Thursday, September 26, 2013

Being a Housewife Mother

It’s neither a new nor any unique subject, at least not in the Indian set-up where I’ve grown up hearing from my fellow school goers that their moms did ‘nothing’ but staying at home. Off course, I do agree that these present generation kids are way smarter than what we used to be, and they have picked up quite well dedicated terminologies like ‘housewife’, ‘homemaker’ for their mothers opting to ‘put an indefinite coma’ to their careers either after marriage or delivery of the baby. But even after this spontaneous refinement of spoken words, the picture remains the same- a lazy woman with mediocre self esteem, choosing to avoid the sun and enjoy watermelon on husband’s hard earned bucks while making the life of housemaid miserable! Now, if you feel I’m speaking magazine words, then be brave, most importantly honest and answer me what’ll be your natural reply to my question “What does your better half do” if she is a housewife? Most probably you’re educated (since you’ve logged into internet and taken the trouble of reading my blog) and hence I take it, you’re among those sophisticated husbands with good verbal skill and palatable courteousness. So, your male chivalry will add up to the former and give me a reply like, “When I’m working why does she have to do anything?”. The epilogue remains the same, your ‘housewife’ wife or your child’s ‘housewife’ mom is doing just nothing… cool! By the way, are these sounding inappropriate from a male blogger’s keyboard? Sorry mate, facts are not slaves to any particular gender and I don’t have to be a daughter to read those unsaid aspects of the life of my ‘housewife’ mother.

Very frankly speaking, I could simply add up the calorie consumption of majority of our Indian housewives by household chores per day and show you it’s no less than their outside working male counterparts. But my today’s talk is not simply a housewife vs. working-husband discussions, it’s more specific… it’s the macro image of those virtuous women who chose to remain at home for taking exclusive care of their families and children despite holding academic/vocational benchmark scores equal to their husbands and yet, now and then an inevitable social nosiness bothers them- “Why don’t you do anything?” (It’s undoubtedly a matter of pity that their mothers did ‘something’!) Or, those who are her real well wishers would just ask- “Honey, why you are wasting your degrees? We never thought you’d babysit… you were so bright!” So, as per their belief three major conclusions can be drawn: University degrees come with expiry dates, the lady was presumed to be joining NASA and children should only be reared by uneducated nannies (moms would do too provided they’re illiterate). Chill guys, chill… I’m not barking under the comfy prejudice of any doghouse… these are all what they mean and sometimes you’re one of ‘them’. Firstly and boldly I would like to disregard the “Why don’t you do anything?” query of those curious long nosed folks, because I too believe that sometimes we tend to indulge in brainless chat, at least to recharge the validity of Einstein’s notion about infinite human stupidity. Better we will reflect on the view of ‘well wishers’ category. There’s no denying the truth that a pilot looks best in her cockpit and lack of culture makes anyone a vulture. As a matter of fact, time and staying out of touch puts a fine coat of rust on professional skill of a lady and many skills are there which can’t be kept alive in a domestic environment. Then answer my goddamn question- why motherhood has to be such an underrated designation of a woman? Let us just contemplate on why does it bother us when some lady is giving greater priority to her ‘being a mother’ than being a doctor, architect, advocate, scientist and anything that brings money to her family? Is it merely because it doesn’t add up to the income of the family? Or, is it due to the inadequacy of any institution to grant a paper degree/diploma of the unsung worth called motherhood? Or, is it simply due to the rigidness of the fact that a woman can only occupy the chair of motherhood? Coming to the other conclusion “children should only be reared by uneducated nannies”, yes, why not… better why don’t you put a Rubik’s cube in your child’s hand let the rollercoaster of his sensory and motor development run on its own? Honestly I feel I need to write a full article if I’ve to explain why a child deserves an educated mentor in the crucial period of his growth and development and nobody can justify that role better than the mother. Well, the sole purpose of this article was not to justify the importance of housewives dedicated to motherhood but to pity on those absurd thinkers who fail to accept that motherhood is such a versatile designation of his/her next door housewife…!

This is no astrophysics that you’ll need special intellect to appreciate. Kindly oblige yourself by broadening your horizon and accept the fact that, many housewives you see “enjoying mangoes at home” are actually skilled individuals, who could see through the importance of spending time with their children unlike you. Though they’ve put their personal goal at the backseat for the time being they’re serving greater purpose by moulding good heads for tomorrow. This is something they’re completely focussed at right now and certainly by their own choice. This doesn’t mean that if need arises, those women can’t uncap a pen or unsheathe a sword. Emboss it in your mind that a ‘housewife’ mother is usually a storehouse of patience and perseverance, owing to which she ignores your callous enquiry, “Don’t you do anything?” most probably, taking you for an imbecile to whom she doesn’t owe any answer. But, even if you can’t be respectful, I advise you to be careful… save your slippery tongue and unfortified back from the gallant eternal souls of these martyrs dressed modestly in the gown of ‘housewife’. In this context I remember a poem “The Martyr” I had penned few months back:

Pay homage to the sacred flame
That hides in the darkest cave
Or meditate in the ocean bed,
Too volcanic to exist with you!

