Its official – I am not a sucker for hosting dinner parties. I don’t like infusion sticks sitting in little vases, be it patchouli or lavender or vanilla or any other so called intriguing smells that’s supposed to up ones libido. I hate expensive china & white tablecloth. I hate matching napkins & eating with silver cutlery. Some people, especially women consider it a test of their post wedding domesticity once they’ve successfully hosted their 1st big dinner at home. But it is beyond me how one can be so particular about changing curtains & matching them to cushion covers every time there is an impending house party. It is a great source of entertainment for me to be around such people. No offence to anyone who is reading this & loves just about everything I’ve mentioned above. My friends can vouch for this, that I mean no offense. Different things excite different people. And coordinating themes & colors in a room is nothing short of art. In fact it is art direction for me. My gallivanting mind looks at these women & wonders what great art directors they could be for our industry if they focused & drove themselves to it.
Oh! I’m digressing! Coming back to me since this is my bloody blog, domesticity is not a great talent of mine & I’m not good at faking it. It sometimes poses serious threats to my survival in the society. But I refuse to change or be changed. To get to the root of how I turned out like this, my Father thought his first child (that would be me) would be a boy. Sadly the sweet Christian Mallu nurse who welcomed me into this world had other news for him. There started the contradictions in my life. It was my Father who named me, but he has never called me by my name. Not once to this day! When he talks about me it is always in third person masculine singular (he, him, his etc). The effect has been strange on me, as one might imagine. In my mind I was always a boy. The only doll type toys I had was an inflated large camel and a stuffed grizzly bear. And the only feminine thing I played with was a set of tiny kitchen utensils carved from wood. This I started hating soon enough because I never had any girlfriend to play with. So childhood passed by with me reading a lot of detective novels & thrillers. I read books that I wasn’t supposed to read (yes! A lot of sex & violence) & it thrilled me more when I got to know it. During my school days I was this strange being that had no girlfriends or boyfriends. In short ‘anti-social’ suited me just fine. And I picked some of the rowdiest boys in school to fight with. I’ve had nasty fights with boys who thought they were macho men. By the end of school I was labeled rude, bad-mannered & heartless. I plead guilty to all of that. College was a big change. I found boys (who I thought were men back then!!) and made them my best friends and boyfriends. I’ve always asked men out. After knowing me there have only been 2 men who have had the balls to ask me out. I was pretty much allergic to women. Until I found two women who changed my perspective completely. I’ve had stormy relationships with both of them, but they are still the two people who are privy to everything that happens in my life. Thus I will fast forward my college life towards the end of my post graduation. I still didn’t get any better at being ladylike or doing & enjoying ladylike things.
So now, even though I’m married (to a man) I’m called a MAWO (NOT Men Against Women Organization but Man Woman). I love movies with blood & gore, I’m an adventure junkie, I dislike gold & I’d do anything to travel, by any class or mode, anywhere. I’m peaceful with the tag & my feelings. But sometimes I have to really work hard to balance the equilibrium with my man, by trying to be a bit more womanly. I don’t think my husband feels like he married a man, and I’m sure he feels blessed when he doesn’t have to buy me roses & cards & take me out for expensive candlelight dinners. So more power to all the MAWOs.
fathomlessdays 