If for a day ...

Being a woman is quite a task. Her mind is restless and is constantly in search of a fulfillment which allures her. But then there is this role, which she is expected to uphold in all her relationships and thoughts. If for a day I am free of my restraints -- the mangalsutra on my neck, my son's innocent breath on my bosom, my parents dignity, the integrity my profession demands of and all that -- If only for a day I am freed of all these, what would I do..

I have wild passion submerged deep within me- passion for love, passion for being loved, passion for being touched in ways like never before,  passion for happiness, passion for intense orgasmic adventures and passion for being the real sensual woman I am deep within. I would want to explore all of these.

I love being loved. I love the romance coming out of me, with a soft look or touch. I love to hold his hand and sit next to him on a bench overlooking the sea, I do not want the security of a handbag between us on the bench. I love to blush as he looks at me and then my cheeks turning pale as he sings me those lines .. Manithar unarnnu kolkai, ithu manithar kaathal allai, Athaiyum thaandi punithamaanathu ...I love to be a child in his hug, a woman when his face presses into my falling hair. It maybe the momentary passion that drives me yearn for all these.But these are my thoughts I crush down to the bottom of my heart, and not allowing to surface.  What is wrong in all these, I wonder.  Living for myself is the ultimate truth I evade from.

Commitment is a fake word. I too wear it as a vermilion, as an 'I love you' and 'I am yours' as a routine. If I can think of only one man in my dreams, it has to be a natural trait. It shouldn't be that I stop thinking of a man because I am committed to another. Who said there is the rule of monogamy in love and passion. An honest person may be the most 'immoral' one and the happiest too. If I am true to myself, why should I feel guilty at all. The more I try to meet the moral standards, the more fake and pervert I am turning out to be.

I hate hurting anyone, let alone the one I love. But is not my fake commitment worse than the hurt it costs to keep me true to myself.

I am the biggest fake, I have ever known.
And they say I am a woman !

Buzz

I tried to escape under the guise of confused emotions, hence the silence so far..

The issue is complex and not just a matter of inserting a penis into a vagina, forcefully. (That by no means is meant to imply anything less heinous)

Rape is the tip of the iceberg. It is the ultimate volcanic manifestation of matters churning for a long time, in a very wrong way.  Where did the men go wrong, or probably all men and women went wrong? If women are seen as objects of sexual gratification, the stigma is not on them alone, but on you and me, as well.  

Is it lust that lifts up the male flesh so unconditionally or is it the reckless show of power (which men and women believe) that men have over women, or is it the frustrated outbursts of the deprived men, the envy arising at the sight of what they can’t afford to ‘own’? Whatever it may be, it is definitely about emotional and sexual illiteracy.

The occurrence of rape being so frequent, and with increasing brutality, sheer detesting and the hue and cry we raise is insufficient. This is an age old problem which needs a solution, a cure, preventive as well as punitive.

The causes, I think, are centered on the position attributed to women generally and the sick lust outbursts.

This is what I have learnt. Both my parents were holding jobs. Mommy would do all the cooking and cleaning and home keeping and caring as well. Achan would read newspaper in the morning, when mommy serves him tea. When all of us sit for dinner, and if someone needs a pinch of salt or a glass of water, a spoon or anything, mommy would rise and would get it from kitchen.  Today both of them have crossed 70 and they still continue the same. Mommy had told me many times that I should learn to make home, as I should ‘go’ to ‘another house’. My brothers were not told or expected to. I had swept the floor, mopped, washed vessels, done dusting and cleaning. I have not seen my two brothers ever doing these. They still don’t do.

This is what I attempt to unlearn. I do tremendously less home making than what my mom used to do. Many times, my husband and I cook together after returning from work. But many more times I cook alone after both of us returning together. And there are so many small errands and roles which are deemed to be suited for me to perform, because I am the SHE in the house. Not that it is imposed on me, but by natural or trained instinct, I do all that or rather I am expected to do. But I thoughtfully am bringing in a change now, because I am afraid my son would carry forward the same lessons as me. To a casual observer/reader these are of no implications or relevance. But as a woman, I understand that it is highly relevant that women are men are equal in all aspects, as far as dignity is concerned. There is no need to stereotype any role to anyone. Small little things add up to a BIG attitude. I have decided to spare my son of that. But for this, I need my husband’s cooperation as well. The respect he gives me in words and deeds and even by a small demeanor carves my son’s outlook on women. More so, I should uphold my self-respect, even at the cost of a momentary breach of peace at home.

Movies play a significant role in shaping attitudes, specially about women. How many times have we heard that hero’s romantic dialogue, that “you are my girl. I want you to give birth to my children, cook for me and wait for me to kiss and make love”. How many times we have repeated that kingly line: “After all you are a woman, a mere woman.”  Once when he told me teasingly that “I will rape you , you are so tempting” as I kidded and wooed him away, I laughed in stupid glee. But I understand now that, ‘Rape’ is not a four letter word to be used in fun. It is a generation of insolence.

