Editor’s Note: The views expressed here are those of the author’s and don’t necessarily represent or reflect the views of MangoBaazBy: AnonymousEver since I was born, my family has been moving around from one place to another. From my dada’s to my nana’s, from the city to the middle of nowhere; we went wherever my dad was offered a good job. The one constant in all of these places was my maternal grandparents’ house, or my nankay as it’s called, because I spent my early years there, through to the end of preschool, and even afterwards we visited often. I consider it the house that I grew up in.
What I knew as my nankay ghar was soon to change forever
My extended family has been living there for over 35 years now, a joint family consisting of my grandparents, my mamoons, and their families. I know every nook and cranny of that place, have my oldest memories involving it. So when the discussions about selling the house started flying, I was filled with both sadness and joy. Joy because that would mean my mother getting a share of the sale and us being able to finally afford our own house instead of living on rent, and sadness because I wasn’t ready to let the memories go yet. But little did I know that I didn’t have anything to worry about yet, because that discussion that started 3 years ago still hasn’t reached a conclusion yet.
While everyone wants to sell the house and get a place of their own, my eldest mamoon keeps insisting that we wait a while for the prices to increase. This has been going on for 3 years now, and after my nana’s death last year, the discussions began to resurface. With nana gone, mamoon became the patriarchal head of the house, the decision maker, overruling his own mother.
It was then that I realized, for the first time, that the reason we are such a patriarchal society is because our women have accepted it as the ultimate way of life.
During one such discussion, as my mamoon stormed off saying he won’t sell yet, my nani ami started crying because, well, like most old people she gets a bit dramatic at times. But what she said really struck me. She said that no one will ever take her seriously because she is a woman, how she has always been in the shadow of a man and never had any power, and that she can’t even control her own son anymore (he does what he wants and listens to no one). I sat there frozen for a moment, taking in what she just said, while my mother was trying to calm her down. I suddenly felt the feminist in me awakening. But what my nani did next was what changed me forever.
There were about ten of us sitting in a room, which included my nani, two younger mamoons, their wives, my mother, my cousins, and myself. One of my cousins, let’s call him Ali, was out somewhere, as he usually is. Now Ali and his older sister, let’s call her Maryam, are my nani’s eldest grand kids, followed by me. Ali came home right as things were starting to get calm again and the awkward atmosphere was beginning to settle down. As he walked in, my grandmother asked him to come sit with her. And then she did something I can never forget: she asked him what he thinks should be done about the house.
I looked up at my grandmother and started laughing at the irony of the situation.
Ali was confused about the question because he had no idea about the discussions that were going on inside the house, since he was never home. Someone asked me why I was laughing and before I could stop myself (because in my family, you’re not allowed to speak in baron kay mamlay), I started calling out my grandmother on her blatant sexism.
How could she expect women to have any power when she, herself, was choosing to ask her grandson’s opinion but not even acknowledging his older sister, not even acknowledging me? Did we not get any say at all? Did we not also grow up in that house? Did we not need get affected by the sale? She was doing the same thing that had been done generations before her, that had been done with her herself, ignoring the women and trusting the men, and then she was complaining about it being done to her.
Everyone stared at me dumbfounded until my nani responded
“Beta larkay bahir hotay hain toh unhain pata hota hai na in cheezon ka, issi liye Ali say poocha aur aap say nahi. Bura mat manao.” And then someone changed the topic and the discussion fizzled out. But I was still thinking. Whose fault is it that larkay bahir hotay hain and not larkiyan? Is it ours? Most of us don’t have the choice. It is our families who don’t let us out, who let their sons get away with everything without question and ask their daughters a million questions when they have to go out anywhere.
That was the day I realized how important feminism is, how deeply rooted the patriarchal system is into the minds of our people, that even the women don’t acknowledge other women. That was the day I decided I was going to start speaking up about things and be heard. I left that room a changed person that day.
I left that room a feminist.
Cover Image via: Dawn.com
