The lamps in the room were lit
Amma turned them dim, mellow;
Spreading their welcoming warmth
Bathing her in a dull orange-yellow.

The massive, soft, luxurious bed,
Swathed in a pristine cream satin sheet,
The flower-bedecked ceiling fan
Slowly, discreetly chased the heat

She sat huddled, knees close to chest
Gold-plated bangles clinking together
As her mind followed the random montage
Of memories, floating aimlessly like [...]

Standing in one corner of the drawing room, between one of the couches and the wall, I spied the absurd contradiction. The tall, slender silhouette of a woman, with her face almost covered by her scarf (later I discovered the term for it was hijab) like an apparition from the Dark Ages, and in her delicate fingers she held the nozzle of the complex three-foot droning contraption.

My first crystallized thought when I began to read the book in bed at home was that perhaps it would have some interesting perspectives on male disempowerment and consequently, on female empowerment. Well, it did… and it didn’t.
The kaleidoscope of situations of the helpless male are abundant in the book, however, the reasons for this desperation may not necessarily be on account of an oppressive woman. We see the male protagonists in stories expressing vulnerability due to joblessness, poverty, caste discrimination, innocence, uncertainty of family roles, bureaucratic red tape and several other exhaustive circumstances.

Apparently, the most sought-after role of Food and Nourishment In-charge has conveniently been passed down generations based on the genitalia that one harbours. It’s a simple rule: “Have Vagina, Shall Cook!” Unfortunately that isn’t the end of our glorious job description; we must also cook to suit everyone’s taste buds and health issues, and smile the whole while, in pride and self-fulfillment.

In order to justify our eccentricities and our “strange” choices amongst themselves, they must stereotype us… put us in a box and tack on a pretty pink label. Hence, society comes up with little unflattering titles for the marriageable yet unmarried women of today (or of yesterday, if she’s past her “prime” i.e. if her biological clock is running out of batteries and she will be soon unable to bear any offspring).

This scenario is pervasive across my generation of young, working, single women. There isn’t time to analyze the hovering particles in isolation; all it will provide is a highly myopic view to Life. We perceive the madness in totality, a summation of all visible parts. The Sigma of Life gives us the total defects in a million, and we deal with the most glaring ones, rather than putting simultaneous efforts to minutely improve each subset – work, personal, emotional, social and spiritual components.