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| HER WORLD | Sunday, September 2, 2001, Chandigarh, India |
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MALE VIEWPOINT PARENTING Surviving
on her own terms
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MALE VIEWPOINT THIS is not a piece about women's issues. There are no references to liberation here, no talk of empowerment; try as one might, it will be difficult to hear in it any voices, strident or muffled, smell in it the smoke rising from burning undergarments, see anything revealed by the archaeology of long-endured pain, feel the texture of the twine of arguments. This is a piece simply about nayikas, types of women, or 'heroines' as they are sometimes called, who belong to the stylised world of Indian poetry and painting - equally to that of music and dance, one should add -, all placed in the context of love. For hundreds of years, it seems, poets and painters remained pre-occupied with this theme, subtly and with feeling: exploring psychological states, establishing attitudes, questioning facile assumptions. And often yielding, in the process, intense delight. Whole texts - many in Sanskrit, others in Hindi, still more in regional languages, one can be sure - were devoted almost exclusively to the subject: the Rasamanjari of Bhanudatta, for instance, and the Rasikapriya of Keshavadasa, to take two classics as examples. No one was content with a simple classification - the types and sub-types run sometimes into hundreds, each carefully named and described - and situations, responses, were constantly being invented, added to, re-interpreted. In the texts, nayaks or 'heroes' also do make an appearance, and are sometimes placed in categories of their own, but it is easy to see that the poets' and painters' interest in them is minimal, or at best dry. It is the women who are the subject proper of their attention. And even the most terse of texts establishes and explores at least eight types: the ashta-nayikas, as they are called. I am inclined to list these eight nayikas here. The classification, and the characteristics of the nayikas, as much as the situations they are placed in, can of course be subjected to close post-colonial, or post-modern, or post-whatever, analysis - as is the learned custom these days - or can be seen from the feminist point of view. But I shall leave the doing of that to sharper minds than mine. Here, I am simply content to recount them, availing myself of the poetry that I have read and the paintings that I am familiar with. One begins often with the Utka, the eager and expectant heroine ("Kama awakens, born in imagination, the god"): she who waits for the lover, bending her ear to pick up even the slightest sound that might hint at his arrival. Under a tree, she often stands, head slightly uptilted as if peering into the distance. Vasakasajja is the one who waits, with the bed and herself daintily prepared ("yellow silk and wildflower garlands lying on dark sandal-oiled skin") all longing reflected in the appurtenances of love she surrounds herself with: the girdle of bells she is stringing to adorn her waist with, garlands of flowers lying curled upon the bed, bottles of perfume and unguents by her side. Abhisarika is the one who sets out in the middle of the night ("the clouds suspended like an ordered threat"), to meet her lover at an appointed place, undeterred by the surrounding darkness, the rainstorm that breaks even as she moves through a dark wood abounding in snakes and goblins, picking her way with the help of the occasional flash of lightning in the sky. The Vipralabdha is, however, the nayika whose love remains unrequited ("the swift-footed night flees now"), having waited in vain for the lover to come, and feeling jilted, she begins to take off one by one the ornaments she had decked her person with, and throws them on the ground, mind rent with despair. There is then the Proshitapatika, she whose husband/lover has gone away on some journey: vainly did she protest his leaving, bitterly did she complain, but to no purpose. Here she is, left behind, fending for herself, pining away, spending long days and endless nights on her own ("as if a day when no sun came up, and no colour came to the earth"). The Khandita is the angry one: when her lover turns up not in the night, as expected, but the next morning, looking rakish and unsteady, she addresses to him bitter words, roundly accusing him of faithlessness ("the kohl of someone else's eyes upon your lips/darkens my face"), venting upon him all the wrath of the betrayed one. Kalahantarita, however, is the heroine who is struck by remorse after having quarrelled with her lover ("Suddenly, I am afraid … Distracted, I wander from place to place, everywhere finding anxiety"): assailed by thoughts of having treated him unfairly perhaps, she suffers, and toys with the idea of calling him back, but is unable to make her mind up. But then there is also the Svadhinapatika, she who has her husband/lover entirely under her control. As the painters envision her, she sits regally on a low chauki or stool ("Place an anklet around my feet, she tells him/ paint a leaf design with deer musk/ here on love's ritual vessel"), while her lover sits on the floor by her side and, asking her to rest her feet in his lap, begins gently to stroke and