Women's Day reflections

Being something of a calendar anarchist (I refuse to allow it to dictate my plans or moods or lifestyle), I will not be joining in the rah-rah celebrations today of Women's Day.

The token rose given away at a mall, the platitudes about women spoken from pulpits and podiums and the grandstanding by politicians, the state and corporate bodies of their commitment to women's empowerment will leave me cold. Being a woman means a lot more than one day's celebration. It is a long, and often arduous, journey. In fact, it's a journey that takes a lifetime to complete.

On this Women's Day, I think about various women whose presence in my life makes me question what it's meant to all of us to be born in our skins and within this gender.

I think about the cleaning woman who comes daily to my home for an hour's worth of lipstick and polish. A grandmother, widowed at a young age, she has brought up her family, takes care of her elderly mother, has built them a house and has rarely missed a day's work in the last 15 years or so that she's been in my employment.

Her coming is like a local train in rush hour, all noise and bustle and action, and when she leaves, the house resembles a deserted station with all its commuters gone.

She's got solutions for every problem. Body ache? She ties a salve with ointment around her knees. Headache? Another salve with another ointment. A drunken male in her neighbourhood who disturbs her peace? A few choice abuses and an hour-long scolding. And, of course, a madam who gives her tension? A few wads of tobacco pressed against her gum to take the edge of the shouting away.

If you tell her the speeches, the roses and the platitudes are for her, she'd probably smile that wry sardonic smile of hers that says, "Seen it all, heard it all, not impressed!"

At the other end of the spectrum I know of women who have far more going for them. Women who have been educated, hold powerful jobs, command respect and power, who have their own bank accounts, their own savings and their pensions.

Women whose names come up for felicitation every annual Women's Day, in fact, for being the token winners in the gender stakes.

Are they much better off than the woman who comes to clean my house?

In material terms I guess their salary statements and assets would certainly say so, but frankly I do not know if they get any more rest, have any more joy or lead lives much more fulfilling than the lives of their cleaning women.

I know of a celebrated woman who runs a large organisation, works a backbreaking 10-hour day at her office, rushes home, tries to catch up with her children and then speed dresses to get ready for the entertaining that her husband's job demands. Most days she looks too tired to even smile.

Show her the roses in the malls, the platitudes in the papers and the grandstanding by politicians and corporations and she too might smile the same wry sardonic smile that says: "Seen it all, heard it all, not impressed!"

So who will be celebrating on Women's Day today?

Perhaps those who named the day were aware that it would not be one for celebration at all, but a day for reflection on the women in our lives and how they live.

And reflecting is what I have just done.

Malavika Sangghvi is a Mumbai-based writer malavikasangghvi@hotmail.com