Girlfriend and her sister - Buy one get one free

I personally think, or rather, used to think that Snapdeal was doing fairly okay until I saw their latest ad.

I'm unable to find the link, but the ad goes something like this.

A man is staring at his phone while going on about how his girlfriend's sister is so cute she comes along everywhere they go. And how it is so similar to Snapdeal's buy one get one free offer. Wonder if Snapdeal has started offering wives'/girlfriends'/partners' sisters along for 'use' by the consumer. Wonder if they have to really stoop down to such levels to sell their website. I used to buy from Snapdeal but now, I have lost all respect for the company.

Most readers will not even find the ad offensive. Some of you will flood my inbox saying, "Gee, be chill, this is just an ad, that's all..."

Just an ad categorizing women as products to be availed of when buy one get one free offer is available. Men are free too access their wives'/girlfriends'/partners' sisters under this offer. JUST AN AD.,

Yes, this is as chill as several years ago, purdah and not educating women were also quite acceptable. What's the whole fuss about? Gee, it's JUST SOME PRACTICES isn't it?

Dehumanizing women as products to be 'available for free' is NOT OKAY.

Those who find this ad 'just an ad' are either too conditioned to live with gender discrimination, sexism and gender stereotypes, or are the beneficiaries of such practices, such as the 'consumers' availing the 'buy one get one free girlfriend' offer.

The world has progressed steadily since the days of purdah and sati but sexism still prevails. Then, it was,

"Saali aadhi gharwaali" (Wife's sister is half wife)

Ironically, the husband's brother is supposed to be like the wife's son. Even in gender stereotyping, these sexists do not play fair.

This society is giving out a clear message to everyone, "Do what you want, we aren't going to stop treating women as substandard human beings or objects to be sold, bought and even gleefully obtained on an offer." Just like buying old clothes from a thrift store.

Yet another classic example of objectification of women getting away scott free. Only this time, people will be criticizing me and several other women for not being game and taking this as JUST AN AD.

Just an ad where they have sold my dignity as a woman to be a product instead - to be bought and sold on discount.

The truth about feminism

“Feminists are of two types: the loud, liberal, outspoken one who hates men, and the silent, rational, inexistent one who does not hate men.

Both do little good for the betterment of the society, the latter more so. Action speaks louder than words, but silence speaks loudest of all.”

To put it across clearly, as the anonymous person who made this statement in a public forum demanded, I identify myself as one of the ‘invisible’, ‘silent’ (not-very-well-versed-with-feminist-literature) feminists, who does not actually hate men.

To reiterate something that has been said a thousand times over, but actually listened to less often, feminism is a concept that aims to define, establish and defend women’s right to equality in political, social, economic and cultural aspects.

What do I feel about?

There are thousands of causes within the purview of feminism. For me, as a feminist and a victim (in lesser ways than many Indian women, though), the concept I resent is gender based discrimination against women, particularly in the largely patriarchal society of India.

India is one of the most sexist nations of the world, as shown by the latest gender inequality index. India ranks at 132/148, falling behind all Asian countries except Afghanistan. With this fact, I establish that some of the few liberated men and women in India, that you may or may not have come across, sadly, do not make up the majority.

Though there is nothing wrong with men being leaders, the problem is in assuming that men are leaders by default. The problem is when worthy, strong and intelligent women are denied the opportunity.

Has feminism eroded the family system?

I have found many people saying that feminism has eroded the family system.

But, what was the quintessential Indian family like before feminism made waves in India? Were people, particularly the women of the household, happy?

Was emotional/physical abuse absent?

Did wives dare walk out of troubled marriages?

Did men dare to own up their own abuse at the risk of being called “womanly”?

Did women not want to get educated, earn a living or want more financial/social independence?

Was it a healthy environment for the emotional, mental and physical growth of all members of the household, including the lowest in the family pecking order?

Did bride-burning, female infanticide, rape, sexual crime, dowry, purdah etc. not exist?

Cross your heart and say ‘yes’ to these if you are truly blind.

Does feminism uphold working women over homemakers?

Feminism is not a promotion propaganda for career women. It is meant to provide women the choice to work if they want to. It is meant to foster a culture that is supportive of both women and men in terms of removing gender stereotypes.

