I’m spending lot of time with father and mother worries about it. I don’t see what is wrong though. I enjoy assisting him during his mending binges. Mother calls him ‘Mr. Fixo’. He has an elaborate set of tools. Sometimes he takes them out for overhauling. He oils, wipes and rubs them with flannel to get the rust off and explains to me their function and working. It isn’t a woman’s job he says because it requires a lot of precision and focus. We do not talk while mending because he says that unlike women, men never talk while working. The texture of the hurt it causes me when he says that never leaves me. I wish mother would make a little less noise with her tongue and not make father say such things. Mother’s voice calling me sounds very distant as I am just getting out of a dream and it takes me a few minutes to regain my orientation. She is relentless with her tongue while disposing off the domestic remains of the previous day.
I wish women did not have to make so much noise. I catch a whiff of tobacco; father must have been in my room. Father is right I need to go to the hairdresser. I put on the coat he has designed for me after pouring over several Russian coat design magazines and discussing the details with the tailor. Mother says, “I wish you didn’t wear that coat anymore”, she says. I feel such a deep sadness for her- me, her only child- unmarried at 30. That night I am watching ‘Patton’ on TV when mother walks into my room. She wants to talk she says. I know what she’ll say because it’s always the same thing. “Your father would be so happy if you married and had a son. We women don’t have forever, you know, our bodies shrivel up with age .You are already 30 now and have little time”. I wish she’d keep quiet. “It’s ok my little boy, women talk all the time”, father would have said, even today.
I wish women did not have to make so much noise. I catch a whiff of tobacco; father must have been in my room. Father is right I need to go to the hairdresser. I put on the coat he has designed for me after pouring over several Russian coat design magazines and discussing the details with the tailor. Mother says, “I wish you didn’t wear that coat anymore”, she says. I feel such a deep sadness for her- me, her only child- unmarried at 30. That night I am watching ‘Patton’ on TV when mother walks into my room. She wants to talk she says. I know what she’ll say because it’s always the same thing. “Your father would be so happy if you married and had a son. We women don’t have forever, you know, our bodies shrivel up with age .You are already 30 now and have little time”. I wish she’d keep quiet. “It’s ok my little boy, women talk all the time”, father would have said, even today.
By silentnyts, on September 23rd, 2010
This posting is published on Ubud Writers and Readers Festival 2010
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