The grave aspect of lust is to be addressed even more delicately. Sexuality and sexual urge is very human. Our society allows sex only in the auspices of wedlock. And marriage is a luxury, not affordable to many due to lack of funds and wrong stellar configuration. So what is being suppressed is their biological need and urge. To add to this menace, sex illiteracy is of such a level that orientations are developed through the filthy magazine pages and pornographic movies. It is not that I wouldn’t have liked to see porn at an appropriate age and mood. But it is about the incest, rape, seduction and such farting foreplay that mould the sexual make up of many. So censor board scissors are to slice away not the nudity and the sexual intercourse, but the impermissible violations on humanity. Not to touch a person’s body without his/her permission, that too for sexual purpose, is morality. Not to demean a human being on the ground of being a woman, is morality. This is the morality we should learn and help learn.

Let there be free sex between consenting adults. Get rid of the virginity taboo. Let prostitution be legalized, as long as it is not trafficking. Let loyalty be an issue only between committed couples. If all of these are too much for a cultured Indian to swallow, let the possibilities in masturbation be explored and made popular, open and acceptable to quench one’s own self. Let sex toys be developed, well-advertised and made acceptable. Let a man not chase and pounce on another for sex.

Are the women vulnerable because of the way they dress? I do not believe so. I had been a member of a quasi-judicial body, where I saw that a woman in her fifties, who doesn’t look anything but a thin unattractive body clad in a sari, was raped at her workplace. There was no enmity between her and the accused, or any friendship. It was a mere case of a man’s lust over a body which has a hole to insert his penis. Such men are sick. And arrogant. This tendency needs to be curbed by stringent penalty. Deterrent theory helps, when all other fail.

It is true that visuals of a woman’s body arouses sexual instincts not only in men, but also in women. This is exactly the reason why women are scarcely clad in sex focused scenes. But it is a matter of choice for the woman, to decide whether men should find her sexy or respectful or both and dress and behave accordingly. But that definitely doesn’t mean that a woman gives a man a choice to rape or not to rape her, by the way she dresses.  However in a world where a man has to rape a woman, when he feels so, it is better not to draw his attention and make oneself vulnerable. Exactly like how we avoid red colour before a nasty bull. But this is not because a woman is at fault in choosing her clothes. It is because, some men are weak and in their weakness crumbles a woman’s safety, sad is the state.

True Lies

I have heard it being said that a woman’s mind is a maze of mysteries. Though I hesitate to generalize, I know very well that mine is and I am a hell of a woman. I can be loyal to the core and be disloyal too in some corner of my mind. My thoughts turn to a shuffle mode, at a pace, not reachable to my better half. Inspite of all the dependency I am used to, I am detached from all, and many times I feel that I can survive, no matter who leaves me. And yet I say, ‘I cannot live without you”. I am honest and I do lie honestly, because I mean what I say, when I say. It is like a multiple personality disorder or a heavy dose of inherent pretenses, transforming me to the variants I adopt.

Sexuality is my gravest complication. I believe quite selfishly that it is just my swings that count, probably because a man reciprocates almost instantly to the lustful woman. On the contrary, I would never like to yield to my man’s fancies, without that ignition in me. And very rarely when I had yielded, out of a fair and just mind, I have felt that I was degraded to an object to accentuate and culminate his lust. And I hate it later on. 

And I understand now that being in love is definitely about sex, eventually. It is either for the actual act, or the dream of unison and consummation and all the flowery love and tickling hearts, it is associated with. Would there be any lovers in this world who wouldn’t dream of brushing their bodies against each other’s? If there are, wouldn’t it be a little short of ‘in love’? So why should one glorify love by severing it from lust?

Honesty is the core of any relationship. But blissful truthfulness can happen only if people accept and understand each other, as they are. I am no exception to this menace of true lies. 

Wouldn’t there be many of us who lie to our partners, to parents, to children, to colleagues..? And are there not many of us who wouldn’t ever lie to a good friend? So friendship is more unconditional and without expectations, which doesn’t need the garb of pretenses to survive and not hurt. Wouldn’t it be lovely if all were friends.. no matter what other relationship they share? 

Seek her not !

Sita

Is just another icon

Bestowed on the second sex

By the culture, so elite and devout!

Couldn’t it be that:

Her conflicts with herself -

The ‘Ram Ravan War’?

Ram – her designed label?

Ravan – her inner thirsts?

Did not they know -

That she abandoned the remnants of Ram

In the fire she entered

And out she came, alone and liberated.

So was it not a self chosen exile

That she led in the woods so deep

In solitude- Happy, wasn’t she then,

For once in her life?

When Mother Earth

Opened up for her,

She took with her, her mysterious self

In awe, the pious stood, and still stands..

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PS: Four of us , friends, decided to write on a common theme..
Parvanam is already out.. Suma followed ..

