the big fat indian lie-- exposed !!
DESCRIPTION
An heart felt narration.TRANSCRIPT
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