Why should brides leave their homes?

Tuje apne ghar jaana hai”; “You have to go to your home someday” – says the family, the parents who have fed, nurtured, and parented their girl child.

Every girl has heard this at least once in her life. It is a subtle hint toward making the women feel like she never belonged to the family while mentally preparing her for marriage. Well, the worst way to put it is—a pig being readied to be slaughtered in its own home.

The thought that they must leave their homes to be a part of someone’s family has rebuked many women. It may seem like a tradition, a culture, a practice that’s acceptable in society but hey let’s tear the top layer to jostle ourselves with a reality check.

•       The new bride/wife must depart her home, where she has spent her entire life, must leave her parents, who have cared for her, and stay with her husband’s family.
  
  
• As an adult, she must adjust to their style of living while all that the husband sacrifices is half the space of his bed. 
  
  
• The new bride must dress a certain way, maintain a certain decorum and oblige them by following the living style of the new family orders. Hey, but the husband is just at home.
  
  
• If the couple stays away, the wife must visit and stay with the husband’s family before hers. She must visit her own home for merely a few days as a guest, be it any festival, Diwali, Christmas,. The husband enjoys a trip back home like he used to.

Ever visited someone’s house as a guest for a week? Oh how you feel like going home after a while! Now think about being made to stay there all your life.
Welcome to a women’s world. Let’s continue...

• The wife must consider her husband’s family as her first family. Her own parents come second in priority – not to mention they are perfectly okay with their own little daughter preferring to first care for someone else over them.
  
  
• The husband can take care of his family but the wife cannot do so for her mom and dad because well she has a new family so get to business in this house gal, that ain’t your home!
  
  
• The wife must change her second name, her identity (optional today yet common). The men don’t have to bother about anything.
  
  
• Her name gets moved from the ration card of one family to the other. The husband has no drama in his life.
  
  
• The wife must be a Mrs. The husband? Well, he enjoys the life of being a male in a distorted patriarchal paradigm.
  
  
• Worse and most important, the wife bears a child for those tough 9 months, births them, feeds them only to realise that the child gets the name of the husband’s family.

Do you notice something? Women have been subjected to rules while men enjoy the benefit of their gender status and the status quo of today’s society. We, women, are ‘dictated’ to be a certain way under the name of culture, traditions, and laws and order created by men. And, unfortunately, women today have accepted it as what the ‘society’ dictates. No wonder, they discriminate against women, and kill the girl in the womb, because having a son means extending the family and having someone to rely on in old age.

When we offer equal education to kids irrespective of their gender then why must women sacrifice the comfort of her home to adjust to a new family?

Why are brides asked to leave their homes?

Because:

Social constructs in the past have thrived on male dominance and patriarchal culture. The women managed household chores and the men went out to earn and offer security to the family. Society expected married women to be financially dependent on their partners. The identity solely stopped as someone’s wife or someone’s mother after marriage. Stepping out of this line, they were called home breakers. Unfortunately, the social mindset of Gen X towards women remains the same and has been passed on to generations. It's time we change our mindsets.

So, should brides leave home?

NO. Should husbands leave home? No, those mama’s boys and daddy’s friends might disintegrate like a shooting star in the transition. The plausible option is that couples start afresh and make a home of their own. They visit their parents and the other way round whenever they want.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Big Little Things: Episode 2: Thick as Thieves

I had never felt alone here in this big city down South and far away from home until--I want to call it the 'Shit dropped from Heaven' day.

Keeping up reputation, I reached late at the Decathalon store that seemed to be on the other end of the world. You had been waiting there for eons and I arrived carrying a baggage full of guilt after exchanging several calls and messages with you about my whereabouts. Well, that didn't deter me from taking all my time to shop for my first Himalayan trek.

We dragged ourselves out of the place, but unbeknownst, I still had some more trouble to offer you. So, I ran in to check if I had mistakenly bought track pants for males.

Next moment, we found ourselves outside the store with you checking your phone and preparing to make a dash. Although we did exchange some sweets we got from home, we were quick to go our own way soon after.

All hell broke loose when I reached home. I was helpless as I was watched myself get assaulted in front of my home. No one from the PG came out to help me. I called you and informed you about it but you did nothing more than listening to me and saying take care--I am not sure if you really said that.