Back to Square One!

Mine was an arranged marriage.. and it still remains an arrangement. Marriage itself is an unnatural arrangement that human mind has crafted. It kills innovation in love, the vibrancy of the hormones, that makes one's heart skip many a beats. Expecting all that thrill as I  approach my tenth year of marriage is little too much,I admit. But is it an excess to expect  more than an acquaintance level of companionship  from this blessed thing called marriage. I am reasonably aware that this is not a rarity with me alone. I do not know about the sustenance degree in love marriages, but I own a marriage not out of love but of convenience. Everything is nice and fine. I am well taken care of.. but there is this absence of love factor, which remains a vacuum for me, and a boring one too. I am alarmed at myself for all the physical intimacy, when it doesn't come from my heart. It is more of a biological, strait jacket formula of necessities. It could even be that my version of love is above all expected levels, that if I complain of lack of love, my loving spouse would just get annoyed, as if all that nest-making that he does on a daily basis, starting right from fetching milk in the morning to checking the doors at night, is in vain.. Am I asking too much, I wonder. 

So again, we had this argument, about this and that. We in fact have opposite taste in all that we do. If I like the left window pane to be slid open, he insists on the right. And all the rest too goes just like that! This time I was angry, quite unlike me, who wonders whether it is the lack of self respect or my extreme self confidence that makes me go after him, pamper him, apologize,tease or do whatever whatever like a pet puppy and make him get rid of his anger cum irritation which most instantly forms against me for the slightest of no-reason. Enough is enough, this time I am gonna be adamant, and will make him earn love from me, not the 'open the tap and you get it' mode. When I tried calling him, he didnt take my call, for so long.. I enjoyed re dialling, keeping on the speaker mode and munching goodies. Pressing the flash, and then the redial button became like a game. And after half an hour of this activity, his made up - stubborn voice fell on my ear.  I had forgotten my 'in anger framed utterances', I felt a lump in my throat, and I pleaded with him softly that I cant bear this fight even for a minute, I want it set right the very moment. He sounded pleased. The phone was cradled and I was like, damn!!! again its HER over ME! But I confess I felt happy. I am happy when I give in and most frustrated when I hold up. No wonder I call myself a woman, a proud one too. 

Hide n' Seek

I am playing hide and seek with me, alternating between what I am and what I ought to be. I hide and then I seek me out. That is what has always been happening in my life. I seek love, companionship, romance and laughter. And I guess I was wrong in expecting it out of marriage. I am not sure whether I expected anything at all, marriage just happened. I wanted to marry, and I married the man who was forwarded to me through proper channel via parents and of course there was no compulsion, I decided out of free will and mind. I weighed very practically the convenience in marriage, and it turned out to exactly what I had foreseen it to be. So there is in fact nothing for me to be disappointed of. For the great positives I had opted for in him, I had to take in the variance with my 'ism's too. And I was discreetly proud that I took it fairly well and with full of charm, enthusiasm, laughter and humour. There were many who had asked me with surprise, how I could be so cheerful always and content too.. And it was'nt a pretension, I was! And I wasnt too! It is complicated,  like a spider's web, you touch one strand and it sends shivers all throughout..

Internet has been a great way of letting loose the unruly horse in me, and I gained quite many friends, who saw the brighter side of me, the mirror image I would design for me to admire on, and swell with pride.. But my online time went beyond all leaps and bounds, and for the first time in the last nine years , my husband effectively scolded me for my lack of attention at home, and my internet plunge. He even said that he knows there is something else too, which makes me glued here. It was all true. Seeing that my peace is at risk, I withdrew to a shell, kept away from my laptop, played the mother role 'better' by making my son learn spelling and math.. I became a damn stupid mother, I tell you..

I am fed up of being good. I am tired seeing dry, the stream of love which flowed abundantly on my mind's shores.. I am bored of playing a 'good home woman', and a silent one. He is irritated too seeing the rebel in me. I have decided. I am going to just peel off that sad face, do all I want to do, and what I ought to do. I will not longer be a neglectful mother or wife. And that doesnt mean, I pawn my soul, my thoughts.. how the hell some people can think that happiness is all about just looking at your cleaned house, the hugging and kissing at dark hours, and being a goodie. Well I am not that. I am just gonna be what I am! And no one will seek me out  this time, I will be tactful, after all I am a woman. And dont you dare call it a pretense! Its genuinely believing in what you do at every moment. It is just that it is transient and not 24x7. 

Chastity Sucks!

I wish I could be the person, a reader may assume me to be, from my true to heart posts here. But when it comes to materializing my dreams, fantasies and wishes, I am a moron. I stop abruptly gazing at the possibilities, and I am pulled back by unseen strands.

