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The work of homemakers is often invisible, undervalued, and taken for granted. Maybe this should be changing going forward?
Hey! You… The lady with the most unkempt hair, Did you just brush off layers from those medallions up there? I’m talking to you…. My lady…with the most unkempt hair. Can you put aside your ladle for a little while, and lend me an ear.. A stolen moment… What? Don’t tell me now that the maid is already there! I hope you read through your citations too! How long have they been up there? I guess, a year or two… Fifteen years! Is that what you said? Oh, yes! I do hear the doorbell ring But I need to know how a dancer clipped her wings? Let the boss’s mail rest in the box a while And put aside your chat box, It’s only vile. You can let the curry be Just sit down and answer me… Oh! The grocery can do alright But those honours up there…hope they’re within your sight. Even if you didn’t do the laundry I’d know you care… O my beautiful one with the most unkempt hair. . Believe me, I know the bills must be paid Home work finished and dinners made. I know the piles of those office files and phone bells and lullabies… Those prizes will gather some dust again, But before you mop your laurels up there Be sure you know, what’s tougher dear, To win a dime or wipe off the grime. Don’t turn off the lights, Lend me an ear… O lady with the most unkempt hair!
Published here earlier.
Image source: wikicommons
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My house-help asked excitedly, “I am going for wedding. Can you let me wear your red & black saree? To be honest I was stumped for a moment; I didn’t know what to say but I still said yes.
I lent a gorgeous saree to my house-help for a wedding in her family. Soon I stated getting questions if I would wear that saree again or if I was okay to be seen wearing the same saree my house-help was wearing?
We are all so conditioned to give our used clothes to our house-helps but are we okay to wear the clothes they were wearing?
A few days ago she came excitedly to me, “I am going for a family wedding. I want to wear your red & black saree, Ill wash and give it to you after the function. Please can you let me wear it?”
Beauty is a very clever, very evil capitalist tool. It traps those who have it into hanging on to it for dear life and those who don't into mutilating, torturing themselves to achieve the unachievable.
I recently wrote a piece about MP Shashi Tharoor’s tweet in which he had shared a pic with six women parliamentarians tagging them and saying “Who says the Lok Sabha isn’t an attractive place to work?”
There was a rash of comments on the post shared on Instagram, which ranged from “chill, it’s just a compliment” and “stop overthinking compliments”, to (worried) men lamenting about “these feminazi”.
Here’s my answer to all those comments.
One would expect Indian policewomen to be sensitive to the issues of their own gender, but this author's study shows that they weren't usually, just strong women choosing their battles.
One would expect Indian policewomen to be sensitive to the issues of their own gender, but this author’s study shows that they weren’t usually, just strong women choosing their battles.
In 2004, when I was researching Women’s Police Stations in Bangalore as part of a paper I was to write, they were still a new thing, although the very first one was already a decade old. The local MLA had seen the need for a Women’s Police Station and pressurized those in power.
I ended up in a mini-forest in the middle of the city. The Police Station had picturesque stone steps leading me in. I had expected to meet a bunch of women who were highly committed to the cause of women, were feminists, and possibly the most exemplary role-models that modern state institutions had made space for, even nurtured. Instead, what I found was a group of women who cooked, cleaned, and pleased their husbands, and then came to work — taking on a double burden.
I was a fiercely self-reliant soul, and I did not see myself living in harmony with a stranger that I had never met until a year before we were destined to live our lives together. Yet, I obliged.
t was a beautiful spring morning. Aditi was determined to clear the clutter in her study, despite the temptations from her garden that was now in full bloom. Like most other women she knew, she had an urge to declutter every time she had to clear her mind of the needless muddle.
She was also tempted to tend to the shrubs in the garden. The place reserved in her garden for the Matura tea tree has never been blessed. The shrub always took life and just when there was a promise of a bloom, something killed the plant. She had forgotten the number of times she had to uproot the shrub. It killed her every time she did it. The place was large and the conditions favourable, but the shrub probably was long dead internally, like her.