I overlooked your indifference but dreamed about you leaving me in wilderness as I choked on my own blood. It shook me more than it did in reality. After I narrated my dream, I saw the concern you had for me. You knew when I would sound low, what confused me and even met me to untangle the spindle of problems that I had created.

I could see that you became a somebody from a nobody. I changed my emergency contact details to your number. I looked forward to having conversations with you. Did you realize how it would lift a heavy weight from my chest after a mere 30-minute phone conversation.

I trusted us. We were thick as thieves.

Big Little Things: Episode 1: Overboard

I have always admired the twinkle in your eyes and the smile on your lips. It has been highly contagious so far. I remember saying that you have sparkling button eyes and forwarded you the picture of a rat with bright, black eyes. You made a face. I assumed that only I thought that your eyes were beautiful.

That day, when I stood before you with an apologetic face, I saw your stiff self—a straight face that no longer held that smile, no longer emanated the brightness of the day and the twinkle of a starry night. I was taken aback by seeing this side of yours and I wondered whether it was really necessary for you to meet me and drop that smile in arrogance or ignorance—I may never know which.

Today, you weren't as stiff but I know you didn't want to meet me. You could have delayed taking your belongings back, but you know how much I was insisting on it. There were taking a lot of space in my cramped room and they just lay there waiting to turn into an excuse for me to see you smile again.

So, I waited for the time to run right, and when you showed up I saw nothing but the same old rigid you. I thought I did see your lips curve for a split-second when I gave you the baby pine cone and the most beautiful piece of pebble I have ever found. When you looked up I could see you wanted to escape. So you offered me the sweet lying in your bag as an immediate return gesture to unburden yourself and rode off.

I turned before I could see you go as I admired the sweet you gave me instead of the smile that I knew you would never flash again.

I think recovery is a slow process. I agree I went overboard with my statements out of anger, but now I feel that you are going overboard with your unapologetic indifference. I will accept that and keep in touch until the time heals us both.

Incessant Wait

Ticking time, traffic
Smoke, sun, fumes, fury
Accelerate, apply brakes
Wait, incessant wait
Work, whine, withdraw, work late
Skip food, fun, fitness
Sleep, well, too late
Social media, meetings, mail
Communication without emotions, so fake
Aim and age, high
Loose touch with self, inanimate
Free, a four-letter word
Slave, a five letter reality
Wither, wear out
Wash you face
Take meds, meditate
Repeat, iterate, hate
Money, more money
Spend, save, waste
Money, mate, fate
Proliferate
Wake up one day
Realise it's too late
Stop what you hate
Wait, incessant wait
Last breath, death, a waste

To Be A-Friend or Not to Be ?

Remember how as kids we would stop talking to a friend if he or she argued with us, strongly disagreed with our opinions, or simply put us off? We are still the same, only more subtle in our approach.

We stop being our complete selves in front of them. We stop revealing ourselves, thinking they would not understand or misunderstand.

PC : The Artidote

It is sad to lose a part of somebody like that —  it is sad to witness a shift in their behavior. More so, it is sad to realize that it won't be the same anymore between you and them.

So, can things reverse?

Well it depends upon you and them, and which one of you is willing to give up the mask of ego and face the other. May be you could be more accepting of how you both are different, never-mind right or wrong.

In some cases, time might heal everything, so chill.

PC : The Artidote

I might Have Left

Bloody bickering
Banned Voices
Turning On high
Turning Inside Out
Stoic
Figured My Lost Way
Recede
Taken Away
I Might Have Left
Before you come and stay
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Gloom
Without Your Voice
Left Hollow Words
Vice
Deceitful Deceiver
Ugly Face
Hollow Rings
Time A Waste
Unpardonable Sins
Chastity Doubles Up
Calls Cold
Pest Eating Away
Rotting smells blooming and gay
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Links
Broken connections Communications
Interactions
Prejudiced Palpitations
Notice how my broken words
Struggle and Fade
Waiting Turning to Ghost
Hoping For A Ray
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay
Unhindered attention
Beauty Body Booty
Fondled and Rekindled Fires
Warm Bodies
Desperate Liars
Feeding Fire
Locked Emotions
Painful Compositions
Soot, Soot Building away
I might Have Left
Before You Come And Stay

