Women are taught they can either be alone or slaves. Well, guess what: there’s a third option, it’s called happiness.
We’re seated to dinner at a Gurgaon five-star, one of those rare Ladies Night Out where you can afford Pinky Vodka and barely flavored prawns all at once. The conversation meanders the perils of living in Gurgaon, we have ghastly stories of stalkers, and followers, and guns, old drunk men raising a hand, and young girls disappeared and a man at the toll naka killed for Rs. 27, and a man killed over who was served parathas first. The joke at the table goes: Is (he: the man at the next table) going to pull out his gun yet?
The conversation moves to a tad cheerier note: Marriage. We’re four emancipated women arguing the need for marriage, and I can’t help but think at everything my Social Reader has been throwing up this week. From 10 reasons why Indian women prefer to be single, and Why women in their 20s rush into marriage, and Still Single at 40, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some sort of trend here? And, then there’s the girl you meet at the party- her jet black hair falls to below her slender shoulders and she says: “I’m Indian at heart. And, I waiting for two years to get married, and live off my husband,” and gives it all away.
Yes, I have a mind of my own, and yes I can buy my own darling ring like Lady Gaga, and no I don’t need a man to buy me a lifetime of luxuries. I’d rather do it myself, thank you very much. But, yes I do enjoy friendship, and someone who gets me, and falling in love, and building a little world of happiness to deal with everything difficult that life throws everyday.
Most women I know struggle to find a suitable balance. No, I will dare not step into a kitchen, and no I won’t work because he asked me not to, and no, I won’t EVER get married, and oh, I will wait for him for dinner. Admittedly, there’s nothing wrong with any of this. To each his own, you’d say.
But I’m a bit of wary of why we’re doing what we’re doing. Adhering to the stereotype. The stereotype of the feminist alone- I won’t enter the kitchen, and I will be single till I die. And, the stereotype of the coy slave: I will wash his clothes and wear his diamonds till my dying day.
There’s a fine line between the two I argue, and there’ s suitable balance too. It’s called doing what makes you happy. And, it ought to be a little from both worlds- a mish mash of what’s personally relevant, and personally pleasurable.
What are your thoughts?