For me, passion in love is one thing and marriage is another thing. Just because I am married doesn’t stop my mind from falling in love, conversing with a man dear to me, enjoying the company of the man who makes me feel beautiful in love, to dream of being with him, holding his hands, leaning on his shoulder, and all that one could romanticize about. I had done all of these in deliberate designed dreams.  And there have been times when I yearned for making love, in love. Not merely for the sexual pleasure it may fetch, but to feel and see how I would be loved, in a tender passionate way, like never before.

Inspite of all these adventures, when I am with my husband, I believe sincerely that I am honest to him. I do love him, though I am not in love with him. I do not wish to trade him for anyone else, for the rest of my life, even if God appears and gives me a boon. Do I have a multiple personality disorder? I wonder! How can I transform so easily to each situation and believing myself to be genuine in both. I hold (shamelessly) no doubt of my sincerity.

And the worst part is that when my passion of togetherness surf on high tides, I wish I had a safe opportunity of courtship. But when such an opportunity peeps from a foreseeable distance, I withdraw to my turtle shell. I put my limbs and neck inside and hide my face into my chest. From there, when I imagine about the manifestation of dreams shared, a detachment dawns on me. I realize I cannot be physically intimate with any man outside wedlock. I realize I cannot do clandestinely anything more than a phone call or a chat or a coffee. Even if no soul will ever come to know of what I may venture on, I still cannot. What is it that holds me back? Chastity Sucks!

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 Epilogue: Is not mind more divine than body? If so, why is it that I am unable to merge my body with whom I find pleasure sharing my mind, thoughts and dreams? I justify my astray- strides by believing that I had not vowed to surrender my mind and its spaces to any one, by whatever sacred knot it may be. Does that mean that I had vowed to preserve with sanctity , my physical body which ages with age, and which is finally to be eaten by flames? 

Moushi

 At 9.40 am, I want a tea. Moushi has got me used to this habit. And for the last ten years she has been serving me tea the same time, without fail. I do not know her language and she does not know mine. We converse well , in our own syllable. She wears sari like a dhoti, the traditional way, walks 4 km to work and same distance back home. I think she was supporting a family of eight. She is fair complexioned, wrinkled face and arms. She wears a shy smile, if we look straight into her. She mutters and grumbles and scolds, if we don’t have our tea on time. Moushi is an inseparable part of the building and the premises. I always felt she was a woman zoomed out of an unread novel !

But she is so male biased, she would always give the first cup of tea to Pramay , and the best tea cup is meant for him. She does not mind crossing her hands and switching the ‘right’ tea cup to him, when I sit on the ‘wrong’ side. Maybe she felt him more like a son, and must have been a ‘son - fond of mom’. After her son died of excessive drinking, she never was the same. She aged ten years in just the last two months. She became so weak that she could not carry the tea tray and the thermos.

Yesterday I went to see her in her house for the first time. When the garland was put on her body, I looked at her face. She is not Moushi, atleast doesn’t look like her at all. But they say she died yesterday morning and that was her. I looked blankly at the woman and left.

.. the grumbling, muttering Moushi , her shy smile, sari, wrinkled hands and the sound of her worn out chappals, in my mind. She is one of those people who will stay forever in my memory.

To be or not to be

I don’t drive or rather I can’t drive. It is a great handicap for me, as I got used to depending on my husband for my mobility, and many often he doesn’t do it very happily. I am at wrong, I should say, for not  keeping to the agreed time thereby making him wait for two to five minutes (at times, even  up to ten) outside my college or university.

Two weeks back we had an argument regarding the same old story of me being late, and for once my mind rebelled. I was adamant and determined no more to depend on him for my comings and goings. With that sheer will, I boarded a bus and searched around for a place to sit. My eyes fell on an elderly woman, a ‘ senior citizen’, as Government calls them. She was hesitating for a moment whether to remove her bag from the seat and move a little to give me room, or just keep to her convenience. She looked at me too, and then Oh My it was Anabel! .. a good person whom I’ve lost in touch with years back. She too recognized me and made me sit after a hug.

 I was looking at her face again, partly listening to what she was saying and alternatively deciphering more about what her eyes conveyed and the efforts her facial muscles  and sophisticated lip movements were taking to display a show of content, which was obviously absent in her. She remains a spinster, and at her age..she must be in her mid sixties.. she is insecure, alone and in want – of companionship, love, care, social recognition, a family, something to keep her occupied. She is fighting a long standing litigation to “regain her lost property” and engages in social activity to keep herself busy. She associates with NGOs  and is ‘admiringly’ working for the anti corruption campaign motivated by the Anna Hazare.

( I don’t approve many of these NGOs whom I have met.. there may be better ones I am yet to meet.. I feel they have a closed mind and adamant commitment to causes, and each of them seem to have a personal worry to crush and cover underneath the solemn vow. I feel they are escapists, many of these small scale social activists and the nuns too)

I wondered if it is Anabel’s unmarried status which makes her appear so insecure. Even though I was sure of my perception, just to keep myself open to options, I even wondered- is it that I (the stupid society) just perceive this susceptibility of the unmarried, because of my(our) set prejudices.

