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Kamala Das

The bitterness generated by patriarchal governance turns a woman into a foul-mouthed shrew

Several businessmen from other states have settled down in Cochin in the recent past, buying up flats or villas that face the waterfront.

Compared to the larger cities of the country Cochin is safe, although not quite safe from atmospheric pollution. No robberies are ever reported from this commercial city. Of course, a few cat burglars prowl around in the poorer localities at night, picking up a saree left out to dry or a steel utensil placed too near a window.

The north Indian residents of Cochin have picked up Malayalam. One of them is my young friend, Bubbly, who speaks it effortlessly. Her husband, Jaspal, is a garment exporter. They live in Kadavanthara, in a two-storeyed bungalow that has a narrow garden and faces a temple. They have booked an apartment in another suburb farther away from the centre of the city. This might form part of the dowry which the young man who would marry their daughter will get. Bubbly's family consists of her husband, a son, a daughter and her mother-in-law. Although affluent by Kerala standards, Bubbly does the cooking all by herself. Her mother-in-law cannot stand the thought of employing a cook. "What other work do you have," she asks Bubbly whenever the subject turns up.

All of Bubbly's friends who are Malayalis of the upper middle class, employ cooks and sweepers. Almost everyone of them is lazy and a little bit slovenly. They spend the morning house lying in the bed and speaking to the neighbours on cordless phones. The north Indians take cooking in their stride.

I have heard my husband say that, once invited to Shri Saraiyya's house in Bombay, he was astonished to find the millionaire's wife serving rice at the table. He was impressed with the humility of the gesture.

In patriarchal societies, the men of the house are served first. The women eat later. All the tasty tidbits would have been eaten before the tired women sit down for their repast.

The Nair community has retained its matriarchal attitudes despite the influence of Mahatma Gandhi, a true representative of a strongly patriarchal society. In a Nair family, no major decision is ever taken without consulting the matriarch, the eldest lady of the house. She may be the grandmother or the aunt. Or she may be the mother of the children. Minor decisions like the selection of the menu are taken by the men of the family.

The women who are in total control over the destinies of members of their family or of their clans are surprisingly feminine and gentle. The systems of matriarchy did not ever produce a shrew or a virago. It is the bitterness generated by patriarchal governance that turns a woman into a foul-mouthed shrew. A respected woman is serene.

Whenever I have visited other countries and have come face to face with women who regard themselves devalued at the onset of old age, I have spoken of the merits of matriarchy and have held it up as the solution to their problems. The matriarchs I know retain their self-confidence and age gracefully, becoming gentler and more compassionate. They grow golden auras around their heads and begin to glow.

I have seen women of a certain age try facelifts and silicone implants to look bedworthy and desirable. In my opinion, only those condemned to selling their own flesh to strangers ought to go in for such preposterous brutal experiments. Others must accept the slight changes that the years bring with poise and must become beautiful old women.

Age, in my opinion, is not a handicap. It is an aura that is radiant. If matriarchy is adopted all over the world no wars will be fought, no terrorist will place bombs at public places and no politician will be assassinated before the elections.

Women know how to nurture peace. Governance must be wrested from the hands of men. Men have violent dreams. Women only dream of laughing children.

Illustration: Dominic Xavier