On marriage, dowry, blogging etc…
This morning, I came across a new blog. Delighted to discover a blog I had never read before, I scrolled down and what do I see? A letter from a “concerned” mother. Before reading this riposte to the mother, I suggest you read the letter itself. This strikes me as wrong at so many levels that I do not know where to begin. First things first, the mother blaming a blog for her daughter’s attitude is a bit much. She says she spent sleepless nights agonizing over the fact that her daughter of “marriageable” age was spending time reading Tbg’s blog! I mean, what the hell? So what? Is this a case of passing the buck?
However, the letter brings up more fundamental, social issues that must be addressed. First, she refers to her daughter as being of “marriageable age”. Now, is there no other identity for that poor girl, except that she is of marriageable age? And that brings me to my point. What is marriageable age anyway? To me, marriage is a commitment. It is not about the wedding ceremony, the money or even the house and the car. It is about wanting to spend the rest of your life with someone. And to get married simply because you are of a certain age, and not because there is someone out there with whom you really want to grow old, is a crazy notion. I am 28. My parents are retired. They want me to get married too. But not because I am 28 and it’s time for me to get married, but because they want me to be happy with whoever I am going to be married to. If that person takes a few more years to surface, so be it. I do appreciate her concerns when she says that they need to get her married before they retire. Money is definitely an issue once they are retired and it will not be so easy to get her married after that. But does that mean you push her away to the next person who comes along? Whatever happened to compatibility and all?
Second, she says that her daughter finds something wrong with every person she meets. I am extremely sorry to admit it, but it’s true that very few men are actually marriage-material. In the past year, I have met about half a dozen men. All potential grooms. But, each has some problem. One was commitment-phobic, the next was insecure about himself and my intelligence, the third only wanted a singer-wife, and not necessarily in that order. You can’t settle for someone simply because he wants to get married to you can you? If the daughter says no, I am pretty sure there is a valid reason for it. And the mother must try and understand why things are the way they are.
Third, and nobody seems to have pointed this out. The father dumps the blame on the mother. “She is your daughter. Explain!” So, she is your daughter when there is a problem but his daughter when she gets that big, fat pay cheque? Convenient excuse this! Does the mother really want a man who would pass the buck and blame his wife for something that should actually be shared responsibility? What kind of message are you sending to your daughter? That she must settle for a husband who will only claim ownership/responsibility for successes and not for problems?
Fourth, this attitude that women must adjust with husband and in-laws come what may, is total crap! Adjustment is required in any relationship, but it must be mutual. And we must understand that adjustment is different from compromise. You can adjust about the food, the mattress or the TV, but you cannot, and indeed, must not compromise on basic value systems and equality within a relationship. Why do so many families bring up their daughters telling them they are better off miserable in their in-laws’ place than happy in their own homes? Being a woman does not mean sacrifice or being willing to do so. Being a woman means being loved and cherished for being you, being respected like you would respect the other, being treated no differently because of your gender. Why can mothers not get this simple fact? Why do we have to martyrize our daughters just because our society expects them to be all-giving and all forgiving? I just don’t get it.
In the midst of all these accusations, the personalized attack on Tbg (which seems to have escaped unnoticed as well) is unforgivable. Whether Tbg is married or not, happy or not, has angels or demons for in-laws is irrelevant to the current discussion. I think someone should teach people to disagree without insulting.
And finally, the daughter’s demands don’t seem all that unreasonable. She wants a man who will stand by her, allow her to be herself, not ask for dowry and agree to a relatively simple marriage. I am sure such men exist. This is the basic minimum any self-respecting woman will ask for. As for dowry, any man who asks for one or condones his parents’ demands deserves to be castrated (ok…am getting a bit carried away…but still!) for his attitude. A man should want to marry this lady’s daughter and not the money, the car and the house she will bring along! Is it such a bad thing?
But as Tbg points out, this lady has been adjusting (even compromising) with an unhelpful husband and in-laws for 27 years. Does she not wants things to be different for her daughter? Or does she, like so many other mothers, think their duties are over as soon as the daughter is married off? What about the rest of her life? Is it ok that she be asked to compromise and adjust with someone or the other for the next 40 years? I don’t understand why we are so obsessed with our daughters getting and staying married that we lose sight of the real goal: happiness. I am not a mother, but I am a daughter, arguably of “marriageable” age! I do want to get married, find that special someone to grow old with, have children and a family of my own. But, all this cannot and must not be achieved at the cost of my self-esteem, my independence and my career. Happiness is not a destination, it is a journey. And for that journey to be comfortable, we must allow our daughters to first be comfortable in their own skin and not expect them to live up to the expectations that this society has from us! We’re are in the 21st century and it’s time we started behaving that way!
