All the Old Knives

October 30, 2010

Sowmya Rajendran Feminism, Gender, Marriage, Women 9 Comments

…all the old knives
that have rusted in my back, I drive into yours,
ma semblable, ma soeur!

– Adrienne Rich, Snapshots of a Daughter-in-law

I was re-reading much of the poetry that I read when I was in college and it was fascinating to discover the layers of meanings in these texts that had slipped my eye earlier. Meanings that are created in my personal universe because of all that has happened to me. It is delicious to sink your teeth into this newness because you know that you could never have unearthed it earlier- it just wasn’t time yet. I find this to be the greatest joy of reading literature- it’s a creature alive that grows and responds each time you stroke its back. You find meanings in the text that are intimate and speak to you in a way that even the writer, often from some other culture, period, and even gender, couldn’t have imagined.

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-law was a poem we had in our Women’s Writing paper in our 3rd year. Even back then, the three lines I’ve pasted at the beginning of this post spoke to me a great deal. It touched upon the irritating argument that people often wield when dissing feminism- women are the worst enemies of other women, so why blame men? No amount of explaining that patriarchy is a system and mindset that is actively and passively perpetrated and strengthened by both men and women can get you to convince the non-believers.

And if you think about it, it does seem absurd that women themselves want to put down other women right? It was a woman who threw her girl baby out of a toilet window last week. It was Saina Nehwal’s grandmother who was so disappointed at her birth that she refused to see the baby for a month. It is the older women of the family who tell the younger women to sit down for a meal after the men have eaten. It is the mothers who are indulgent about their son’s habit of evading housework but highly critical of their daughter’s disinterest in the same. It is usually women who go to great lengths to put down beautiful women (it’s the botox, she’s not natural, it’s the make-up, it’s just skin-show, she’s FAT). It is I who was amazed and touched by M’s talent for cooking and it was he who reminded me that I was comparing him with other men who do not do any housework and not women who do this as a routine job.

Women are catty, bitchy and intensely judgmental about their own sex in a way that seems so mental. I don’t claim to be a saint in this respect. I’ve hated many beautiful women simply because I knew I could never look like that. The second a really hot woman walks into the room, your girl radar immediately classifies her as a bimbo or at least, you feel a pinch of instant dislike creep into your veins. Though so many of our concerns and disorders have to do with the way we look, I suspect that we’re more often than not dressing up and covering up to escape the critical eyes of other women than men. If it’s an older woman in a silk saree who looks good though not really as ravishing as the younger one in a mini skirt, we are a lot more generous. Aunty is sooooo pretty! What tejas! Our generation can never manage to have that kalai on our face! And so on.

What is it about ourselves that we hate so much? Why do we put down and hold back the women in our lives who are fighting to fly? Why do we want to push them back, make them go through every insult, every deprivation, every snatch of opportunity that we ourselves went through because of our sex? Why are we so keen to drive the knives that have rusted on our backs into the woman next to us? Is it because we truly believe women are inferior to men? I don’t think so. Many of us have seethed in the unfairness of gender inequality. Even the mother who threw her daughter out of the window but kept her twin brother, I’m sure, has felt it. It is possible that it is because she seethed so much under its weight that she even did what she did. And yet, instead of turning this indignation into a productive anger against the system, we let ourselves down by keeping this cycle of hate going.

Psychologists say that victims of abuse often turn into abusers themselves. Is this our malady too? Ask yourself this question before you hate. Ask this before you tell your daughter that she will be too old by the time she finishes her PhD. Ask this before you anxiously fawn over your son-in-law. Ask this before you set the table for the male guests to eat first. Ask this before you say a rude woman at your workplace is that way because she’s unmarried. Ask this before you say Sania Mirza is just a glamour doll. Ask this before you order just a salad when you eat out. Ask this before you sit in front of the mirror, hating the bulges, the wrinkles, the grotesqueness of your female form threatening to swallow your self-esteem. Ask this before you turn all that hatred upon yourself. Let the knives that have rusted fall to ashes.

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Random Rangan

October 29, 2010

Sowmya Rajendran Random Rangan 9 Comments

Yes, after being absent for weeks together, I suddenly write two posts in one day. I have this sudden urge to pour forth.

N and I have finally finished our work on Mayil’s Diary. It started off as a teaching resource on gender for children. It’s now a full fledged novel and is more of a growing-up kind of book. I feel like a celebrity already, writing collaborative fiction and all. Where’s my cooling glass?

School is Cool is out. Please go and buy your copy like dutiful children. The Snow King’s Daughter has been selected for co-publishing by Kerala State Institute of Children’s Literature. So this means that the book will be brought out in Malayalam by the Government of Kerala along with my publishers. I hope you enjoyed reading this newsletter about my books. Please buy them, ok? If you are in some award committee, give me an award. I’m a nice person. I will mess my hair up and collect it amidst thundering applause in an elegant evening.

