visit possible. Special thanks to all the staff and young people we met and talked to on our visit. You are all amazing. 

*The names of all the young women have been changed to respect their privacy.

How do I talk to my son about International Women's Day ?

This morning at breakfast I talked to my six year old son about International Women's Day. It told him that in some parts of the world girls don't get to go to school. He looked shocked. "I'm glad we live here and everyone can go to school." We also talked about how some women aren't allowed to vote or drive. I left it at that for now. I mean I want to raise considerate men who understand equality, but I don't want to traumatise my children by telling them the whole story just yet.

That women routinely earn less than men. Women earn less for the same work. Routinely. Oh and if you have children there is a motherhood penalty and a fatherhood bonus. I'm not making this up - academics have studied the phenomenon and it's absolutely true.

I still haven't worked out how to explain why women including Michelle Obama and the Williams sisters are described in openly racist terms or criticised as being too 'masculine' for not conforming to a petite blonde stereotype. Don't even get me started on how women in politics are treated in this country. It is inevitable that my boys will become familiar with the fact of life that women are threatened and abused online for speaking out. Stella Creasy and Jess Phillips have been very honest about the level of abuse that is directed at them on a daily basis.

In some countries women aren't allowed to drive or vote. Ok, so I mentioned this to him, but I didn't talk about the fact that women 'belong' to men and are treated as inferior. When he is older I hope he will be as outraged by this as I am. Mind you one of the best things about today has been the reminder that there exists this video about an all female flight crew who landed a plane in a country in which they would not be allowed to drive.

Then there are the social inequalities that I hope they don't have to find out about. A woman is more likely to receive a custodial sentence for a minor crime than a man. If a woman is sent to prison he children may be taken from her and placed into the care system.

That the domestic abuse storyline from the Archers is played out in real life every day and that 2 women are murdered a week at the hands of an abusive partner. It is not confined to soap operas and does not happen to a 'type' of person.

I'd also like them to understand that women can be great scientists, engineers, code breakers, athletes, writers and work in all manner of professions and have many skills. It's not about taking one day to think about the achievements of women. It's about challenging a media that celebrates the 'first British Wimbledon winner' in decades entirely overlooking Virginia Wade's title win. Not least as that man was coached by a woman and this in itself was considered controversial at the time.

What I hope is that as my boys get older they will see real change and experience a positive picture. I was raised in a female oriented household and they are surrounded by feisty women. I hope this gives them a positive view of strong women and high expectations of what women can do.

It's a lot for a six year old to think about, but for now I think knowing that going to school is a privilege is a good start.

Mirror mirror...

I'm sick to death of how much I hate my body.

Of the shame of red marks where clothes are too tight.

Of being unable to bring trousers up to fit.

Of not being able to fasten buttons or zips because of my size.

Of the disappointment at clothes I used to wear just not fitting any more.

Of avoiding looking in the mirror because I know I don't want to see what I've become.

Of seeing a huge fat woman where I want there to be just a woman, a mother, a wife, a yoga teacher.

Of not knowing what to do to make this better.

Of walking, swimming, running and still not changing my body shape even a tiny bit.

Of thinking this is just how it is from now on.

I find it hard to accept that this is me.

How can I learn to love myself at this size when it disgusts me.

This body that grew a baby, birthed him, fed him and held him.

That continues to hold, and care for both my boys.

This body that I rely on, that I compare with others and find lacking.

That doesn't look the way it's 'supposed' to.

So this is my pledge:

To learn to look in a mirror and see the real me.

To not judge and despise the woman before me.

To be kinder to her and try to look at her more often.

To take care of her, choose her nice clothes and make up

To stop hiding.

I pledge to be real 

I created this post as a competition entry in support of Dove and the Be Real Body Image Pledge

The power of talking

This morning I was helping at a playgroup I used to take my boy to. It reminded me how valuable my mummy friends are as we talked honestly and openly about the difficulties we all face at times. They were the first non family I left my boy with when he was still a tiny baby. They were the ones I've talked to about our infertility issues and how sometimes I think I am slowly going mad. They reassure me I'm not alone and give me a hug and a cup of tea and I feel better. 