Memories…
…are dicey things. Sometimes, they are delightful, making us happy and content. And at other times, we desperately wish to forget and move on. Yet, we can’t really really forget instances that are sometimes branded in our minds like a hot iron rod. Sometimes, I wish I could turn the clock back to two weeks ago, when she was still alive and well. Sometimes, I wish I could reverse the happenings of the last two weeks and pretend it never happened. Sometimes irrationally, I wish I could bring her back so she can spend just a few more months with me. It’s been two weeks now that my grandmother, one who I called Amma till her last breath suddenly decided she had enough of all of us and went away, so far that she cannot ever come back. Although I have lost someone very special before, it did not hit me with as much force as this loss has. Maybe when Nandini died, I was younger and stronger. Or maybe it is because I never ever imagined I would have to face a world without her to run to for comfort.
In the past weeks, I have tried verbalizing my loss to family and friends. Tried telling them that she was my mother in every sense of the word, except that biologically, she was my grandmother. She fed me, nurtured me, scolded me, pampered me and even blamed me sometimes when things went wrong. I wouldn’t call her my second mother. In many ways, she was my first mother. Before I was old enough to understand that behind my mother’s tough exterior was a genuine love for her child. My earliest memories of Amma involve wailing and crying that she was going away somewhere without me. As a child of five, I couldn’t imagine spending a single day away from her. My parents were free to go where they wanted. As long as Amma was around to take care of me, I would wave a happy goodbye to my parents. Those memories have suddenly turned from delightful to bittersweet. Never did I imagine even 15 days ago, that very soon I would have to face the prospect of spending the rest of my life without her constant and reassuring presence. My last conversation with her was on a Saturday 2 weeks ago. I called her from the car showroom to tell her I had booked a car. I will never forget her delight at hearing the news. Neither will I forget her promise that she will take that first ride with me in my brand new car. That was not to be. Barely 4 days later, she decided that the knowledge that I was buying a car was enough happiness for her, and passed on quietly. And totally without warning.
I am perhaps being completely incoherent right now. But, while my mind accepts that at the age of 75, she was bound to go some day, my heart still yearns for her presence. I now wish I had been just a little more patient at her constant badgering about the house, the car, my finances, my marriage and everything else she deemed important at any given point. I now wish I hadn’t brushed off her concerns quite so callously and at least taken the time to explain why things had to be the way they were. I am certain she knew how much she meant to me, but I now wish I had told her at least once in her life that she was not just my grandmother, she was my mother. People tell me that I should be thankful that she felt no pain, no suffering. I know that. My mind accepts that a painless and quick parting is much kinder than a long-draw, painful one. I know, rationally speaking, that this is how she wanted to go. Without pain or suffering. I also know that no matter what happens to the soul after death, I still have her blessings and all the love she has to bestow on her beloved grandchildren. And yet, the heart refuses to accept that she is actually gone. Irretrievably.
I know that this will perhaps make no difference to her. But it does make a difference to me to say this. She was the best grandmother any child could have hoped for. I know that all I have left of her are my memories of her to carry through my life. But loved, she was. By each of us. All of us. I choose to write about it because this is the only way I know to pay a tribute to someone who meant the world to me. And the best tribute I can possibly pay her is a promise that I will be happy. Just the way she wanted me to be.
A particularly pointless post…
What’s with Tamil cinema? No, let me correct myself! What’s with B-grade Tamil cinema? Most of them are stupid love stories made with unrecognizable actors with totally contrived situations and even more contrived fight sequences! Like the one that was playing some time back on Jaya TV. Hero and heroine are in love, but they have never seen each other. They run around the city playing hide and seek before landing up on the same train. The minute they see each other, they hug and kiss and live happily every after! And before you ask, I didn’t waste time watching. You know the entire plot in less than 45 seconds of the climax scene. That way, I must admit the story is conveyed with incredible effectiveness! Change channel, one more love story with an equally nonsensical storyline. Boy meets girl and falls for her. Girl’s father is the villain. You see, he wants the boy to first get a job and then ask for his daughter! Oh the scandal! After much argument, tears, running away, coming back “Kaathalukku Mariyaathai” style…dad says ok! And they live happily ever after!
