So a senior of mine told me to "watch out for that test in practical psychology that measures your masculinity/femininity". I finally got to take that test and unsurprisingly, I'm strongly masculine, it says. (Please note: It has got nothing to do with the bike I ride.) (Double Note: No, seriously.)
Some people have a big problem with the way the test is structured. Apparently, it's too "stereotypical" for their liking. They use the word "stereotypical" like it's the colour of shit. Let me give you a piece of Daily Gyaan, here. Stereotypes have evolutionary survival value (happens to be my favourite type of value!) and we all have millions of stereotypes and use them everyday. If you didn't stereotype Biker Chicks to be hot, you wouldn't chat us up (looking to get laid = evolutionary survival value). And many of you think that BECAUSE I ride a bike, I'm butch, masculine, etc. Not true at all, I've always been a tom-boy. (Ask SKPS 10 B boys).
And some of you (those who are looking to get laid) INSIST that I'm just putting on a mask to cover up my insecurities. That I'm really, really a softie inside; that I'm feminine, sensual, etc. and put me in the other end of the spectrum.
(See who's practicing "Strongly masculine"/"Strongly feminine" stereotypes?)
Nobody wants to put me in-between.
The fact that I love wearing baggy-gray T-shirts (shop for them in the Men's section), that I would any day buy a black sports bra in place of a (black) lacy, push-up, that I wear no make-up, jewelry, etc. is REALLY all about who I am. I'm at my sexiest in boy-clothes and boy-bikes.
But there are those days where there's a coat of mascara on my lashes, an ear-ring at my almost invisible piercing, and something that hugs my figure- I dress up for dates, okay?
Nonetheless, my style didn't develop on its own accord. It was shaped and influenced by a lot of things- a critical aunt who scrutinizes the millimeters of my sleeve, a boyfriend who hates a gaudy chick, an interview with a designer who explained the importance of "fit", and a father who does NOT pay the bills. I can tell you about the time when I saved up money to buy a pair of (then) expensive (for me) 150-rupees-a-pair extra-long metal ear-hangings, the time I wore T-shirts that said "You're so FABULOUS" and "Break Dance Not Hearts". Surprised? I can tell you about the time that I could NOT, simply could NOT bear to make eye-contact with my boyfriend (shy came off) and now I DARE write THIS.
Like all girls, I want to be pretty. I was so jealous of my best friend when I was younger because she had every imaginable Barbie in the collection... And I had ONE. Minor Disappointments have plagued me all my life. Trust me, it's so frustrating when you don't get everything you want. So you develop passive-resistance. You find ways to be cool by being un-cool. You deliberately put away your daily-wear normal looking ear-rings to be "different" (Note to Tarun Surya and everyone else who asked: Story of my life). You don't go on a class trip with your friends because you've given up and don't tell your parents about it in the first place. Your dad doesn't take you ANY place (waste of money, waste of time, no holiday, why don't you learn how to cook instead, excuses endless).
I really can't help it if I don't have a human ATM at my disposal, and if people's idea of my pocket money is five-hundred bucks with unlimited validity. Some of us need even to pay our own way through college. We know what we would like to wear, but not necessarily own it. We may not go out clubbing every once in a while or even have a suitable party outfit (I still have that Jhataang Blue Ghagra-Choli from high school, though!). So we have to make do with acceptable, repeatable clothes. So we have to make do with baggy gray T-shirts and make do with the same pair of floaters for YEARS. And we wind up with dirty feet and square tan marks. I'd like pedicured feet, too, but after the last time (which also happened to be my first), I dare not even think of spending "somebody else's money" in three-digit figures. Yes, I get that from my dad.
But I swear I don't care... Or rather, I've learned not to. And for those of you who said "Oh my Gooooddd!" two sentences ago, really, I don't mind my folks. Your stereotypes are now at work and I can see what kind of a picture of my dad you're getting. That's fine. I'm not the only one. And it's not like I don't get anything. Apart from my two square meals a day, a roof over me head, sanitary napkins, etc., I get a bike, a laptop, my own internet connection, the freedom to write my blog and a rasam-on-demand... Which is a lot more than what lots of people have.
You see, I'm middle-class. I'm not the stereotypical aam-admi, but middle-class enough. That need not be such a bad thing because I still have a comfortable life. A comfortable life but with many Minor Disappointments.
What you think of me and how you treat me does not bother me because it doesn't make a difference. But I have these "close-few" whose opinion of me matters to me. Hence, the title of this post.
My boyfriend went on a trip to Goa with his classmates to celebrate the end of their last exams ever, Ever! And he has this girl in his class whom I don't like very much (girlfriend instinct). I happened to meet her for the first time on the evening they left and there she was, puffing on her cigarette (that she didn't pay for, beggar princess) and telling my boyfriend how she forgot to bring the bottle of whiskey that was "lying at home" (shut up, bitch, and dress decently). Now I'm sure her father intended for her name to be "illuminating". But this retarded bimbette mistook that for "Deep-Tee" (you're too fat, woman, you don't need a push-up bra! And get those vulgarly large boobs out of my boyfriend's nose).
Described above is a stereotypical "cool, chilled out chick". And my boyfriend (who happens to cool and chilled out... and thankfully humble) and she are pretty good friends. And along with a few others, they make the "in" gang (We're opposite poles in every way possible).
So they go off to Goa, get drunk, do the routine and then they pick a fine time to go shopping (did you find something slutty enough, Deep-Tee?). And Retarded Bimbette with the girl-gang orchestra said to my boyfriend "this dress looks nice, do you want to buy it for your girlfriend?". My till then shy-to-buy in front of others boyfriend called me and asked me if I wanted that gray (favourite colour!) dress. I asked him to describe it for me (only natural). He couldn't (also natural). I asked him to whatsapp a picture to me (practical option), he didn't want to at first but he had no other choice (leading to frustration).
And then I receive a picture of the ugliest, bed-spread material made, large flower printed (yuck!) gray dress (I wouldn't wear it while cleaning my house. That's what the bitch Deep-Tee picks for me. But of course, I bet she doesn't even imagine cleaning her house.)
But girl instinct kicked into action and I began discussing the merits/demerits of the dress. I asked him NOT to buy it. And my boyfriend began losing his patience (understandable. You don't have to have patience to shop). While I was in the middle of describing what a good dress (for me) looks like, due to some disconnect in communication, random babbling, etc. my boyfriend said "Do you even know what kind of girls wear this dress?"
It was like a slap on my face and it still rings in my ear.
He meant to say "Your parents won't let you wear it", I heard "It's too cool for you"
He meant to say "It's knee length", I heard "You don't get your legs waxed regularly"
He meant to say "You won't be able to wear it anywhere", I heard "You don't go out partying. It's useless"
And I definitely heard girls giggling in the background.
Suddenly, I wanted to say to my impatient boyfriend "If you don't want to shop for me, honey, for God's sake, don't"
But my boyfriend is the kind of bloke who likes buying nice things for me, so I held my breath.
I cried so much that night, I now have a bad cold and a snotty nose. My tears are still fresh, my tears are still NOW.
My middle-class lessons were my lullaby that night. I have no right to expect things from "someone else's money". And so I told him that I won't ever wear a scrap of what he pays for. And off came the silver ring on my finger and off came the pretty brown bead necklace from my neck. And I mean it honey, not a SCRAP of what you buy. EVER.
For once, the take away Daily Gyaan is non-radical, it's non-ideal. Here's some honest gyaan, some real information- What you can buy, What you want to buy, What you're buying at the moment- Your new Holy Trinity, Ladies and Gentlemen.
And don't you dare tell me how masculine/feminine I sound in this post! I only sound like me!