And yet I didn't talk to any of them about my miscarriage. I'm not sure if it was embarrassment or shame. After all, the medical professionals had made it clear that it was nothing, something so common it was undeserving of anything beyond cursory acknowledgement. When doctors and nurses and specialists tell you it's nothing why would you think any different ? It's being daft to make a big deal about something that happens to so many women isn't it ? To think you'd be entitled to any kind of support or counselling to get through something so minor. 

It happens to so many of us and yet the experience of miscarriage is marked by the silence required by not having a space in which to share it. That and the personal emotions linked to something so personal and yet so common.

We found out on a Sunday morning that I was pregnant - we had been trying for over a year so it was a pretty big deal and we agreed that as it was early December we'd see how it was going before deciding if we'd tell our families at Christmas or not. We were so delighted that we were already thinking about what to tell our 2 year old son and if he would understand what it meant.

A short while later I was at the doctor's surgery with my son for something else and I mentioned that I was pregnant and something wasn't right. The doctor dismissed me with a "let's wait and see what happens" and sent me on my way.  He didn't ask what was wrong. The following day I knew something was badly wrong and took a test and it said I was not pregnant. I was distraught and phoned Hubbie at work to tell him what had happened. I punished myself for not waiting for Hubbie to be at home with me when I took the test. Then I made call after call for help. I called the surgery to see if I could see someone. I couldn't. I called the hospital infertility unit to see if they would see me for an early scan and left message after message - most were unintelligible from the tears as I tried to explain what was happening to my much longed for pregnancy.

Then I took my son to playgroup and talked to a complete stranger who told me she had miscarried a few times and she hoped it wasn't happening to me. I thanked her and called my neighbour to see if she could watch the boy while I went for a scan as a walk-in. She kindly agreed and didn't ask too many questions about why.

At the hospital I sat surrounded by pregnant women and waited. I felt increasingly scared and upset as I kept being asked what I was there for. Then I finally got called into a side room that was adjacent to the one where the scan was to take place. As I got undressed and waited to get called I heard one  woman after another expressing joy at the sight of her precious baby as I waited and prayed that  they would find something in my womb. The last time I'd been for a scan it was with Hubbie and it was to check how our son was doing. It was a joyful and exciting time. 

When I was finally called in the woman didn't look up, she just asked, "was it you who left all those messages in tears ?" I nodded that I had and apologised for being upset. She got on with the business of applying gel and had a prod around before doing the scan and telling me - very matter of fact, "nope, there's nothing there." Big fat tears rolled down my face against my will. I ached. I wanted to howl with the pain. She asked my age, I told her I was 42 and she said, " Oh well it happens at your age." We were done. I asked if there was anything I had to do and she said no and left me to get dressed.

• I didn't tell my family -  most of them still don't know and won't unless they read this. I told one friend the day after I had the scan that confirmed it and even then I dismissed it as 'nothing really.'

• Hubbie and I agreed to treat it as thought nothing had happened and we did.

• I felt stupid for making a fuss, so I didn't. It was nothing, the doctor and sonographer had said as much.

• I was annoyed with myself for doing the test, because if I hadn't I would never have known and we wouldn't have been so uplifted by the false promise of a baby that wasn't to be.

• I hated my body for failing to keep the baby, for being so useless.

• I was angry that I hadn't seen the signs when all the websites I was looking at kept talking about miscarriage. If I hadn't read them I wouldn't have cursed it and made it happen. Yes, I really did believe this.

I felt alone. As though it was just me and no one else - after all it happened so early on it didn't count did it ? Everyone else was entitled to feel pain and upset and anger as they had a 'real pregnancy' and a 'real miscarriage.'

It was ungrateful of me to be so hurt wasn't it ? I have one son already, surely another is just being greedy ? After all some women can't even have one child and I want to have another ?

Without support services women drive themselves crazy with self-loathing, punishment and judgment about something that frankly we have no influence over at all. The medical profession sees miscarriage as a perfectly normal thing to happen. Miscarriage isn't a medical or chemical process to me. It's the loss of a real person. The end of a baby that might have been.

