Aching Feet

'If I had been born a girl, I would have never studied beyond Matric, gotten married very young and have had a ball of a time at home…’ These were the words of an Asian boy in his twenties. I wonder why he said them. He must have seen his mother working around as he grew up?

In my teens, I read a research somewhere that an average housewife walks about nine to twelve kilometers a day. Or perhaps it said miles. Nonetheless, the question is, where on earth does she travel such a distance? The answer is, within the house! The day starts with the little baby waking up for milk. The mother scrambles out of bed, rushes to the kitchen, makes a fresh feeder and brings it back to the crying baby. She is about to return to her bed when another child mumbles that he wants to go to the washroom. She turns back, escorts the child to the washroom, washes him, dries him and puts him back to bed. Uh! Putting hands in the cold water has spoilt the sweet sleep. Ah! There comes the Fajr Azan. Good, might as well catch the Fajr prayers. She looks at the clock after making Dua. 6 oclock! She thinks she might as well start making breakfast and children’s school snacks. Halfway into making breakfast, the toddler walks into the kitchen, Her pajama is sagging. Oh no! I hope her pamper has not leaked. Quickly dusting her hands off flour, she checks the child. Oh NO! She has leaked! She picks up her child and rushes to the washroom. Oops! The geyser has not been turned on yet. Leaving the child in the tub, she rushes out to turn on the geyser in the backyard. After washing up the child, and changing the child’s bed, she returns to the kitchen to continue making breakfast. One by one, the rest of the family members start waking and getting ready each. ‘Where’s by socks?’ ‘Where’s by belt?’ ‘HEY! I am in the bathroom, please hand me a towel in here.’ And so on till about nine o’clock. You can sit very straight if you think this is the time when she will snuggle back into bed and sleep till the children come back from school. Ding dong! The maid is here. Door opened, and both of them start working. The maid starts doing basic cleaning around the house while the housewife starts putting together laundry; soaping, scrubbing and into the washing machine. Load started, she comes back into the kitchen. There sit the breakfast dishes cheekily, waiting to be washed. That done, she assembles together cooking ingredients for the dinner to-be-cooked. Some things need to be peeled, some chopped and some washed. Blop, and everything goes into the cooker. Soon, the cooker starts whistling. Ding dong! The mailman is here. ‘Please take the letter for me…’ ‘No baji, he is asking for somebody’s signatures’. Oh alright! Where is my chaddar, step out, sign…mumble, grumble…back to the kitchen…ding dong…

Okay, okay, I will stop rambling. I think you get the picture now. Being a house wife is no easy job, that is, if anybody would care to consider it a job. It is very, very, very hard and laborious work. Not to mention it being unglamorous. And not to mention it being a thankless job.

I am certainly not among those who consider it lowly or against male-female equality for a woman to cajole her husband when he returns home from work. Its okay if she takes his bag from his hands. Its okay if she rushes to get him a drink. Its okay if she likes to take off his shoes and socks and massage his head and feet. But, it should be okay the other way round too. But, for that, the society would first of all have to accept that housework is ‘work’ too. That it is ‘hard’ work too. And that it needs appreciation too.

Of the few who do acknowledge, fewer would express it by physically pampering the woman for it. If anyone is compassionate enough to do it, he will make sure that he does not do it publically for fear of being called a sissy.    

It so happened that a girl was pregnant and the couple were visiting some relatives. The girl’s feet were all swollen. So one of the aunts absent-mindedly said to the boy, ‘Why do not you massage her feet?’ So the girl smiled and was about to tell them that their nephew is a really nice husband for he had been massaging her feet at home the night before. But she halted in speech as she caught sight of her husband frowning at her and covertly gesturing her to keep absolutely silent about any such mention. Then the husband gave a nonchalant attitude by his body language to his aunt’s suggestion; he stretched his arms, crackled his knuckles and looked around in a macho style. Later, he whispered to his wife, ‘Never tell any such thing to anyone ever…they will all make fun of me’.