For instance, look at the corporate culture today. Largely male-driven, it fails to let employees strike a work-home balance, what with overtimes, working weekends, long hours etc. The prevailing patriarchal system does not actually expect men to make time for their families, which is sadly seen as a feminine preoccupation. Also, women in the households of these men typically take over the other side of life, therefore, providing a conducive backup for men to do pretty much whatever they please with their career and lives - be it transferable jobs, long working hours, field jobs, on-site, off-site etc. Men do not bear much social brunt for neglecting the household and familial aspect of their lives, although they do suffer emotionally.

Since the system does not recognize men’s needs to connect with their ‘softer’ sides, as in families and recreation etc., and because men are seen only as breadwinners in patriarchy, the workplace culture evolves in tandem with these ideals.

So, a woman who wants to work finds herself making the same compromises. But unlike men, the social stigma associated with a woman, who is making the same sacrifices on the family front as a man, is a gazillion times higher. A father who works weekends is hailed. A mother who works weekends is said to be a vamp who neglects the family.

Is this just the woman’s problem? Or is it something more significant and important to address for all of us -men and women?

Aren’t we depriving intelligent, aspiring, ambitious women of the opportunity to put their technical
skills to use for achieving parity with men who have similar skill and expertise level?

Have you ever tried staying at home while your heart ached to prove your skill to the world?

Let me tell you how they feel. People, not just women, forced to be a homemaker either by circumstance or by social expectations when they aspire for work that puts their technical skills to use, are pushed to insanity of the brain rot it gives them. These people don’t feel mentally motivated by household chores and family management alone.

For them, it’s a just a part of life, not the heart of it, just like a job alone isn’t the heart of one’s life. A retired parent of grandparent will usually tell you how much of a mental rut it is to stay home after a long and successful career life.

While people who have been in challenging jobs all their lives feel thus in old age, when one is supposed to be more sober, is it not unfair to expect ambitious women in the prime of their lives to be happy just being “provided for”? Please note I am only talking about women who make the conscious choice to work, and are denied the opportunity one way or the other.

Every woman, as a human being, is entitled to all worlds she may identify with and it is purely up to her whether or not she utilizes this entitlement.

On the other hand, being a homemaker isn’t free from discrimination.

How many homemakers are there who feel they could have some recognition or appreciation of their efforts from their families?

How many men actually appreciate the work of their wives?

In fact the very term ‘working women’ is a shame. Homemakers work equally hard.

Do you ‘antagonists of feminism’ ever appreciate the homemaker?

If you did, you would uphold her right to do what she wanted - including her RIGHT to have/not have a career. And, that, my folks, makes you a feminist.

It's a man's world!

It was just another of our usual long commute to office. We were in our car. The auxiliary cable of the player in the car was plugged into my husband’s mobile phone, playing out the songs from his collection. Much as his taste in music is a stark contrast to mine, I nevertheless decided to listen and open my mind up to a little more musical possibility.

Then came that song, “Senthamizh naatu thamizhachhiye, selai udtha thayangariye…”

(Oh Tamil lady of Tamil Nadu! You hesitate to wear a saree!) Pardon my miserable translation skills!

Now, it was the rush hour and I was already getting late for office (another usual). Being somewhat a champion of female rights (more out of self-interest than public), I was offended. I grudgingly wear salwar kameez to work because it is the least formal female attire permissible in my office. Given the chance, I would stick to jeans and tees all the time, much to the chagrin of my as-purely Tamil-as-pure-molten-gold Tamil family.

Call it guilt or rush hour irritation, I was quick to skip the song before it was heard audibly enough. The spouse wanted the song back on. And there it went…

The song mumbled something in Tamil (incomprehensible to me) before I caught on another line,

“…neechal udaiyil alaiyuriye..” (“You’re roaming in swimwear…” A not-so-subtle jest about her ‘exposing’ clothes)

“But why are YOU pissed? You don’t wear swimwear or short clothes anyway!” my husband pleaded.

He was right. There was nothing personally offensive about that song. I was just in one of my feminist moods. My mental argument said, “I don’t wear those clothes because I don’t have that figure, not because I SHOULDN’T! And, it isn’t as if you men embrace tradition by wearing dhoti all the time.”