We Survived

Wobbling, I fall down

Stuttering, Unclear, my mistakes profound

What a mess, a pile of flaws

Trying to match the nature's laws

Highlighted, standing in spotlight

Brought forth my life's plight

Wary of true self, I hide

With the lion's skin on, I stay disguised

Like You, I masquerade

The world and you and I play facade

But, You know the face beneath this veil

The vulnerable wounds of fear if I fail

You, my dear, know the fragility of my flesh and bones

And you know the twists in my wavering tones

My head housing perforated thoughts

You know which are true and what is farce

Stay back and stop, don't speculate and say

Weak in your conviction, and your tears are a bait

Without knowing the right from wrong

You don't realize what you say

You turn my day to gloom,

And leave my nights doomed

Knowing all about my fears

My chest open, laid bare

Your arrow draws through the skin

Words pierce punishing my sins

Avowed, I ask for amnesty

Defeated I say, "Set me free!"

You are at fault as am I

Withered in time, we both have lied

Either we slaughter each other undignified

Or live through the troughs and say "We Survived!"

When Clothes Decide Our Morality, Society Is Way Beyond Repair

Describing the conservative and unsavoury mind-set of the society, somebody rightfully quoted that a girl’s character is judged by the length of the clothes she is wearing. At the age when figures in our exam scores should have been more important that than those signifying our ripening puberty, there were people who decided what type of clothes looked morally appropriate on us. 

My mother replaced my single pieces and frocks with jeans and tops. My grandmother told me to sit like a girl and speak like a girl in contrast to the customary shouting that was the preferred way of communication in my family. 

All the men could roam around bare-chested in a precipitating 42 degrees temperature. Whereas, women wouldn’t go out without concealing their feminine with an extra protection of a dupatta or a veil. Thankfully, in our parts of the city nobody wore a burqa in that metal-melting heat though, I rarely felt that offered any protection from the piercing gazes of lust and immorality.

It happened recently that I was flying from my hometown to the city where I work. An elderly couple approached to occupy the seats beside me in the plane. Since the lady had some medical issues in her knees they wanted me to sit in the window seat, so that she could sit in aisle seat and stretch her legs towards the aisle when needed. The older man sat next to me in the middle seat.

We had a small conversation, where he told that he was from Leh, his son was an IITian and he owned a famous restaurant in Kargil. He offered me his contact details and invited me to visit his hotel in case I was traveling to that part of the country and promised a discount. He asked me a lot of questions during the flight, which I didn’t find intruding because I lied most of the times.

I prefer not to disclose my identity while traveling. Our not-so-small conversation involved him asking me questions about my studies, my dad’s profession, and telling about his wife’s knee operation and some vague things. When we were about to reach our destination, he told me something that I regret hearing and not responding to.

His words were, “I will tell you one thing. You should wear clothes with full sleeves. Till here.” And he pointed towards his wrist. I remember propping an immediate ‘why’ in response with a smile and an urge to question his beliefs more than his words.

The reply he gave was— “because, it is too sunny, and sun isn’t good for the skin. “. There was no doubt the plane had a roof, and no sunlight came from the window to burn my skin. To his statement he added that he was a father figure to me and that I should listen.

I was gobsmacked. That was sudden and struck me, initiating a mix of emotions and anger dominated all of them. Instead, I controlled myself, responded with an ‘hmmm’ and continued reading my book, though I could hardly concentrate.

My thoughts when back to my school days when wearing short skirts to schools was a habit wherein students had their fun, which teachers wanted them to shun. Morning assembles for praying to the almighty in unison was conducted with the purpose to filter out students who were uniform defaulters. Sometimes, a student with a raised collar, an unpolished shoe, a missing tie and even missing shorts below the skirt was looked upon with wrath.

In one such incident, I remember, my bilingual French teacher made an announcement for girls to stay back after the assembly. When the boys left the prayer arena, all the girls were asked to come closer and form a circle around Ms Jayshree.

