When it came to holding down the fort, no one did it quite like the women in my family. Contrary to patriarchal stereotypes, things were quite different where I came from. I was raised by a single mother, and my family consisted of only the two of us–with my nana-nani as our neighbours. My mother’s sister, my maasi, also lived nearby and didn’t get married until lately. When I was younger, my granddad suffered from a stroke and has been paralyzed (read: bedridden) ever since. Hence, my household and immediate surroundings were more matriarchal –with the ladies of the house replacing the hackneyed “men of the house.” To be honest, it was great!
When it came to work-life, I saw all three women hold steady jobs and excel in their careers. They were the “breadwinners” of the family and pulled it off without ever acting as though they needed a special mention or a round of applause. I guess they were all “feminists”, who might’ve not been very well-versed with the term, but had beliefs that spoke for them. They didn’t want praise, because they never felt they were doing something groundbreaking. They were women who were capable, who knew it, and who exhibited it. It’s as simple as that. I watched them be independent, persevering, and brave. Little did I know back then, these were qualities I’d need desperately as an adult.
Moving to the concept of “homemakers,” whoever said that a woman can do either-or is so wrong–and I am living proof! Is it easy? Hell no! But that doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. All the women in my family ran their homes seamlessly – and though they might’ve not had the time to cook or do the laundry themselves, they knew how to get the job done, something equally worthy of celebration. As you can imagine, the trials and tribulations life threw at them were plenty. My mother had to look after my well-being, as well as her parents; nani had to take care of my grandfather; and of course, my maasi had her whole life ahead of her, and was at a crucial point in her career.
I would watch how confident the three women in my family were, with themselves and around others. Their conversations were meaningful and positive, because I guess that’s how their outlook was. Their laughter was so infectious–it could lead you to think that they’ve never felt pain. Their nights consisted of building each other up and consistently reminding each other how they had to get on with it. They seemed invincible because they weren’t afraid of anything. Or so they made it seem. When I look back, I never recall tears and defeat–I think of their deliberate intent to deliver and be happy.
I grew up in a family where the women were the ones everyone could depend on, especially when it came to making decisions–mindful ones. When they failed, they did with utmost grace, always finding the fire to get back up and come back stronger. Today, they are still the first people I call when I need some reassurance–in my career choices, relationships, or in me. They urge me to believe that women of our generation with similar setups want daughters precisely because we like who we are–and we like who we are because we were taught to.