I stormed out of the car near my office entrance and walked away fast without waving a bye to my poor guy.

My thoughts raced to all the other female-bashing songs.

“Inniku sirippa nalaiki moraippa innuvum irukudhada…” (She’ll smile today and she’ll frown tomorrow. There is more to it than just this.)

Why is it that there are just too many Tamil film songs poking fun of women, especially condemning them for ditching their boyfriends? I married my boyfriend.

“Kandhasamy, Kuppusamy, Karuppusamy, Madasamy kalyanam kattikitango

(something incomprehensible again) thappu nu othukitango…”

(Kandhasamy etc. are common Tamil male names. “They married and some time later admitted that they had made a mistake”)

Why are there so many Tamil film songs delineating the woes of married men suffering at the hands of their domineering wives? Clearly, after sacrificing our lives with our parents and siblings, our freedom to dress, eat, sleep, talk, go out, make friends and behave just as we please, our figures and dress sizes, our late mornings and late nights, our plans on if, whether and when we want to have children, and for many of us, our rights to concentrate on and have a flourishing career, we; women, are certainly the worst affected half in any marriage.

What is it that the men are whining about then? They get to smoke, drink, go out with their friends, scream at their wives, complain about the food, keep their jobs, buy what they like, be pampered (read spoon-fed) by both their parents and wives, have kids when they please…heck, they don’t even menstruate, leave alone battle menopause when your spouse is sexually alive, about and kicking!

I knew of course, that men too would have an equally bitter story to tell, given the chance. After all, who got punished in school when the girls in the class chattered? Who didn’t make it to a prestigious institution because a girl got it through women’s quota? Who stands up for women in buses and trains, only to be looked at as a potential rapist? Who is the referee between endless saas-bahu (mother-in-law and daughter-in-law) battles? Yes, I do know they have their own half to complete this miserable sphere of gender bias.

But, there was a male lyricist somewhere to unleash their frustration with all these female-bashing songs. How many Tamil film songs, or any song for that matter, do you see with a significant amount of realistic male-bashing? There is one too many a joke about a wife emptying her husband’s coffers with indiscriminate shopping (No, I am not a shopaholic. Besides, I mostly buy only from my own income.), but how many jokes are there about a husband forever cooped up in a bar or a pub or with his friends over a random cricket or football game instead of coming home early to his wife for once?

Why “Why this kolaveri da…” didn’t make it as the top chartbuster? Why the very few male-bashing songs there are are, too weak to offset the humorous, lyrical, and hit-the-nail quality of female-bashing songs? Aren’t there enough good female lyricists? Or do they simply have better things to pen than men (That rhymed, yes!)? Why can’t a good male lyricist put aside his veil of ego and gender bias aside for a while and compose songs that strike the chord with the ‘fair’ side of humanity? Why, oh why, oh, why???

That evening I climbed back into the car. My man and I had made peace and gotten over this pointless argument. We mutually agreed that I was irritated only because of my rush hour stress. Just as we smiled and turned the FM on,

“Indha ponnungale ippadidhan therinju pochu daa…”  (These girls are only like this…we know it now…)

Sound of laughter. Sound of forehead slapping.

I need not say who won that day!

Mother's love rolls out 50 parathas!

I just came across a post on a popular website in a response to this question:

"What are some of the things peculiar to India?"

Amidst a truckload of India-bashing, this post was a simple one. It showed a picture of steaming hot parathas with the byline: Mother making 50 parathas for the entire family and still not complaining about the pain in her wrists.

I know, most of you, including I, would delve into a "I love you mom" saga, proclaiming how we miss "home-cooked" food. Yes, I do! I absolutely adore what my mom manages to whip up on the fire and I can match up to only 70% of that taste, doing myself some exaggerated justice with the percentage. No, people, that isn't the point at all. If you don't want to understand the real picture, please do us all a favor and read no further.

This picture of an "Indian mom", something we would all agree in unison with, is by no means comparable with the status of mothers/women all around the world or probably even in more liberated households in India. "Making 50 parathas without complaining" isn't an achievement. It is a shame! It is disgusting to note that while the woman slogged in the kitchen, the rest of the family was just doing whatever, and my bet is, it's nothing productive for the household. The complaint about the pain in her wrists is secondary! The feeling of working too hard without having any quality time for yourself, your health, your entertainment or anything remotely associated with yourself is a violation of basic human rights.

