Anyone who has read R. Choodamani's short stories in Tamil will find each one of them a marvel of human insight, a delicate understatement, and a perspective of the woman, through a glass clearly. She does not criticise or praise, she just shares with us what she sees. Recently I read her Senthiru Aagivittaal (She became senthiru, or retired.) in a collection called Thanimaiththalir (The lonely sprout). This was originally published in the February 1978 issue of Kalaimagal.
Here, Nitya comes with her children from Bombay to the village to be with her parents, looking forward to a month of being pampered. When she enters her parents' home, her mother gives her coffee and then steps out, telling her to make idlis for herself.
Nitya gets a shock. Her father tells her that her mother's day is packed with tailoring classes for children, adult ed-ucation classes, and so on. Not just her mother any more, not at her beck and call? And horror of horrors! Her father actually shares the household chores and cooks too! She asks the father if it is proper that Amma should gallivant outside leaving him to do all this.
He says she was previously only their mother but now she has become senthiru. He says (and mark this!), "I have too much self-respect. I take pride in being loved by a complete human being rather than by a slave or a shadow." Nitya is speechless. He says: "Our roles have changed, right? I should say my wife should be a toiling machine. And you should question my assumption and ask if a woman is not an individual. But what's happening here is the reverse." Then Nitya's sister who is in Man-galore writes to senthiru requesting her to come and stay with her for six months because it was not easy to look after the toddler and the infant. Nitya asks: "Amnia, you're going to help akka (sister), no?" The mother, sorry senthiru, replies: "Look here, Nitya. My children and my grandchildren are all welcome here. This is as much their home. I will do what I can and take care of all of you. If there is a crisis or an emergency I will drop everything and rush to you. But if you think I am obliged to be there for all your little problems, sorry I don't agree. Don't I have a house of my own? Am I a domestic help to rush when you summon me? Your akka only needs an ayah (maid) now. Can she not afford one? Do you all think your amma is just twiddling her thumbs? "
Choodamani makes the point. The young women who are striding confidently everywhere building their careers and asserting their individu-ality seem to forget that the mothers are individuals too. So many mothers rush to the U.S. and stay there for six months and more. They are in their fifties or sixties, with husbands in the same age-bracket — a high-risk category for health problems. This is perhaps the best-together-times, with the defies of the earlier years behind them. But now the children separate them. The mothers somehow adjust them-selves to their semi-permanent lives in Cleveland, Portland, or wherever, but not the fathers. How long can you watch TV?
At these hub airports like Frankfurt and London you can see my-gen cou-ples going around, the lady in a saree and walking shoes with a bag slung crosswise striding purposefully. The man will be trailing behind, slightly bewildered and lost. Foreign airports do this to fathers — decimate their confidence.
The me-generation thinks my-gen was born as fathers and mothers? The mothers do their stint reasonably well. "If you go to Sams/ Walmart you can get cream of rice and it works well for idlis. The Indian store even sells murungakkair The fathers fray and some return earlier. Others don't make the Lufthansa transit experience, and stay back in India. Since men of my generation did not learn to cook (some can't even boil water), it is tough on them. And it is tougher because they have to slum it when they are not at their physical best. It is fine to be ambitious but not by robbing your mother of her right to become a senthiru. The children are actually indignant... "So you won't help me?" Hey! Young ones, it is your life and you must take responsibility for it. Yes, yes, if parents do not help, who will? As senthiru says, my-gen will do it, if the situation warrants it, but the me-gen cannot have the best of both worlds. My generation deserves to retire from "active practice", my generation may want to travel, learn something new, or just sleep and dream that the busy-ness of home-work, tuition and child-rearing did not allow. "But last year we took amma to this fabulous cruise to Majorca." Sure, you did. But you should do that anyway without insisting on bonded labour. This is a story I heard. The father was forced to be with one daughter and the mother with the other, all in the US of A. So the parents decided to "elope" to India, to be in some thaatha-paatti (senior citizens') home! Good for them.
What do the words "women's empowerment" mean to the me-gen? It is not uprooting the mature plant from its natural environs. It is the full blossoming of a woman's personality, which includes the mother. My generation may not want to be ensconced in another country torn from what is familiar. My generation may want to chat about the latest headline horror, buy vegetables from the hand-cart vendors and watch the nose-sniffing or eye-rolling women on TV. And my generation may not want the green card. Above all, my generation may want to become senthirus. Think of it.
