confessions

CONFESSIONS OF A BORED PUNJABI NUH(DAUGHTER IN LAW)
This is not an illicit, scintillating account of a bored housewife. Nor is it a B-grade movie with all the sordid details to titillate the senses.
It is a mere reflection of the state of a Punjabi woman who are mere ornaments: value decided by the size of diamonds or as they very eloquently put it in the hushed cultured tones taught by the convent nuns….khandaani jewels.It is also seen that as one goes up the hierarchy values, standards change. A general disclaimer is also added by me to take everything with a pinch of salt … Please identify yourself as the story goes.



Looking up at the stars and joining them as WOW: Nanaki remarked to her Dad that when we reversed them they became MOM. That’s why she was up in the heavens, an angel as her Naani had told her. Jai looked at her with amazement and awe. She constantly surprised him with her granny intelligence and his thoughts wandered off to his wife of 11years who had died “mysteriously “as he put it…to the zamana. Keeping one’s face and izzat was more important than anything in this bigoted, patriarchal small world of the Punajbis. Here were unwritten laws which governed every little step you took right from the moment you were born. It was a small controlled world where everything was predetermined pre decided to the extent that where were you born (the right gynae) connected to the oh, so proper! Nursing home where Mozart played to mentally stimulate the baby from the minute he/she was born to be a genius when the child grows up. The first milestones were not recorded as the tiny steps she took, or the words she uttered but the ‘propah preschool’ paving way to the right school that mattered when the ‘rishta’ came. It was as if, life was chartered out like a voyage taken with the new fangled cruise liners. All the navigational charts were predetermined and a course was all set in place when a girl was born. Of course the lament over the birth was disguised very well, there was no actual siaapa which was done in the times when it was politically correct to be upset now one could not even do that, congratulations were accepted with false smiles and tight-lipped expressions. It was automatic to start thinking about her marriage the minute she took her first cry trying to assert her existence. All Papaji thought when Sukhmani was born that where the alliance would be fixed to ensure her khushi…and also to ensure that nothing should sully her reputation. This was his biggest fear. Nothing came close to this, getting retribution for his worst act committed ………He always knew that Babaji would pay him back in this coin. His entire existence was now, in service of the Almighty but however many times he took the ishnaan or a dip in the holy sarovar he knew he would never get absolution. This fire would burn him in hell and Amrit came back to haunt him at all times especially when he sat in the mornings to meditate.
Glancing back at Sukhmani , whose gentle smile and her brown eyes similar to his own, he knew he was captive to her toothless grin the minute his wrapped his finger in his. How is one held captive to someone so small, defenseless? He knew was a goner, funny how that term had cropped up, from his Sanawarian days. Smiling and shouting at pasho, the dai who had brought up all the Sandhu children till date, her face lined with fine lines crisscrossing and as thin as a papyrus parchment of Neferetti. Pasho with her infinite wisdom who knew all about the mysterious ailments which inflicted babies and her gentle hands was entrusted with rearing up Sukhmani after his wife had died in childbirth(yes, it did happen in the best of nursing homes)Money was no guarantee to life, infact in his case it had added misery but that was another story .
Pasho , walked across the room looking as alien as . She with her servile demenaour, white haired muslin dupattaand crisp nondescript faded to nothing suit walked in tiny measured steps to cradle the lil' one who was the spitting image of Anantpreet. Vadhaiyaji, lakhshmi has come to the house and you are blessed ...vedha viaho loge(you will marry off a girl from the household, an old Punjabi superstition which means you'll be blessed for generations)Picking her up, and crooning a lullaby as old as Adam the baby settled in her arms. It seemed as if she possessed the magical touch . Karandeep knew that the new maids from the agency were very good, they had there own style and she was from the old school of thought which valued tezeeb, honor,values more than anything else.

obituary....

My condolences! This day again comes and goes like a carousel which moves emptily in the amusement park after people have gone and then gently settles back into its resting place. It’s like a tired requiem we have for keeping appearances and confirming with the norm.
Punjab, the land of prosperity, the granary state of India has till date not been able to stem the rot which is killing female fetuses blatantly where the govt. turns a blind eye and the society is so indifferent because we’ve become hardened by everything around us. This lust which is all pervading in all spheres shows its ugly head foremost when the magical heir is wanted. We lead the figures in public consumption in all luxury (Mercedes Benz , BMW’s and bigger diamonds and ostentatious houses displaying our wealth) but we all also lead from the back in sexual exploitation, rape , dowry, denial of basic rights like education , food. I think Maslow, did not take Punjabi’s into consideration while he was busy formulating his principles. How can we celebrate A woman’s Day when last week only a young girl was found strangulated , mutilated and thrown down a mountain side on the flimsy excuse that sufficient dowry was not given by her parents……
What is Dowry? Monetary value of the girl or value that which shall ensure a secure married life at her marital home. (Please note, that here I do not bring into the equation happiness here). Happiness is an alien term, forgotten in the increasingly competitive, materialistic life-styles of Punjabis where a person is measured by the cars he drives, the wealth he flaunts.
WE commemorate a day; hold platitudes, ceremonies to celebrate women and money is spent lavishly proclaiming the empowerment and independence and the strides they have made. And, then we measure them from a date (milestone) Aug, 15th 1947. This particular date which set us free acts like gallows on a freed man/woman (pun intended).Why is that we make empty figure-heads out of them with symbolism ruling the day...? It’s boring and repetitive if I make you recount the injustices woman face, you’d probably leave the article mid-way and say here she goes again. Not that I’m planning to sing the popular ditty here, but Can we please do something realistically for the rest of the 364 days??