The Liberated Woman

Over the last three weeks, I read two novels: 

Aavarna The veil By S.LBhyrappa (Originally in Kannada; Translated into English by Sandeep Balakrishna) and Sita's Curse: The Language of Desire by Sreemoyee Piu Kundu.

Aavarna published in 2007 deals with religious fundamentalism in the background of an inter -religious marriage. Lakshmy, a Hindu girl marries Amir, a Muslim boy. She feels the marriage personifies her progressive thoughts. On Amir’s request she converts into a Muslimand takes the name of Razia. This begins the breakdown of the progressive Lakshmy. The death of her father, twenty years later brings her into conflict with herself and the rest of the book deals with her search for her real identity.Is she a Hindu, a Muslim or just a human being? Her search confronts the pages of history that have been covered up so long in order to create the illusion of secularism in this country. She pens a novel that is banned.  

Sita's Curse: The Language of desire, published in 2014 deals with the desires of a girl Meera. Meera, who is taught how to behave like a woman, finds her surroundings frustrating and often takes respite from the monotony of her daily routine in sexual escapades. These range from incestuous, with her brother Kartik, to lesbian, with her friend Binal to heteresexual, with the stranger by the river, her husband, Guruji, the dance teacher and Yosuf. Meera faces her inner self questioning her existence, very ironically when Mumbai is submerged in the ravaging floods of 26th July. Mumbai never faced a more severe torment. Meera never faced a more severe breakdown.  

Both the books have women protagonists. Both women are strong and confident. One seeks knowledge to liberate herself. One seeks sex. Razia seems to have a nonexistent sex life, especially after her husband pronounces talaq and remarries. Meera seems to have a nonexistent knowledge life. The only references are her going to school and years later taking up English classes

While Razia goes back into history in her quest for her true identity, Meera veers on casual internet sex and enters into a real sexual relation with a virtual partner.

Both seek love and affirmation from their partners. But do not get it. Razia is damned if she is progressive, dammed if is not. She is thrown out her community for not following her beliefs by her own father while Amir disowns her when she begins to ask him difficult questions about his religion. 

Meera is damned if she speaks her mind, damned if she follows her heart. She is charged of not being able to conceive a child when she knows this is due to husband’s shortcomings. She is charged of being a whore when she has male admirers. 

What set me thinking was the presentation of both the women. Why these two aspects of a woman life- education and sex never present themselves simultaneously? Why is one oblivious of the other? If Razia was more sexually active would she be less progressive in her thoughts? If Meera was more educated would she be less liberated than she is now? 

The stereotypes that we have of educated women being almost sexless... and a sexy women of being a bimbette. 

Razia is equally hungry for sex as is Meera.

Meera too has a curious mind that gets fulfilled by learning computers, internet and chat sex.

Razia leaves her family in search of herself.

Meera walks out of her home in search of herself. 

Is the liberated woman only about being educated?

 Is the liberated woman only about being aware of her sexual desires? 

Is the liberated woman only about living for themselves? 

Is the liberated woman only the one who leaves everyone to search for herself?

Is the liberated woman, the one next door, who educates herself, who works in the economic market, who updates herself, who looks after her family, who is active sexually without being apologetic about it, who lives each day realizing that her search begins each morning and ends each night? 

Who is the liberated one? Sita? Meera? Razia? Lakshmy? You? Me? 

Dance Dance

The countdown begins
A week  away from the arangetram of my daughter, I reminiscence of the journey that led me here. As a young girl dance always fascinated me. I loved bharatnayam.  And growing up in a tam brahm family pursued it for some time. But the focus soon shifted to academics and carnatic music. Dance was washed away under the various other tides of time.
Circa 1997 my daughter enters my life. Like any other mother I enrolled her into the nearest bharatnayam class.....more as a ritual. She was enjoying those classes. But the class shut down and I was hunting for another class. My mother found out about Smt.Anjana who conducted classes in Vakola. So I march there and get Ashwini enrolled.
She begins the training and thus embarks on a ten year long journey.
An annual day from the class every year, Sunday classes, and once a year annual exams.
All seemed mere routine and I never for once had thought it would become her passion.
With her I grew. .to be more open in my thoughts. ..to be aware of options life offers...to be able to follow my heart.