massage them with his hands, in a gesture of utter submission. This, I am aware, is a bare listing, a dry inventory. It captures nothing, absolutely nothing, of the flavour of the poetry or the paintings that treat of the themes: the gossamer sensitivity of feeling, the richness of imagery, the dazzling play with words. But at least it serves the purpose of inviting those whose wont it is to build their theories upon material such as this, to do it. For here woman urges, by turns, as gentle, tremulous, uncertain, eager, despondent, assertive, self-examining, supremely self-assured. Let me add only a footnote. Whenever, in the course of a lecture on Indian painting, I happen to bring up the image of the Svadhinapatika, and translate the expression to mean, "she who has her husband entirely under her control", a ripple of amused laughter runs through the audience. I wonder why! The writer, a distinguished art historian, author and columnist, was, till recently, Professor of History of Art, Panjab University. |
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PARENTING HOW long ago was it when my two boys could not speak one sentence without prefixing it with, “My mother said/did....”. Oh, it seems like aeons ago when I had been the centre of their small universe. No longer. Now whatever Mom says or does has to be wrong. No second thoughts about it. And if proved otherwise, well, they might condescend to grudgingly admit, “You were right for once.” ( ! ) Well, that’s kids for you. It is not only that, that rankles. It is the comparison with the L&M (Lord and Master) that they subject me to. Make no mistake. Kids are very clever and know from where the jam and pastries come, if not the butter. So even if you do provide them with the last, they are wise enough to unfavourably evaluate it with the former two that their Dad provides. This singular factor is enough to tilt the balance in favour of their pater dear. Some examples of the lop-sided assessment of their parents’ temperaments that children make: When father screams and rants about some emergency (usually as catastrophic as the misplaced razor or his inability to locate a pen), he is just “in charge of the situation and is upset because of the inefficiency of you-know-who.” They roll their eyes at the unfortunate you-know-who and run to find the things misplaced by her to placate their father. Contrast this with the following scenario: the gas cylinder is leaking; the plumbing has broken and is threatening to flood the living room; the school bus has just left without the brats, and so have to be dropped at school. And what is the mother supposed to do in such a situation? She is supposed to keep her cool while dealing with the several crises— that’s what she is supposed to do! Perish the thought of screaming or ranting, a la dad. “Mom, don’t get into a flap,” advises my first born, and “Don’t panic ma,” says his exasperated younger brother. They have no doubts that their father would have managed the situation admirably. I am sure he would have too - that is - if he could have located the gas cylinder or known that water actually comes through a pipe and not magically, at the turn of the tap or even that the children commute by the school bus every day. But you can’t argue with the logic of the boys. Perhaps it is because their Dad is the source of moolah and it would be calamitous if he were to take offence at their criticism and stop funding their endless bottles of coke or the tonnes of chewing gum, not to speak of the ear-splitting CDs that they play 24 hours a day. Did someone say anything about children being innocent? Hah! So ingrained in them is the belief that Mom is a nincompoop that the following conversation could be taking place in any home: Son: “Dad, which is the largest bird in the world?” Now, Mom, who might be leagues ahead of Dad in the general knowledge department might say “Ostrich”, with her mind shut. No sound of acknowledgement from the brat, who is hanging upon his father’s words - yet to form in his head. The great man in question looks wise, while desperately trying to remember what an ostrich looks like. Viola! Wasn’t it the silly bird he had seen several decades ago in the zoo, which he had visited holding his father’s hand? Once he connects the word and the image, he is ready with the answer.. Now, here is the crux. He would never give the monosyllabic answer the nincompoop mother has just given. Woe to her. He has to give an ‘explanatory reply’, if you please. So he launches into a soliloquy about wildlife in general and the African Savannah in particular. (Before doing this, he is of course careful to send the mother away to make a cup of tea for him lest she catches out his bloomers). Then, after merrily dispatching the kangaroo to Africa and the rhino to South America, he ends with a flourish: ‘...and ostrich is the largest bird in the world.’ Needless to say, when the mother returns at that precise moment , junior gives her a disdainful look, which says it all - ‘See, father knows so much!’ It is not always a game of ‘mom-is-a-dodo.’ Once they enter their mid/late teens, it is not father against mother, but his parents against others’ parents. It is the all important thing to impress his friends by presenting his parents in the best light. You can assume your son or daughter has become a full-fledged teen when his earlier boasts of “My father is the greatest looking guy” and “My father can lick yours anytime”, are replaced by, “Ajay’s father can play chess so well,” and an accusing, “Vivek’s father has no paunch and he is much older than you.” And at times a whispered, “Please tell dad not to sit in front of the TV munching when my friends come over. They’ll think that was all he did.” Note that he would never make such requests directly to his father. It is all a matter of finance. Remember the cokes, gum, movies and cassettes? The needs have only increased over the years.... There are other instructions too: no lungis for dad and housecoats for mom. They had better be dressed in their best or else be guilty of disgracing him for eternity. I bite back the question, ‘Do your friends’ parents dress daily in three piece suits and Kanjeevaram saris?’ I would never dream of actually doing it, I am teen-trained, you see. And I never, ever make the mistake of going anywhere near his room when he has company. If it is a girl, I am afraid even to breathe in the vicinity, for fear of being accused of ‘eavesdropping ‘or ‘snooping.’ If we go out, he walks either a couple of steps ahead or behind us, so that some acquaintance of his may not mistakenly connect us to him. If we try to either catch up or allow him to, he would bend down to tie a perfectly-tied shoe lace, muttering between clenched teeth for us to go on, PLEASE. But there is a silver lining to the dark cloud. We have a few more years to go before the younger one starts on us too. Thank God for small mercies. |
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Surviving
on her own terms “I was old enough to know what the guy across the table
offering me a role was hinting at on the side. I knew I had no need to
compromise. I was not going to sleep with anyone for just a job. I
wasn’t ever so desperate because I can survive. I know how to live
with just Rs 1000 in a lower than a lower middle class set-up, just as
I know how to be extremely fashionable and mix around and live within
the super five-star crowd. I only sleep with a guy if I like him. It’s my choice!”This is what Neena Gupta, the talented actress producer and director of highly-acclaimed serials Saans, Pal Chhin, Siski. has to say about the sort of person she is. This June-born Gemini is the daughter of Roop Narain Gupta, who retired from the State Transport Corporation in Delhi and the very Gandhian Shakuntla, who enjoyed her school teaching until her children were born. “My mother totally committed herself to our bringing up and gave up her teaching job once me and my brother were born,” says Neena recounting her childhood. Neena did her graduation from Janaki Devi College, Delhi and then went on to do her Masters and M.Phil in Sanskrit before joining the National School of Drama, New Delhi. “After NSD, Bombay seemed a natural choice. We were a group of NSD students who were learning to survive in Bombay. Prahlad Kakkar ran a eating corner in Prithvi Theatre, which was our adda. I would often cook there to earn some money. Then, I would also have Kakkar referring me for some modelling shot or for some small role to earn that extra Rs 500 to Rs 1000 in order to survive in Mumbai. My moms’ teachings of a simple Gandhian way of life and the ability to live under all circumstances helped me live with in the bare minimum. Thank God, she had taught me to cook”. Neena shares a very special bond with her father and they understand, accept and love each other. In fact, he stays with her and her 12-year-old daughter Masaba. Masaba’s father Viv Richards, the West Indies cricketer, had remained in regular touch with Neena and Masaba until an year back. “I have broken up with him for keeps” Neena says and is certain that he hardly has any place in Masaba’s life. Having, Masaba (which means an African princess) without the commitment of marriage was an extremely daring decision. But as Neena says, “Some things are not done, they just happen. Then you need to take a decision and live by it”. Her father was shocked, but went along with the decision of his only daughter. Perhaps it was simply out of no choice or because he felt that she was grown-up enough to decide for herself. Her brother, like most in our society, had serious differences with her decision, but Neena says, “I have realised that people object only because they fear the prospect of having to give some kind of support. Once they realise that you are totally self-sufficient, they really could not be bothered. In the long run if one accepts one’s actions and decisions with calm and maturity, every one in the world comes around. Nothing really makes any difference”. Neena is soon going to launch her first movie and one hopes it shall depict people as naturally as do her serials, “I have been a normal, ordinary human being who has seen life at different levels and in varying circumstances. I feel I have the ability to put my hand on the pulse of the people from different strata of society, thus making it easy for me to depict them in my roles and serials”. Her office is simply done up with scenes from old movies adorning the walls. The scenes depict varied human emotions of surprise, dejection, hope love etc. Everyone is busy, but the aura is that of an extremely organised set-up. “Yes, we are very organised”, affirms Neena. One supposes that is the only way to remain focussed. As I rise to leave, I ask Neena about the inhibition of women in the industry to tell their correct age. She simply says, “No, not only women, but men too are inhibited about disclosing their real age. You seen we are using our body as an instrument to earn and the roles we get are based on the image we have in the mind of the director or producer. By telling the truth, we are in danger of changing that image. The game is to maintain oneself and look as old as the image in the eyes of the beholder”. |