I am grateful and blessed that I have my son and I give thanks for him every day. It isn't ok to tell me that I'm ungrateful for wanting another. Genuine and heartfelt empathy from other women has been my greatest support. It's not a competition to see who has suffered the most, but a shared experience that far too many of us have had. 

Mumsnet conducted a survey of the support services provided to women who have experienced miscarriage - this post is part of the campaign to illustrate and address the shortfall in appropriate counselling and care. Read here about the Mumsnet miscarriage care campaign.

When did I learn that my body wasn't good enough ?

If I keep saying it maybe I'll buy it ?

You may have seen an article by comedian Sarah Millican recently about the criticism of her outfit - and her appearance in general - at the BAFTAs last year. Her point was that she's a comedian for a  living, not a model, and her appearance should be irrelevant. The unkindness directed towards her is a symptom of how we treat women in society and how judgemental the media is. It is something a lot of women can identify with. Well maybe not the full on assault of Twitter, but certainly being criticised by other people for what we're wearing or how we look is not unfamiliar to most women. 

I was thinking the other day about how I hear the voice in my head that criticises what I'm wearing or how I look and no matter what Hubbie says to reassure me it is irrelevant. Not that his opinion is irrelevant, but the fact that he is ok with how I look just isn't good enough for me to accept as a valid opinion. I wondered when I first heard an 'outer voice' that made me feel there was something wrong with me. Our inner voice comes from somewhere and I wanted to know where mine had originated.

I think it was when I was at school and a few of us were going for a horse riding lesson. No I didn't go to a posh school, it was a one off. We were all in the back of the minibus when one of the girls said that they would need to know our weight to decide what horse to put us on. I had no idea what I weighed. I'd never stood on scales and while I knew I wasn't thin I didn't obsess over statistics, just about my 'fat knees.' As each girl in turn said what they weighed I didn't know what I was going to say as I genuinely didn't know. When they got to me I took a guess based on what the others has said, "I don't know, maybe 8 stone ?" Alison snorted in derision and she and Michelle rolled their eyes at each other as she said, "Yeah, like hell."  I felt ashamed and humiliated. We had been friends at some point and she had decided not to be friends with me any more, but this was the first time she'd actually been a bitch to me.

It was also the first time I'd been made to feel bad about my body. From then on I knew that I was not good enough. That I was too big, too heavy, not tall enough, not pretty enough. My clothes weren't fashionable enough and my style was too weird to fit in. I was teased and picked on for having 'nurses shoes' because my Mum didn't let me wear heels. As a result I found that being sarcastic and caustic was the only way to ward off the nastiness of the other girls. I still catch myself sometimes and think, woah that's a bit too far, no need to be that unkind. It was a defence mechanism back then and it seems to have stuck.

So when I hear that women are being trolled or criticised or threatened for not being feminine enough, or pretty enough, or not wearing a designer dress or for speaking up it makes me feel angry and sad and powerless all at once. As if those school bullies are still getting away with it.

This weekend we had some friends and family over for a barbecue and I wore a dress that's flattering and pretty - for a change from my usual jeans and t-shirts. One of our friends - who is gorgeous - complimented me and I thanked her. Then her husband and I had the following exchange:

Him: "You do look nice, very fifties chic.'
I laughed: "Well I am living the life of a 1950s housewife these days."
Him: " Oh really ? You're not working ?"
Me: "I'm parenting and blogging and doing my radio show."
Him: "So you're not doing anything then ?"

I felt humiliated, ashamed, pointless. Again. The compliment of only a minute before snatched away. Probably my own fault for trying to make light of it, but it was still hurtful.

So what did I learn ? You can either be complimented as nice to look at or you can be respected for having a purpose. It would appear it's not possible to be both.

Either that or I should make new friends.

