|Feeling a little silly putting up my own pic
Dreamer. Chashmish. Loves make-up. Reads for pleasure. Short-haired. Short-tempered. Carelessly dressed on Sundays. Owns some gorgeous saris and loves designing her own kurtas. Impulsive. Contemplative. Can’t (or doesn’t care to) follow maps. In love with genetics and literature. Formerly in a relationship with trigonometry. Ridiculously naïve for this century. Yet trusts no one. Hates vegetables (and all things healthy) and in a complicated relationship with onions. (Still) rebellious daughter. Fiercely protective mother. Forgetful wife. Multitasker. Decent cook. Does not follow politics much. (Hence) loyal friend (also, otherwise!). Writer of horror stories. Trying to bandage broken hearts with poetry. Also sits at a work desk from time to time writing technical documents.
I am all that. And a little more. And a little less. Perfectly imperfect and imperfectly perfect. In love with every flaw I have and proud of every quality that defines me.
But I wasn’t always this (forgive me, I only jest) boastful. There have been times when I have been bitter enough about my being a woman to actually wish I was not born one. For one, nearly everything a woman does is frowned upon in this country. It could be as simple as entering a new building and asking someone where the restroom is. Why snigger? Just cos you can pee on the road if you want to? Then there are the little, yet significant things that happen at work. Like the time I did not get promoted (though I was due) cos I was pregnant. Presumptuous environments that we work in, they assumed I would either quit, or that I would not be as devoted to my role as I was before. Or when I re-joined, I was asked to start from scratch. Unfair? Yes. But what was more unfair was when I discussed this situation with a senior colleague, whose appalling response was, “Of course that’s the right thing to do! You have been away for a while. You might have forgotten how things work.” Oh I see, thank you for putting it in such delightful words.
It was pointless to argue. All I could do was move on. And that’s what I did. Today, I am in a better team, with better people and guess what! I even get more time to spend with my son. A happier environment = a happier employee at work = a happier person at home = happy mom + happy writer = happy everything (with occasional happy meals from McDonald’s!)
Oh come on! Don’t give me that look. Enjoy some junk food. Yes, it’s bad and yes all those memes and youtube videos tell you horror stories about how they mistreat hens or how they’re serving you rat meat. Remember in school when your teacher told you chewing gum was made of cow and goat bones? Urban legends. Read and get over it. What would you rather do – bite into that juicy, yummy (my keyboard is wet at this point) steak or starve yourself to fit society’s definition of “perfect”. What’s unhealthier? The occasional cheese burger or starving yourself so that your bones that look like they are the point of breaking out of your skin? You define your own perfection. Food is God. Let’s not be atheists at this point cos God sure is tasty. (I hope you don’t find that offensive, big guy).
Food reminds me – who says you’re a “proper woman” only if you can cook well. One must cook for the love of food, or for survival. Learning to cook is just great whether you are a man or a woman. Donning an apron is simply wow. But it should not be a mandate BECAUSE you are a woman. I love to cook, and I am decent enough when I want to be. But the minute you tell me “You have a job. Career-oriented woman, huh? You probably can’t cook,” you won’t ever find out if you’re right, cos I won’t be serving YOU any dinner.
Women are taught from the youngest of ages that they are somehow not up to par as their male counterparts. Ever heard a baby boy being told, “Stop crying like a girl”? If, as a woman, that does not sound derogatory to you in at least a small way, then you need to do some soul-searching. Ever heard a strong baby girl being told, “Oooh! You’re as strong as a boy!” Right, cos men are so strong that they deliver babies and all, all on their own, unlike women who can accomplish no such miraculous feats. Oh wait!
To all those who tell little girls to be as strong as a boy – here’s the thing – you’re telling your baby girl she’s inferior when she’s actually not. Why bring women up with such a mindset?
It’s truly strange too, that girls look up to their moms and wanna be like them, but boys never wanna be like their moms. No matter how much they love their moms, they just wanna grow up to be “men”.
Women are strong and delicate. I am strong and delicate. You are strong and delicate. You and I are all that AND MORE.
-Here’s me, reporting live from the blogosphere, writing this post and convincing a three year old that 10 pm is an appropriate time to put away the toys for the day. Hair has been pulled in retaliation by said three year old, and an attack on the keyboard ensued. Little boy has been pacified and put to bed, and I am hitting Publish. With a smile – dedicated to all moms, daughters, granddaughters, chefs, doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers, Catwoman, Superwoman, Juliet, Princess Leia, Laila, bold, shy, whathaveyou! Because you, sweethearts, are all that and more.