She left her balloon for her brother,
Abandoned her lover for the family,
Resigned her desk job for her kids &
Preserved her fire only for one man…

Revere that unselfish gale
Which could freeze the sun,
But didn’t even shudder a leaf
Only to die in your woman’s heart!

(Picture Courtesy: Screenshot from Harry Potter and Deathly Hallows Part 2)

Sunday, September 1, 2013

To Modern Madams in Skimpy Clothes

Before you poke fun at my cartoon I’m admitting it myself that its artistic quotient is close to zero, but till then it shouldn’t be taken lightly due to the ugly truth it’s portraying. If you’re a logical person you might interrupt me by amending ‘truth is beauty’… or, if you’re a Gerard Butler’s fan you may feel like hugging me with the brimming wetness of fan-brotherhood. But I assure you, my today’s talk has nothing to do with topics like- Hollywood, romance or how to draw a terrible cartoon with wax crayons, rather it’s a modest woe of an Indian guy who was tagged as a pervert when he dared to request a modern Indian lady in skimpy clothes, “Excuse me madam, slow down a bit, India is not sensitised yet…” Friends, don’t get excited… I understand, such man should be sent to gay-prison, married to a gilt, or castrated for having such a constricted outlook in this 21st century India… but why don’t we hear that pervert’s rationale while cursing his futile manhood in this flourishing democracy?

He Says:-
“Men are dogs whether it’s in America or India. Yea, no deviation from what I have said… I’m in my proper senses. Difference lies in the list of conditioned reflexes in two different lands. Damn it… it hardly matters how painfully honest I remain; you won’t ever identify the bitch in you… so men are no more dogs unless you stop throwing them bones. Sorry guys I’m losing my ice… let me be more composed. See, if an American (just an example, no obsession!) lady puts her sunbathing photos in her online social profile it’s considered there as an element of joy/relaxation which she wants to share with her online connections… if she pitches a flying kiss it’ll be taken as a friendly gesture. But unfortunately if the above said things are done in India, all men have to lie in unison to claim that they won’t react like “Oh goddamn slut”. Wait girl, I’m not voicing my opinion for or against anything yet… right now, I’m only summing up the scenario. You don’t have to admit me, but think yourself, how many times you’ve been followed by some strange man in a busy cityscape… how many times a pair of eyes have bothered you in a shared taxi… how many times your friend’s mom or some other elderly lady have given you that “you’re a spoiled brat for sure” look when you happened to meet them with your designer clothes? I’m just curious, have you seen those drops of sweat on your father’s forehead when you walk with him or without him in market areas infested by sex-starved Indian men? Haven’t you ever felt the sweaty palm of your male partner grasping your hand while passing by a group of lazy guys on some street (yes, my heart aches to type ‘Indian’ in every dirty circumstance)? Lady, are you getting the hole in the coconut? Besides the menacing huge population of horny males, there live two different clans in our country if categorised on the basis of modernisation and gender equality outlook- one group, who is desperately jumping into the moving caravan of metamorphosis and the other, who perhaps wants to ride the caravan from deep inside but something hinders and they calmly watch it pass by them only to gossip about those desperate passengers later. So, till this disparity remains in India, no Rome can ever be built in a day. I’m not telling either- when in Rome, do as the Romans do!”

His Solution:-
“Once again I repeat, nothing abrupt can cure your frustration. You can shut your near ones’ mouth but can’t prevent them from peeping to someone else’s cleavage. Take it slow my friend, why to hurry? Do what you can, not what you want with your pepper spray. You can never change the thought pattern of a grown up person but you can surely mould a child’s brain. Take a pledge to guide your children or any other kid under your belt along the perfect road to maturity. Think about it and strengthen your determination to give birth to a modern India. Till then I’ll remind you of your inappropriate clothing and trouble-inviting gestures… if you call me pervert things would get easier for me… I’ll simply wake up the Indian voyeur in me… decision is solely yours! ”

Oh my God, what a bloody image of devil he is. How can he even address his modern sisters (All Indians are brothers and…) in that tone! I’ve only drawn that cartoon on the basis of what that nuts said… please don’t think that it was my opinion or anything closer to such. I’m progressive guy, always in support for trendy terms we hear of late like ‘rising India’, modernisation, liberalisation, gender equality etc even when I don’t have gray matters to read both sides of them. How does it matter if the pervert thinks me a ‘coward’ or the ‘liberal dad’ in this cartoon? I posted his view so that you whip his ass… Huh, ugly truth... my foot!