No matter how many times you change channels and to which language, you’re met with much the same bullshit masquerading as love stories. Makes Mills and Boon romances seem like they deserve the Man Booker! Oh! You don’t know what they are? Good for you! Means you’ve never been corrupted by impossibly perfect heroes and heroines. Practically every Mills and Boon has the same plot, and the same set of characters. Just the names and places change. Let me enlighten you! Heroes are always tall, dark and handsome. They are dashing princes of a feudal era, or self-made millionaires, or hotshot executives. They are uniformly over 6 feet in height with straight dark hair and a regal demeanour. And did I tell you they are also sensitive, amazing cooks, don’t mind babysitting and changing diapers? C’mon! Of course it’s not possible! But you’re supposed to suspend disbelief people! Who asked you to use your brains? That’s meant for lesser mortals!
Oh! The heroine? Sure…here we go! She is not more than a couple of inches above five feet in height. You see, our publishers seem to have a problem with tall heroines? Perhaps they are too intimidating? They have jobs of course! A secretary, or a clerk or maybe, if she is particularly talented, a receptionist. She is shy…terrified more like! Of the hero of course. He’s Mr. Perfect after all. Demure, submissive and whatnot! She may or may not be dumb. But if she really is intelligent, she never uses it against her man. You see…we want our women to be traditional, yet modern!
The plot is quite simple really! Complexity is too difficult for our minds to grasp. Boy meets girl. They hate each other at first sight. After much fighting, the heroine trips over (or meets with an accident, or chips a nail) and hurts herself. And our dear Mr. Perfect is around to nurse her back to health! Now, what stupid woman wouldn’t want a man to wait on her hand and foot? Hell! I would! I’d even feign illness so he pampers me! And bingo! They fall in love. About 50 pages later (overcoming obstacles posed by jealous ex-lover, villain of an uncle, inheritance, etc etc.) they walk into the sunset holding hands!
And what happens after that? Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! It’s a romance novel dammit! Not a tragedy!
Assorted thoughts…
I finished read “The Reluctant Fundamentalist” by Mohsin Hamid a few days ago. Okay-ish story, interesting style, but the character seems to lack depth. I am not very convinced about why he decided to turn anti-America. Was it because his girlfriend (was she ever that?) was too enamoured with her dead ex to be truly his girlfriend? Or was it because of the situation back home? Or maybe because he suddenly faced suspicion despite his American demeanour, his wine-drinking ways and his Princeton education? I don’t have the answers. It’s just that the book didn’t manage to touch my heart.
Sticking to the books, I am now reading “P.S. I Love You.” Mushy, depressing and ultra-romantic. Doesn’t quite sit well with my current mood. But, I’ll hold my judgement until I finish the book!
Over the past week, my thoughts have swung rather wildly from philosophy to literature to cinema to pointless pondering. One such pointless pondering involves a bit of introspection. Why do we, as human beings, constantly seeks acceptance and approval from others to simply be ourselves? Yeah! I am talking about myself. Guilty as charged! Ever ready to say sorry just to avoid conflict, wanting to please all and sundry despite being possibly the most unpredictable person on the planet and feeling miserable about not being able to live up to expectations, I understand now that I have hurt myself more than others have hurt me.
Someone told me about 10 days ago that my only flaw of character was that was overly emotional. He said that if I learnt to control my emotions and not allow them to rule over my rather intelligent brain, I would be a better person. I argued at that point that he was wrong, that emotions were good and that they made me human. But 10 days on, I wonder if he was right. Maybe…just maybe, I need to learn to be more practical and pragmatic rather than emotional and impulsive. Maybe I need to feel more confident about myself and tell people to go to hell if they didn’t like me for who I was. Just maybe. And maybe, like he said…there was really nothing wrong with me apart from being hypersensitive and emotional.
I’ve been trying, over the past week to be less emotional. In the past, I have shed tears that I now realize were entirely unnecessary. I realize that those tears, however justified, conveyed that I was weak and made people take me for granted. But today, I make this solemn promise to myself: I refuse to live life by someone else’s expectations. I refuse to be burdened by those ideals that someone else has of a perfect woman. I also refuse to be compared in any way with anyone who is not me, no matter how perfect the person may be! I promise myself that I will just be me!
The Immortals of Meluha – A Review
Despite strong recommendation, I almost passed up this book at Odyssey the other day. You see, I have a problem with book recommendations. The last time I listened to someone, the book turned out to be a waste of my precious 300 rupees! So, I took every book on the list Praveen sent me with a pinch of salt. I picked each up, carefully read the blurb, then a couple of pages and then decided to buy…or not! But my! What a book this one turned out to be! It’s after a very long time that a book has delighted me the way this one has managed to. So much so that I have actually decided to write a review! This is perhaps the first time I am writing a review of a book, since book reviews have always reminded me of that horrible time in school when the librarian would insist we write one for the books we borrowed during the weekly library hour. I hated the chore and invariably copied the blurb down, like everyone else, even if I had actually read the book. But this time, reviewing is straight from the heart.
