“Perhaps if we saw what was ahead of us, and glimpsed the follies, and misfortunes that would befall us later on, we would all stay in our mother's wombs, and then there would be nobody in the world but a great number of very fat, very irritated women.”
Thinking about what to write on next, I stumbled upon the idea to write about a woman. Not any particular one, just about what the word signifies. The idea is not to degrade or upgrade anyone, a man or a woman that is (for simplicity sake I shan’t consider the “others” for now), the idea is to sort of stand by the shore and gawk at the vastness of the ocean.
These are my grandmother’s hands. For some inexplicable reason I am mesmerized by this picture. These hands signify all I feel when I think of a woman. Each facet signifies something. The henna’d defined nails represent a hint of gaiety which is subtle and personal. Lack of flashy jewelry signifies simplicity, hardened knuckles are witness to years of hard work to bring up and whole family clan, but one thing that is most remarkable about these hands is that they represent infinitesimal depth, as if each wrinkle on her skin was a major life event that has been pushed down into a discernible shape, and she has told them, “Yes you exist, yes you hurt me, then, but no more…”.
We went to watch Ismat Chugtai’s play last week, which was a 3 act piece on her stories. There were simple tales of the life of a woman. There was no over dramatization of hardship, romance or dream, just life as has been written for a woman, same all over the years with different presentations.
There have been innumerable artistic representations, and discussions on the subject of a woman. History has tried to obliterate and turn to dust the name of a woman, and the same history has glorified it as well. The mere word has been a cause of mixed feelings and controversy since the dawn of time, so I believe that whatever it is, there must be ‘something’ extraordinary to lure this fascination with women which has toppled regimes, and changed the face of the world.
This ideally should not have been a very difficult topic to write on, but I now realize it is a mammoth task. I shall restrict to the women I have seen in my life and family, and the things that remains the same for all of them is how adaptive, giving and subtle their nature is. I don’t think masks would define their personalities because that would entail hiding something; it’s more to do with colors. Such amazing awe inspiring colors that nurture, hide, protect, and fight. It is amazing that one mere individual can embody the whole earth’s force within herself. Why the fight to become equal to men? We are two different beings with no comparison which can only be made when the two factors are at the same level. A person who can create, give and nurture life surpasses all comparison with those who rise from that life.
Controversy and arguments aside, I am proud to at least be a part of a force so strong, that it needs to be reckoned with, yet the very same force is not a physical imposed force, because its very pliability and softness is what makes it so controversial. How do you break something that will adapt to anything one can think of?
All that this force needs is love, and that is one thing no army is prepared or equipped to deal with. What a pity.
And as Nicholas Sparks rightly said-“A living poem" had always been the words that came to mind when he tried to describe her to others.”
Well said. Dont fight her, maul or subdue her. Love her, as she is the best part of you. ♥