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Thursday, 12 March 2015

"Happiness" seems a forlorn word for the real women

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The irony of Indian women....and we celebrate yet another year.

As I woke up, I peeped on to my social media sites, messages snooped out from here and there, flowers, chocolates, sugar coated words and verbal intonation soused in liberal ideologies.
Impressed, delighted to at least read some of those beautiful quotes which spoke of “freedom” “liberty” and “free expressions”......"Happy Women’s" day it was.

I jump off my bed, analyzing many things, right wrong, justified, logical, rational. Well to start off I begin with my own and there all corners, inspecting, scrutinizing, examining many events of my own life, life around me, life encompassing my neighborhood and the spat of events that has hurdled our sentiments since few days.

But leaving every memory into that bin bag, I gather all my positivity to drool over the facts that yes “It’s a day to celebrate womanhood.” Being a woman meant lot more than having a body, being webbed as a stereotyped entity and analyzing about the real identity...
Mixed feelings banged my mind... but still had a lot of positive speck. The bell rings, I rush to open the door. There she stood, eyes rummaged, vision astray, expressions haywire....she glanced my eyes; forced hers down and there she went hurriedly with her chores. I took up the courage to ask her drifting away from my so called enlightened views, idealism and the so called thoughts which ran down my mind since morning to ask her “What happened, why you look so pale?”

She managed to clasp her guts and words started pouring incoherent, incessant just as those droplets, I had to console her every time words came out, I was listening to her, every word was pain infested, piercing into the heart, she narrated the whole event which has been stabbing her every day, every moment, the pain, the agony bursted but the remedy...... did I have it? 

Nita is a domestic help and she had been living and managing her house, looking after her children. Her daughters have been a blessing to her, helping her in every way but as the son is growing, she faces a typical crisis which is not a very uncommon phenomenon in urban and rural India among a massive population deprived of education and social status. The son is a drop out, a teenager, now when he has reached his puberty, all he indulges is in alcohol, gambling, unscrupulous company and the left over slots are saved for throwing banters, jesting, cribbing about the appalling condition he lives in, his wretched upbringing, and his sheer frustrations which grip him from here and there. 

The outcome-Evening lurches in the lanes, filthy words, lousy screams, bottles playing hide and seek, smoke hovering inside one room, the nights can be worse when the husband consumes poison just to abate the daily soap.

Sanity  does not wander in their household, everyday it’s a battle ground, every moment a ransacked zone, hearts crippled, mind shattered and that a human trait?
There I stand, my words did not find the right expressions to calm her bruised self, my rational mind was strolling in a no zone area and I really could not trace a tangible solution at that moment.
Last month Geeta had narrated a similar tale.....

I stood there bashing her son, the socio-economic structure, the governmental policies and our whole thought process verbally  and told that yes I would contact an NGO to help her son or with rehabilitation.

But I was there numb, quiet, unmoved, moved and there she was putting all those scattered pieces of things lying here and there, making our home a happy place. Did she ever hear about “Women's Day” or “Did she ever know what a happy home and a happy family meant?”...leave aside other things. The irony of Indian women....and we celebrate yet another year.

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