A room of my own

Sometimes when I chance to hear friends and fellow readers about being initiated into books by their parents, I wonder if they know they were privileged. To have your parents channelize your reading or writing spirit is privilege indeed compared to carving your own self, your own path, wandering in libraries with no idea of which book or author to choose, making your choices based on what you hear from your teachers. But thinking deeper, I had some privilege too, to listen to name of great authors dropped by my teachers during our classes. 

What can a girl who sits right in the front row do, who can’t relate to her privileged friends who possibly came from happier families and probably found the lectures boring and instead had something more interesting to tell the other kids around them, what else can such a girl do, but walk along with Wordsworth as he watched the solitary Lass reaping or ride along with the Highwayman destined to have his head amputated. What else can she do but watch the brook take her course or the tiger whose eyes shone like red hot coal.

The more I think the more I feel privileged, to have listened to an aunt on how Antonio was trapped by the wretched Shylock, all for his friend Bassanio, and was finally saved by the wits of his paramour, Portia. I remember how stunned I was by her logical thinking. Yes, women impressed me more than men with their attitude. Whatever politics went in to this little drama, what appealed to me was Portia's coolness and grace. She warns before things go wrong and she mends things later too. Men were portrayed meek, they walked straight into the traps like a know-it-all, waiting to be saved and labeled it, manliness.

Of course it was not intended but that is what I felt. And how can I forget 'Taming of the shrew'? After laughing at all that the woman is subjected to, only to accept at the end that the men were one-up to women, it did strike me what was wrong with that woman in the first place? Can't women dream, desire, have opinions? Why should Que Sera accept whatever will be will be? Taming of the shrew is always a winner, there are so many desi versions that go block busters be it drama or movie. 

We are not that cruel any more, we are the civilized lot, we don't whiplash our women, we instead laugh and mock at them. How? We forward jokes that depict women as spendthrifts, who never bother about the financial status of the husband or father, jokes that depict women as fools, who know barely anything about their gadgets. We forward advises on how a woman should treat her in-laws with respect, but we make fun of her parents. I say We, because it is also women who do their part well here, and it hurts more when women do this. Why does it hurt me? Because I live a life that always considered the financial capacity of my father and my husband in mind, I earn, I pay my bills and these jokes spit me on my face.

As a woman coming from a family that couldn't guide me in my choice of literature or career, but nevertheless didn't stop my quest either, Virginia Woolf's 'A room of one's own' means more to me than those who come from a better environment. I cannot be snubbed for being a feminist or having an attitude. I worked for this, I was neither offered nor did I grab, I worked to get where I am, I might not have wanted or chosen to be here, but this is my necessity, an absolute one.

... to be continued ...

The emerald spider - I

As I run past the wild trees, dry thorny boughs and twigs get entwined in the lace of my long skirt and dwindle along the path. I keep running slowing down a little to loosen them and throw them away. They make little incisions on my fingers and color the lace red. My speed decreases and I slow down a bit, gasping for breath, my lips are parched, and my dry throat desperately needs water. As my gasps get louder and my throat coughs, I could hear gentle rustles behind me. I try breathing orally, and gathering my long skirt, fit myself into the hollow of the nearby dead tree, and hold down a large leafy branch across to bury me.

There is no trace of the rustles now and I heave a not so loud sigh. Looking up at the sky, I could see dark clouds gathering far north, and a very light drizzle. What a timely respite, where else would I find something to quench my thirst. As the drizzle got heavier, and showers came down the thunderous sky, a spider web started becoming visible right before my eyes. The web getting destroyed in the rain, a huge emerald spider jumped and climbed onto my cheeks.

It was the dirtiest and creepiest thing I had ever seen, and as I lost my balance in the process, my hands let go off the branch that I had been holding to shade from my perpetrators, and the sudden jerk, made a cluster of spiders fall right onto my skirt. As I tried moving to my sides, I found myself tumbling down and my legs go down into the air, and kicked them, only to wake up in my bed.

I was still shivering, and looking up, saw it was already past 9. Feeling hungry, I stepped out of my cozy, cuddly bed, into the kitchen, precisely the place where the refrigerator was housed. As I placed my hands on the door handle, a chubby monstrous hand slapped mine, it was obviously the demon of the house, which blurt out “Brush your teeth”.

Sitting on my cozy couch, with my head resting on my darling monster’s shoulders, I started munching the reheated leftover pizza, and blurt out, “hmmm... irresistible”.

“Me, Darling?”

“No darling, the pizza.”

“Darling, didn’t you see the message I forwarded you yesterday?”

“Wife beating husband jokes?”

“No.”

“Foolish blonde/girlfriend jokes?”

“No.”

“What else then darling?

“The one on MSG in pizzas”

“I don’t read or remember such messages darling. Do you know something? I woke up to the same nasty dream yet again.”

“The one in which you were cooking?”

“No. The one in which you were eating. Stop all your misogyny jokes, and listen. I am talking about the spider dream”.

“In which you are chased”

“Yes”

“Now what about that, don’t you always get that?”

“Yes, I do. I always get that dream. That is why. I doubt if there is some message in that. You see an oft repeated dream, means something; say something like my past life. I told you about my laced long skirt in the dream. Didn’t I?”

“Colonial times?”

“Possible”

“Sweetheart, don’t be so carried away. Don’t think so much. You read so many books, and this seems to be just a side effect. Nothing more”

“Why do I get spiders of all creatures then? And why do I run like that? What do the thorns mean? There is so much of bloodshed.”

“Don’t call that small incision as bloodshed”

“You know what? You don’t understand. Dreams have bigger meanings. And those that are oft repeated definitely have some relation to my past and my future. My previous birth or the one before that or may be the one prior to that.”

“If at all there is any meaning to your oft repeated dream, it could be just that you see, you are not organized properly, your things lie in corners unattended, untouched, there could be spiders around, definitely, and if you don’t organize yourself, you may have to run away from the spiders. True Story. In fact,”

“Don’t be so rude.” I pushed his hands off me, it was then I noticed that his ring finger was nude! I mean the ring was missing.

“Where is the ring?”

“Oh that! I had a severe itch on the ring finger last night and so removed it.”

There were tiny red rash marks on his fingers, and it looked a bit swollen. As I inspected the finger, I could see the swollen part of the finger looked very much like...

“Hey look! This is exactly how the dream spider looked”

“The Emerald one?”

“Yes!”

I tried looking a bit shocked and scared, at his eyes.

“Stop it! Will you?” He said laughing loud, and I couldn’t stop joining him.