Monthly Archives: January 2010

‘Women’ issues

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I met a potential producer-cum-director recently. Who thought the ultimate manner in which to interest me for his project was to say it is a woman-centric project.

“Really,” I say. “What is the subject?”

“Woman-centric,” he says emphatically.

“But which woman-centric subject are you exactly referring to,” I further prod.

“Please read this madam,” he says and hands me am A-4 size paper.

The woman is bold, and centre of this movie.” It says. “She is mother nature, the mother and all other roles wrapped into one. She is a strong woman and will be lead in this film.” And similar other platitudes.

So I hand the paper back and go back to what I was originally saying. “I am not really a film person and won’t be able to help you.”

” But madam, it is woman-oriented,” he plaintively exclaims.

“But you are not telling which women’s issue..” , I say.

“You may steal my story so I cannot tell you the story,” he says. That I understand, up to a point.

“Well.. it’s about rape, hunger, motherhood and poverty.. it’s a ground-breaking film.. with a strong woman character..” he adds.

“That really says nothing..” I say, trying to end this futile conversation..

He lets it go.. starts talking possible cast. I am suggesting women who I think can play strong characters.. Nandita Das?

“No Madam, she is old now. How will I sell my movie if she is in it?” His reply.

My expression tells him it’s the wrong reply.

“It will be a festival film, no? We won’t be able to afford her plus she already has Bawandar.”, he backtracks.

My eyes have glazed over. I now get what most of film maker friends say when they say that the real film industry has to still catch up with the rest of the world.

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Survival of the fittest?

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Sitting in my pantry, I noticed many crows on the ledge outside. Which seemed a little out of character. As there is never any food outside the pantry.

On further investigation I noticed a kite sitting further down on the ledge, eating a pigeon he had killed (I assume it was a pigeon for the crows seemed too smart)

The kite kept pecking and alternately calling his ilk. Wanting to share the loot I suppose. Very frantic calls, it sounded like.

The crows started crowding him and tried to peck at the dead bird. He kep swatting them with his tail but they wouldn’t give up. The crows even slid off the ledge, which actually made me laugh out loud.

Soon the kite had his fill but didn’t want to fly away ( or couldn’t) and kept sitting, hunched over the dead bird. The crows started to get nastier and the kite, edgier. I felt bad for the kite.. he couldn’t protect his food  even till the next meal.

I am sure that’s how nature intended it but made me feel small. When was the last time you had to fight for your own food?

I am exhausted

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Protecting the girl child is one of my pet causes, especially since so many girls die in this country with alarming regularity.
But as I grow older, I have moments when I feel it would have been better to have been a statistic rather than be a single woman in this decidedly un-modern society that I am unwittingly a part of. It’s as if I am not actually allowed to control my life (at least after a point).

[Yes I realise it’s a dramatic comparison but perceived privilege is worse than actually not having that privilege.]

I consider it a big crime when I read of mothers, mothers-in-law and other sundry women of a household who encourage their pregnant daughters and daughters-in-law to kill their babies. Despite all the expected troubles in the distant future for that daughter who is yet to come into this world, how can a woman actually do that?

But now when I see my mother and see how helpless she feels with a daughter who is supposedly independent, educated and reasonably self-sufficient, and not in the bracket where the reasons for actually killing the daughter arise, I wonder if this independence has any meaning at all.

I have the education, the ability and the capability to run my life. But when strange people call my parents and consolingly ask, if they (my parents) still have an unmarried daughter, I want to push them out the nearest window.

Yes, the independence is mine while all this angst is conditioning-driven but how does one go about disassociating one from the other? Every time? More than one person has told me that all this will affect me only to the degree I let it affect me. But I am still grappling with developing a thick skin, which no one really seems to know how to do.

I hate this peddling of my parents’ unmarried daughter. I hate what it does to them, and me.  I hate that they would willingly let me marry any man (which can be looked at a positive as “anyone will do, any religion too,” my mother says.. which again dumbfounds me) just so that I, and them more importantly, rid themselves of the stigma of an old, unmarried daughter.

I hate that, in this so-called progressive and modern and urban India, there is no place for single women. Progression implies you are ‘allowed’ to have a love marriage but also to snidely hear “but you haven’t found anyone, have you?” That’s exactly what I want — my parents picking this argument to fling in my face my failed relationship(s).

My mother does not have any answer to all my whys and that always brings us to a cusp where she has not even considered challenging conventionally held norms. I respect that but since this one involves my life, I can’t help but vociferously protest. “Why can’t you just get married before it gets too late..” is one refrain she never tires off.

She doesn’t realise why I get upset when strange women call and ask if I would be willing to marry men only because I am taller than the average girl or older than the average girl. Needless to say, we don’t gel is an argument my mother doesn’t understand.

I hate the fact that my married friends (well some, not most) turn around and demand to know why I am “not doing enough to get married.” Or “why I am not willing to compromise since now am in my 30s”. Or since it worked for them (the Russian roulette known as the arranged marriage market), why can’t I believe it will work for me?

These are people I grew up with and turns out we evolved and became people we don’t recognise anymore. It’s scary. It’s upsetting. It’s futile. Especially not having people who don’t even understand what you are saying, forget believing in what you believe.

Nothing today is a ‘one-size-fits-all’ so why is this situation any different?

I have a friend who comes from a relatively conservative background (only as reference since her mother and mine are identical when it comes to some demands). Some years ago there was a tremendous pressure on her married. Demands came in all forms including emotional blackmail of a parent admitted in the hospital. But she didn’t succumb. At that point I was ambiguous since I could see her worry and her parents’ suffering.

But today I am glad she stuck it out. Not that she is my moral comfort now, but I know despite intense degrees of emotional blackmail, she survived. It takes strength and conviction that being alone won’t completely derail you – something a lot of people would have you believe and is used as frequent initiator into marriage. “What will you do when you are 50?” is a favourite question when you say you aren’t sure you cut out for marriage, or at least marriage of this kind.

Like in most areas of my life, the pressure here too exceeds everything else. I should know what I want – whether it’s my job, my life or my marriage. I should actively seek it – clamour, fight, run and do what it takes to get it, grabbing every opportunity that comes my way.

Most of my interesting experiences and relationships have been because of one chance I took. A turn I made. It has almost always been unplanned and certainly not charted. I don’t have a rose-tinted vision of life and would like to believe when the turn comes, I will take it.  It will be my decision and one I will live with, positively or negatively.

But till then, this argument which often becomes a battle of wills, is becoming intolerable. With most people I can give it back but somehow not able to get through my parents. It’s a futile, recurrent argument which only leads to cold sulks, tears, hoarse throats and me making crazy declarations.

Would it have been better if I had just not been born?