... And the award goes to Man of the House
‘M ary, Mary quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockle shells,
And pretty maids all in a row’
Women are enigmatic and contrary creatures. Usually modest, docile and anxious to please, they are capable of breathing fire if sermonised or otherwise harangued.
Yes, many of us are typically challenged as far as driving skills, motor mechanics, numbers and financial intricacies are concerned, but point it out at your peril!
On a recent ‘all woman’ trip to Goa, we learnt that it sometimes serves well to heed advice and not dig in one’s toes with mulish defiance at the merest
ON A RECENT ‘ALL WOMAN’ TRIP TO GOA, WE LEARNT THAT IT SOMETIMES SERVES WELL TO HEED ADVICE AND NOT DIG IN ONE’S TOES WITH MULISH DEFIANCE AT THE MEREST HINT OF CAUTIONARY SUGGESTIONS
hint of cautionary suggestions, especially because they are usually well intentioned and helpful. In the week preceding the holiday, we were subjected to all sorts of counsel by worried spouses, hysterical mothers and anxious children. We were told to be careful of touts at the airport, warned about the dangers of swimming too far into the sea, loitering about after dark and all the husbands unanimously insisted we hire a driver for our rented Maruti WagonR.
Now we had grand visions of weaving through the tiny lanes, driving ourselves along the brightly painted Portuguese villas of North Goa, six of us piled into the tiny car, singing songs, stopping on a whim for a grilled Red Snapper and Chilli Prawns at quaint cafes, and so were disinclined to heed any words of caution. Also a driver seemed superfluous, geared up as we were after watching a string of exciting road trip movies and swearing allegiance to the Ya Ya Sisterhood, we thumbed down the idea.
The first obstacle came when we ventured into the city on the morning of our arrival and took a wrong turn. Mr Gomez, the surprisingly alert traffic policeman, stopped us and asked for the driver’s licence. My friend confidently proffered hers, while the rest of us sat, a trifle subdued, prophesying the worst. “Please step out Madam, your license expired last month when you turned 50,” he admonished.
We looked at him in dismay and panic since none of us had any knowledge of this rule of the ministry of transport. Now of course, ignorance of the law is no recourse to pardon but we begged and cajoled and eventually managed to inveigle one on the grounds of being women and alone. (Feminism conveniently took a back seat that day).
A little chastened, I took the wheel and deciding to play it safe, turned along the narrow and steep village roads. The car was decrepit and battered, the gears grated and screeched on shifting and it seemed to move so laboriously, even as I revved the engine and pressed on the accelerator. We kept wondering what the matter was until amidst peels of laughter, one of them realised that I had been driving with the handbrake on!
A few more scrapes later, involving a grazed fender, recalcitrant fuel gauge, spluttering battery and arguments with the car owner regarding the original and present condition of the car, we sheepishly acknowledged that contrary and rebellious we women may be, but when it comes to our well-beings and safety, the award goes to the Man of the House!