We have to remind ourselves that for every luxury we have availed in the comfort of our homes, our mom was sacrificing her basic rights as a human being. No, please don't shower "I respect mom" here. Instead promise yourself that you will never let this happen again to any woman you know, including yourself.

This picture of an "Indian mom" is mostly upheld not for making us understand her troubles, but so that we can show and persuade the present and future generations of women to live life the same pathetic way. The people who boast proudly about this "Indian mom" are the very people who down those 50 parathas with a loud burp and watch TV thereafter, while the poor woman cleans up all by herself and eats whatever is left.

This picture of an "Indian mom" is the restrictive sexist mentality we have fostered for eras together. This is the quintessential Indian woman. There is no other way for a respectable Indian woman to live. Oh sorry, it isn't the Indian woman alone, it is for any woman. Women from other countries are a curse upon this planet because they don't live this way. She may be the CEO of Microsoft or the founder of Biocon but unless she can make 50 parathas or more without a whimper of a complaint, she is no woman. Oh yes, those 50 parathas are a testimony to her character and her benchmark for respectability. Admiration? Maybe, but that's rare. Odds are, one of those 50 parathas got slightly singed-- there goes "admiration" down the drain.

This picture of an "Indian mom" shows our hypocrisy and self-assured ego for possessing the finest culture, family women in the world. An American mom can hardly match up, even if she singlehandedly cooks up 50-60 pancakes along with other dishes for her kid's birthday party, handles a 9-5 job, and is single. Maybe an Italian mother may bake 50 pizzas, run her bakery and still feed her children. This doesn't make the cut. It's because most of these "foreign" women usually give back the shit they take from others. The very lack of this quality is what makes Indian women special to many patriarchs today. The "Indian woman" submissively nods to everything she is told to.

This picture of an "Indian mom" explains why Indian women are the best in the universe. No other mom from any other country can actually match up to her. Apparently, foreign moms don't cook---like a man actually claimed beneath the post. I am surprised how dishes like Mousse au chocolat, Sandwiches, Pizzas, Pastas, Risotto, Sushi etc. came to exist if there was no Indian mom to cook them. Of course, foreign children and husbands survive on thin air, don't they? Much as we love our Indian cuisine, anything Indian is grossly overrated, including Indian moms.

Can't a woman love her family without cooking and cleaning for them? Can't she live a life that is more self-fulfilling than being the epitome of selfless sacrifice? Can't the average Indian woman's wrists ache due to endless typing, ploughing or doing whatever than rolling out 50 parathas? Can't we put aside our liberties for once and try to repaint this picture of the "Indian mom"? It really isn't asking for much. It is simply giving back to your mom what you took from her.

The Housewife

An unearthly five a.m. buzzes

Exhausted, but eager, she rises

Toys and the TV remote adorn the floor

She picks and preens till the sun begins to soar

A quick brush here, a small shower there

She chops teary onions with potatoes to pare

A half hour later when the kitchen’s chores are done

With kisses and caresses, she wakes her little son

She bathes, scrubs and dresses her baby with adulation

Feeds him, packs his lunch and sees him to the bus station

Her once gentle and silky hands, launder the pile of dirty clothes

In all this rush, her kindness intact, she feeds some grains to the crows

At 8:30, with the rising heat, she watches her lordly husband rise

No greetings or hugs, he gulps his coffee and eats his curry and rice

He bickers and complains about her laxity and nitpicks her culinary skills

She knows he loved the meal nevertheless, when he burps as his belly fills

While he rushes to the office, she hovers near him, for his small or big commands

She finds his sock, polishes his shoes, irons his shirt even without his demands

Scolding and cursing, he leaves for office, driving away in his car

She heaves a sigh of relief at last, and waves to him till he’s far

It is but for a brief moment, that she recalls her own, once flourishing career

She had quit without complaint, on her husband’s order, as her family she held very dear

