21 August,2016 06:58 AM IST | | Paromita Vohra
A cousin from Delhi, whom I’m very close to, but who rarely calls, called me last weekend. When I saw the call, I wondered why.
Rakshabandhan was celebrated across India on Friday. PIC/AFP
Then I groaned in despair. August! Rakhi! I had glimpsed rakhis fluttering in shops for days and made a mental note to send mine on time, for once! But, not only did I not send the rakhis on time, this year, I even forgot to check when Rakhi was.
Rakshabandhan was celebrated across India on Friday. PIC/AFP
Like a child, who has not done their maths homework, but fantasises that somehow God or mom did it for them at night, I prayed that my sister, pre-empting my delinquency had sent rakhis on my behalf with hers.
I tried to gauge the situation from my cousin's tone. No reference to rakhis. Perhaps, he was making me stew. I surmised defiant confession was the best option. "Bhaiya, I know why you're calling," I said. "I am very bad. I have not sent the rakhi."
After a brief silence, in which no doubt my cousin was counting the number of years that this drama had been continuing, he said, "So send! There are two days still." Saved!
Next day, I bought the rakhis. I packed them with a pious expression. Then I realised I had no one's address in office. I was forced to ask my sister. Like a pakka padhaku, who finishes all the portions two weeks before the exams, she Whatsapped me all addresses (with pin codes). While I was muttering about this, she messaged that she too was late and was just sending hers. Aha! I was not alone! I immediately became cheerful.
After all, I told myself, this is an improvement. Last year's rakhis are still lying in the drawer.
But, as is always the fate of us poor souls with good intentions, I was dealt a Facebook blow on the afternoon of Rakhi. There, was the dastardly sight of my cousin and nephew displaying their rakhis from my sister and niece respectively. Bitter feelings towards the courier company rose in my heart. I wrote a shocked comment below the photo. I noted that no one consoled me.
When my father was alive, he would call to remind me. Twice. (It will take only five minutes, beta). I would still mess up because I was obsessed with work or my various interests and lost track of time. After he died, one of my older women cousins took to reminding me. I remained unreformed. Now, she too has stopped.
Yaniki raksha-vaksha whatever, my family has stopped trying to protect me from myself. "Woh toh workaholic hai," they say in resigned tones and protect themselves from disappointment. To an extent, they also see that this harum-scarumness is part personality, part the by-product of a certain set of not so conventional life-choices I've made. They're even proud of these now, though once, they found them bewildering.
I cherish their acceptance, and so, genuinely try hard to be more diligent. Maybe I fail partly because I also know they now accept me as I am. Well, once in five years I succeed. So, we all live in hope.
Sometimes with revolution, sometimes activism, and sometimes with just the wry, exasperated negotiations of love and mutual acceptance, the meaning of patriarchal symbols change, just like that.
Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com