Is it necessary that a person should marry? Of course it is a matter of personal choice. But as a woman I am in favour of marriage despite the much acclaimed adjective of a ‘necessary evil’. It isn’t evil at all. It is good to be married. Not that marriage is about being in love, not that marriage is always about being cared for, not that marriage makes one happy, it still is good. Only condition being, you should know to make yourself happy in marriage.

I continued my silence at home and my bus trips, with lot of agitation in my mind, deciding not to break the ice, not to give up atleast for this one time, not to give my love free from now, thinking 'let him earn my love' and much more. After a couple of days, he told me in the morning – “Come, let me drop you to college”. I refused with all that air of dignity  continued by a stiff few this and that from both sides. With my face all blown up with hurt, pride and something else, I opened the door to leave and then I turned back and kissed him on his cheeks and said “you don’t love me at all… blah blah blah” .. tears shamelessly rolling down my powdered cheeks, lipstick wasted on his tshirt. I saw a glimpse of moisture in his eyes too. I washed my face and left alone for work.. I was smiling as I was walking towards my workplace… I thought.. maybe I was wrong.. I might have been troubling him lots by asking him to 'chauffeur' me (ufff!!! thats his term) .. I should do my things on my own.. mind made up..

I haven’t been on a bus, nor did I walk to and from work or move anywhere else on my own after that.. its been a few weeks now.. and I am still being 'chauffeured'. I am shameless, its marriage after all !

From the archives – My writings to myself – about motherhood, wife-hood , in love, about marriage and more – II

Thanks to my dear friends who encouraged me to post the second part..

About marriage and love

Falling in love outside marriage has brought in a good change in me. Earlier whenever we were together I used to talk every bit of my mind and events/persons etc etc to him and he wouldn't respond much and finally I would end up getting irritated and minor fights, sometimes a few tears. Now I am in my own world and we don’t enter each others thoughts. I infact told him that he has not seen even the tip of my mind and he just laughed. Must have considered it as one of my usual philosophic outburst. He didn't know that I meant it. When I speak out my mind, please do not consider him to be bad or wrong. He is such a good person, and does everything possible to make life easy for me. The problem is not his, its mine. I demand friendship, companionship, fun, laughter and romance more than getting household things done or absence of bad habits or all that a good husband is capable of. Infact there is so much of freedom between us (or may be in my mind) that I can tell him anything or demand anything, absolutely anything, (without any shame) which a traditional wife would normally hesitate to speak out.

I dont think I am a good wife, because I am unable to understand my husband. That is why he gets irritated at many things I do. And he calls me his useless, all the time. Sometimes I doubt whether he is making me useless, not able to do any of my things on my own. Even when I want a  lipstick , I ask him to take me to the shop. Bank work and anything and everything he does. I just go with him to market and he buys vegetables, I stand by. He wants me to accompany him wherever he goes, even to buy his clothes. Infact we are always together, still miles apart.

Grumblings of a daughter in law

They are all nice people, in the sense they love me a lot because I am the bahu, infact they are a bit proud of me, god knows why? Because I m not a good wife, nor a good bahu. I m very rigid there and very bad infact. They are all home centred people having no social commitments. Which means they have not thought of how to make a difference in the world, and only think of their betterment. But quite harmless. Lot of religion and rituals and horoscope and temple going, all of which frustrates me. I find absence of free mind there, all god fear, society fear, and they dont know to relax and make life comfortable. They prefer not to keep any helping hand and prefer to do all work alone. I get fed up with all this hectic activity where no one gets rest and peace. One year and a half  I stayed with them and got so much unexpressed irritation and disagreement inside my system that I forgot to be cheerful. But you know, they take good care of me, will not allow me to undertake any hardship etc. The problem I think, was them being too good and me being too unconventional with rebellious ideas. Luckily we could buy this apartment, where the mind is free… 

When somebody told me that he felt jealous of the one who 'has' me for ever -  (extract from my sent mail)

But let me tell you, nobody realizes the worth of what they have. Any man would prefer to have a good wife, and I can never be a so called good wife, who will treat her husband as equivalent to God, one who will keep his clothes, food and bed ready for him, one who will do all that fasting and puja for the long life and well being of her husband, one who will dare not remove her mangalsutra from her neck, and religiously apply kumkum and wear bangles and bindi…suited for a traditional good wife, by seeing whom only the husband feels great because he will feel like a master, the boss owning his wife, the pious one. I am none of these and am incapable of transforming myself into one. So you should not feel jealous, but rather pity the poor fellow who has to bear me for lifetime.

