Story

Married Feminist

When I was getting married I received two sets of advice. In one meeting, I was advised to create a life outside my partner, to have my own friends, my own hobbies, to not self isolate, to be part of a community. Apart from keeping a sense of self, I was advised to be the Manager of the house.

In another meeting, I was advised to have both feet in my new home- to Leave and Cleave is what they called it, not looking back and expecting to run back home if things got tough. The two women also shared opinions about whether to contribute to the household expenses, what garments to wash or not wash, to always be available and lastly, “When was I planning to have children?”

“Oh, no. Not yet. I will decide when”, I had responded naively. Lost for words and mouths half open, there was silence in the room until one of the women finally found her voice- she found it in a shaky, uneven emotional state- “Well, for me, I would expect my daughter to be pregnant the day after she gets married. I mean, why not?” I could see that it was a very sensitive subject. A few weeks after my wedding, there were rumors that a certain bride did not want children… I wonder where those came from.

My own views about marriage were shaped, like all others, partly by what I had seen and partly by what I wanted to do differently. Marriage was like a rite of passage. Something that my parents had done and something that I associated with growing up. I had read many fairy tales as a child and they all had something in common- a vague notion of ‘happily ever after’. There were no details of how they created that happiness. I guess we all just filled in the blanks of what that meant to us.

I had shunned the customary bridal shower having attended a few too many. In two of them, the brides who already had children, were being coached on what went where, all while using code words. I could not tell who was lying to who. Besides, the talks had all been about duty. Not once, in any of these talks had self or even happiness ever been mentioned. Even the one thing that could have escaped that label, still got listed under chores.

I hoped for a lot more love and happiness than what the older tenants described. Having been exposed to a good level of school, I was constantly taunted by the evil word ‘equality’ and confused by the mystical world of ‘submission’. It felt like such a difficult pill to swallow that we were required to get smaller and smaller until we were invisible to satisfy a feeling of dominion [is it dominion or leadership that the husband is supposed to provide?] in our yoked partner. Some women, when they were finally recognized in the equation were very excited to be referred to as ‘necks’. “Do not worry, you are a neck. You turn the head.”

There is a long history to that analogy. Such was the nature of our female ancestors’ relationships with their masters/husbands. Women believed that they secretly pulled the strings behind the curtains- through charms in beads and pots and perfumes, subtle deceits, exaggerated displays of naivety, the allure of displayed powerlessness and dedicated servitude. In these indirect ways, they moved Master’s hand in their favour- they were the neck.

A few hundred years later, females are now found everywhere, not just in the kitchen and the bedroom. This means that many times they have to make big decisions, some times they have to step on toes, and sometimes they even lead men in the formal business arena! Worst of all (depending on who you are talking to), they are taught by wrong elements in society that they are just as good as their counterparts- their brothers – the male species! We now have women who talk and who think that they too must be heard. We have women who want more than just duty and the emotional and physical wear and tear that comes with it.

In spite of the societal changes, there remains a disproportionate level of training between women and men for the institution. Women are being trained to be wives and men are being trained to be, men. And yet it seems that the household of the present day is more a partnership than an absolute monarchy. The immense contribution to society by women’s domestic roles is only now beginning to be realized and credited. Some men are benefiting from having someone to talk to who understands the formal work atmosphere. Men are beginning to let their inner guards down and are letting their wives in. Some wives are contributing to the household bills. Covenant or contract- maintaining the household- the nuclear convergence of man and woman remains important but complex.

Some women have [passive aggressively] posted cryptic statuses directed towards their married friends saying, “Women! Marriage is not an achievement! Stop treating it like it is! ” And it is not. Not the first few minutes at least. Walking down a rose strewn aisle is not a ‘marriage achievement’ in itself – it’s an achievement in decor and ambiance.

I thought marriage might be an extended date night without curfew. It is not. Some have called it a friendship. This is wise; because who would not want to have a friend beside them when they close the door behind them. But most of the time, we do not marry someone who is biologically platonic to ourselves. We usually, slip and fall, into the strong arms of the hero and are whisked away to safety. We can only hope that the Prince turns out to be a friend.

Story

Beauty unseen

Nobody understands disdain like a woman whose man has found himself a new woman. Nobody understands self scrutiny and criticism quite the way a teenage girl does. Though for the teenage girl, this initial fear that she might not be ‘enough’ usually subsides. But then adulthood presents yet another card, the physical changes of growing older and of being pregnant [for some].

I once asked my mother what it felt like to be old. I definitely hope that I phrased it better than that.

“I feel like I’m still the same inside. It’s the outside that has changed,” she replied.

It is one of the paradoxes of life, I suppose. That your inner spirit would remain the same, influenced only by your experience of life while your outer body ages. Some have attempted to reflect the youthfulness they feel inside with silicon boobs and fillers but it has not been a total success. It is interesting that, the age at which most women will eventually wish they could freeze in time is the same face and body, that they did not at that point in time find beautiful. The severely fragmented body part fetish culture that is the norm today definitely makes it more difficult. It seems to condense women into only a pair of twerking bums or a private part.

It has its advantages. It compliments the age old running theme of the world – the power struggle between men and women, whereby the objectification and lessening of one part of the human population has scored us women very poorly on the value card.

A woman’s value has been tied to her beauty for a very long time. That is why, whenever we look into the mirror, more than looking for whether we are still beautiful, we look for whether we are still valuable.

And because women’s beauty has been tied to age (‘Sweet Sixteen’), we think our value has an expiry date. Many women joke that they have declared themselves the same age for many years. And those are the honest ones! That is why the dreaded, “How old do you think i am?” always actually means, do you think I’m STILL beautiful? Do you think I’m lovable?

Back to pregnancy

Pregnancy for me came with both the anxiety of spontaneous body changes, a sense of duality and a loss of connection to my body. A duality perceived and cultivated by righteous perfectionism that I struggled with during another season.

I got the round popping baby bump I wanted but later on in my trimesters I began to worry that it was a little too big. Having a short torso and a big baby not only meant that I got too tired to walk or stand for long periods of time without reeling back and forth but it also meant that my baby pushed out on my intra- abdominal muscles and affected my back alignment. And in these aspects, part of my fears of losing myself had manifested.

One evening at committee meeting for a wedding ceremony, seven months pregnant- tired, round and roughed up by acne, a friend of my mother’s came up to me and exclaimed, “You look beautiful!” My response was a muddled and confused, “Really?” and “Thank you” and then I rushed to the bathrooms filled with emotion and brimming tears. I could tell that she really meant it.

After birth

I would say, the first look after birth should be extended to at least a week. It is not just the swollen touched out body, it’s just that the demanding wails and absolute rights to the milk tanks is enough to burn you out.

But when you do take that first look, you must treat myself with dignity even though you might not like what you see. Your body will probably always remember that it carried a baby. Your heart does too. Treating yourself with dignity means speaking well to yourself and taking steps to get your physique where you want it to be. I have found, that yoga and dancing do that for me. Though I have not been free to do yoga due to the high risk of increasing my diastasis recti. This I did not anticipate.

In the meantime, I have discovered that it is important to appreciate our bodies WHOLLY but that it is also important to go deeper. We will most probably also find that we are good friends, business women, caretakers, professionals, good cooks, writers, dancers, singers, tailors and we offer much more than just tourist incentives.