Affirmation

The republic day weekend was celebrated throughout the country with talks of new hopes, new futures and new horizons to reach. My family had a celebration of different sorts. We celebrated the day with a sense of affirmation, a sense of happiness and a sense of belonging.

Saturday began on the usual note. Ashish had a piano class to go for which we travel all the way to Amboli, a quaint little place after the hustling suburb of Andheri. Every Saturday morning Gopal and I spend a good one hour at the CCD adjacent to his class. As we chill over a cup of coffee, we have our weekly discussions on  varied topics which somehow find their way to how we manage our children! This Saturday, Gopal decided to skip the trip and me and Ashish went ahead. As I had to spend the time on my own, I decided to take ‘Bankerupt’ for company.

Once the class was over, we hailed an auto and proceeded to Kalina. The auto driver was a chatterbox. Through the drive he was complaining to me how the police in Mumbai were useless and was  checking only autos and motor cycles while terrorists would  scot free. Finally we reached home, paid him and went our ways. A good three hours later, Ashish barged into my room: Amma! Where is the piano bag? It’s not here! I think I left it in the auto. We frantically looked around the house to realise that he was right. We had walked out of the auto leaving the bag behind the seat! Ashish was heartbroken. His new set of books, which we had not yet opened, was in it. He had got the set from his teacher just that day. I was worried. The books were expensive and buying a whole set all over again meant a major dent into my pocket. The whole afternoon was dull and dreary. Evening I called up his piano teacher to inform her about the loss and order a fresh set. She suggested that I wait for a day or two and then call her up. What if the bag came back, she asked. I wasn’t too hopeful of that. What, in this city of millions, were the chances of that bag coming back? Good stories happened to people in newspapers , not at home !

Resigned to the fact that we had lost the bag, we settled into the night. The next morning was India’s republic day. Ashish had to go to school and was getting ready to celebrate R-day at school .But I knew he was in no mood to celebrate! Celebration messages were being played on the radio . The neighbourhood hall was belting out some patriotic songs. Newspapers were screaming about special sales (which now I didn’t want to go!) when suddenly the intercom buzzed. I picked up the phone to hear our watchman say, ‘Madam, there is an auto guy here. He says he has a bag that possibly belongs to you. Please come down and identify him!’ I screamed in joy, woke up Gopal and rushed down. As I reached the gate, I saw the driver and Oh boy! was he glad to see me too! ‘Aunteeeeeeeeeeeeeee! He screamed. Dekha, kaise maine aap ko dhoond liya.’ Thank God! I told him. How did you figure it out, I asked him. His wife located the bag, he told me, while cleaning the auto. One of the books had the stamp of Ashish’s previous Casio class and his daughter called up the place. They informed him that Ashish Gopal stays in Vakola. And he realised that he had done only one trip to this place. So he came to ask. He said he was not carrying the bag and someone would have to go with him to his place to collect it. As this conversation was happening, Ashish ambled down from school still looking dejected, till he saw this guy in front of him. His face burst into a beam. Gopal and Ashish went along with him to collect the bag. He introduced them to his wife, daughter and mother. He also told them that his old mother was insistent that he go first thing in the morning to return the bag. She was adamant that it was a precious thing for a student and he should not delay it. 

Heartfelt thanks to the family who found it important enough to return the bag, to understand how everything had its own value and a family that reinstated our faith in our people. The republic day really turned out well. While it does matter that we have good governance, what really matters is that we have people like Mohammed Bhai who reinforce values of life.

I called up his piano teacher to inform her and thank her for making me stay just a little patient, for helping me think that yes, good stories could happen to us also.

Bottoms up!

One cannot think well, love well, and sleep well, if one has not dined well.”

― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

Woolf has very aptly condensed the importance of food in this one sentence. Nothing in life happens the right way if food is neglected. Food has a very omnipotent role to play in our lives. And it is, at the same time, very omnipresent in the language we speak.

