THE BIG FAT INDIAN LIE!

EX

THE BIG FAT INDIAN LIE!

EXPOSED!!!

THE BIG FAT INDIAN LIE!

A Shocking Truth . . .

start this article borrowing a few lines from the most honorable

U.S President, Barack Obama’s beautifully written

autobiography-

‘Dreams from My Father’

The first instance is when his old, wise friend, a black poet named

Frank tries to prove a point to the confused teenage Obama,

referring to Barack’s white grandfather—

“He’s basically a good man. But he doesn’t know me…He can’t know

me, not the way I know him…We have seen our fathers humiliated.

Our mothers desecrated. But your grandfather will never know what

that feels like. That’s why he can …Sleep like a baby. See, that’s

something I can never do in his house. Never. Doesn’t matter how

tired I get, I still have to watch myself. I have to be vigilant, for my

own survival.”

And the second instance where the troubled adolescent recalls his

friend’s remarks---

‘We were always playing in the white man’s court, by the white

man’s rules……….And the final irony; should you refuse this

defeat…….Paranoid .Militant .Violent .Nigger.’

I

I have no better words to describe the invisible existence of

the Indian woman in a man’s world-‘A man’s world with his rules. If

he wanted to spit in your face, he could, because he had the power

and you didn’t. If he decided not to, if he treated you like a person or

came to your defense, it was because he knew that the words you

spoke, the clothes you wore, the books you read, your ambitions and

desires, were already his. Whatever he decided to do, it was his

decision to make, not yours, and because of that fundamental power

he held over you…In fact you couldn’t even be sure that everything

you had assumed to be an expression of womanhood-had been

freely chosen by you. At best, these things were a refuge; at worst, a

trap.

Following this maddening logic, the only thing you could

choose as your own is withdrawal into a smaller and smaller coil of

rage, until being a woman meant only the knowledge of your own

powerlessness, of your own defeat. And the final irony: should you

refuse this defeat and lash out at your captors, they would have a

name for that, too, a name that could cage you just as good.

Paranoid. Feminist. Rebellious. Crazy woman!’

Commencing from the first taste of her mother’s milk- she is fed in

ounces- The Great truth of womanhood- The Ultimate Blessing!-

Bullshit!

The greatest Indian mythological princess- Sita- the

Blessed wife of the most generous, most able, the ideal of Kings,

most revered of Gods- Rama. Sita was abducted by the evil demon

Ravana and held captive in Lanka until rescued through a fierce

battle.

When Sita and Rama returned to Ayodhya, Sita was

ordered to prove her purity by passing through burning flames – and

it is said that she came out unharmed; not even losing the freshness

of the flower that adorned her locks. Still, certain citizens in the

kingdom began to gossip about her, saying that Rama had broken

the religious principles by accepting his wife, after she had been

touched by another man. Swayed by the gossip, Rama admonished

his dutiful, obedient, dedicated wife- pregnant with his twins- into

exile in an unknown jungle. She obediently followed his orders and

considered him a deity till her fateful end- the symbol of glowing

endurance- the ideal Indian woman-the most blessed of women-

Holy Rama’s celebrated , pious, faithful, enduring, dream picture of

a wife!

This is just the icing of the mind numbing illogical logics

spoon-fed into the tiny skulls of every Indian girl- I repeat ‘every

Indian skull’. From her first baby steps and first baby thoughts, she

is trained to hide behind the door when men in the family discuss

and take meaningful decisions- one’s she would never understand;

to control her appetite if her brother liked the dessert; to always

remember that all the privileges she enjoys at home are only

temporary-one’s to be left along with her family and her identity

when she is married off, someday.

Even in those families where a daughter is raised with all

the privileges and considerations a child deserves- with all the

encouragement and support to fulfill her dreams- she is subtly

reminded of her uncertain future- for her good- so that, she would

not be shattered. And at the peak of her self-worth and self-respect

and capable, feminine grace-the first major blow strikes- the first hit

of reality as she helplessly witnesses the wedding ‘market-deal’ down

to the last penny for transferring the burden to the love struck

groom! The celebrated DOWRY GAME!

Her academic accolades, her personality, her grace and

values hold little value to nil in the deadly bargain- a shortage in

anything to everything can be easily made up by balancing an equal

amount of green bundles on the other side of the balance.She can

either accept her first major, tangible defeat as a woman or simply

be labeled a ‘Dhikkari’ – ‘Arrogant’- which will hike the balancing

amount. So, she can watch her every inch being measured and

weighed and her family and background scrutinized to fix the final

bargain offer. It is the scenario of a lucky girl I am referring to- one

who has a past to be shocked by this insane ordeal- most of them

are already numb! They watch in silence their families struggling,

putting everything at stake to offer her a happy, secure, respectable

life if not to be relieved at last.

I guess, this bargain helps to drain the last drop of pride

left in her- to get ready to hand over her title deed, her dreams and

desires, her ambitions to total strangers- her new masters- her

freedom of speech, ideologies, views, values, beliefs, posture and

even the freedom to communicate with her loved ones- to their

mercy- hoping they would support, hoping they would understand,

hoping acceptance if not survival.

This was just a peak at the tip of the iceberg.

s I quoted at the beginning of this article, I borrow his

illustration once more.

‘He might basically be a good man. But he doesn’t know

her….He can’t know her, not the way she knows him…She has seen

her dreams shredded, her ambitions torn, her loved ones

humiliated, her feelings hurt. But, he will never know what that feels

like. That’s why he can sleep, sleep like a baby…But she can never

do that. Never. Doesn’t matter how tired she gets, she still has to

watch herself. She has to be vigilant, for her own survival.’

A