But I am capable of being a good friend, a very good companion on whose shoulders you can rest your head when you are tired and worn out, I might make u a good hot tea then. I will never restrict the freedom of my man, personal and financial. (and I will not let him to curtail mine too). I will never boss him. I will never ask for his payslip or voucher on expenses incurred. I can listen to him as long as he wants to tell me things, and I can be such a good friend that I will not think twice to give him a kick when I am teased, I can have lots of fun with him, in fact I am capable of sharing a laugh any time of the day (or night), I will want to fight and roll with him and enjoy every bit of his body and mind without following any rules, but the way I like …. I am capable of all these… but these are not seen as the characteristics of a good wife. And I am not appreciated for any of these, infact I never get a chance to do any of these. Sometimes I think that God has made a mistake in making me a woman ( he might have meant my mental makeup for a man). But I enjoy and love being a woman….it is so nice to be a woman..

A tribute to the strong woman I could never have been

We have known each other since we were ten or eleven and have forever remained the best of friends, breaking all conventions of friendship etiquette. No friendship band, no regular calling, mailing, sms-ing, chatting, nothing .. nothing. We never find a bridge between us to cross over, we were always on the same side, yet always on one’s own end. I am writing about her, not to depict the love we share, rather for her unusual strength I admire.

She fell in love sometime during her teens, following the fascination and infatuation which germinated during high school days.  She was beautiful and he truly handsome. She loved him with all her childish innocence. They married after thirteen years of her being in fancy love world with him, which he never knew of. I still remember my friend who literally jumped with joy, when she heard about his marriage proposal. She was so naïve then. The evening before her wedding she whispered to me, that she feels that the marriage would end in a separation.  Still love was strong, and matters fixed and they married.

She being superior to him in talent, skills and caliber – personally, socially and professionally – the male ego haunted her unreasonably, purposely to crush her under the big foot. She had her own style of managing worries, but always stood to her principles and self respect. She continued loving him, getting hurt, silent tears, joy at mending up… more ugly patches and total lack of support from the counter part. Financially and emotionally, she ran the home alone – fathered and mothered her children, held a high profile job, gained a trail of admirers wherever she moved. She was one terrific woman any one would admire.

Well, yesterday she told me that he had beaten her for the first time and that she was going to put the marriage to an end. His act was a show of pent up anger, suppressed irritation at her cool steady unaffected posture in life, and restlessness as a husband who was banished from the mind and body of the woman who had loved him all through her innocent years. She had decided  to ask him to move , as she believes she should feel secure in her own home.

Unfortunately their son had witnessed the damn episode, which they realized after the abuse – physical and verbal was over. I was more affected with this fact and told her to comfort the child by telling him that the fight happened by mistake and that all would be fine. She refused and told me: “If I tell him that, he would consider it ‘okay’ for a man to beat his wife, the lesson he may carry forward in his life. Let him not be so.” I was awed by the morale, strength and far sight in these words of my dear friend. She is indeed right. When I looked out for immediate comfort to the child, she was guiding him into a humane person.

Once the decision of a separation (legally or not ) was declared by her, he is begging forgiveness, willing to undertake any conditions she may put forward. She has none.

The big social issue is, if for once the husband beats his wife, and begs for forgiveness, is it not to be forgiven and forgotten, because after all she is a woman and mind you, the MAN is on his knees! 

Hypocrite - Be or not?

One of these days in a chat room I heard a friend declaring openly that he wish he could sleep with Shweta, a lovely woman, a popular movie actor. The immediate reaction from others in the chat room depicted a display of morality, values and ethics. The greatest point of protest was that Shweta being a married woman(which I came to know then), it was ‘wrong’ to think of her that way as it would be desiring ‘another man’s wife’. There were many supporters too for this view on morality. This conversation somehow ignited a spark of thought in me. It was brave on my friend’s part to declare so openly an innate wish which many other men may also cherish in their hidden minds. Still I wondered if it was moral to have such a desire. 

When the religious scriptures proclaim that a man shall not desire another’s wife, does it not mean hypocrisy? Here the only restriction is that the woman whom a man desires should not be ‘another’s wife’, though he is free to desire any woman who is not ‘owned’ by wedlock. The man’s marital status looks to be irrelevant. A married man may desire an unmarried woman and no values(and no law*) will be broken. If the custodians of morals wish to hold on to chastity of men and woman, they should reframe their rule: “A married person shall not desire anyone other than his/her spouse”. This would look more sensible and reasonable, though maybe impracticable. 

In any case, is it not better to leave these matters to individual choices rather than fixing standards for matters of mind? Whatever may be the choices, one should definitely not sabotage one’s family stability, peace and healthy upbringing of children. 
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*Indian legal system makes adultery an offence, where adultery is made out only when the woman is another's wife and when it is done without the consent of the woman's husband.  If I sound absurd you may refer to Section 497 of Indian Penal Code!

Between friends.. yet worth sharing

Text message to my mobile: I’ve sent you a mail today…its something I wrote when I felt depressed.. read it when u get time

My REPLY: ok.will do

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Mail Inbox

My mind is now a jumble of thoughts…and a jungle of emotions.....