International Blog Swap Day: Guest post by Twinkle in the eye

As part of International Blog Swap Day I am delighted to host a guest post by fellow blogger Bree Katsamangos. I am blown away that she has found time to take part considering she gave birth so recently and she is also kindly hosting a guest post by me over on her fabulous blog Twinkle in the eye. Pop over and have a look :)

There are few television shows I am committed to. Actually, there is just one. It is the UK series of One Born Every Minute. Come Wednesday evening at 8.30pm I head to the bedroom and set myself up to watch an hour of what my husband calls 'exploding vaginas'. Seeing his children born is enough for him, for me I'm addicted. There is something primal and powerful about women giving birth and without fail I shed a tear as each piece of humanity enters the world full of light and potential.

Having given birth a week ago to this little piece of perfection and still bearing the scars, the aches and pains I think I will watch this week with mixed emotions and possibly a sweaty brow. It was not an easy birth, it took twice as long as my first and the word 'harrowing' keeps coming to mind. The women in my family don't birth well, but we do make gorgeous babies.

Women are tremendous creatures, our bodies are miracle makers, built to give life, to feed and nurture. Our bodies tell a story, each in their own unique way. The challenge and triumph of this birth taught me not to resent my body, but to celebrate it. I am not looking at its new softness as something to be conquered but as something to cherish. It is a reminder, that I and all womanhood possess a unique power, that not only applies to pregnancy and birth, but to all of life and its challenges. If we can do this, we can do anything, our potential is limitless.

How do you conceptualise birth? Is the experience or idea of birth empowering or does it evoke something different in you?

Bree blogs at Twinkle in the Eye. Bree is a compulsive dabbler, she is generally well grounded but is prone to flights of fancy. Bree blogs about motherhood, food, politics and whatever strikes her as amusing. You can read more of Bree's blog here.

Inspiring women: International Women's Day #lastingchange

On my radio show this morning I shared some virtual postcards from Annie Spratt containing stories about the work funded by Comic Relief in Tanzania to support women running their own small businesses. Annie was in Tanzania with Tanya Barrow and Penny Alexander to visit women who are supporting their own families and bringing a helping hand to others who they employ and supply goods and services to. This is part of my involvement with Team Honk and the wonderful fellow bloggers who are currently carrying a baton from Lands End to John O'Groats to raise money for Sport Relief.

I thought I'd share my #lastingchange virtual postcard with you below: 

Dyeing fabric safely

• Eliafura makes the most beautiful batiks and tie dyed material.  With the support of the Gatsby Trust Eliafura has registered her business and learned important health and safety rules around the chemicals she uses.   Eliafura now also trains other women in the village who bring material to her and she shows them how to create these beautiful patterns.   They sell easily to not only local schools where teachers like to buy them but also overseas. We bought her entire stock because we loved them all so much and are now working out how to sell them on so we can complete the circle of donation, funding, training, selling, donating. 

You can be sure I'll be buying some of those fabrics and giving them pride of place in my home :)

In my career I've worked with various overseas charities and I've seen how amazing and life changing it can be to give someone an opportunity to support themselves. Women like Bertha or Eliafura who have the drive to work for themselves and to succeed in business with the additional benefit of employing others. It is the principle on which the Grameen Bank was based. This is the microcredit scheme that gave small loans to women in Bangladesh who then went on to feed not only their own families, but to employ others who were then able to feed theirs and so on. 

When it was started the basis of lending to women was explained by Grameen founder Mohammed Yunus as being about giving the power to those who were marginalised either by virtue of poverty, gender or lack of education. The Nobel Laureate also reported that not only did the loans have an exponentially higher rate of early repayment than bank loans (which were not available to most of the women), but on a cultural level there was also a higher chance that the money would benefit the community. Where men were borrowing money and using it for themselves woman were using a smaller amount of money to bake bread to sell then reinvest in more ingredients to bake more bread which eventually became a bakery business employing other women. This is a simplistic explanation, but it worked. 

One of the stories I told on my show today was a revelation to me. It began in 2010 led by women from the neighbouring countries Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo, which have been torn apart by the worst atrocities of war that the world has seen in recent years. Women from opposing sides of war in these communities came together on a bridge adjoining the two countries in a plea for peace and to show that they could build bridges of hope for the future. Their action sparked a massive global movement to stand in solidarity with women around the world touched by war. It is a beautiful and touching idea. 

