This country is one that is full of MCPs (male chauvinistic pigs). These male egos who consider themselves not only superior but paramount to their female counterparts.Whereas the woman, (Oh the poor woman!) is always stuck hapless and spiritless in her sad state of affairs but at the mercy of this superior MAN.
One may think that even though the educated and better off classes of India have slightly moved on, to a better situation as far as the women's position is concerned. The poorer sections of urban society are still assumed to remain under the more chauvinistic scheme of things. I too casually dismissed the various short stories that I read about such indomitable woman protagonists. (stories like 'The Punishment' by Tagore or 'Javni' by Raja Rao) This was probably because I had never really been fortunate enough to see any such woman prima donna in my life before, but that particular evening....
It was another gloomy august evening in the city of Mumbai. The glum and morose rain clouds that characterize the Bombay rains were giving us furtive looks from the grey sky above. And us, a bunch of four friends out with our umbrellas and windcheaters wading through the ankle deep puddles. It was typical of us, your everyday bunch of procrastinating college kids, to find just this delightful weather to go house hunting in.
So there we were walking up this lonely street headed to the next location where we were to meet the broker who would show us a potential home, and all of a sudden, out of the blue a yellow Maruti Omni hauled up right next to us. There was a scraggy man who was riding his bicycle just a few steps away. Rugged beard and a head full of hair that was dipped in coconut oil. (we could tell it wasn't rain water coz it has this unmistakable glimmer to it that only Vatika coconut oil could do) From this one box on wheels emerged 10 hefty men like an exodus on insects. Within the wink of an eye all these men mounted on that one poor fellow and stared to beat him up. They brought down blows like there was no tomorrow. The punches would be best describes as "Thundering Typhoons" in the words of Captain Haddock. The man on the cycle had no idea what had hit him, quite literally.
It was evident that this man had done something to offend these gangsters in the near past. The four of us found ourselves standing in near proximity and staring with our mouths wide open. Every Indian likes to watch a good fight, its in our blood. A minute passed by in this manner. Then from the horizon we noticed a shadow approaching the scene. As this figure came closer we noticed that it was a diminutive grandma clad in a saree that was wound up in that peculiar lavani fashion in between the legs, quite a common way of doing it here in Mumbai. It was almost dusk now and as grandma barged into the mob of gangsters we could hear the tunes of *eye of the tiger* somewhere in the background. There was just something about this woman. She began to use words of profanity about the sister and mother ( an every day part and parcel of the Indian tongue) and waving her fists at the 10 macho men.
In a span of the next 5 minutes all these men wound up their tails in between their legs and got into the van. Making a quick escape from the lane the car was not to be seen again.The scraggy old man stood battered down in awe of this woman. She didn't wait for a thanks, just walked on..back to her celestial horizon.
Lo! the indomitable spirit of an old grandma who saved the day, who was she?
One may think that even though the educated and better off classes of India have slightly moved on, to a better situation as far as the women's position is concerned. The poorer sections of urban society are still assumed to remain under the more chauvinistic scheme of things. I too casually dismissed the various short stories that I read about such indomitable woman protagonists. (stories like 'The Punishment' by Tagore or 'Javni' by Raja Rao) This was probably because I had never really been fortunate enough to see any such woman prima donna in my life before, but that particular evening....
It was another gloomy august evening in the city of Mumbai. The glum and morose rain clouds that characterize the Bombay rains were giving us furtive looks from the grey sky above. And us, a bunch of four friends out with our umbrellas and windcheaters wading through the ankle deep puddles. It was typical of us, your everyday bunch of procrastinating college kids, to find just this delightful weather to go house hunting in.
So there we were walking up this lonely street headed to the next location where we were to meet the broker who would show us a potential home, and all of a sudden, out of the blue a yellow Maruti Omni hauled up right next to us. There was a scraggy man who was riding his bicycle just a few steps away. Rugged beard and a head full of hair that was dipped in coconut oil. (we could tell it wasn't rain water coz it has this unmistakable glimmer to it that only Vatika coconut oil could do) From this one box on wheels emerged 10 hefty men like an exodus on insects. Within the wink of an eye all these men mounted on that one poor fellow and stared to beat him up. They brought down blows like there was no tomorrow. The punches would be best describes as "Thundering Typhoons" in the words of Captain Haddock. The man on the cycle had no idea what had hit him, quite literally.
It was evident that this man had done something to offend these gangsters in the near past. The four of us found ourselves standing in near proximity and staring with our mouths wide open. Every Indian likes to watch a good fight, its in our blood. A minute passed by in this manner. Then from the horizon we noticed a shadow approaching the scene. As this figure came closer we noticed that it was a diminutive grandma clad in a saree that was wound up in that peculiar lavani fashion in between the legs, quite a common way of doing it here in Mumbai. It was almost dusk now and as grandma barged into the mob of gangsters we could hear the tunes of *eye of the tiger* somewhere in the background. There was just something about this woman. She began to use words of profanity about the sister and mother ( an every day part and parcel of the Indian tongue) and waving her fists at the 10 macho men.
In a span of the next 5 minutes all these men wound up their tails in between their legs and got into the van. Making a quick escape from the lane the car was not to be seen again.The scraggy old man stood battered down in awe of this woman. She didn't wait for a thanks, just walked on..back to her celestial horizon.
Lo! the indomitable spirit of an old grandma who saved the day, who was she?
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