Today's woman and all that jazz!
Ok, so I am writing about a much-written-about topic. Its been a while now, and everyone I know (and don't know) is going to town about the today's woman. I admit to being flattered at times by the epithet, though it is generic most of the time and almost never particularly addressed to me, but it is a funny term to use.
I mean, if I am today's woman, are the women from the previous generation yesterday's women? And are the women who will be my daughters be tomorrow's women? Granddaughters; day-after-tomorrow's women? God, the questions will never cease. Ok,don't glare at me. I know the term doesn't suggest that, and nor is it used in that sense. But still, I do not understand the big deal that the world is making about female achievements across.
It is derogatory to see people eulogise the ordinary things women do. It basically means that women are doing better than is expected of them, and no one ever thought they could do all this. To top it all, we had feminists burning bras and yelling themselves hoarse over equality slogans. The very demand of being made equal signifies the acceptance of being inferior. Thank heavens the era of bra burning is gone. I would have never agreed to burn my Lovables. They do wonders to my figure, they are very expensive, and besides, I do not need to be made equal. I already am. (Maybe now, feminists can eat their bras instead).
Women did not invent the need for grooming themselves in 2001. So why is there such an ado about it now? For instance, I do not look good because men around me want me to look good. It is my personal choice. And so has it been for many women since long back. I know of women who groomed themselves and are still far more elegant compared to their 2002 sisters. It is an essentially feminine trait. So why has it suddenly become "feminist" and "radical" to look good for oneself alone? And even if you do want to look good for the men around you, what is so "door mat-ish" about it? Anyway, I will attack that topic later some time.
Women did not wake up in the 21st century and suddenly turn into multitaskers.I know of women who have been working in the 1920s and 1930s, Women really did not learn to balance a job and a family in 1999. But it is a miraculous thing now, that the puny, delicate, not-so-smart and illogical female is managing to do it. These adjectives are precisely the reason why the "new woman" of today is being heralded at every street corner. I am really sorry but I refuse to bask in the glow of such insulting praise. The woman is not a newly evolved species of animal or something that she has to be scrutinised constantly under a media microscope. The life of an average woman might have become more difficult now, but mind you, she is not complaining. She is equipped with the right tools to deal with it efficiently, and no, she does not need constant monitoring of her evolution. She evolved along with the common man. Which was some crores of years ago.
Labels: Today's Life
Why?
Parchment paper, yellowed leaves
Autumn sun going down
A cup with yesterday's coffee, warmed again
She looks out at the world
Ensconced in her veranda, curled in her rocking chair
Rolling her tongue over well kissed lips
She tells the leaves her stories
Good, Bad, beautiful and ugly stories
Long life, coloured life...rainbow hues to grey spots
Blind faith and trusted thoughts
Warm hearts full of cold love
Friends, foes all alike
Echoes of laughter, forgotten tears
Spoken deeds, unspoken words
Vows made, promises broken
Sudden surrenders and stubborn blunders
Soft nights and satin days
Harsh winters and mild summers
Suddenly, life is over, she says.....
To no one in particular
One question unanswered, after all,
The labors of life, I went through all,
Laughed some, cried some, killed some and revived some...
But Why?
God of Small Things
Miniscule life in a miniscule world
Miniscule thoughts in a miniscule head
Miniscule home and miniscule love
Miniscule friends and miniscule depth
Miniscule dreams and miniscule thoughts
Miniscule feelings and miniscule action
Miniscule work and miniscule content
Miniscule birth and miniscule death.
(Dedicated to city lives)
Labels: Musings
Yet another number
Rahat Fateh Ali Khan...lesser known movie number....
semi classical, sensuous, slow, riveting.
Of Writing
Why did the craft of writing originate? Looking back at centuries past, answers are plenty yet elusive. Probably to give a better face to thought.....so many thoughts are best expressed in writing. What inspires anyone to write? What inspires anyone to create an immortality in ink, or for that matter, a print on virtual space? Probably the human quest for immortality...the burning quest to leave something behind, so that people remember us. We are surrounded by proof of this quest all around...in huge edifices of history. Why should books be treated differently?
