Essay 25
Essay 25
Essay 25
Essay 25
The kind of woman
The kind of woman
The kind of woman
The kind of woman
10 Apr 2024
10 Apr 2024
10 Apr 2024
10 Apr 2024
3 min
3 min
3 min
3 min
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My mother is the kind of woman whose sarees last a lifetime, who can still fit into clothes from 20 years ago, whose whites look crisp even after multiple washes. My mother- in-law and my sisters-in-law are similar. Every time they open their cupboards, I am left in awe at their ability to keep things in order. My clothes on most days are lying on the bed in the spare bedroom. Everytime I want to go out, my cupboard in its entirety needs to be waded through till I can find the clothes I actually like. My whites are never pristine after the first wash. I try blaming the washing machine, the detergent, capitalism.
In these moments, I remind myself that I am capable. I am my mother’s daughter after all. As a child, I washed utensils, folded clothes and mopped floors. My mother even commented on how well I did them. I can keep a house clean if I wanted. So I begin to shed myself of every bad habit and clutter. Go on amazon, buy organisation cabinets. Go on instagram, watch home hack videos. For a day, I clean every cupboard, every bathroom, and throw out everything remotely unused. Blame Advaith for some of the mess. In a week, we are back to my imperfections and dusty windows.
My mother is the kind of woman whose sarees last a lifetime, who can still fit into clothes from 20 years ago, whose whites look crisp even after multiple washes. My mother- in-law and my sisters-in-law are similar. Every time they open their cupboards, I am left in awe at their ability to keep things in order. My clothes on most days are lying on the bed in the spare bedroom. Everytime I want to go out, my cupboard in its entirety needs to be waded through till I can find the clothes I actually like. My whites are never pristine after the first wash. I try blaming the washing machine, the detergent, capitalism.
In these moments, I remind myself that I am capable. I am my mother’s daughter after all. As a child, I washed utensils, folded clothes and mopped floors. My mother even commented on how well I did them. I can keep a house clean if I wanted. So I begin to shed myself of every bad habit and clutter. Go on amazon, buy organisation cabinets. Go on instagram, watch home hack videos. For a day, I clean every cupboard, every bathroom, and throw out everything remotely unused. Blame Advaith for some of the mess. In a week, we are back to my imperfections and dusty windows.
My mother is the kind of woman whose sarees last a lifetime, who can still fit into clothes from 20 years ago, whose whites look crisp even after multiple washes. My mother- in-law and my sisters-in-law are similar. Every time they open their cupboards, I am left in awe at their ability to keep things in order. My clothes on most days are lying on the bed in the spare bedroom. Everytime I want to go out, my cupboard in its entirety needs to be waded through till I can find the clothes I actually like. My whites are never pristine after the first wash. I try blaming the washing machine, the detergent, capitalism.
In these moments, I remind myself that I am capable. I am my mother’s daughter after all. As a child, I washed utensils, folded clothes and mopped floors. My mother even commented on how well I did them. I can keep a house clean if I wanted. So I begin to shed myself of every bad habit and clutter. Go on amazon, buy organisation cabinets. Go on instagram, watch home hack videos. For a day, I clean every cupboard, every bathroom, and throw out everything remotely unused. Blame Advaith for some of the mess. In a week, we are back to my imperfections and dusty windows.
I always thought I would get there. That I was capable of the perfection that these women exuded. I was young. This was clearly a skill that one picked later in life. I would too become elegant, meticulous, neat, in charge. But I have gotten older and my cupboards are never as tidy, my shelves never as dust free, my kitchen never as organised and my food never as tasty. Everytime my mother visits, I go on a mission to make her believe I am a better housekeeper than I am. Hiding my bad habits and neglect in drawers she will not open. But as soon as she arrives, the floors are cleaner, the help more prompt and my stomach fuller.
