Mansi

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you need something extra to get you going. Sometimes when you're out shopping, you need something more than just money in the purse and a list in hand. As a woman, I need other women. I need women with whom I can sit down and chat about just nothing. I need women with whom I can go running with. I need women who'll hold my hand when I am in the hospital. I need women who'll help me 'get away' from my family - short trips to Delli Haat perhaps, longer trips to the hills.

I crave for female companionship!

Listening to Melissa Ethridge this morning, it reaffirmed what I sorely miss in my life - the space for women!

I am not referring to the fairer sex that populates Delhi. Women who are married to their husbands and nothing else. Others who use their work as an excuse to run away from every relationship they know, big or small. Or some women who need other women to help 'free' them from the clutches of their children, husband and in-laws, only to then go back and embrace the whole lot again!!
I am thoroughly disappointed with the women in Delhi. Never before, have I encounted such an enslaved lot.

A friend of mine some months back gifted me a book by Erma and I remember feeling this deep sadness and creepy loneliness despite all the ingredients of good humor. Being a housewife, the subject of almost all of Erma's stories, is an incredibly lonely affair. Even in a country in India, where a wife not only marries a man but also his parents, sisters and extended families. Typically a housewife will probably have no time to do anything. And yet it's just another job, isn't it? Where's the time for her? It's not about going to a spa or getting your hair cut. It's more than that.

It's about having meaningful, passionate relationships with other women.

Both my husband and I spend a lot of time on the Internet. Yet, he has far more women friends than I do. Yes, it's true. Women seem to only want meaningful relationships with other men. If for just that reason alone, we should abolish the practice of Valentine's Day, then I'll support it! Too much is made about the relationship between a man and a woman. Moreso in the sub-continent, because as I earlier wrote in an article on marriage, for Indian women, marriage is a BIG DEAL. It's their time to get those expensive parlor treatments, clothes, jewellery, shoes (lots of shoes!!!) and still manage to have a gala time all around. So most women, in and out of college tend to focus on just one sex - the wrong one!!!

When's the last time I walked down the street, arms interwined with another woman? When's the last time I could sit back and listen to a woman speak her mind? When's the last time I walked into a room and caught the attention of women?

Why is it that women in Delhi do their best to ignore other women? Why is there all this competition? envy? fear?
Why do women here want others to be just like them? Why are they always asking about their husbands or in-laws? Can't a woman have anything else to talk about?

I don't need a support system. I don't need a woman support team - please! I made my choices with marriage and with work and no, I don't want another woman to crib to or cry on!

I want to celebrate in being a woman - a woman who's not a wife, a mother, an employee, a sister or an aunt. I just want to celebrate being me. I want to celebrate other women too. I want to hear their thoughts that has nothing to do with the many roles they play. I want to be able to go out with a woman and have fun.

Perhaps, this outpour precipitates the arrival of a very special woman - It's a time for celebrations - but each time she comes by and leaves, I am left with the same emptiness that Delhi does nothing to heal!

I am tempted to go in and analyse Delhi women, the way they are brought up, the value for their mothers vs their Dads - - their lessons with money and spending it (two totally different things) : But I think all the analysis will just reconfirm what we already know and at the end of it all, I'll just feel a tad sadder and want to dip into some chocolate. (Yes, I blame my fat on women too!)

I believe that there is a large unconsciousness about us - one we tend to be afraid of. Perhaps because consciousness (whatever it is for you) is defined. We have means of identifying, categorizing and further defining all of that which is conscious. With the unconscious, the access path is our first hurdle. There is no clear path, tool or 'awareness'. Does that mean that we don't know it's OUT THERE?
It is there. We feel it.
For me, it's where all my fast and disappearing fat is being methodically being stored. So when I do finally get past the front door, I will be greeted by bottles of fat. But, no, let's not go into my weight loss program just yet.
Deepan and I were having trouble updating his blog on Rediff. The title, as most of you know, is 'Mind of the unmarried man'. Since he's been looking at moving to BlogSpirit and thinking of a name for his blog.
This morning, I asked him to stand in front of our bookshelf, close his eyes, think of his blog and move his fingers over the books. Having set him off on a little mission, I sat down at the table to type away at my blog. Deepan came back with 'Future Shock' and another title by the same author perhaps. I asked him if he had his eyes closed. He said, no, I don't really understand why we need to do that.
We then discussed some names in his mind - one being 'World and I' that we were both not so happy with.
So back to the study, we went, and I held him as I spoke the exercise outloud. Close your eyes, I said and then repeated about five times before he did close them and just not squint. Think of your blog and the title you will give it and then reach out to the bookshelf ( I was behind him now, raising his arms to the bookshelf) and move your fingers over your book till you feel that this is IT.
After setting him off for the second time, I stepped back and sat down on the diwan. At first, he stood there, moving his fingers over the top shelf, grumbling about how this does not make any sense. From where I sat, I went ahead and continued with my list of orders ( I can be such a general sometimes - sigh!)
Bend those knees - Don't stop at the first shelf - Explore the bookshelf - Keep those fingers moving till you find your book....
As long as I barked my orders, Deepan stood awkwardly, probably silently contemplating how he could get out of this predicament. And then I stopped, now through with the general phase, and back to being the observer.
Deepan quietened down too, moving his fingers tentatively up and down row after row. Coming back and forward, until he picked out one book.
It was titled 'Flashman and the Mountain of Light'.
Deepan opened his eyes, book in hand and asked me - now what?
I said that's it - Mountain of Light. And he stood for a moment, contemplating.
Are you sure? He asked me, I replied 'Yes, I am 100% sure' (all drama, god bless my soul)

There you have it then. Deepan's new blog at Blogspirit is called 'Mountain of Light'. I think that it's an apt name.
The Flashman series is Deepan's favorite. He's read almost all of them despite them being scarcely available here in India. Deepan's favorite vacation spot is up in the mountains. To me, he is like a beacon of light, spreading good cheer and strength of spirit whereever he goes. His blog entries sometimes are most insightful without ever being dished out as forceful advice or all-knowing wisdom.

And yes, he does have a wife who'll continue with these crazy exercises that she must have him take part in - and he will continue with the ordeals to see her all animated and smiles.

Every morning I wake up to chase after the sun. Each week I set my alarm fifteen minutes ahead the previous week's time and to no avail. Each morning, as I drive down to the park, the sun is up and smiling. After that brief encounter, it's then retreat all the way back. Out come the shades, the hats, the blinds, the shorts and t-shirts: Anything to get the sun to back off.
Summers in Delhi are as grueling as the winters and it's a serious job for the sensible Delhite.