We huddled towards the centre encircling our teacher, but maintaining some distance from the about-to-be-epicentre. When we were close enough so that no one from the surrounding floors dropping an ear over our conversation could catch even a word out of it, she finally spoke in a normal but stern tone.

“Those of you who are not wearing shorts under their skirts, please step forward.”

Since I knew this was going to happen considering my bad luck that I skipped the daily routine of the new addition to our uniform, I pretended I couldn’t hear her at first.

“What is she saying?” I asked a friend standing beside me.

“She is asking if we are wearing shorts, if not we have to step forward. Thankfully, I am wearing it today. Else… ” my friend gave a known look that meant trouble straight ahead.

Else what? I thought, was she going to take us to the principal telling him that we is not wearing shorts underneath our skirts? Or will she call my mom and complain to her about it. Will mom still understand that it was too hot to wear so much clothing?

Ms Jayshree repeated her words, only this time she was a little loud.

“Just step forward otherwise I would have to check myself who is wearing shorts and who is not.”

I didn’t know if she was actually going to do it. Images of Ms Jayshree lifting my skirt in front of everyone to check the white color of my shorts flashed before me. That can’t happen!

“Ma’am, I am not wearing shorts.” I stepped forward with a bag of honesty and an axe of dare to hit my own feet.

She got a step closer to me. But, I was sure the other girls would have thanked me for stepping forward and saving them from the wrath of the ‘Volcano God’ who would only stop unless someone’s life was offered as a reward.

She stood a good one feet over me and stared at me before blowing away. “Why didn’t you wear shorts? Do you think your skirt should fly and boys should see what’s there underneath?”

She shouted right over my face, and believe me the closed group meeting we had was no longer a secret conversation, because the corridors reverberated with her voice. Her kohl smeared eyes moved left and right in its sockets staring me individually in each eye, as if I had done the crime of my life and had to be banished from the school. I could only mumble. The tears in my eyes approved her of my guilt, while I regretted coming forth and accepting my mistake in front of so many girls around me.

Remembering my past experience urged me to retaliate. The words that I prepared in response were—if my father doesn’t have a problem with cut sleeves who was he to question! 

I noticed his wife covered head to toe, which again was driving me to ask him to apply his principals to himself and his family.

I was infuriated. However, I didn’t not respond, which was intuitive because he was an elderly person and I maintained a respectable distance between us. Secondly, I knew my response would disturb the peace of my journey and his ripened age and withering mind may have lost the ability to understand things. I chose to keep mum.

It seems holding on to the anger does more harm than good. Sometimes, I still think it should have flowed out of me there and then. I should have retaliated, but I didn’t. I should have questioned because it bothers me to think why I didn’t.

May be even Ms Jayshree would have reconsidered or felt apologetic had I approached her personally saying that the way she dealt with double-protecting our nether parts wasn’t appropriate. But, I doubt if she even had the maturity to understand that.

A girl in typical Indian family is grown up differently, where she is taught to speak less and soft, be diligent, benevolent and the kindest version of her race. This could be one of the reasons why women who are victimized never raise their voices or stand up for themselves. The roots seem to lie in the difference in the upbringing of boys and girls in our society. While it is alright for boys to shout or talk aloud, people shush girls for being too loud in their voice and approach. What kept me low and mum was my own self. May be the story wouldn’t have ended the same way for me or for any other unfortunate female to suffer their company in future, had I drawn the line.  

As for Ms Jayshree, she was probably pacified when our school uniforms changed from skirts to pants during a malaria outbreak.

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9 Peculiar People You Find When You Hit The Gym

A gym offers more than just space where you can come to work on your body. Only because of the kind of people we get to see at the gym, it becomes even more interesting place--to observe others and getting either inspired or entertained.

You will find these 7 kinds of people in every fitness center, no matter in which part of India you are.

1. The Hero

So, there will be this guy in gunjees, who would enter the gym, check his looks, hairstyle or biceps in the mirror just next to where a girl is exercising. Then, without a warm up, he would straightaway head to the other section to lift heavy weights.

2. The One Who Is In Labor

Not really, but the kind of sounds this guy makes while lifting weight seems as if he is being told to push a baby out of his..ahem.period. We know it takes effort and willpower to lift those 17-kilogram dumbbells, but these people utter a cry as if getting stabbed from the back.
Thump! The weight is thrown on the ground after a cry signifying the completion of set. These guys surely contribute to the noise pollution inside a gym.