The story starts at the Mansarovar lake at the foot of Mount Kailash, and depicts Shiva staring thoughtfully at the orange sky. The first few pages, his conversations with his best friend Bhadra, his confusion about the right path, his determination to do his best, whatever that might lead to…all of these immediately appeal to your senses. Actually, the idea of a God being nothing more than a common human with common flaws, is quite delightful. I have spoken of my discomfort with the deification of Ram before, but in this book there is nothing of the perfection that we tend to so commonly associate with a God. If anything, Shiva is a normal man, not even a perfect one. He is an average Indian male with his share of insecurities, his problems, his fears… yes, his love for Sati, his desire to get her, and even his mischievous sense of humour, often laced with a subtle sexuality (oh! the scandal!) and a clear-thinking, rational mind. As a reader, I couldn’t help falling in love with him simply because he is so normal. As someone who is tired of perfection in Gods, this book was a total delight! The first of a trilogy, you don’t see Shiva as the God of Gods. You see him as a man, a passionate lover, a perfect dancer, a fierce warrior, an expert swordsman and a fair and honest human being. In fact, he even has a troubled past: as someone who ran away from a call for help!
The second character that appeals in the book is, undoubtedly, Sati. Forced to be an outcast for no fault of hers, she silently bears her fate with a certain stoicism. But, there is nothing resigned about her demeanour. She struggles to contain her attraction to, and eventually love for Shiva. She fights to retain the delicate balance between passion and duty. She is an extraordinarily beautiful woman, well-read, compassionate, a consummate dancer and an expert warrior in her own right. Anything Shiva can do, Sati can do better! Except, as the legend goes, dance. There is even a reference to the legend with Shiva offering to teach Sati dance.
Then there are the Chandravanshis, painted from the outset as a vile race, ready to consort even with the wretched, sub-human Nagas for victory. The vision we have of them at the end of the book, however, is completely different. They are the very antithesis of the Suryavanshis: their motto being: Shringar, Saundarya, Swatantrata as against Satya, Dharma, Maan of the Suryavanshis. The passion of the Chandravanshis, their temperamental nature, their confidence about their sexuality; all of these contrast sharply with the somewhat prudish, rule-obsessed and extremely disciplined Suryavanshis. Together, they form the Yin and the Yang, the heart and the mind, the masculine and the feminine. Each of the characters, while drawing heavily on mythology, is also a complete human in his/her right. Each has his flaws, his problems, his strength and his weaknesses. And the author stays faithful to the original myth, while still managing to make his characters look believable.
The book is definitely a page-turner, written as it is, in the manner of a thriller. No high-brow stuff, thank you very much. The author sticks to simple English and does not try to cater to an elite audience. This simplicity of narration is perhaps the strength of the book. It managed to catch your attention without descending to the level of pulp fiction. He manages to tackle the complex concepts of divinity and duality, of Dvaita and Advaita in simple terms. Our hero comes across as someone who believes in action rather than in obtuse philosophy, while still appearing extremely intelligent. In fact, in several instances, Shiva ribs the Suryavanshis and their priests, asking if they never talk in simple terms, if they always believe in talking in riddles!
The plot is simple, and the author seems to have made a conscious effort to keep it that way, shedding all the flab that mythological stories inevitably accumulate over the years. There is a sense of coherence in the plot, even for someone who grew up listening to the sanitized, TamBrahm version of Hinduism where every God had to be perfect and where there was no room for vices such as anger, fear, desire, or lust. Also, there is a certain lightness about the tone of narration and you chuckle with a quiet delight when the Chandravanshi king responds to the Suryavanshi request to hand over the terrorists in a letter through an emissary. “Please accept my deep condolences for the dastardly attack on Mount Mandar,” he says. Denying that he has any role to play in the attacks, he offers every help possible to investigate the case and help in bringing the criminals to justice. At this point, you are so sure that the vile Chandravanshis are the terrorists, that you can’t help remember our neighbours’ being charitable and offering to investigate the Mumbai attacks!
If you like Indian mythology, but are not so religious or dogmatic that you would object to humanizing a God, you should probably read this book. At the end of the book, you may not be as devoted a follower of Shiva as you used to be, but you will certainly see in him a friend, a philosopher, a fantastic dancer and perhaps even a man as near to perfection as one is likely to find in a real world! Definitely recommended, even if it is only as light reading.