We are always talking about the inclusion of women. But what about the inclusion of men in some public spaces? The stage, for example, for a public meeting. The dignitaries, mostly male, are seated on the stage, their expressions slightly ominous, or maybe they are just bored, when the MC’s voice enthusiastically announces a diversion, a tradition that has survived all cultural and socio-economic changes: the presentation of the pushpa-stabak, the flower bouquet. (In another time-honoured tradition, the flowers are covered with a plastic sheet and so tightly bound that they look like someone who is being throttled.)
The procession that pours in on the stage, brandishing the bouquets like torches, is composed entirely of the female gender. This is true of almost all platforms, from the para Puja inauguration to academic seminars. The girls/women hand over the bouquets to the dignitaries quickly so that the real business of the day can begin; and the ceremony clearly defines the role of women as just decoration. Not once in my entire life have I seen men presenting pushpa-stabaks.
This should change. I want to see women delivering speeches and men bouquets.
Another place where men are required more is the school/class WhatsApp group. Some schools may be exceptions, but in most schools the groups have very few fathers, if at all. This practice defines another gender role: that whatever else mothers may do or be interested in, managing the children’s school life is solely their responsibility. I long to hear fathers pop the question, such as “Do u know of any good psychology teacher?”,
or a more anxious one, such as “Has the teacher shared the Zoom link for the 9.30 class?”, or a desperate one, such as “Moms, can anyone please send an extra Deccan Plateau map? Abhya can’t find hers :(.”
Those who do this work know what it takes and they are called ‘Moms’. When will we hear a strident man’s voice demanding “Dads, what should I send for class canteen?” That sounds ridiculous, as ridiculous as it would be in an earlier decade if a girl’s party having come to examine a potential groom had asked him to sing. But is it really ridiculous? What if all mothers went on a strike, taking their cue from Aristophanes’s Lysistrata, and taking off from the WhatsApp situation?
Yet another area of concern is apparel ads. Here the representation of men is not so much of a problem as the difference in the behaviour of men and women. The women, especially in wedding or traditional wear ads, are prone to be found in an idyllic setting: a magnificent mahal or a gentle forest gleaming in the sun. They will be picking up the sides of their heavy zardosi lehngas daintily with their finger tips and be running, in a group, towards what we don’t always know. Sometimes it is men. Or they may be just wandering, giving the impression of wafting, through the beautiful landscape, or waiting, in full bridal finery, like a classic nayika, on a heritage sofa.
That is not all. At the end, the women, and not only in clothes ads, will in slow motion turn towards the camera in close up, look fully into it and pout, at times with a little jhatka. Even for the brands that claim to be good otherwise, using environment-friendly materials and producer-friendly mode of distribution, marketing and sales, the women will pucker their lips and go into a little paroxysm.
The men, when they are there, just appear. At the most, they run after the women a little, or maybe join them in a song and dance performance in silk kurta pyjamas. When will they pout?
At the end, I must mention one place where girls or women are never seen. That is the Sunday para cricket match. I will stop complaining the day I see a girl hitting a boundary, which is defined by our building wall.
