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Imagine my ‘culture shock’ when I discovered that the husband’s family was a patriarchal, sexist, orthodox family with the pater familias ruling the roost in a tyrannical manner.
Chirag tale andhera (darkness beneath a glowing lamp). I am borrowing this Hindi adage to highlight the paradox in my personal life.
Yes, I am an unconventional woman (tad Bohemian) breaking shackles wherever possible. A milestone was opting for an arranged BUT unconventional ‘civil’ (court/registered) marriage.
I appreciated my partner’s endorsement of my decision. However, imagine my ‘culture shock’ when I discovered that the husband’s family was a patriarchal, sexist, orthodox family with the pater familias ruling the roost in a tyrannical manner.
As I have mentioned in my earlier posts (about my married life) by and large I received ‘gyan’ (lectures) tongue lashing, browbeating formy ideas, attitudes and overall conduct which they found irksome. I bore all this patiently.
Nonetheless the watershed of my life (I consider it my worst debacle) was when three years down the line, I found I had conceived.
The atmosphere at home became slightly more bearable (obviously for the sake of my unborn child). Little did I realize that the devil in disguise (my F-i-L) had some trick up his sleeve regarding ‘his grand kid’.
As a consulting anaesthetist, he had unlimited access to other branches of medicine. In all probability he must have pumped his colleagues – my gynaecologist and radiologist – regarding the sex of the foetus. Though PNDT is labeled a criminal offence, yet this heinous practice does take place clandestinely.
I grew suspicious because as the D-day drew near, the old venerable gentleman (PBUH) began flaunting girls’ names in the course of casual chitchat and gossip. Strangely, never did he enquire whether or not I had any suggestions. Why would he? He was a Doctor (a demi-god)! ‘‘An honourable man.” Like Brutus.
Anyway, post-delivery, he seized the earliest opportunity to get my newborn’s name registered. I begged and pleaded with the partner to reconsider. But he would have none of it. After we returned home post-quarantine, I cajoled with the husband to at least let me pick a nickname (every Bengali has a nickname) for my baby. All in vain. This time it was the grandmother’s prerogative! I was shell-shocked. My world crumbled!
Motherhood has been glorified in every age and clime. It remains the pivot point of dance, music, art and literature. And here I was being denied a natural, inalienable right. Why? Just because I am a woman in a Man’s world? Sigh!
Am a trained and experienced features writer with 30 plus years of experience .My favourite subjects are women's issues, food travel, art,culture ,literature et all.Am a true feminist at heart. An iconoclast read more...
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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