Language is being constantly modified and beautified by food. Food garnishes the language that one uses with so much love and spice that one can only crave for more.

Food nourishes our thoughts. While worries go down better with soup, too many cooks can spoil the broth. Though we thought about of everything from soup to nuts, we never realised that we had our fingers in too many pies. Did we chew off more than we could eat? We treaded on eggshells during the project so that we would not have egg on our faces at the end of it. We wanted to keep our cake and have it too.

Food nourishes the heart too.  So while your loved one can be as sweet as honey, your home can be as warm as toast even on a rainy day. The ambience may just make you go nutty as a fruit cake or simply spend the rest of the day as couch potatoes! Either way you would not cry over spilt milk.

Food nourishes the body. That of course is its main job. And language embellishes this role too. So you have a taste for the fine arts while the icing on the cake is the award you got for your passion in music .And oh yes, in your salad days you stewed upon quite a few things though finally you did learn which side of the bread is buttered. And on your way you have also figured out that one man’s meat is another poison while time and again you may have jumped from the fire into the frying pan while trying to save your bacon.

So while you sink your teeth into this, let’s acknowledge that variety is the spice of life. Every endeavour will have its teething troubles, at times may make you feel as if it is a pie in the sky but the truth remains that there is nothing such as a free lunch. You may have to polish the apple to whet your appetite to achieve success.

Confessions of a morning walkgger

Variety is the spice of life and a morning walk offers more than spice:

·         The Aunty Association: This group generally believes in catching up with gossip. The previous morning was 24 hours ago. A lot has transpired during the time and this is the time to complain, crib and cry about it. Round and round the gossip goes.

·         The Over taker: This guy has to overtake everyone. Irrespective of how many people are around, the aim of this guy is to overtake. He has to be ahead of all in the ground. Considering that the walking track is circular, his aim beats me!

·         The twins: These are the early morning couples joint at the hip. They need to walk together, talk together and yes definitely live life together.

·         The one more singer: This one will walk for one more song. This one counts rounds not by numbers but by the number of songs he finishes hearing while walking.

·         The sitting duck: This one believes that simply watching other people walk can help him get fit.

·         The inverter: This guy has to walk in the opposite direct ion of the rest of the gang. If the entire garden is moving clock wise, he will move anti clock wise. . He will insist on others changing their track for him.

·         The grasshopper: This guy has to begin his session with two rounds on the fresh green grass. The board ‘Keep off the grass’ necessarily may not make sense.

·         The yogi: These guys end their sessions with a bout of yoga.

·         The walkgger : that of course is me------the walker who thinks what to write in the next blog .

TOSS

I clean my wardrobe

I pick up the green t-shirt.

I toss it over my shoulder.

I turn to see it fall.

It falls to the sound of the train.

I see myself at the station, just fresh out of my first day at work

I celebrate. I buy a green t-shirt.

Something scratches my fist.

I bleed. I flinch. I pick it up.

It’s an earring with a missing white stone.

The red stone mocks at me.

I wipe my bleeding hand and focus on my bleeding heart.

I hear voices; Voices of a one I held very dear.

I take her into the shop. I show her the earring

She gifts it on my birthday.

I treasure it. It symbolises our friendship.

The white stone falls off the day she walks out of our room.

She has had enough of our friendship she says.

She leaves. The earring and an aching heart remain.

I look at them: the earring and the aching heart and the bleeding hand.

I wipe the hand, soothe the heart and toss the earring into the past.

I clear my wardrobe.

I toss. I throw. I wash. I wipe. I reset. I re arrange.

I look ahead .I see the New Year waiting at my door. I turn back.

Somethings remain.

They always will.

My Google

Me: Are you ready for tomorrow’s paper? Do you have your pencil box, pens and other things in place?

Ashish: Yes, mom!

Me: And what about the writing board?

Gopal : It’s on the table. I spent the afternoon looking for it. He forgot where he had kept it after the last exam!

 Ashish (hugging him): And that’s exactly why you are my Google!