Contrary to popular belief, Indian husbands are a downtrodden lot. No, seriously. They are. You women just don’t realize it.
Do you think it’s easy, shouldering financial responsibility while you sit pretty at home and read blogs like this one? Do you think it’s easy, having to decide whether your cooking is better than your mother’s? Do you think it’s easy, trying to come up with a detailed timetable that allows you to care for him in a way that doesn’t encroach upon his mother’s right to care for him?
It gets worse and you, my dear madam, are the reason.
You and your demands. All you care about is jewelry. Diamonds. Gold. Platinum. Rubies. Emerald. Half a dozen other precious stones. Yeah, yeah, I know you’ve never mentioned wanting anything of the sort to your husband, but really, everyone knows what women are like. And even if we didn’t know, we men always have the SMS jokes to guide us around the frailties of a woman’s mind. We know you secretly want this stuff. That’s why your hubby has to keep tight control over you at the mall. Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.
As if all that weren’t enough, you consider your husband to be actually ACCOUNTABLE to you! Can you imagine the cruelty of that? He actually has to tell you before going out for a night with the boys! And you don’t even let him cry on your shoulder about his bachelor days being over. Yes, I realize that he decided to marry you of his own free will, but so what?
Anyway. What’s the point? I wouldn’t expect you to understand anyway. What do women know? Men like FREEDOM. Not cuddling on the couch. They must have their freedom. You may call yourself an equal partner or any of that feminazi shtick but you’re still the wife. It’s not like what YOU want matters that much, you know. You’re supposed to be like his mother, and mothers are supposed to be sacrificing. That’s how it works.
And that brings me to the last, and worst point.
You aren’t remotely like his mother.
Clearly, you are shirking your duty here. You make him run the Washing Machine and wash his own socks. You make him wait eons between successive hot rotis. You let him enter the KITCHEN, for god’s sake! Is this what your parents taught you? Is this the person he married? Do you even care about him?
Why don’t you sacrifice yourself for him? Why don’t you let him take you for granted? Why do you refuse to be treated like a doormat?
It’s wrong, I tell you! Our very CULTURE is being ruined here! And here you are, sitting and reading a blog post while the dinner burns.
Get back to the kitchen, please. THAT’s your domain, and it doesn’t end with a dot-com.