As a girl with two elder brothers, I demanded the same freedoms, same chores, same treatment. To my mother’s credit, she granted them. She was worried but supportive. Protective yet trusting. One day, when I sat in her kitchen doing homework, she said, ‘Women who don’t work are dependent on their husbands. Like me. The most important thing for a woman is to have her own money.’ Letting me clearly know what kind of woman she wanted me to be.
I always thought I would get there. That I was capable of the perfection that these women exuded. I was young. This was clearly a skill that one picked later in life. I would too become elegant, meticulous, neat, in charge. But I have gotten older and my cupboards are never as tidy, my shelves never as dust free, my kitchen never as organised and my food never as tasty. Everytime my mother visits, I go on a mission to make her believe I am a better housekeeper than I am. Hiding my bad habits and neglect in drawers she will not open. But as soon as she arrives, the floors are cleaner, the help more prompt and my stomach fuller.
As a girl with two elder brothers, I demanded the same freedoms, same chores, same treatment. To my mother’s credit, she granted them. She was worried but supportive. Protective yet trusting. One day, when I sat in her kitchen doing homework, she said, ‘Women who don’t work are dependent on their husbands. Like me. The most important thing for a woman is to have her own money.’ Letting me clearly know what kind of woman she wanted me to be.
I always thought I would get there. That I was capable of the perfection that these women exuded. I was young. This was clearly a skill that one picked later in life. I would too become elegant, meticulous, neat, in charge. But I have gotten older and my cupboards are never as tidy, my shelves never as dust free, my kitchen never as organised and my food never as tasty. Everytime my mother visits, I go on a mission to make her believe I am a better housekeeper than I am. Hiding my bad habits and neglect in drawers she will not open. But as soon as she arrives, the floors are cleaner, the help more prompt and my stomach fuller.
As a girl with two elder brothers, I demanded the same freedoms, same chores, same treatment. To my mother’s credit, she granted them. She was worried but supportive. Protective yet trusting. One day, when I sat in her kitchen doing homework, she said, ‘Women who don’t work are dependent on their husbands. Like me. The most important thing for a woman is to have her own money.’ Letting me clearly know what kind of woman she wanted me to be.
I always thought I would get there. That I was capable of the perfection that these women exuded. I was young. This was clearly a skill that one picked later in life. I would too become elegant, meticulous, neat, in charge. But I have gotten older and my cupboards are never as tidy, my shelves never as dust free, my kitchen never as organised and my food never as tasty. Everytime my mother visits, I go on a mission to make her believe I am a better housekeeper than I am. Hiding my bad habits and neglect in drawers she will not open. But as soon as she arrives, the floors are cleaner, the help more prompt and my stomach fuller.
As a girl with two elder brothers, I demanded the same freedoms, same chores, same treatment. To my mother’s credit, she granted them. She was worried but supportive. Protective yet trusting. One day, when I sat in her kitchen doing homework, she said, ‘Women who don’t work are dependent on their husbands. Like me. The most important thing for a woman is to have her own money.’ Letting me clearly know what kind of woman she wanted me to be.
I grew up wanting to be the kind of man who can look after his family. Who has material dreams for them. Who has the freedom to be. To rest, to indulge. To yell, to be silent. The kind of man who can make eye contact without being disrespectful. Who can be angry, who can be irreverent. The kind of man who is ambitious and opinionated. Who makes his own money. For most of my life, I only honed a certain part of my personality.
But as I think about motherhood, I have started worrying about the kind of woman I am. Because it will define the kind of mother I will be. There were two types of children in my school - ones with meticulously prepared tiffins, crisply ironed clothes, groomed nails and ones who ate in the canteen, had stains on their uniforms and were always pulled up for tardiness. I am scared that I will be a bad mother - of children with terrible lunch boxes, unironed clothes and long nails. I am worried, I have become the kind of woman who doesn’t do this right.
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It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
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Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth
Get a mail everytime a post goes up.
It will be a reminder to stop scrolling and read something fun.
FEEL FREE TO REACH OUT IF YOU HAVE ANY THOUGHTS OR JUST WANT TO SAY HI.
Design/dev by @itsiddharth