Women are like Vodka Shots!

My past relationships have been tinged by hazardous experiences. While loving and doting on a man, I have relentlessly strived to uphold my principles in terms of the cardinal essence of womanhood and battled to etch my career in a male dominated bastion. I have faltered and failed numerous times and resurrected myself like a phoenix. Actually now I want a steady relationship where I cook dinner everyday and fall asleep in his arms. But the feminist in me wants to make more money for the sake of financial independence. After all I like Saturday nights drowned with endless vodka shots. Paradoxes are my middle name and however for Sunday brunch I would love to eat 'dal and chawal' only with plain aqua water. On these occasions I do not reminisce much and stay rooted in the simple moment.

Womanhood to me is like a series of vodka shots. Before you start wondering at this seemingly inscrutable connection let me state simply- Do we not all strive all over again after the looming hangovers of disappointment and failure? 'A glass of 7 ice cubes or more, 1 ounce of vodka and here you deliberately pour the red bull can till it is almost emptied-' I tell myself such things to keep myself going.

Well in this space, I shall talk about myself directly and allude to most women that I know of. At the outset it might surprise you that actually I have a million reasons to commit suicide but choose to continue living. I constantly sense the presence of men who either want to dominate or seduce me whenever I step out of home. Their conditioning in terms of women is plain nauseating. Men like women to be perfect toys or puppets – while ofcourse I shall state that there are some welcome exceptions in the male gender.

I lit a cigarette one evening while intermittently sipping my not so favourite black espresso. I was in my most frequented neighbourhood coffee shop. I was drawn to the couple sitting next to me and cuddling. I sighed at their so-called romance. The cynic in me suspected that the man shall be sweet to her for gaining sexual favours. I realised through her mannerisms that she was submissive.

My thoughts wonder. I have always believed that a man is made out of a woman. A womb of a mother, the journey nurturing from her and his sister, his beloved and so on, yet men are unkind. "What if I say the world is run by men, men are run by women and women too are run by hormones?"

My past relationships have been tinged by hazardous experiences. While loving and doting on a man, I have relentlessly strived to uphold my principles in terms of the cardinal essence of womanhood and battled to etch my career in a male dominated bastion. I have faltered and failed numerous times and resurrected myself like a phoenix. Actually now I want a steady relationship where I cook dinner everyday and fall asleep in his arms. But the feminist in me wants to make more money for the sake of financial independence. After all I like Saturday nights drowned with endless vodka shots. Paradoxes are my middle name and however for Sunday brunch I would love to eat 'dal and chawal' only with plain aqua water. On these occasions I do not reminisce much and stay rooted in the simple moment.

My vodka shots come to my aid at night when I again realise that women have been fooled all their life and I have been no exception. The definition of being beautiful is defined with stringent physical statistics - 36-34-36- which is shackling to say the least.

Men (except the real ones) rarely look beyond the exterior- "What about her vehemence, what about her heartbeats, her desires and lust- a woman is as much fallible and human like a man.

Sometime back, my mother kept harping on my marriageable age. Society was pressure cooking her anxiety after all. But why was I even destined to marry a guy that I was not ready for? Because apparently he assured me that he would shield and secure my future with his dollars? I strive to be me, a whole human rather than his wife. When I choose a career, I was labelled to be very ambitious. Ironically when any man invests time and energy into his career, he is called practical. Yes I did keep my mother's word and married by her choice. She got her handsome rich son-in-law. One year down the line I am expected to be a fruit bearing tree, to give birth to a child. Are women mere machines of producing babies and nurturing their life forever? But no one ever bothered about what I wished for. They define me as a wife, mother and their favourite puppet. Balancing life or rather my social expectations has become a norm for me. One day a waiter asked- "Madam, would you like another round of coffee?" Somehow I hated this question. If I had another chance, I would perhaps rewrite my story. For now I feel it is sufficient to state that a man at many levels derives his strength from women. Sadly many just do not admit it.

Now, I must admit that I am exhausted. I do need the warmth and protection of a man in the same way I have grown up in my father's arms receiving his guidance and protection. So how can a woman choose a real man? A human born with a great heart who breathes love. Then I realise that the answer lies in an amalgamation of a million fictional characters. I am in love with this man though he does not exist.

I say another shot please to the bartender, even though I am so drunk. Someone called me an alcoholic recently but I tell you that I am drunk with life and inebriated with the concept of womanhood and its definitions in the libraries or in my mind. I too paid the bill like a man does and I walk into Octave tonight…!!

Shahnaz Islam

The writer is a lawyer with Gauhati High Court.

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