SASURAL- The destination home of Indian Women

Every Indian girl gets acquainted with the word 'Sasural'(marital home) quite early in her life. It is after all the place she's supposed to go and live after her marriage and which will be her 'real home'.The presumption being that her parents'place is simply a temporary abode for her till the time they find her a suitable boy of a decent family. This is a stark reality of the Indian society. No matter how educated or liberated a family is, settling the daughter of the family into another house is the biggest concern for them and they are willing to spend a major chunk of their resources for this noble cause!
Learning to cook, to knit, sew, and honing of other household skills are made mandatory for girls from a young age, with a long sighted mission of impressing  the sasural walas. Behave like a lady, dress appropriately etc are the other rules and dictums guiding the girls with the sole aim of fitting them into a 'sasural' well enough and gaining acceptance. Most of the girls fall in line because it is supposed to be the done thing. Apart from the primary focus on education and recently on professional degrees, girls have to be good 'housewife material' to lead a happy life after marriage.

Now why is that sasural such a dreaded word? Why is that the majority of girls wish to marry guys living away from family due to their jobs? Why are nuclear families so much in vogue and why is living in sasural such an ordeal for most of the girls? Is it selfishness, individual preference, aversion to adjust with another family, or pervert indoctrination which instils fear of 'the unknown' in an impressionable mind since childhood? These are pertinent queries which need to be analysed to get to the crux of the complicated dynamics between a girl and her sasural.
The ogre in the sasural is ofcourse the mother-in-law, the woman whose son you marry. Invariably Indian mothers are excessively possessive about their sons. They are excited about the new member of their family but also apprehensive about her. They fix up their guards and armour themselves with verbal weopanry and sarcasm if needed, in their dealings with their daughters in law. The mother-in-law too has been told all her life that when the son gets a wife, he becomes 'paraya', a feeling which is an anathema to her. Thus starts her internal duel of accepting and appreciating her daughter-in-law while simultaneously keeping her on a tight leash to maintain her superiority. This tussle often creates a battlefield in the house with the men being poor casualties in the cross fire between the two women.

Every household talks about treating their daughter-in-law as their own daughter but that is seldom the case. No sooner than you enter The Sasural, that your life ceases to be your own. Apart from the mother-in-law, there are other family members too who have unrealistic expectations from you. But with tact and patience, they can be won over a period of time. The husband's siblings can become your friends and the fathers-in-law often indulge their bahus. But they are of fringe importance when the major driving force in an Indian setup is the mother-in-law, pleasing whom is a herculean task.

What is really ironical and tragic in Indian society and for girls living in the designated home after marriage called 'sasural' is that they are never given their just desserts.
They spend years and years, trying to find their moorings and space in life, to settle and 'own up' a place physically, emotionally and psychologically. But like many unlucky women of their ilk , they remain destined to play second fiddle to ' the rajmata' of the household. They perform duties and are expected to do them well but dare not challenge the supremacy of the family matriarch. Any effort to change the status-quo is resisted and trumpled. Some women surrender their soul at the devil's doorstep but some develop a spine and a voice and try to get their feet up in a constricted space.
Women marrying into joint families or where mothers-in-law occupy a sacrosanct place, suffer from major identity crisis. Even the tag of 'housewife' is compromised for them and they can't take pride in it because the title of 'lady of the house' is in the battleground. They are merely glorified housekeepers; raise children, keep the house in order, neat and clean, provide warm meals to all, entertain stream of guests and most importantly, never ever complain.

The major reason for such a stressful equation between the two most important women in a man's life is because the 'change of guard' seldom takes place. The passing of the baton to the next generation is deterred as the older generation is fraught with insecurities and complexities. The tug-of-war continues for many years, sometimes lifetime making none the wiser. The emotionally battered clan of daughters-in-law seek their chance of redemption and ease out their bitterness when they marry their sons and acquire a daughter-in-law. Unconsciously and unfortunately, they tread the same path and thus the vicious 'saas-bahu' cycle continues.
Lately though, there has been a didactic change in the way girls perceive sasural or life after marriage. Armed with women's lib talks and exposure to the world wide change in the status of women (especially since most of them are now professionally qualified) has led them find a firmer footing in the manner marriages are being conducted. Financial independence has helped them find a voice and courage to speak up when needed. Infact sometimes even when not needed!

Sincerely hoping for the times when the sasural ceases to be a dreaded cauldron, lit up to burn a woman's identity and intrinsic worth as a sensible and sensitive person. Waiting patiently by the side for the times when a mutually respectful relationship develops between 'the destination home' and its new member.

A Place where my heart is!- Benares ki yaadein

“When will you come next?"- my mother always asked at the time of my leaving my 'maika.' I could sense her palpable longing and my own heartbreak when saying goodbye. With a tremulous promise to be back soon, I always left with a heavy heart. 

 Those were the times of landline phones and weekly talks with parents were limited, stilted and to the point.

