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If it is the small chatter that keep the working class happy, it is the planning for this condo mate of mine that keeps her occupied.
I love standing here in my balcony overlooking the beautiful landscape before settling with my routine morning domestic chores. The heavy shower of the previous night has turned the sultry and humid summer into an unusually pleasant morning. The soothing cool breeze stirs in me mixed feelings, pushing me into introspection. During such occasions, I automatically get into a mood to analyze myself. Well, analyzing has become a big part of me these days.
My attention shifts to the happenings around. Staying in a confined space of a steel plant township, I see people rushing to work wearing jackets, safety shoes, and helmets. And across my apartment, the labours flock to the building under construction. Women chattering in merriment, their infectious laughter drifting from afar brings a smile on my face. Is it called a life of contentment?!
My attention then shifts to one of my condo mates who walk to her balcony adjacent to mine, to hang a towel. She seems to be so preoccupied that she doesn’t even notice me. She has a cook, a domestic helper, a nurse to look after her ailing mother-in-law and all she needs to do is to overlook and give directions. Me, on the other side, prefer to do my household chores myself, and I do each bit of it to my set standards of perfection. I complain, sulk and regret sometimes though. Because years of my corporate career has deprived me of the happiness found in these little things, I had reasoned out for myself and hence tricked and tamed my mind. Or so I thought. Tick, tick, tick, as I check on my to-do list mentally, I wonder, is this my life?
My phone pings just as I hit the bed for my post-lunch nap.
Call you in the evening. Have lots to discuss.
Such occasional messages from my elder daughter always give magical powers to me. I love talking for hours. And every alternate day I get to hear from my second daughter. Once a week, from my son. I call them my team, my army, my mine of strength.
Sharp 8 pm, my husband returns from work. Hi, he says, his eyes glued to his mobile screen. Just for the sake of having a conversation, I respond too, a cold response while the television continues blaring about the happenings around. Exactly at 10.10 pm, he gets his last reporting phone call and at 10.15 he retires to the bedroom, wishing me a tiresome good night.
Before switching off the lights I open the door to keep the bag for the milk pack that arrives early in the morning. There, I see my condo mate too tucking the bag to the nail on the wall. The same frowned brows, the preoccupied expression!
How on the earth people are so busy, content and happy? I cannot stop wondering! If it is the small chatter that keep the working class happy, it is the planning for this condo mate of mine that keeps her occupied. And for my husband, it is his busy schedule, his work, his passion. I envy his single-minded focus and devotion towards his career though many-a-time, I just cannot complain, for he is the bread earner.
And to me, are my desultory domestic chores what hardly takes two hours a day and lengthy phone calls that keep me busy apart from some occasional reading and writing.
If that is all that I have on my platter, so be it. No big deal!
The image is a still from the movie Lunchbox
A mother, a wife and a woman defines me. I became a homemaker by choice and turned into a writer by chance. Now, looking forward to try my hand at new styles of writing and 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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