Once in a while, I think about my life and am seized by terror. This usually happens when things are going great and I have nothing to worry about. I start thinking about my life five years down the line- what if I’m stuck in a highly boring job because I have to pay off my home loan? What if I’m stuck with a creepy kid who crawls around the house and touches my shoulder lightly with one finger when I’m watching The Omen? What if this kid doesn’t read books at all and is not impressed by my work? What if I get Diabetes and cannot eat Tiramisu ever again? What if I’m not able to write any more and don’t get published ever again? I’m not being lighthearted at all. These are questions that have made me toss and turn at night and wish that when it’s morning, I’ll wake up as an eighty-year-old who has all her issues sorted out and can now unabashedly interfere in everybody else’s issues.

M and I are going for Eat, Pray, Love tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to watch anything else. We’re going for a night show though I have office tomorrow. Yay. I feel like youth again.

Before that, I have to order pizzas for us from Domino’s because it’s Friday night and we’re going for a movie and nobody’s interested in cooking and all. I opened the Domino’s online menu at 1 pm, so I can call quickly when it’s 5.30 pm. They have an offer if you call before 6. Exciting.

I’m not looking forward to giving directions to the pizza man though. Ordinarily, my geography is terrible. Geography in Hindi is usually a disaster. I hope we get our pizzas before the night show.

I read Othappu by Sarah Joseph, who is one of the few feminists my mum approves of. I haven’t read an adult novel in ages, I realize. Anyway, the book was decent. It’s probably better in Malayalam, I don’t know. It’s about a nun and a priest who have an affair. I can’t help thinking that the book would have been way better if only SJ hadn’t turned all the sex into some spiritual exotica imagery. I don’t know why so many Indian writers do this. They write about the experience in a very cosmic way- it’s all lightning and thunder and gale and rivers and what not. Unnecessary, I think. Especially if you are making a point about why getting physical is not a bad thing in the first place.

I had to go to Chennai on work and on my flight back, I sat next to a guy who had one of those slanting floppy hairstyles. As in, half his forehead was covered on one side of his forehead. I think he thought he looked damned hot. He was one of the muscled- T boys. Anyway, he struck up a conversation with me about his life and all that and he had these really awful paan-stained teeth. And I was thinking he looks like one of the psychos from Criminal Minds. Then I wanted to laugh so badly but couldn’t because there’s nowhere to hide on an airplane.

Phew. What a life.

I just had my tea now and I feel energized. Is it 5.30 already? Damn. It’s only 3.53. What pizza shall I order? Do I think I should also get garlic bread just in case?

Seedha aao. Right turn karo. Dhanyawadh.
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Angels in the House

October 29, 2010

Sowmya Rajendran Feminism, Gender, Marriage, Women 11 Comments

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This has been a hectic month. It’s a sign of old age that I say this because I went on vacation. And couldn’t wait to sleep on my own bed and bathe in a familiar bathroom. Gone are the days, comrades, when hotel rooms with their fancy faucets and lampshades held their charm. I will turn 25 this coming year and it seems like such an achievement. A quarter of a century. My very own silver jubilee with myself. Congratulations and celebrations.

I started work on a post and then published it in an unfinished state (my trembling fingers and weak eyes clicked the wrong button). I started and restarted that post many a time but then, I was unable to finish it. It was a post that was beginning to sound balefully academic and I grew tired of it. The subject of the post was ‘The Gender of Gratitude’ and it was my analysis of marriage in the new age. No, not analysis really. Just a collection of observations from all the stalking I do on Facebook of other people who got married around the same time that I did. I’m compulsively competitive that way. Are people posting too many awwwwwwwww status messages and photographs (I myself answer guilty to having a profile photograph with the partner)? Is there gender parity in their marriage (what? Gossip is intellectual in the post-modern world)? How long do I think the awwwness is going to last (blame me not, great prophets always bring bad news)? And so on.

Karva Chauth was two days ago and we’ve all been treated to images of the Bachchan women looking at the moon through the sieve. Shilpa Shetty, Kareena Kapoor, and down south, Pony Verma, too kept the fast. Now I’m not going to dissect the practice of Karva Chauth and ask why husbands never observe a fast for their wives’ good health. Tit for tat is old fashion- feminism and I’m already aware of the million justifications that will be placed before me. I really don’t want to listen to how the fast is a scientific detox mechanism for wives devised by our wise and clever elders.

However, what I’m interested in is the new trend of unmarried women observing Karva Chauth (Kareena being one among them) too. Most of them aren’t the doormat variety. They make their money and lead their lives the way they want to. Nobody is forcing them to do this. And yet, this festival has become such a rage. There is undoubtedly a lot of glamour attached to it these days as people throw pre-Karva Chauth bashes and vie with one another about the gifts they’ve received once all the mooning over is done with. A few friends of mine kept the fast too and none of them is what I’d call a traditionalist.

This leads me to suspect that Karva Chauth is not really about the husband/ man in your life any more. Which is good in a way- it’s nice to know that the pati is no longer the sun in the solar system. But if you look at it in another way, it is terribly twisted. It’s the same argument that’s put forth every time the purdah issue comes up- I’m making an emancipated choice to follow this tradition (however patriarchal its origin and implications are), so nobody say anything. If you are not really keeping the fast for your husband’s health and long life and moksha/reincarnation as a happy man in a harem, why exactly are you doing it?