With the chores all done, she eats the leftovers and allows herself a small nap

It seems like just a few minutes have passed, when she hears her front door rap

Newspaper man, vegetable vendor and the neighbour start pouring in

Worn and tired, she handles it all; she slogs till her head takes a spin

It’s late afternoon when she picks up her child and carries him all the way home

Then she heads to the market, buys the groceries and her husband’s shaving foam

Back home at last, without a moment’s rest, she goes off to help her little one

His homework aplenty, they finish together, his bags are all packed and done

It’s 8:30 p.m. and she’s back at the kitchen, cooking the family’s supper

Her husband walks in, flops on the sofa, with his work pressure he goes hyper

She takes it in all, like an obedient wife, while her family eats their dinner plentiful

She eats at last, what is left, clears the dining table, scrubs the dishes in the sink full

She reads to her baby till his soft snores resound like a melody in her tired ears

She bathes and changes, and her husband beckons, at night she to him endears

Weak but yielding, she submits herself to his throes of passion

He moves back and dozes off, after he spends all his carnal possession

Her body is worn, her mind all sleepy but only tears come to her eyes

She’s unaware when she slept off, it’s 5 a.m. now, yet again she has to rise

One may think how and why, one chooses to inspire, one’s poetry with a mere housewife

Seldom we know, never we acknowledge, her numerous battles throughout her strife

How one gentle person can put up with so much, and stay strong, living at the tip of a knife

Because she’s a woman, a mother, a wife, a daughter and more, this is how stirring is her life

The Prayer of a Daughter

I pray not for myself
Contented am I with the gifts of infancy
My mother blessed me with
Bickering with her better half to bring me forth
For their bundle of joy lacked mirth
Set to enter the world of frills
Yet she endured me, for nine months
Through searing pain, birthed a fruitless labour of love

I pray not for myself
Contented am I with the home I was bestowed with
A few breaths of air once outside her
Then she wrapped my shriveled self in a generous warm rag
Gave me care in the cradle of her arms, though momentary
Helpless, put me to bed on a mushy rotting sack
Weeping, she left me under the stars
Nudged by a breeze loaded with
The smells of the sweat of my first shelter
Where everything decomposed to give me a warm organic bed
To lie down and rest, to live
For so many others too, my siblings
Under the roof of the skies
Tiny flies buzzed in my unformed ears, singing sweet lullabies
Grunting pigs to reassure me of company
Amidst my wails, the barking of street dogs
Baying for my precious life, to devour the tender flesh off me
But when my tear laden eyes saw her face
In the moon’s glow, I understood the challenge to me
There were devils yes, but despite them I was meant to be
Her maternity shrouded me as the moonlight
I slept; I did survive that unforgiving night

I pray not for myself
Contented am I, with human care at last
A human to eventually pick me up from the squalor
Not my mother but a mother nevertheless
No maternity in her breast but motherhood in her heart nevertheless
Sweet kisses that erased the memories of our own teary farewell
A family with real people, real siblings, real human love
Welcomed me heartily into my warm pink world

I’m happy
I pray not for me but for you
You, who returned that night, empty arms, empty womb
Lonely days you spent emptying yourself of blood, milk and tears
In an empty home to live with an empty heart
With an empty someone, who loved the fruits
But not the labour that your sex took
In this barrenness, you missed the bundle
That could’ve filled your waiting arms
Of the fairer sex like you, but not devoid of her unique charms
No chubby finger to jab at you and suckle at your love
No ribbons for curly plaits no pink frocks and all above
You missed your live doll to play with dolls
A sweet and innocent heart to love you through your falls
You missed the pretty maiden to whom you’d have been
A friend, philosopher and guide to be with in embarrassing teens
A growing woman, to bring up strong
To fight the uncompromising chauvinist world
To fight with you as well, why her skirts were too long
To question you in everything that you said was ladylike
Later a woman like you, your own confidante
A head to nod, ears to listen and a heart to sympathize
With your own complaints, against the world or household
Or even how burdensome this stubborn girl was to you
Till you bade her a teary farewell, this time happily
The light of your home to light up another
Just the way you did

I pray not for myself, mother, but for you
My father who took a narrow minded turn, for you too
You may have saved some cost by preferring an earning boy
Than a trusting, loving, caring girl
But it’s a daughter you missed