I was surprised that he felt attracted to me as well…the text messages .. the late night talks, the mushy mushy feelings , the smile on my face always ...

I was scared of the step I was taking..i didn’t know where it would lead to… I wasn’t sure if I was sure about all of it…but the feeling that reeled in me  was so strong that I found myself unable to apply the brake that would bring this ride to a halt

I wanted to hold on to this feeling and not sully it with the physical love that I thought would take our spiritual love to another level….and that was until the day he touched me and showed me heaven….

... the physical manifestation of our love made me feel so complete that I wondered how I ever thought I knew the meaning of the word passion until I shared my body with him…the kind of passion that makes my body burn with need, that makes me forget all my inhibitions, that makes me melt just with a touch….that takes me to a height I never envisaged I could climb….. …the feeling of oneness…the feeling so intense that the orgasm brings immense pleasure to my body, joy to my heart and at the same time brings tears to my eyes…

I still harboured a small doubt that this strong a passion cannot last for a long time…it will die its natural death … the fire of our passion burns as strong as ever even now, after almost 04 years of giving ourselves to each other…That is our love…which knows no boundaries, which has no selfishness and which I carry like a fire in my heart.

 But reality intrudes and I realize that I will never be able to spend my lifetime with him. At some point, I will give him up to another woman who will give him  a happy life..who will be his friend, his wife, his everything in this journey of life..i will give him up knowing that it is a sacrifice I need to make for the choices I made before i knew him…before I knew that he is living somewhere in this world, my SOUL MATE…whom I met years too late….But I guess its enough to know that I did find that soul mate , though late in life, who showed me what I am missing in this life…what I will never find with anyone else ever again in my life… the only person who has made me look forward to the end of my life happily, so I can be reborn as his, in my next journey on this earth…Till then , without any meaning and colour, this  life goes on….

My REPLY:

edaa this brings tears to my eyes and my heart vibrates too fidgety..

i understnd u better now

not just u

i got a lot many answers to my queries to myself

i wud say , u r lucky

for u have known love

u shd be happy that u r so lucky

and thats what life is all about

love u kazhuthey.. tc

How I became Aadi’s Amma

I am so very natural that when I got married I looked forward to becoming a mother. And so one morning when I found a thin pink vertical line on the ‘Preg Card’, I got excited at the new happening in me. All in the family were so delighted that I felt I had achieved something momentous.

But soon afterwards, nausea struck me and fatigue followed with much severity. Day and night I felt the nausea jab, so constant that I could hardly eat anything and survived just on ‘Kanji’ water.I refused to wash my face with soap because the fragrance was awful. My hair was left un shampooed  and I started disliking the closeness of any human next to me because my nostrils got their odour too, which would drive me back to throw up again.

I wanted to fall into a hibernating slumber. Fortunately it was possible for me to sleep to my heart’s content, during the first few weeks, as I am an educator and those days were non – instructional days, blessing me to nap out my pregnancy fatigue.

I found the whole occurrence to be only acute discomfort and distress, and thoughts of the ‘baby’ or ‘motherhood’ or anything ideal of that sort were left behind. I kept on wondering what was happening to me and my body.

But I had a starry thought which caught my bare mind – the being within me is definitely of a brawny identity, and not a make of my shadow, that was why my body was struggling to reject him ( I always thought of the baby as a boy, for no reasons attached)  as a foreign body. All these attacks of queasiness were my body’s resistance mechanism.

And I found yet another reason to rejoice - I was proud that he was strong enough to overpower my body’s initial reluctance to accept him.

As my vacation drew to a close and I found myself going for work, I discovered that my pregnancy was even more painful because the nausea showed no signs of relenting. When my friends and colleagues congratulated me I wondered why. I did not feel any ‘baby’ inside me. I would have taken it all for a severe viral attack, if not for the doctor and the scan reports. I tried to believe that I am with child because the medical reports showed so. 

One fine day, as my pregnancy progressed into the fifth month, and as I was preparing for my lecture, I felt a movement within my stomach. The unaccustomed motion made me stop reading and concentrate on my body. Once again, I felt the same movement, as if air was being pumped from left to right within my lower stomach. And then it hit me…It’s true… there is someone inside me. The feeling started growing inside me and I started smiling even amidst my marathon vomiting sessions.

The movements became more solid and my belly was quite round by the time. By now, my imagination too started growing… How will he look like? Won’t he have all limbs and fingers?

Prayers followed my heart beats. My husband had so thoughtfully stuck pictures of children on our bedroom wall; my eyes now pursued each of them, in an attempt to mix and match features, looks and smiles and what not.

By the seventh month I was very much in terms with him and enjoyed the pampering which my family poured on me, so that it would reach him too.

But there was one person who directly cosseted him, my then eight year old niece, Aami. She would come and touch my stomach and would ask me whether the baby is moving enough. She would call out to him through my tummy. To add to the game I would respond by mimicking the baby. She would even write letters addressed to her brother /sister. She would ask me what he was doing inside and I would pretend as if I was concentrating and would answer as if I could visualize him. This was the most beautiful stage of my entire pregnancy period. With Aami’s assistance I learned to converse with my baby, to be aware of him more and love and await his arrival more than ever.  

