These feminists taught me that women are not asking for special rights. They just want the same rights that I have. And, then, there are the faux feminists. Life is a mix of truth and lies. Why should it be any different with feminists?
Amma
The first feminist I met. Just that I did not know she was one. Sometime in higher secondary school, I asked her what feminists wanted. “I don't know what everyone else wants,” she said. “I want women to be safe everywhere... in their homes, in public, in the church. I don't want men beating up their wives. I want women to be financially independent. I want their voices to be heard, at home and outside. And, on those rainy days when my sari and underskirt cling to my calves, I want the conductor to understand that I can't just leap into the bus like a man in trousers. It is the small things. Palathulli peruvellam.”
Then, she mused, “What did you think feminists wanted?” I scratched my head and said, “It thought it had something to do with burning the bra or something.”
I have never seen her laugh as hard.
Daughter
I walk into breakfast to find her sitting at the head of the table, calmly eating Chocos and milk.
Me: That's my seat, please.
She: Why?
Me: Because, I am the head of the family.
She: But, appachen (grandfather) sits here when he visits.
Me: Yes, he outranks me. My house is his house.
She: Pappashi also sits here when he comes. (That's our family friend A. George Ninan Jr.)
Me: Yes, Pappashi is very special to me, like appachen.
She calmly continues to spoon Chocos and milk into her mouth. I can see the wheels turning in her head.
She: Why do only appachen and Pappashi sit here?
Me: Because I respect them. It is a mark of respect to seat someone at the head of the table.
She: So, old and “respectful” people sit here? (I guess she meant people worthy of respect.)
Me: That's right.
She: Then, why doesn't ammachi (grandmother) sit here?
Suddenly, I am not hungry any more. And, she is just six. The youngest feminist I've met.
Cousin
“How dare they!” she fumed. Uncle was groom-hunting for her and the guy's folks, no surprise, asked for dowry. She pulled the plug on the proposal. I felt mighty proud of her, and told her so. “I am a feminist,” she crowed. Much later, she pulled the plug on another proposal. “I thought you liked the guy,” I said. She agreed, “He was real sweet. But, the background is not too good. Setup pora.” In English, that means his folks were not loaded.
Feminist.
Grandmother
She is my grandfather's sister. I met her last month and rued about what time had done to an iron woman. Her husband, a subedar major, was away for most of his professional life. An affectionate man, he had a glad eye, too. She knew how to keep him and other men in line.
Once, the parish priest asked her why her children were conceived during the Valiya Nombu or Great Lent, the ritual 50-day abstinence that ends with Easter. Obviously, the priest had counted back from the kids' birthdays. Why? Frankly, no idea. Anyway, she told the padre sweetly: “That's the time when my husband gets his annual leave. Would you rather that I did it with someone else at an ecclesiastically appropriate time?”
My kinda feminist.
Friend
She was in love. Understandable. With a 'lower caste' boy from a different religion. Love is blind. Her parents were furious. Naturally. But, they came around. Of course. She said she had a right to choice, a right to be happy. Absolutely.
The marriage happened. She said her parents were angry about the part where her father had to wash the priest's feet during the wedding. She called her parents casteist and selfish. She identifies as a liberal and a feminist. I asked her if her liberal values extended as far as her not hurting her parents and having a civil wedding.
We haven't talked since.
Nun
She was with a celebrated order of nuns. And, then, she walked out and joined another order. I am wary about nuns. My experiences with them have not been too good. But Sister N was an angel with a heart of gold. They recognised her in most of the slums of her city. She wore darned robes, cheap footwear and a big, bright smile.
“I never knew poverty when I was with the other order,” she said. Her current community was tiny, new and impoverished. “Why did you leave them then?” I asked. “I am not just a nun,” she said. “I am a woman, and a daughter. They refused to see that. When I left home to take my vows, my father asked just one thing of me, 'Be by my bedside when I am dying'. The order never let me go. A woman suffers not only at the hands of men, but also at the hands of other women.”
If you had told me three years ago that there are feminists among nuns, I would have never believed you.
