Soap OperaMarch 07, 2009
My father is one man who has made plenty of sacrifices. Forced to, rather. In a household of 5 (grandma included), he is the only man, and t...
My father is one man who has made plenty of sacrifices. Forced to, rather. In a household of 5 (grandma included), he is the only man, and thus, has no choice.
Everyday he is subject to intense discussions on clothes, pink, accessories, clothes, shoes, curtains, clothes, the neighbours, clothes, the neighbour's clothes and ofcourse, graphic descriptions of our cycles - the ones without the wheels.
But he just nods along and pretends to understand what we say, because apparently, thats what men do.
He doesn't care much for the household, the only thing he actually cares about is whether or not the flush is working in the bathroom.
The bathroom, is my father's sanctuary. I think he's spent more time inside the loo reading The Economic Times than sitting with us in the living room. Probably cause its the only place in the house which is remotely male.
But its maleness has deteriorated over the years, especially ever since I turned 17. Enter the UFOs (Unidentified Frothing Objects) - for the past 3 years, there has been a steady stream of a variety of fruity smelling soap and shampoo in our bathroom, courtesy me. The result of which, every time my father steps out of the bathroom after his shower, he has no choice but to smell either of strawberries or oranges. He'd grimace ofcourse, but we were pretty convinced that he secretly preferred strawberries to boring old Cinthol.
A couple of weeks back however, things changed.
When my dad came back from yet another one of his trips to Bangkok, he brought back a couple of bottles of liquid soap, just like we had asked him. However, it wasn't the usual strawberry/citrus soap that we asked him, he had brought back Palmolive (For Men!)
"What? We always have only that fruit soap in the bathroom. I thought it'd be a change"
"But this? Palmolive for men? Its a guy soap!"
"So? Don't I use your strawberry soap?"
"But this is boy soap!"
"Ok, don't use it. But I'll use only this from now on. I've had enough of strawberries. Daily I go to office smelling like fruit salad."
And so the Aambla (male) soap took over the bathroom. After initial reluctance, my mom was the first to use it and confirmed its menthol-y goodness. Much to my fathers amusement, I followed suit. And so did my sister.
Today, all of us smell of Palmolive (for men!), but still subject my father to intense discussions on clothes, pink, accessories, clothes, shoes, curtains, clothes, the neighbours, clothes, the neighbour's clothes and ofcourse, graphic descriptions of our cycles - the ones without the wheels.
Because that's what women do.
Happy women's day.
[March 8th is not only Women's Day, but also the birthday of the author of this blog. Please to wish the brilliant little blogger on her 20th birthday who continues to remain brilliant and little even after 20 years]