By the eighth month, I was becoming anxious, thinking of the delivery and I was impatient too to get the bundle of joy in my hands, on my lap to nurse and caress. Still I wondered… I hardly know him. I have not yet met him and hoped that we would like each other as persons, more than just as mother and son. I realized the great responsibility ahead of me, in moulding a ‘humane’ being, a good citizen and a wonderful person.  

He completed his gestation and was born after a caesarian section. I was under local anesthesia and when the doctor announced the dot time to mark the birth of the baby, my heart skipped many beats. I felt tightness in my chest and requested the doctor to check my ECG, who in turn assured me that every thing was fine and that it was a boy… I could not but rejoice.

The baby was shown to me with all the amniotic fluid and I marveled at God’s greatness. After washing him and wrapping him in a green cloth, he was brought next to my face. I said hello to him, happy at meeting him after the long nine months and a week. They touched his forehead at my cheek and warmth spread through me.

My Aadi has completed six years now and even today I make my cheek touch his forehead and relive the wonderful bliss.  

Suzie

Snapshots captured in my mind do get buried with time.. but when they pop up, I can see them as if from an old tape.. not just that i can remember the visuals, but also the voices, the sorroundings, the aroma and the feel of it all. Suzie popped up in my mind today , I have'nt seen her for the past ten years, but i got the pictures quite well, her curly hair, her smile, her laughter, her faded brown jeans, her sandals and such particulars.. but more than anything i remember the wax idol of Mother Mary in her pocket and the fluoroscent green rossary she kneads in her fingers as she says her daily prayers and a drop or two of her tears which just overflowed from her heart and  fell down from the corner of her eyes.

Suzie was one of the pretty faces I had seen,  very bubbly and something innocent about her ways. She was pursuing her twelfth standard correspondence course, she looked around eighteen , but I was told later that she is nearing her thirties. She was the receptionist in the hostel I stayed in, and stayed next door to mine. I noticed her english accent, when she says 'sh' for 's', and her use of 'man' anywhere in a sentence. She would say, 'come man',  ' listen man'. I was picking up all of these Anglo Indian slangs from her. She baked delicious cakes, and brought for me fish curry dipped in thick coconut milk with slit green chillies and flavored with kokum.., see I am getting the aroma too in the snapshots..my mouth waters.

I didnt know anything more about her till many months later, when she started opening up with me. She was working there so that she is given shelter free of cost and food, the cost of which was deducted from her pay. She would do a lot of chores for the nuns there, to earn a bit more. She would iron their clothes, she told me with lot of anger on herself, and she might have been doing their vessels or what else, I didnt venture more. The hostel inhabitants being students from well to do families, Suzie had felt odd telling anyone about her, specially so everyone took her just like one of them. 

She started unveiling gradually to me, she justified saying that she somehow trusted me. I have'nt betrayed her trust till now.. This is my first attempt to do so. Suzie had never been sent to school. No one bothered to. Niether her father nor her father's wife, whom she called "mummy". Her own mother was a maid who was sent back to her own village after childbirth. Suzie had never seen her and doesnt know anything more about her. She grew up at home unschooled and alone. She had a  mute deaf sister, whom she loved the most, probably because she might have been the only person who had been kind to her. Her brother played for a band and another one was a radiologist. The eldest sister was a spinster and very sour too. Father has married twice, the second time the woman who was the governess for the children born out of his first wife and I guess it is the second wife that Suzie calls "mummy" with love.  This is the picture of her family which she drew for me.

Suzie, at some point of time had been kept in a convent for school dropouts and such children, where she was taken care of by nuns and that is how she reached this hostel and job. She completed her SSC at the convent and was working to study further. She had no guide, no parent and her existence wouldnt matter much to anyone in her family except maybe for the diferently abled sister. Suzie had dreams, of studying, of getting a good job and life. And she was on her own working her way towards her dreams. She always kept a wax idol of Mother Mary in her pocket, told me she was her mother, her own mother.  I remember that was the only time I saw Suzie's heart leaking through the corner of her eyes.. I left the hostel for good and I have lost touch with her.

I learnt from Suzie what it takes to be a strong woman, and I realized for once how weak and feeble I was, though I considered myself otherwise. One's strength is tested at crossroads of life where one is left alone with no means of living,  with nothing and no one to lean on to,  no way to go and nothing to look forward to. Making  a life on your own, that too a girl right from her tender age, unsupported, is not a small achievement. After having been brought up  in a secured environment with all  amenities and well taken care of, if a woman claims herself to be strong, though true, that strength is a cabined one, which works only in pre-set situations. I salute 'ant' women like Suzie who carry weight so disproportionately high to their own.