3. The Girl Who Comes To Watch TV

She is cycling or on a cross-trainer but her eyes are fixated on the TV screen on the wall. Bollywood numbers, scarcely clad women lifting weights and muscular men with embellished 6 packs-abs keep her eyes glued to the screen. Her workout is taken care of by her body, which on an autopilot mode while pedaling.

4. The Stalker

He checks out the girls, keeping one eye on the lady trainer and the other on his own biceps. Seriously, he isn't there to workout. His Tinder account is inaccessible so he is hitting the gym these days.

5. The Lipstick Chick

This girls ramp-walks on the treadmill, chews a bubble gum and comes with a dark shade of lipstick spread across her pouted lips. She even has a 24 hour, anti-sweat kajal, eyeliner or mascara that her sweat fails to smudge whatsoever.

6. The Talkative Aunty

This aunty comes on and off to the gym with an intention to shed some kilograms of discomfort or because her neighbor also goes gyms. She catches hold of people and starts a conversation with anyone who has taken a break in between the sets. She will probably talk about herself and in between do your background check.

7. The Dedicated Body Builder

He is coming to the gym with a purpose--either to enhance his muscle power like everyone around or to lose weight. He wears the same gym clothes almost daily, doesn't give a shit about what is happening and continues to train himself silently.

8. The One Who Gets On Weighing Machine After Every Exercise

Honestly, this is more common in girls as compared to the other guys--though even they indulge in it regularly. After every exercise, they head to the weighing machine to check whether today's diet and the last set of crunches shifted the needle to the left.

9. The Trainer

How can we forget the kind of trainers in the gym? Those who practice lifting the weight themselves before allowing you the opportunity to get trained. These self-obsessed trainers then coax others, "Chal ab tu kar."

Do you have any other characters in mind? Did you find any of these in your gym? Comment and share your funny experiences at the gym.

PC:http://www.viralspell.com

The Mirage Of A Mirror

Mirrors have been such an intriguing creation by humankind.

• It empowers you when you lift up your clothes to feed yourself the beauty of your own body. It discourages you when you closely look at the acne that has cropped up unexpectedly on your face.

• It makes you smirk when you watch your taut nerves peeking out of your muscular built. It catches you as you notice the first few strands of gray hair in the sideburns.

Mirrors deceive us into thinking we are the most beautiful, the most handsome, the curviest, most muscular, most decent, charismatic, cherubic, capable of being different. . . . . and unique.

Mirrors even make us feel vulnerable. 

We look at ourselves searching for our own objectionable features, unpleasant flab of fat and cellulite, undesirable marks on our body, the off-putting complexion of our skin, thin and slender frames, signs of aging—graying hair and wrinkles and bags under the eyes.

At a moment that reflects back a version of who we are—good, bad, ugly—all of us is captured by such a preposterous piece of brittle object.

                                                    The Mirror

A powerful and highly underrated masterpiece subjected to mere glances and quick thoughts.

• The mirror is where an orator hides his fears. 

• It is where a dancer shuns her bad posture. 

• A baby derives joy watching themselves smile.

• A model engulfs fear and emanates confidence watching her own stunning image.

An animal apes itself in a mirror, discovers the secret and moves on, but we humans remain transfixed by watching our own self in various avatars. 

We come back, again and again, every morning, every visit to the bathroom, to the dressing table, to the salon—we come back to test ourselves for perfection and offer ourselves a piece of self admiration, at times, criticism.

We are as fragile as the object that creates a reflection of our selves. 

We aren’t really what we see in the mirror—we are much more at different times, doing different things. Beauty portrays in a good deed—giving, offering, taking, receiving, sacrificing—when we are unaware of our image.

By simply hanging on the wall, in a frame—mirrors take away the control from ourselves, giving us either frustration or satisfaction. Such is the power of this tool. 

Is it really true that an inanimate object cause so much more than a stir?

Wake up and look at yourself. Penetrate into your own eyes and shush your caustic mind. 

Don't blame the mirror.

Image Source:https://studiojoslizen.wordpress.com/tag/mirror/