Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Why women in India shouldn't get married

I could write a book on this. I truly could. But I won't. Because our traditional Indian woman who's an utter idiot will never read anything that might hint at "equality," "common sense" and "rights." She kinda likes the black, silk scarf tied across her eyes, as long as it's silk and not tied too tightly. So heck, what's the use?
But the one thing that brings out the most pathetic side of a traditional Indian woman is 'holy' matrimony. She plunges from bad to super pathetic. She already allowed her whole world to tread on her, now with marriage, a new bunch of people provide a change of footwear marks. She was a 'helpless', 'taken for granted' doormat then, she's a wife/sister-in-law/daughter-in-law/maami/chaachi and the whole list now. And the responsibilities and obligations never end. Suddenly, your husband's home becomes paradise and your parents' - where your nappies were changed, you learnt your ABC and learnt how to feed yourself without spilling - a strange roof. Parents, siblings, old associations - all have to be broken just so that new ones can be formed. Is it worth it? And why does it require distancing yourself from your past to compromise for your future? It makes no sense to me and I say so quite vocally. Strangely, everyone turns around with disapproving faces, shaking heads and a resigned sighs, as if I'm the fool in the picture. I'm the fool? Really? I wonder why.... for believing that a woman's old house is just as important as the one she establishes after marriage? For believing that she belongs as much to her old parents as to her new? For believing that they have equal rights over her? For believing that the woman should not be stopped from taking independent decisions as to where she wants to stay, when she wants to stay and for how long she wants to stay? For all this, I'm a fool? Well, so be it. I'd rather be an independent, reasonable fool than a cloth puppet with one string in everyone's hand. Call me rebellious, call me idealist, call me headstrong, call me feminist. The name doesn't matter. It's what I think that does.

Angry young woman

Oh yes! It takes an external stimulant and I can feel the heat rise from my chest to my head only to vomit out my acidic fire on to another moving being. Sometimes, it doesn't even take an external stimulant to do that. The truth is, there is a lot of anger within. It struggles to find outlets so it can escape from the system but something clogs the holes and it comes out at bad bad times. Oh yes! I've become quite the 'angry young woman' of the present era as opposed to my erstwhile pleasant, smiley, sweet natured self. I'm bitter, irritable, frustrated, exasperated, impatient, snappy, sarcastic, curt, cynical, unforgiving, relentless, extremely critical, mean, immature, rude, petulant and a lot more unpleasant things. I'm so different now that I fail to recognise myself sometimes, and I wonder if I'll ever get back to what I was. What made me like this is unclear and unknown. There could be several factors but nothing that could be a sure winner. Life wouldn't be life if things were that simple.
I am quick to anger and when at the peak, all get the feel of the raging whip. It spares few. And the funny thing is, I detest myself for being like that. It feels like the pleasant side of me is trapped and watching and yelling out to not be such a bitch, but the dark side just doesn't listen. Well, dark sides seldom listen.