Granny’s Philosophy
My fifteen years old self spilled, “Pa forced himself into Ma.”
Granny doubted, “Does Sikha have scars?”
I was in a tizzy, “None seen;” yet desperate to prove my point, “They've been fighting since Pa returned from work; Ma slept on the dining space divan. Past midnight I heard things.”
Granny asked, “Does Sikha seem depressed?”
It was difficult to answer. Ma always seemed depressed. That day she seemed torn by some discord within herself.
Granny caught me in thoughts, “Sweetheart, Sikha can’t be forthright to you now, because she labelled Samir as the oppressor in the family and herself along with her daughters as the oppressed. She could neither accept her submission to her own urges like all natural and healthy creatures. Nor could she let what you’ve heard pass for her submission to Samir’s forces and become a liar.”
At fifteen, I was unaware of warm hugs that metamorphose rage into rapture. I was then unable to distinguish moanings from groanings.
I complained, “You always find Ma at fault.”
Granny seemed defensive, “I raised my daughter neither to disown her actions, nor to seek others’ approval for them. I stood by all of Sikha’s choices, including Samir, seemingly uncouth but sincere. Sikha declined nine to five Government jobs, teaching positions, tutoring opportunities. She kept fighting Samir over these decisions vying to please Samir’s father. Thus, she took Samir for granted, forcing him to be the lone breadwinner. Then, she blamed patriarchy and misogyny for her situation.”
Granny kept on grooming us sisters till today, “Never let your spouse rough you up ever.”
She narrated, “My mother-in-law sent me to college, honoring my matriculation gold medal. She passed away just after I started teaching. Grandpa’s paternal aunt started frequenting to bless the young couple’s household with her guidance, questionably valuable though, rather poisonous. Those days, Grandpa complained a lot about my negligence of him, of our children. One day, I talked back, ‘My bad, Should’ve learnt caring from your aunt.’ He lifted his hand high. I grabbed it in my left fist and dared him with the meat cleaver in my right. Never after he resorted to violence. Next time his aunt visited, I didn’t offer her water, sweets, snacks or tea. Neither did I ask her to stay. I kept the door open, looked at the clock frequently and then after half an hour said, ‘I need to go out. Either you come along, or I can call a rickshaw for you.’ That was her last visit.”
Shruti asked, “Was Sikha biological or adopted?”
Granny nodded with dismay, “Biological. During Sikha’s college days, ‘The Second Sex’ was in vogue. Girls and boys who never paid enough attention to high school biology lessons became followers of Simone De Beauvoir. They never understood what parthenocarpy and parthenogenesis are, yet, thought that respective processes of creation of seedless papaya and recovery of tail of lizards were proof enough that human females aren’t childbearing machines. Tapeworm alone, while, proves that human males, too, are birthing machines.”
Shruti seconded, [“Funny! Each grown tapeworm has both female and male parts in their bodies. Yet they can’t breed singly. They need to pair. Also some algae, with both female and male parts in their bodies, form conjugation tubes between bodies of one another. Copulating algae resemble ladders.]#”
Granny continued, “Since college Sikha lived in discord between her notion of patriarchal oppressions and her actions including falling for Samir, marrying him and birthing. She never found that marriage binds men to the responsibility of raising offspring. Intoxicated by indoctrination, she never realized that men themselves framed and propagated the idea that monogamous wedlock is patriarchal design to put women in shackles of childbearing and cooking, so that men can have their ways with women yet can relinquish responsibilities of children, thus, compelling women to remain fettered in eternal servitude of responsibility of child rearing. ”
Shruti teased, “Watching Wonder Woman?”
Granny smiled, “The franchise is the new shiny bottle of old wine, the myth of patriarchal ploy.”
I complained, “I once saw Pa slapping Ma.”
Shruti was indignant, “Did Ma slap back? Called the police?”
I felt hurt, “She kept mum for three days.”
Granny lamented, “Sikha could always stay with me till she would have got her own footing. She jumbled up being nice and being conformist.”
Then Granny scolded, “This’ same with you girls. You daren’t say even if you’re tuned on with the snares of Donald Trump, fearing alienation in the social circuit by your peers. The Associated Press told the world that Trump’s misogynous, women all over the world started chanting it, crushing dissent. Oh, I bet nobody would’ve loved Fleabag as much if she would’ve been musterbating with Trump’s face on her laptop. The girls worshiping Judith Butler, memorising seventy two genders, would never realize that they are enslaved by the media for propagating a designer narrative. Misconstruing biology lessons has made this generation mix up sexuality and genders. They’d never discover their own voices lost in pandemonium.”
Shruti inquired, “Granny, do you watch the Jimmy Kimmel Show?”
Granny spat, “Not since he started selling terror and grief by weeping on his shows like Amir Khan.”
Shruti mentioned, “In 2013 or 2014 he and Halle Berry both on his show spoke irritatingly raunchy about Ms. Berry’s then newly stylized mammaries. They have taken down this video from YouTube after the emergence of Trump’s ‘Grab them by the pussies’ video.”
Granny slandered, “YouTube did nothing to stop those videos from propagating, but took down some preachers’ videos!”
I murmured, “At least Ma’s generation followed a philosophy.”
Granny rectified, “Philosophy is nothing but popularized opinions of celebrities of an era. Now, who does popularize individual opinion to build public opinion?”
I mechanically answered, “The media.”
She asked again, “Who are always tetchy, anxious about their fragile, ever jeopardized freedom?”
Shruti quipped, “The Media.”
Granny concluded, “Only the media remains free while they enslave thoughts and opinions of individuals.”
Her pronunciations made my Independence Day.
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Hello Everyone.
In my last Write...Edit...Publish Flash Fiction Challenge in June, 2021, I have rattled a little bit, intentionally, though. I was quite suffocated with the charade that covered convenient lies. The outcome was amusing.
Comments were edited. It was fun to see authors at a loss of words and claiming my post to be “something” instead of labelling it with an appropriate adjective. Alas! I did not keep the screen shots of those comments. I was too occupied with publishing my fifth Indie book “Indian Citizenship Decoded” [now available at https://www.amazon.in/dp/B09875SJF8].
However, I can help with that “something”. It is “calling a spade a spade”. It is opposite to hypocrisy.
Actually, my stance was redundant. My bad. I did not notice until July 7, 2021,that the preacher of the pie (hot propaganda) took an ‘hiatus’ as the propaganda went bust on accounts of financial, moral and above all, idealistic irregularities. LoL.
Attempting to be serious, I must mention that my conception about feminism has been challenged. Really? When did feminism become a concept? Last time I checked, it was a glorified opinion of a person who misconstrued biology and could barely come to terms with (t)h(i)er own bisexuality.
Believe it or not, my entry to the August 2021 Challenge, “Granny’s Philosophy” was formulated in early May, 2021 [as I'm still occupied with post publications and troubled by yesterday's all day scheduled electric supply maintenance power mishaps, I was about to miss this challenge]. Eventually, it all seems well spiced up.
Hence, relish.
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Can’t stop sharing my association with feminazi’s on the occasion of Women’s Day 2017.
