It’s the staccato, droning, frenzied, draining crushing, grinding, peeling, chopping, washing, mopping, dusting, and at night, the abuse that gets to you.
As a man, one slowly, almost seditiously, feels repulsed by what one sees. But one only needs to look into the mirror!
In a society grossly steeped in patriarchy and misogyny, this is an everyday reality in most Indian homes. But we tend to overlook it, like the disgusting ‘table manners’ of the providers and the gluttonous. Women are perennial givers, like rivers, and need to be pulverised, pummelled into submission, even with soft, gentle words and a beatific smile. After all, they are the bedrock of the great Indian family. Oh, such lofty cruelty that it breaks my heart!
As a piece of cinematic art, The Great Indian Kitchen does break fresh ground. But its lead protagonist is everywoman. Only like her, Indian women need to find their wings and fly. And dance to a liberating crescendo! That time will come.
Jeo, Baby!
