Creative piece on indian gender roles

1. Name: Anissa Sonthalia
16th
February 2015
Rationale of Written Task I (Word Count: 280)
This piece is a narration by a twelve-year old Bengali girl in conversation with her
father, venting her feelings while recounting the events that lead to a recent pivotal
incident. Her mother, who is expecting a fourth child, has taken her three daughters to
her parents’ house to spend the remainder of her pregnancy there. She keenly
anticipates delivery of a baby boy, to finally relieve the pressure of producing a male
heir to the family.
It relates to Part I (Language and Culture) of the English Language and Literature
course by showing the development of language in the cultural context of the
suburban Indian middle class (in the setting of joint families) that adopts words and
phrases from local dialects. Consequently metonomic gaps show the adoption and
usage of
Sentence structures, slightly aberrant from those of English, show vernacular
influence, married women are addressed as mothers of their respective sons, and thus
the topics of gender inequality and language in regional communities are explored.
The text highlights how women are conditioned to accept secondary roles in a
patriarchal society, and brings out slowly changing gender attitudes through the
narrator who protests subordination at every opportunity she gets, leading to a
dramatic outburst on Ashtami, a festival where unmarried females are worshipped.
Irony is used to express that the practitioners of this domestic injustice are women
themselves. Despite having witnessed the pain and oppression, they wish to confer the
same onto their daughters and granddaughters. This alarming notion is challenged by
the narrator, who resiliently expresses her views despite being physically beaten on
doing so.
This piece paints a vivid picture of the prejudice and subordination Indian women are
subject to in their daily lives. A child’s observation, albeit simplistic, expresses this in
absolute candor. The initial confusion and impotence in her voice changes to extreme
anger and defiance as she pictures recent events. Writing this task has allowed me to
examine the role of culture and customs in shaping language and society.

2. Dear Babu,
I don’t even know where to begin.
I really do miss you, and I wish you accompanied us to Naani’s (maternal
grandmother) house. I miss the softness of your lap, especially since Maa doesn’t
allow me to lie on her lap for too long, and complains that her sari is crushed, or that
she already has such a lot of work to do, or that I’m such a nuisance. She uses that
particular word quite often.
What exactly does nuisance mean, Baba?
And why does Maa say she doesn’t want to go through the nuisance of another
pregnancy again?
She did seem quite preoccupied and tired on the train journey here, with all the bags
and the wobbling Surahi and the three of us to handle, while coping with the
exhaustion of pregnancy. But the sight of a mother making her child urinate through
the next window did make me quite nauseous, and on throwing up the samosas I had
eaten I received another hard smack, followed by a spate of nasty words. Again, what
a nuisance!
The lilt of jeep that took us to Naani’s from the train station, filled with the smell of
paan, made me sleepy and I tripped on Maa’s foot. While holding me back to prevent
me from falling over but actually pressing my arm so hard that it hurt, she whispered
in my ear through clenched teeth that I was the cause of all her problems.
Am I really? Didi is a girl too, but she isn’t treated this way. What about when she
was my age? She tells me not to ask questions, that one day these grown ups will beat
me so hard that I will die, as she threads a garland for Naani’s Gopaal statue and
Naani loudly proclaims that she is her precious Lakshmi, the Indian goddess of
wealth. Do they want us to be silent always, not utter a single word and just watch
them obsequiously?
But I will ask questions, I will.
When I greeted Naani and bent down to touch her feet, as always she moaned about
how I wasn’t growing taller but I was especially stung by a single comment, which
she had probably mentioned a million times earlier but didn’t really catch my
attention until this time. “Not like that! Bend properly” criticized Naani. “You’re a
girl after all. You will have to bend your entire life, so you might as well learn.”
Did she mean that subordination, or bending down, was a skill that we must acquire in
order to survive? Or just a tool, a form of acceptance that would make our lives
easier.
Hearing Maa’s conversation with her sobbing sister the previous night, I asked her
what ‘endure meant’ and where exactly it was that Chhoti Maasi was treated like a
dog. With a few more beatings, maa said I was a witch, not a child, her stomach
bobbing in anger. Geeta dai advised that she shouldn’t tense herself and harm her
health, as the complexion of her skin, a yellowish tinge proved that she was going to
have a boy this time.

3. Hari’s ma said that she demanded a zari present if it was a boy, and Naani prayed
religiously everyday so that she would be spared the shame of her daughter (my Maa)
returning home yet again without a boy.
What is so special in a boy, that isn’t in any of us? I asked you this earlier too, Babu.
Do you remember? You always say that if I work hard I can become anything that I
want to, just like the Dhruva became a bright star on a clear night. Well, can I become
a boy?
And if we aren’t special at all then why do you worship us on Ashtami? Naani calls us
with a tray of crimson powder in her hands and dishes of halwa and puri, offerings to
the Devi. She lights the aarti as my Maasi’s (aunt) obedient daughters seat themselves
in front of her. Naani calls again, coaxing me to allow the tika to be placed on my
head. “Aren’t you my Kanyakumari?” she asked.
No, I’m an engine I puff, my mother chasing me with clenched fists, until she’s
stopped by an elderly relative. “You mustn’t hit a kanyakumari on Ashtami day! It’s
sinful” and to me she irritably says “Go on, take the Prasad from Naani, do not
trouble your mother.”
Babu, I don’t know what happened at that moment, I felt so furious at myself even
before the words escaped my mouth. I shouted back saying “Why do you pretend to
worship girls if you don’t love them?” and broke into a sob. But I felt like swallowing
the burning camphour on the diyas to choke my treacherous throat. I wanted to ask
“Why?” again but I didn’t want to cry again and look like a weak girl in front of them.
I heard someone mutter something about too much temper for a girl to show and
noticed Naani distribute quarters to my cousin, the mark of crimson powder on the tip
of her thumb, like a bloodstain.
I felt like screaming.
I stepped backwards and shrieked “I don’t want all the halwa puri or money. I don’t
want to be a goddess!”