This piece is partly about me and mostly inspired by Shrayana Bhattacharya’s masterpiece on the lonely Indian woman’s search for intimacy and independence: Desperately Seeking Shahrukh. Upon reading her descriptions of the upwardly mobile women in Delhi and the air hostess-Gold- seeking fulfillment in love – I found myself alternating between gleeful grins and barely suppressed lumps in the throat. In short. I feel like a statistic: one more capable-yet-loveless woman in post-liberal India.
Intimacy and Independence do seem rather.. like the non-overlapping portions of a Venn diagram. My parents probably didn’t realize it but: giving me vent through art forms like dance, and sending me to college out-of-state at 18, both paved the way for a building of a personality that had a need for independence. Not the bra-burning kind; but independence – all the same. A taste for your own food preferences and a gentle liking for one’s own company.
I spent 5 years in out-of-state schools before marrying through the arranged marriage system: a man I had met twice, during the 9-month engagement period. As a friend would once liken me to: I was the ideal catch.. the one who would sport that nine yard wrap called upon for traditional functions, while knowing enough to please a man in bed. I was terribly talented, but all that could recede into my shell in exchange for what we had been conditioned to wait for: a Man’s love and acceptance.
Both denied maritally; I held out for 9 years but left. I knew I loved him. But the economic abuse left me yearning for financial independence. It was life changing and liberating to not fear for oneself emotionally or physically while at home. I went on to work and date as a newly separated mum. I tried to feel like a changed person. As I discovered: treating trauma was one thing. But conditioning: another. Coming back to a society that underlines said conditioning: made it harder.
From those nine years what stayed with me: is a penchant for the incredible smell of acceptance and endorsement that comes from finding pleasure in a home well kept.. a self-cut jar of roses and a baked-from-scratch broccoli-cauliflower roast. The ultimate adornment for a woman falling within the lines of tradition: is the unsaid approval she receives from pleasure given to a man. Especially a man she actually loved and respected. And belonging to the ever traditional South Indian Brahmin household: I’d been brought up with strict imageries of what a successful life looked like: and it certainly looked very married!
I was convinced I was never the issue. Marriage broke ? Oh no honey: wasn’t me!
I hadn’t bothered to fully understand that I was always an outlier when it came to the pronounced game called ‘matrimony’; where women are valued more as pretty, muted objects serving the household – than as actual human beings.
No surprises then: that despite professional success and a raging battle in Court for custody. I simply didn’t want to let go my ability to love. I believed if I loved enough. Well enough. I could find that security again. To call me naive and stupid would be accurate. The ability I had carefully honed.. of letting a man know just how adored he was… from remembering birthdays to making coffee exactly the way he liked it to changing sheets frequently enough and allowing him to settle his arms just right on my hips.
The sweet give of femininity in exchange for safety, and as Shrayana says: the social-economic security of his love and marital ring.
Clearly: I was still in denial from divorce.
Being arguably the first generation to actively date… and dating as a single mother brought with it the predictable outcomes : ringing in my heart a medley of excitement, thrill, pain, joy, discovery and heart ache. I cast my net as far wide as I could… dating from different generations and industries and backgrounds but came to the unsettling similar conclusion that: what I’m told and what I’m treated as: remained poles apart.
Of course: I’m far from the ideal catch. At 34/36/38 … unwilling to have more children … put me out of favour with 98% of the actual eligible bachelors in India.
The fact remained that I wasn’t willing to climb back into the little trap that has been drawn up with bows and roses for women called the Indian marriage system. Because I wasn’t willing to give up my job, my contraceptive rights or location to keep a male that comes home at odd hours and needs feeding. I wasn’t appreciative of making beds for anyone other than my self, and wanted my own bathroom thank you very much.
So I often contended with divorced/divorcing young men for whom I was slightly too-evolved/sophisticated/nuanced/well-edcuared-for … and hope what I bring in personality and afore-mentioned adoration-prowess helps. Who knows if we got along well enough; I might even keep that ring.
It didn’t. I was either too picky. Or too strong headed. Or too liberal. To deserve them. It was always me. I fell short. I was always stressed. Trying to date while working these crazy hours while parenting while keeping up with family. In the end: I was too clingy/too wanting of commitment/ too unwilling to commit/ too angry/ too liberal/too sophisticated and so on.
Which brings me face to face with my own loneliness. And the sad truth of having failed time and again to make things work with men who might have actually loved me.
Clearly: love wasn’t the issue. Love never is central to commitment anyway. Shahrukh: you and Adi Chopra sold a fantasy. Love is never ever enough. It’s knowing *how* to love where the cinch is.
It finally dawned on me that my independence had pretty much me a non-starter for the normalised Indian relationship. My success was emasculating. My self confidence casually threatening and my appeal: disempowering. I had known this all along… it feels like. But I chalked it up to that one ex husband of mine: not realising these could be repetitive responses from anyone who did not possess considerable skill, poise and self assurance.
I had pretty much become a man going by the socio-economic role I now played. Except painfully caught in the emotional setup of a rather feminine woman who needs to be held during her period and prefers cuddling to intercourse.
So while I left my marriage 6 years ago. The need to feel emotionally safe by means of being loved by a significant other. The ringing silence of an empty room where everything is exactly as I left it. the solitude with which I sip morning coffee. And the weary knowledge that I will have to see through my son’s teenage hood as a single parent … I accept now. The internalising of companionship as the only way to securely live in society. Leaves me. Only now.
