Thursday, May 26, 2016
I dare to wash anything away, that comes in my way.
Just look at this picture. I just don't want to go by the fact, why only this beautiful lady? Why not a man?
I swear, most men could beat her and deserve a place on that box of detergent too. Stereotypical aren't we? Whoever says the men are from mars and women are from the kitchen? Something does not go too well there.
Made in India men are definitely classified into categories. Ones who can do their own laundry or the family's and the rest who are babies of their mothers and then of their wive's.
The made in India type of Male in India aren't rare species at all.
Definitely there are male species that wash their clothes. Not just his but for his family too. Here is an example for you. This man found as the writer's husband surely has been setting an grand example for any gender bias protest. He can fix amazing breakfast on weekend, make best tea, run the dishwasher, clean the car too. Why, he can do the laundry job and enjoys shoving the clothes right into the front loader. He has never read the manual too! If I have pampered him all the while with laundry, hot meals, the mystery of the hidden sock and towel, he's made his efforts too in sharing the chores. We have apparently fallen for the chief minister of Delhi's rule of Odd and even. But this has nothing to do with cars but the chores of the house. An odd day is his and even mine. Well, If I could brag about it, I have every right to.
On other hand, we can not blame the men who have never had an idea of what washing meant. Lets blame some of we ladies. We are the ones who pamper them. Not always do the men enjoy being tagged as "big babies". Oh! munne ki maa is to be blamed for "munne ke paapa tho abhi bhi bache hi hai"! Excuse me? Have you ever heard of the other way? You would hate to be called "munne ki maa tho bachi hai" by the papa. You can devour all the giggles but control the anger in the laughter if any.
Lets name this technical error gender bias.
Ladies don't get it all wrong. You are free to pamper your husbands. Freeze tons of food before you go to your mother's, get those extra pair of clothes & sock for the entire week. And then remember to store the dhobi's number, just in case munne ke paapa forgets even to collect his laundry from the dhobi. Then , there is munna who can remind you of dhobi when he sings, "dhobi aaya, dhobi aaya kapde saaf, kitne kapde laaya..". Huh. No. The men in my house are just the ones you see in photographs there. Munne ke paapa can wash car, wash laundry, run dishwasher, wash anything that comes his way. I have never interfered or to be precise never poked my nose, when he is on his cleaning spree!
Ah! My little boy is on his training shot already. He definitely will learn to do his job independently and not categorize the chores into "women job" and "men job".
So, if it's all about washing, then "laundry" is not just women's job. The dhobi is the proof. You men neither are doing a "biwi ki seva" nor are you inferior, by washing clothes in your house. You qualify to acquire your competency of performing your life's simple day to day activities.
We have come far ahead of stone age and era of shouting slogans like "Women are equal to men'. It's perhaps high time to say "MEN ARE EQUAL TO WOMEN".
There's this heart touching video lesson by Ariel which goes on to tell how the dad's of different era did not help the mom's with the chores and the same example could easily be followed by our generation too. We definitely have to be trend setters.
Monday, May 9, 2016
|Picture Courtesy - Google|
The day I almost fitted back into my old jeans four months after the baby was out, I was as happy as reaching Mars myself. Only those mothers who have bothered to walk in worst ever cat walk throughout pregnancy, with the baby bump, can relate to my madness.
Few months before it was, when my family was finally frustrated, how terribly I was worried about inflating and inflating to a double XL size, outgrowing my beautiful wardrobe, they consoled me. Come on you have given a good news! In my India there is only and only one meaning to the "good news". That's when you are going to be "mommy darling".
Please do not fall pity to my plight. As I drove on a main highway reading this pitiful message, I urged myself to reply "same to you too". Blood boiling in me, but kept my cool. Yet, my mind refused to get out of thoughts like, what if during delivery pain I call him and he says "good luck". What if I myself had to drive to hospital, and he visits labour ward singing "congratulations". Huh. Home was nearing and luckily he called me. Immediately I acted "Congratulations to you dear, you gonna be daddy". It was then I saw a thrill in his voice and in order to hush him down I had to remind him, honey am pregnant, not you!
Next few weeks passed by, making friends with big multi-coloured vitamins and other tablets and also the devil in my throat called nausea. Like a typical Hindi Bollywood movie, I started showing up with few vomiting sessions, dizzy times, lesser work, full fledged pampering by family. The head count of our family was going to increase by another.
As if the world just toppled over you, you dread those times when you can neither see your own feet without a mirror or wear your own sock independently. Sometime back had heard few jokes like the first few years of marriage and your room smells of perfumes. In the next few years it's baby powder, baby soap and stuff. The last stage sees and smells only medicines and medicines. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided, Thank God I was still in 2nd stage.
It was not just the clothes that were changed. The seating settings of my office chair, my car and what ever. Huh. Whole lot of a roller coaster adventure. Many a times my expressions wore a disgusting warning sign that almost read "Under severe pregnancy hormonal influence- Beware of me". And people suddenly turned sober towards me. You just had to walk in to the shopping mart. The cart would just walk into you from nowhere. Soon I was learning the trick of sticking my shopping list on the cart and only pretending to bend on to pick something. Those things would pop onto my cart. There was always a good Samaritan for me everywhere. It was like a mega offer of "feel pampered-if pregnant". Not just the family and friends, but anybody who sees you pampers you. The 9 months of luxury seems like one of those air travels in the business class, where in the cabin crew is always after you with cup of juice or food, whether you asked for it or not.
Pregnancy is not about get pampered, eat and sleep. Sleep? Hell...yeah sleep. I wanted to, badly! Who loves being in an insomniac spell for few months though. Last person was me. Walking inside the room at mid nights were so boring. Also , I could not ignore looking at my own legs too. For my size, my thighs had turned into thunder thighs, once slender thighs. Now it is more apt to be called wonder thighs.
|Myself with my kids|
As the roller coaster months of doing the cat walk with the baby bump rolled over, awaiting another happy spell, of a new life in your arm..... there ceases flow of words. It's a feeling. That's it. As promised, my first one gave her best to her little brother, including lessons on "selfie". Without wasting much time. The world moves fast.
This Mother's Day I had my new born along with my first one. The joyous moment yet pinched me. Given this day, if I were to wish, I wanted to wish the same stroke of happiness to those who could have no child of their own. I was worried of those children in orphanages who never saw their mother. Or, the one who sobbed for months in the hospital losing her son to cancer.
Being a mother is a unique feeling. Motherhood is a feeling bubbling in heart of every woman. Please feel it and share it with your own child or a needy another.
This post briefing about my wonderful journey of pregnancy, is tagged for the #yummyMummy blogging activity at BlogAdda in association with Marico Bio Oil.