All that she does
Last month, a long lost friend was in the city for a training programme. She phoned me within a few hours of her arrival. It was a breezy talk consumed by shrieks, screams and excitement of “I can't believe” and a quick round-up of old friends from school, college and work. With an appointment to keep, I forced myself to look at my watch and asked, “Okay then, how long are you here?” “A fortnight,” she replied.
“Oh, wow, 14 days. We will certainly meet up sometime,” I told her and instantly made mental notes of when and where to invite her.
And then the unbelievable happened. She was on the phone one night telling me about the wonderful stay she had in the city, the places she visited, the programme she attended …and the flight she was taking the next morning! Two weeks are up and it's farewell, till we meet again. Like a good friend, she was understanding, “Don't worry, at least we spoke at length. I know you are busy. Better luck next time, or when you come over to my place.” I knew that wouldn't be for a couple of years, and when I go to her place, there's every possibility of a role reversal. I was restless that night.
Why is it we women get so over-scheduled in our lives? However much we argue, marriage induces a lifestyle change – more in her life than his. Aren't we the ones always rushing against time, juggling multiple tasks? And we still end up labeled as poor managers of time. I tried to rewind what I did that fortnight to have missed out on a dear friend. Setting aside the number of hours I was in and out of office on assignments or attending meetings, there were multiple visits to the bank, department store, petrol bunk, and a family friend who met with an accident. I picked up and dropped kids to dance and music class, football matches, and birthday parties. I paid bills. I chased the plumber, the dhobi for the missing clothes and the missed courier man. I helped the children with homework and unfinished school projects.
In between I attended calls from the office, readers, well wishers, acquaintances, contacts, resource persons, friends, relatives, neighbours, kids' friends and their parents, and also unknown numbers. Each caller takes his or her time. And there are sms-es to be read and answered. Some calls you let go thinking you will return the call later. And invariably forget. Sundays, I would rather wake up late. But the domestic help turns up unfailingly before time because she too wants to zip through all the households and go home early on Sundays. It's a holiday but I get down to all the pending cleaning, repairing and re-arranging. In between I prepare meals, feed the moody children and attend to guests who may just drop in. I want to scan the newspaper, solve the crossword, catch up with my reading. But my child's nails and hair also demand attention. An oil bath, clipping nails, arranging the cupboards, selling off old newspapers – however mundane and small these tasks may appear, they all are time-consuming and recurring.
You wake up at the crack of dawn and the clock returns you to midnight in a jiffy. You are back to a fresh haul of chores and responsibilities, meetings and appointments. Still you are accused of not finding time for so many other things. But did you find time for yourself in the middle of all this? At a traffic crossing the other day, I saw a woman riding a scooter suddenly pull out a notepad and a pen and jot down something. Perhaps she didn't find time to make her ‘to-do' list at home.
Another day, I spotted a woman at the wheel biting into an apple. She must not have found time to have her lunch even. I met a friend exactly after a year at the school's annual day. I chided her for not having kept in touch. “Where's the time?” she asked and, looking at each other's children, we squealed, “Oh! Your daughter has grown so tall.”
As days slip by, you unravel the truth behind the quote “Time is what we want the most but what we use worst.” Once you take the vows, friendships change. But perhaps your friends don't. That is the hope we all live on. The hope that lets us continue our lives with a smile.
All that I want
A mail popped up on my window screen of a little man knocking his head against the wall wondering what he would do to make March 8th a red letter day for the women working in his office. What he failed to realise is that it does not take very much to please a woman. So read down as I help you guys choose those little goodies that we women need to make our lives special.
First and foremost, let me live. Please do not check me out in those disinfected places where chromosomes are paired and kill me off because I have that very special one that makes me me. Then let me be more than just the appendage to the male heir who gets the special morsels while I am left with the scraps. Wait, did I hear you say that this would give me the size zero look that your latest oomph factor on screen is pulsating? Well, it may give me the eternally starved look, but I get a wicked pleasure in knowing that those heaving bosoms on the silver screen are draining the pockets of men dry.
In case the starvation diet does not work for me, why not accept me as I am? I am comfortable in my skin. I would not like to hide my love handles as I strut on killer heels on the arm of a man candy. As I walk back home in the gathering night, let me not feel paranoid about lurking strangers. When men can showcase their eight packs, I would also like to steer clear of botox and reveal my laugh lines and dark under-eye circles as signs of maturity.
Hey, when I can run a mean budget in a nuclear household during an economic meltdown, I am sure the man in the house realises, albeit sheepishly, that it is time that I got that 33 percent representation everyone harps about during elections. He knows for sure that I can make a good finance minister crunching global numbers. But, like all men, he fears that if I got a little space in the sun I would be hogging the limelight. Sure I was tempted by the forbidden fruit but I certainly didn't eat it alone, you see, I shared.
Yes, I am moody, I become broody, I am all heart. But what it is important is that I accept it as something that makes me unique in a world that would otherwise be sterile and colourless.
Let me live it up even up to my sexy seventies, not bogged down by the thought that I have been made to be the caretaker of grandchildren. Let me even in my twilight years have a space of my own where I can pamper myself in the spa of serenity.
So, all you men out there, this little wishlist cannot be fulfilled in a day. So open up the bubbly, take me on a little twirl, make me feel beautiful and give me that wee bit of space that would break the glass ceilings and help me reach the stars every day.