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READERS’ RESPONSE Impact of women in politics THE
article “Women in politics: the impact is evident”
(August 26) by Vimla Patil was interesting. According to her, the impact is evident on the positive side but it can be a mix of both the positive and the negative. It is a big jump and jumping instead of walking step by step gives dangerous results. Jumping at an alarming margin ( participation of women during 54 years i.e. from 2-6 per cent to the desired 33 per cent today) is an indication of reaching at/in a dangerous position. Jumping at a high speed is less safe. About 33 per cent reservation of women in local (urban & rural) politics as per 73rd and 74th amendments, respectively, in the Constitution has not given us wonderful results. Politicians are masters of governments. Probably 33 per cent reservation for women, if made, in public administration offices may prove hazardous what to talk of reservation women in Central state legislatures. In administration, men and women are to work for eight hours a day , five or six days in a week but in politics they, the women, are supposed to serve the masses throughout the day for 24 hours. Biologically, there is a difference between men and women in performing their respective functions. To participate fully in politics and do the expected duties would automatically leave less time and energy for functions to be performed at home. Home administration is to be kept in view while granting/making 33 per cent reservation to women in politics at the Central and states levels. We must give a concentrated thought to it. Om Parkash Wadhwa, Picture of grit This refers to the article
“Picture of courage and grit”
(August 12) by Priyanka Singh. It is really quite tough to live a life without your nearest and dearest ones. It requires tremendous courage and confidence to overcome all odds with no one around to share your emotions and sentiments with. With the people around being not that understanding and helpful, the situation worsens even further and poses a greater challenge to life. It speaks volumes of the importance of independence of women. They should be educated, experienced and optimistic enough to take on the challenges of life. They desire a special place in society and should be felicitated and honoured, instead of being ousted from celebrations and festivities that is usually the norm. We must look up to them for inspiration and motivation, instead of making them the target of our sympathy and compassion. B.M. Puri, Mute woman
power This refers to article
“Mute womanpower: The Valley’s only hope”
by Aditi Tandon (August 19). True, the Valley is bullet-ridden and torn into bleeding smithereens. All this, after all, does result in the devastating ravage to the women’s heart and soul, irrespective of the fact whether she is a mother, a wife, a sister, daughter or a friend. When I, along with my husband young son, went speeding up the steep road leading to the Shankracharya temple in Srinagar, passersby gave us queer stares. We had come in summer vacations and were going to see the famous temple on top of the hill. We continued to get amazed glances, because of the speed but because of being foolish enough to dare going there unescorted like that. From the temple, we could see the vast stretches of the valley as well as the breathtakingly beautiful Dal lake. It saddened my heart to think that such a heavenly place and had been transformed into hell. Womenfolk who themselves symbolise love, compassion and peace bear all the brunt of violence. Ordinary men and there don’t want war, they are too busy fighting the battle of life. As it is, the struggle to live life itself is a war for the majority. My heart goes out to women of the valley and bleeds for them. But through my tears, I wish them to be able to stand up from the ashes and to be able to drum a semblance of sanity and sagacity into the hearts and minds of their menfolk, so that they realise that life is the most sacrosanct thing in this world and avoid unnecessary violence. Amrit Pal
Tiwana, |
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Thangamani
An individualistic person through and through, every sphere of her life is influenced by this streak of independence. She dresses up in clothes she designs. Talking about her trademark style of dressing up, she says: “Even though I am influenced by the current fashion,” she affirms ,“I am a very fashion-conscious person and like all things trendy, but always prefer the Indian look and flavour. I am very Indian in my dress and decor”. Dressed in a layered salwar, short kurta and big gold hoops in her ears, sans make-up, Neena sits comfortably in her office, smoking and reflecting on her life and achievements.