All of this began when I completed my twelfth with some obnoxious flying colors, I mean when someone from HS State board calls at your home on result day that too when that day was your birthday; it has to be obnoxiously stupendous. I was sleeping around 11 am (usual considering that’s how I sleep and always have) and told my mother this good news. Mother went berserk, pushed me so hard, fell from the bed with drool coming out of my mouth, still clutching the rose that Hugh Jalckman was giving me in the dreams and woke up with a start! So that was all 12 years back in 1999 when I accidently made my parents very proud and they decided they need to raise me as their son instead of daughter.
In Indian scenario that means give ample freedom of choice to your daughter to choose whatever she wants to do in her career, kick her out of the house to the “real” world and raise her as a “son” which they never had and check her guts whether she survives the wolves of the world to be a “son”.
My journey as a girl ended then and there. Bags were packed and I was made to go and fend myself in an hostel run by ex-army men ( so much for freedom and ancillary joys) and got admitted in Guwahati Commerce College by invitation ( tests were for lesser mortals who didn’t get ranks , thereby getting all the joys of not being burdened). I was dumped unceremoniously by my mom in an alien world where girls were from so called rich parents who already knew how to put makeup and which-pack-on-what-type of skin. And there I was specky, bob haired, only girl with 2 trunks of books (one had only novels- kind of consolation gift from parting mom) and no pair of jeans. While having my first dinner with those girls, womanhood slowly crept in my girl soul and I was thinking may be I am a nerd, but am I a woman? Certainly, even local Guwahati model would snicker their nose looking at me. I realized that getting good grades was all that glorious for a girl but is that a parameter to be a complete woman? No. So I decided to be the next Raymond Complete woman by mentally taking a couple of girls as my mentor to womanhood.
Couple of months passed.
My dresser has substantial make up stuff, specs were replaced by contacts and I was practicing daily with high heels on from Sumiba in the hostel to get the grace in which woman walked. My knowledge on getting-attention-from-dumb-guys had increased by leaps and bounds by profound knowledge sharing sessions amongst our group. We all learnt how to judge a man from his wallet to his shoes and also by his perfume. I understood men dont like hairy faced girls or they prefer girls with good ass and some other vital parts. Lessons were delivered and notes fervently exchanged on keeping the opposite sex on harness. I learnt to paint my toes red ( do guys even notice that?) and knowledge on Kamasutra increased by exponential degrees from intersting lecture sessions in post midnight lights out discussions. All of us were geared up for being the next diva and our pocket money would go in buying that next figure hugging jeans or tops. The idea was to look seductive and not provocative and to maintain that thin line , you really need to gobble all "Cosmopolitans" and "Feminas".Did that work? Guess yes, cause at first six months, I had respect amongst my friends in college. Boys treated me as a geek and a girl-with-good-notes type earlier , but later, I got their admiration. My mom visited me and borrowed my multani meetii pack and gave me some more insight into the worlds of style. She was pleased nevertheless.I was like a sponge absorbing everything. Slowly I guess I understood why earlier - I was the odd girl in the group who had maximum boys as friends but never got those perfumed letter which made my back bencher friends fly with some really rainbow colors where my world was just black and white ( books and me 'course).
Couple of years passed.
Here I am. Corporate manager. Know exactly how to be groomed and well dressed and everything. Got lots of bouquets and besotted emails in the process of becoming woman. Parents accepted this woman as their befitted son who made them proud always. I have paid for my parents vacations, kept them in best of the glitzy hotels and made investments and geared up some dough for the rainy days as well.
Have I become a woman?
In a recent few surveys with few so called enlightened modern India men, I realized I am still to be the perfect woman. I might have learned how to flutter and bat my eyelashes, might have got promotions and good pay, but I didn’t have the necessity skills to be the perfect woman. What are they if you would ask? First I don’t know how to cook that well (khichdi, daal, paratha, pulao, tea are not considered). Secondly I don’t know how will I ever be an obedient gf/wife as my mind still thinks I have a rationale mind and opinion of my own. So do men still prefer a woman like me? No. They prefer a woman (super woman) who gets up early, cooks for everyone, goes to office, handles escalations, juggle multi-client project, gets appreciation emails, wears click click high heels and comes back home, cook again, iron clothes, serve food, wear nice clothes, be seductive all the time like Katrina Kaif, regardless of heat/winter/load shedding/oily hair) and that’s what is perfect woman. Also the would be in-laws would expect you to cook for the entire family and guys would say “my mom does so she should do” regardless of comparing the mental stress and strain she might be having at office (which I am sure is no less than any “son”).
Today.
I understood I will remain a woman regardless of the fact whether I meet those social standards or not. For someone I will be a perfect woman who can contribute to his any discussion under the sky , right from which processor goes inside which laptop/mobile, which car has what cc to how much foreign or stock prices will affect the economy. Can I cook yes, I can. Kaam chalau. But now I have realized being woman is not about this. I can hire a maid and pay her good to do this work. I can still go to painting class and gym and parlor and manage my house well. I may not be the woman of dreams but certainly would be in the eyes of a man who respects woman for her substance and values more than her inches and waxed limbs.
PS: In my opinion one who possess more than 50 shoes with 4 inches heel should automatically levitate to perfect woman status cause of the drool factor! Shoe crazy ladies will agree I suppose.
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