It reminded me of an organisation of women that I worked with in Rwanda that began when one widow of the genocide sat under a tree. The next day another woman joined her and the next day another until eventually many women came together to sit under the tree and share their tears, fears, hopes and dreams of how to go on when they had seen so much bloodshed and pain. Community organisations are an amazing force for good and for women who have been disempowered, brutalised and left to fend for themselves they can provide a lifeline.

I've concentrated on women overseas, but I am - of course - aware that women in the UK also benefit from the work of charity and support each other and achieve amazing things. I'll share with you a quiz by one of my favourite feminists that might help put International Women's Day into context. 

Bridget Christie's Quiz

Is it just me or is blogging a white thing ?

When we first moved into this area we went to do some shopping at the local Waitrose and Hubbie commented that it was 'very white.' I remarked that the green and white decor signified freshness and cleanliness and he clarified by saying, "No, I meant the people. They're all white." I looked around. "Not everyone, the counter staff aren't."

It wasn't a judgement, just an observation. One that I hadn't made. In the same way I didn't notice until someone pointed it out to me that my chosen profession was staffed almost exclusively by women who were white, blonde, 20-something and (in the old days) trustafarians. It wasn't an issue as it didn't stop me doing my job so I thought nothing of it.

Then at the weekend I was at a blogging conference, my third in the last 12 months. At the first one I was far too dazzled by it all that I barely noticed anyone else (well apart from the fact that the beautiful woman sitting next to me turned out to be Prof Tanya Byron). At the second I became aware that the majority of attendees were white women. This weekend I was there with a friend who is also not white and she noticed it too. At one point she joked that we had to attend different break out sessions to make sure that there was a fair representation and spread of ethnicity.

Before my remarks unleash a barrage of criticism I'd like to explain that I am a big fan of the blogging networks that hosted these conferences and I don't think it is their job to explain who attends. They aren't excluding anyone so it's up to those who are interested and who blog to come along. That's what I did. It was just very obvious to me that only a few non-white women were there and I'm wondering why.

Flowing from this is the question, is blogging mostly a white pastime ? I can't believe that it is. I blog about my son, my family, my life in general and occasionally I review stuff on my blog too. I rarely blog about my ethnicity, but it underlies my writing because it's who I am. It's also half of my son too and I want him to understand both sides of his heritage so occasionally I'll write about Diwali or what it's like when we go to visit family in India. My ethnicity doesn't define my writing, but informs it. I don't speak on behalf of anyone else or their experience just as a blogger who has 3 children doesn't speak for all parents of 3 children.

So do we have a secret underground movement of non-white bloggers who just can't or won't attend conferences for reasons of cost or timing (which can apply to everyone I know). And more importantly why does it matter ? It isn't just so that I can identify with more than half a dozen people in the crowd, honestly.

• Blogging is a democratic thing isn't it ? If you have access to the internet - and I know for some this is an issue - it's pretty much open to all. So is it about access or education ? 

• Companies who clamber for product testers and brand ambassadors do know that parents of every ethnicity spend money and buy stuff for their families don't they ? 

• I refuse to believe that in this day and age it isn't possible to find panellists that are representative of a wider experience. It seems that having a man on the panel is more representative than a black woman. 

• It's important because a panel discussion about feminism descended into purile comments about jam and heels when we could have covered so many others such as FGM and education for girls. Issues that maybe don't personally affect anyone in that room, but affect all of us as people. 

There was a session that talked about blogging changing the world. Well, I'm keen to know if the blogging world is inclusive to start with.

If you have any thoughts on this topic please do comment - I'd love to hear what you think.

I'm a feminist because…my boy deserves a Mum who has self-respect

You may have seen an item on the news yesterday about Malala Day. Or you might have heard or seen the address given by Malala Yousafzai to the United Nations. In case you haven't heard of her Malala is a young Pakistani woman who was shot in the head by the Taliban. These grown men targeted a child for trying to get an education and for challenging the assertion that women and girls should not be treated equally in Pakistani society. Yesterday Malala addressed a worldwide audience to denounce the Taliban as fearful of her and of women in general.