So coming back to the question....among other thousand dilemmas, one of the prime dilemmas, I am sure, is "To write or not to write"... (sorry, dear Bard, to twist your thought, but I am sure you are not annoyed). Everyone feels an urge, definitely, even if only once in a lifetime, to create a colossus of their thoughts on paper. For some, it might just be a means to keep from forgetting what they want. Be it grocery lists, or to-do lists or lists of guests to be invited to a bash. For some it is a way of getting back in touch with themselves....for instance, I am writing this roundabout essay to actually find out why I want to write.
The inspirations might be anything....something as simple as a sudden lurch in the train which makes you lean out and throws your hair over your face, it might make you want to chronicle that moment forever. A beaming smile someone gave you on your way to work or finding your favourite food in the lunch box. It might be your favourite song or a weird glance from someone at work. It might be your boss who compliments your work or yells at you. It might be the very thought of writing. It might be the need to slow down and talk to someone without being answered or advised. It might be the need to look at your life from an outside perspective. It might be the need to laugh, to cry, alone, without the world looking at you....or conversely, it might be the need to enter the world. It might be the togetherness of the words or the solitude they offer. It might be the texture of a new notebook and the glistening ink of a much loved pen...it might be the musty smell of old memories and the roguish excitement of new thoughts.
Of all these, I write for the simplest reason possible. Just because I want to.
Thoughts about thoughts
I think. Sometimes I think so much that I wonder how my tiny brain manages to hold all those fibre glass fragments of activity together. I just think. My brain manages my respiration, my digestion, my movements and my complete balance in addition to my thoughts. Overworked. Hard pressed for space. So much to manage in one space. That is why there are no blanks in my brain. It is fully wired. Completely active. No inactivity. I think about thought. I think about the instrument of my thought. I think about why I am thinking. I am in circles forever, because thoughts always run in circles. I don't know why but that is how it is. I guess thoughts really like circles. I will remember to think about why next time.
However, I am not alone. The Universe is teeming with thinkers. All of them. Everyone has their own, recreational thought world. Ok, sometimes not recreational. The lady scratching her head in the train is probably thinking about dandruff and why her head is itching. Or there is a deeper process at work involving her evening cooking. The men who fight on the train are thinking about the show-down they had with their bosses. The woman who screeches because another woman stepped on her toes is thinking about how everyone steps on her toes to get ahead. Or maybe how she steps on everyone's toes to get ahead. The child leaning out of the window is thinking about when he will grow up. The sandwich vendor is thinking about when his street cart will expand to a shop. The person who is talking to another person on the road is thinking about how annoyed he is that he was stopped on his way home to answer a mundane question....so on and so forth.
Everyone thinks. Everyone thinks in similarities, in opposites. Everyone thinks in reasons. Some look for causes, some look for effects. Some think in retrospect, some introspect. There are a few who think in the future. Some wonder where they were at this time, last year, some wonder where they will be this time, next year. But all the same, everyone is constantly thinking. Daily incidents give constant fuel to this thought process, and we go on. Like the only aim to life is thought. The motor never slows. We think when we sleep, we think when we are semi conscious and we think when we are alert. At least, we think that we are thinking. Thought takes up a majority of your day, and ultimately your life.
Some of these thoughts are illuminating, some of these thoughts are hazy, some of these thoughts are confusing, some of these thoughts are disturbing. Some thoughts are awash in the sunlight of nostalgia, yet some in the dark clouds of the future...some of them have rainbow hues and yet others, nothing but a pure, colourless consistency of water. Some thoughts are liquid, and they flow out leaving a languid richness inside. Some are solid and refuse to budge. Some are frightening in their opacity and some, beautiful in their transcendescence.
Someday, when the dried leaves of winter look up at you from the pavement, and you wonder where life has gone, thoughts will be your companions. They will be the rainbows and then, you will have your world again. You will think, and you will be awakened in the fact that you think. Your world will exist again, and the leaves shall no longer look at you.
Flowers of spring
Pt. Bhimsen Joshi and Manna De in raag Basant.