That my maika happens to be in Benares/Kashi/Varanasi is a blessing beyond belief. My heart has always belonged to Benares, my hometown, the place where I have lived for the major part of my growing years. My home, my colony, my school, my college, my friends, nearby localities, the restaurants, the shops - all bear testimony to the time spent there, well-lived and cherished. 

 

From the world-famous Benarsi saree, delectable sweets and chaat, the drool-worthy 'Benarsi paan' to the renowned temples, the mighty river Ganga and its many ghats, the quartet of universities and home to the famous Benares Hindu University (BHU), Benares is a tourist's delight.  

 

People regard Benares, Varanasi or Kashi (probably the only city to have 3 names) as the seat of Hindu culture and tradition. The cross-cultural juxtaposition is immense in this city of Lord Shiva. The Benarsis are renowned for their carefree and happy-go-lucky nature. The westerners who throng the city in multitudes are enamoured by the quaint charm of the city. The city is one of a kind and thrives on a 'masti' and vibe unique to it. No wonder, the 'thandai' that you get in Benares is like no other, bhaang or no bhaang. 

 

The residents are often blissfully unaware of their city's pull. I could never understand the fuss around my town while growing up. To me it was home and one doesn't question or analyse one's home. Not too much at least and never when you are young. It's the world-weary folks who march on a fault-finding mission. People from all over the world are drawn to Benares to experience life away from modern trappings. 

 

Benares has Gullys (lanes) that were built ages ago; it is the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. These were not built for 2-way automobile traffic. Hence, don't be surprised if you are blocked by a braying cow or a barking dog, supremely squatted in the middle of the road. 

 

There are some of the finest artisans carving wood furniture and toys in this holy city. The Benarsi saree is complemented by the Benarsi Tanchoi, all made on the finest silk you can find. The street food of Beneras is quite extraordinary. You can eat to your heart's content for a pittance, - samosa, kachori, mithai, rasgulla, rasmalai from Ksheer Sagar and others, all evoke pangs of longing and exhibit the pull of Benares.

 

Kashi Vishwanath Gali - what can one say about it? Several narrow, winding lanes that lead to the famed Kashi Vishwanath temple are lined with shops selling everything from religious offerings to clothes to housewares. You can find the finest glass bangles here and exquisitely carved brass and copper items. I remember my mother buying us bright and beautiful wooden utensils sets and bangles etc from this gali which is a shopper's delight. The supari that is sold here is par excellence; the churan ki goli is apparently shipped worldwide.   

 

For me personally, the city is a repository of my childhood memories which are locked inside my heart and ingrained in my psyche. Those chiseled childhood memories of family bonding, festival gaiety, elaborate ceremonies, fun with friends and neighbourhood shenanigans! Those precious years of enjoying the simplicity of life, sibling affection, parental love and cocoon, of optimism and reverie, of loving life and dreaming big! 

 

There is so much that I picked up subconsciously in Benares that keeps popping up, surprising me above all. The little rituals, the signs, the different ways of Benarasis - all ingrained and instilled without any tutelage - that screams that I am a 'chhori Benares wali.'  

 

The tragedy of losing my parents and brother within a span of 8 years has made my Benares home a shrine, a place where my loved ones once lived, for me and my two sisters. Those memories remain etched forever, radiating warmth and glowing in the vacant corners of my mind and heart. Gurudham Colony has become even more precious if it's at all possible.

 

Any given time of the day I walk down the memory lane, and recall the love, the laughter, the arguments, the bantering, the quirkiness, the uniqueness and the large-heartedness of my parents. I remember the umpteen number of visits to partake in the Ganga aarti, the spectacular visual and sound of mass spiritual-high reaching a crescendo that leaves one spellbound!

 I recall the halcyon days of school life at the city's prestigious school St.johns school and the college life at the esteemed BHU. The academic high and the ensuing accolades at BHU instilled a new found vigour to tackle life and its umpteen challenges.

Accompanying my mother to Kashi Vishwanath temple every Monday was a ritual for years till the time her arthritis incapacitated her. Visiting Sankatamochan, Tulsi Manas Mandir every other day or giving a tour of Sarnath to relatives was routinely done. In retrospect, I realise that Benarsis regard visiting temples a customary practise. We are programmed to pay obeisance to our Gods at every given opportunity and consider ourselves to be the chosen ones. Kashi, as the folklore goes, is blessed to be standing on Lord Shiva's Trishul and no evil eye can damage the city. 

 

Life in Benaras was enriching, fulfilling, with the diverse impact of being exposed to the Hindu religion, the family priest, puja, temples, fasts, etc at home and getting a secular, western convent education at school. Neither was rammed down our throat. The diverse influences didn't hamper personality enhancement which happened seamlessly and organically as the values inherent in both exposures were in tandem with each other. There was no contradiction in thoughts and propagation. 

 

The essence and ethos of a vibrant and pulsating city like Benares, with all its glory and glitches, has shaped me as a person I think my parents would be proud of. Nostalgia and wistful reminiscesengulf me when I think of Benares and my home. I can almost smell the Singhar or the Madhumalti flowers that adorned the canopy at the entrance of my home. It is, after all, a place where my heart is!