It's also possible you have been aware of recent sermons given in some mosques to encourage more positive attitudes towards women. This was partly in response to the press coverage of the arrests of a group of asian men who undertook a campaign of child abuse and sexual assaults on young women. As  others have pointed out preaching that women should not be treated this way will not undo generations of  belief that women are not equal to men. It will not convince those who hold these views to change them. It does, however, give the impression that some imams are taking it seriously and that they believe they hold influence in a community where there are pockets of insanity.

What it has made me more aware of is that I am thoroughly sick and tired of misogyny being part of every day life. Of the casual sexism that we put up with and dismiss as part of the cultural norm. It can't be only me who is mightily fed up of men who are a bit too macho or trying to hard to impress other 'blokey blokes.' I realised years ago that having to subjugate myself in order to make men look better was not something I was happy to do. I was not willing to accept that it's only men who can hold an audience in the pub with funny stories. I dated a man whose friends would all fall about at their mate Martin's jokes and when I responded to yet another sexist anecdote dryly with, "have you ever wondered why you're single Martin ?" they all gave my boyfriend a look that suggested he keep his woman in line in future.

The issue isn't just my low tolerance for macho tomfoolery, but how some women are complicit in this celebration of how much better men are at being funny or clever. I always wondered why I wasn't amused by the 'funniest guy in the office.' One evening out with my impro friends we were joined by an aspiring stand up comedian who was 'on' from the minute he arrived at the table. The lads in our group hero worshipped him and one of the women was obsessed with him so they all laughed at his every word. I was underwhelmed by him and his acolytes and thought I probably just didn't get the joke.

Don't get me wrong, I love to flirt and be feminine. I can be coy and playful and laugh at a man's jokes even when they're not that funny. What I don't do is find it amusing when a man puts women down in order to get the laugh. When a man humiliates his girlfriend or wife in front of people to amuse and elevate his own status. You see this is the subtle manifestation of what the Taliban represent and the cultural attitude that women are 'less than' men. If I laugh when a man puts his wife down or join in when he tells me his girlfriend is a bit dumb I'm complicit in building his belief that it's ok to say it.

Which brings me back to Malala and her amazing courage in facing down the Taliban. It isn't ok that women and girls are beaten, raped, killed and lied about in order to further this idea that they're inferior to men. I am proud that an asian woman has become a symbol of courage and bravery and I hope that she does get nominated for and eventually wins the Nobel Peace Prize.

If Malala's experience teaches us anything it should be to show why being a feminist is about more than arguing amongst ourselves as women. Instead we should be getting on with the business of lifting each other up. Malala was almost killed for challenging a patriarchial society. Her feminism was born of adversity. We don't have to do anything nearly so life threatening.

Bottom line: It's not shameful to be feminist. Women and girls should not feel embarrassed or wrong for wanting to claim the title as their own. My challenge is to ensure my boy grows up with feminist values and respect for women too.

I'd still hide the knives though...

Do you remember that female character on the Fast Show who was a high flying, achieving independent woman until a man was in the room then she'd be reduced to gibbering in baby talk and conceding to the man's assumed superiority ? Arabella Weir created a comic character that we found funny because we knew her, we recognised her. Dammit at times we even were her.

I'd forgotten about her until today when I was in a room where there were 7 women (2 of them trainers) and one man for the second week of an anger management course I'm taking. Each of us took it in turns to answer questions, make contributions or to tell anecdotes, but I realised something glaringly obvious. Whenever the man spoke a lot of the women would laugh extra loud at jokes that I've heard other people tell, or praise an achievement extra highly, "oh that's a great idea."

Now I've seen this kind of behaviour my whole life and it still drives me crazy. The over-appreciation of someone purely because they're a man or because they're a blonde or something. It used to make me resentful and angry. Now, I just feel very sad that women feel the need to laugh a bit too loud because there's a man in the room. Or men feel the need to show off more than usual because there's a blonde woman in the room.

The good thing is I don't feel homicidal when it happens. It still makes me feel sad, but I'm now observing the behaviour and commenting on it instead of getting enraged by it.