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Sniffer's Nostalgia

With around 90 billion neurons in brain we, human beings are the most polished category among other dumbheads in the planet earth when it comes to thinking, reasoning and expressing. Whether it’s towards goodness or badness, we are the ones who can go maximum, up to the point of no return. Now don’t interrupt me by telling that dogs can express themselves better when it comes to child abuse or adultery. If you raise your voice I’ll banish you from our civilised hypocrite society in charge of ‘mutinous voyeur of the millennium’. Back to my honorary jactitation, yes, we have the finest five senses- vision, hearing, smell, taste and touch. But each and every negative circumstances taking place around me reminds every second that I’m in dire period of Kali Yuga (age of downfall)! Even my pet dog Neeru challenged me the other day that he has a better sense of smell than me… think of the goddamn audacity! I couldn’t disappoint my great human ancestors who had debated till their last breathes to gain nothing. So, I confronted Neeru with the superiority of complex odour-map in my brain by virtue of which I can savour the nostalgia of sweet fragrances, rather than just sniffing around the mansion insensitively like him!

In a country like India where there’s no amenity of sunbathing on nude-beach, one needs to be a good couch potato at his home itself to time-travel and cherish his ‘sweet and sour’ nostalgias. To invalidate the saying ‘every dog has its day’ I reclined on my inherited couch and closed my eyes, careful enough not to take a deep breath (in case the toilet smell invades my nose!) dived deep into the ocean of sniffers’ nostalgia, while Neeru kept licking my shin with a sarcastic look. As I reached the bottom of the ‘ocean of nostalgia’ I found thousands of reefs of sweet fragrances responding to my memory’s wavelength … Voila! I rode on a sea-horse (if you have ever studied biology, better read it: unicorn) to poke all of them one by one and relive my old moments. A fishy-smelling mermaid appeared from nowhere and cautioned me only to poke those reefs with a sweet smell and she vanished in a jiffy before I could ask her the reason. But I decided to be watchful in the unfamiliar ocean bed. My oxygen cylinder spurred on my back to indicate its slowly falling level. Ah I was getting bit nervous… I refined my goal to only spearing those ‘reefs of smell’ which are linked to my home. Till then, the target seemed quite big with respect to my oxygen stock... Einstein was actually wrong… It’s human problem (not stupidity) which is infinite! I had to conduct a quick lottery with the help of my unicorn’s Java program to randomly select some of the best fragrances/smells in my home since the summer of 69. You can get an idea of my shortlisted target from the rich graphical representation drawn above.

After tying the knot of school tie

A confidential letter I pushed in my bag,

Watchful enough nobody had followed

But the stupid comb failed to make my hair…!

Only a smell could hasten my make up

The burnt petrol beat my mom’s nagging calls

Umm yes I knew dad was starting our vintage car!!!

In some lazy weekend noon

After my school homework done,

But scorching ground not yet ready to play,

Restlessness used to wring me dry…!

If any smell that could pacify this boy,

Oh world famous recipe of brainy Bongs

Umm yes my momma’s golden crispy fish fry!!!

Every evening after the sundown

Like a sick homeward ploughing bull

Back to home with football and muddy toes,

In a sour mood as too many pages to flick…!

If any fume that could charge the sunken soul

It had to be from granny’s worshipping room,

Umm yes I miss her butter lamp and incense stick!!!

Time gifted me the moustache

And a nuclear family of my own,

Distemper stole the soggy plaster smell,

Odourless air in flat was getting hard to bear…!

Only the aroma that swayed my heart and

Made me whistle like that long lost boy

Umm I was sure she had shampooed her hair!!!

The young man became a dad

Every day I walked on clouds,

When this little angel was born

Towards the full moon I drove my car…!

I never let you know the reason of

Million night visits to our baby’s cot,

Umm he scented better than anything best so far!!!

I was fast unicorn-riding towards the reef of ‘new school book smell’ when I felt a mild pain of a baby-shark bite. Ouch everything vanished in a millisecond like Indian Government grants for public projects! It was Neeru nibbling my foot… stupid dog. I knew he would never understand my sci-fi like Sniffer’s nostalgia… after all he was the dog and me, the master. I ruffled the wheatish fur over his neck with an ‘Alas, you’ll never get the cake!’ smile. Oh, if I don’t mention now I’ll forget, Zombipur company had sent me a sample of car perfume. Though I don’t prefer to alter the internal air of my car with any external smell, I used it just for testing and found the light citrus fragrance not quite pleasing. Though I didn’t dare to put rotten garbage inside my car (as they show in their TV commercial) and check its potential, still I’ll give it a ‘Below par’ certificate and take it off the AC vent. No not again!