This is my theory: I think everything today is about the drama. I’m not using ‘today’ in the disapproving tone of a seventy-year-old Chandamama reader (I resigned and I’m allowed to take digs now). I’m using it only to make an observation. There is no period in time that is/was better than others.

I keep hearing from young wives about the sacrifices that they’ve already made for their family (which is a grand total of two- themselves and the husband.). Some have quit their jobs, some have decided to stay at home and find work so that when the husband comes, there will be someone to pamper him, some have expressly stated that their husband is now their priority No.1. Some observed Karva Chauth while being pregnant (though the elders advised them against it) because it brought them ‘closer’ to their husbands (who also told them not to fast as it’s not medically advisable to do so). Very touching, this Kannagi-ness.

The funny thing is, the husbands themselves haven’t really demanded such sacrifices. Most of the young, educated, slightly aware brood of men are refreshingly different in their approach to marriage and most do desire equality in their relationships. Why then are these young women, who are usually bright, independent, and not really submissive, tumbling over themselves to prove their love through such ‘sacrifices’? Why aren’t women grabbing the opportunities that their mothers seldom had and using them to their advantage? I think the answer lies in the fact that many of us are in a state of flux about our value systems. On one hand, we are too ‘educated’ to be conformists. We’re aware of the Angel in the House. On the other hand, we haven’t figured out yet a substitute for the traditional ways of expression. We don’t know yet what we can become if the Angel is dead. And so, we take refuge in the drama of being an Angel.

I don’t believe that the Angel in the House avatar will stay forever though . At some point, they will outgrow it and realize that one can’t claim returns on sacrifice. That sacrifice, especially when unnecessary, only leads to resentment.



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Rajini. Dot.

October 4, 2010

Sowmya Rajendran Movies, Rajini 15 Comments

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I’ve never really been a Rajini fan but I’ve watched most of his films because they are entertaining. True, his ‘advice to the ladies’ has always struck a jarring note with me, but I’d forgive him faster than I would a wannabe like Vijay who attempts the same in a much more poisonous way. With Rajini, like everything else in his films, it still manages to be good-natured. Even when he’s singing Oru kudai sunlight, you are tempted to ignore the racist overtones of the song and its depiction and admonish yourself for being a bore who’s even considered thinking that way. But all said and done, I was never a Thalaivar-vaazhga person.

But…

I watched Endhiran on Friday and boy, am I a fan now! I can’t imagine anyone else playing Chitti’s role with equal aplomb or lovableness. Kamal was apparently offered the movie first and thank god he didn’t do it. I’m pretty sure Kamal’s Chitti would have been one of those ultra-sophisticated wanna-win-an-Oscar performances. With unique make-up and get-up for each of the Chitti replicas that explode onscreen. I don’t even want to hypothesize on how Saaruk would have done it.

Rajini, on the other hand, sticks to the local. The biggest Wow! factor in Endhiran is that despite its big budget, theme, and ambition, it never for a moment pretends to be anything other than a Tamil film rooted very much in the spirit of the street. You get all the jokes and they are all insider ones. This is what makes the film an absolute kick-ass experience. You gotta adore a robot called Chitti Babu.

I’m not going to talk about the story and yada-yada because if you don’t know it by now, you are probably in coma or something. Let’s talk performance here. Rajini has never struck me as a great actor. I’ve enjoyed watching him but his over-the-top superstar antics have never made me connect. But as I watched Chitti’s deadpan face achieve humor, love, anger, evil and the entire range of the Navarasa with such flair, I couldn’t help wondering who else in the superstar league could have done it. The Malayalam industry has had some stellar actors who’ve been big at the box office and equally big at performance in the past. But if you look at those superstars now, all you see is a bunch of aged men wearing their crowns insecurely and unconvincingly. Mohan Lal and Mammooty are both terrific in films that have gut-wrenching reality and require genius to perform, but they’ve never been able to let themselves go and play a character that’s out of their comfort zone. Both have attempted to play dons, rock stars, punks and what not. And it’s terrible to watch them do it. They look undignified and foolish. Not to mention tragic.

But take Rajini. At sixty one, he swaggers around in a uber-funky hairstyle playing a robot and wins you over hands down. Never for a moment do you think- god, he should retire. The scenes in which Chitti becomes evil are so gleefully executed that one can’t help but think that in hailing Rajini as a hero, we’ve lost out on a wonderful villain. The lines are minimal- no lengthy I’m-going-to-cut-you-into-parts-and-then essays. He simply mimics a bleating lamb that’s about to be sacrificed and sends shivers down your spine. To be a true superstar, you must know how to wear your mantle. And when it comes to that, Rajini is in a league of his own.

The graphics towards the end of the movie are super. I was cheering as much for the the brilliance of it as I was for the delight that this was happening in Kollywood, machi. From those ugly-weirdo snakes in Mudhalvan, Shankar sure has come a long way. Well done.

Towards the end of the movie, when Chitti is dismantling himself in a black-humoresque way, you actually feel a little weepy. That I say, is a robot for keeps.

Long live Thalaivar. Dot.


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