Maybe I'm making progress on the course already ?

It's not all sandalwood and sanskrit

It's always catches my attention when I hear a news story about somewhere I know and India has been in the news a fair bit at the moment. Firstly because the Prime Minister is there on a trade mission and secondly because of the growing media interest in women's rights in India following a brutal rape that caused the death of a student in Delhi.

The PM's visit to Amritsar today caused a flurry of Radio 4 consternation as he visited the memorial site of a massacre undertaken by the British in 1919 and the question was asked if he should apologise for this historical event. Hubbie and I have visited Jallianwala Bagh in Amritsar and it is a moving tribute to the 379 demonstrators who were shot there by British soldiers. This one event was key in leading to India seeking total independence from the British and it is part of the Sikh 'tour' you do taking in the Golden Temple and the tribute to the 'martyrs'. Apologising with hindsight has become a standard following the belated apologies for Bloody Sunday and Hillsborough, but is it so much going through the motions ? Does the catholic church apologising for child abuse in any way reduce the suffering of those who experienced it ?

The handwringing about how women are treated in India comes in response to a vicious and brutal attack by a group of men on a woman and her boyfriend. Big questions are being asked about how women are viewed in indian society, but it's not like these are new questions or new issues. What is new is that people outside India are taking an interest where they previously thought it was none of their business or was culturally appropriate for women to be subjugated.

My parents are Indian by birth and I have visited a few times since I was a child. Both my parents went to university in India, they had an arranged marriage and my mother has always worked as well as raising a family of four children. They - like a lot of their contemporaries - have a vision of India that is preserved in aspic from the time they left. In their minds it is like a Bollywood movie starring Saira Banu and Dev Anand with a swinging soundtrack and colourful frocks as well as insane eyeliner and beehive hairdos.

On my visits to India I used to only stay with family so for years I didn't see how people other than my family lived. My educated, female dominated, feisty and hilarious family. I had no idea that outside the door was a culture where women were not permitted to go to school, to speak up or to talk to men in public. In recent years I've been to India as a 'tourist' and seen a whole other side to how women are treated.

While I can't comment on how the entire country operates I can recount my own experiences of women not being treated with respect as a matter of course. On our last visit to Bangalore where there is a culture of 'pubs' (what we would call a club) there was a disturbing new trend. Mobs of men would protest outside these pubs and drag women out who were drinking and smoking as a way of 'preserving indian culture.' There is so much about this that is wrong I don't know where to begin. Suffice it to say that the men who smoke, drink and associate with these 'bad women' aren't castigated or punished in any way.

India has always had a problem with honesty. It pretends to be a very moral society and yet young girls are forced to marry making paedophiles of their 'husbands.' There is a lie that says women are revered (separate seating on public transport, modest clothing is encouraged) yet men leering, propositioning or touching is considered acceptable. I recall being very uncomfortable being stared at as an 11 year old and my parents said to 'just ignore it' which is hard to do when you are still a child. There is also a culture of grown men being highly inappropriate with women and children which is overlooked as they are 'friends of the family.' In a society where respect for elders is more important than the right to personal space it is difficult to make a stand against what is essentially molestation.

I now travel to India with Hubbie and because he is not indian we are treated very differently. I do not expect to be harrassed by indian men as I did when I travelled with my sister or my mother. I recall how hilarious I found my auntie battering a man with her handbag for accidentally brushing her arm as he passed her in the street. Not all women are that bolshie and no woman should feel she cannot go out with her friends (male or female) or have a drink without fear of being attacked.

India wants to be seen as a powerhouse in the world of IT and trade. Women go to university, work alongside men and run businesses that trade internationally. Yet the movie business still portrays women as either sexual objects or mothers. The Karma Sutra outsells the Bhagvad Gita the world over. Girls are treated as second class citizens and left to die in their millions by poor families who cannot afford to pay a dowry, despite this practice being prohibited since 1961. This is in a country that had a female Prime Minister before the UK.

It would appear that India is now being pressured to deal with its schizophrenic attitude to women and girls. Until half the population are treated as something like equals I'm ashamed to say I can't be proud of my indian roots.