Old School

My parents are old school. And so are yours, I am sure. After all, if you are Indian and reside here and are still reading this, you are in the 74 % literate community and the 125 million that have access to the net. So the likelihood of you having parents who went to a school is 100 %.

But what I mean by old school is the no-nonsense variety. My Dad was a Menon - translate to tough malayali guy. Add second generation military. Result - A father who solved issues immediately with a thick black IAF leather belt. In fact, I feel that the behaviour of Air Force brats has been severely damaged by the change of the IAF uniform belt. My mom a devout Iyer, felt this was the correct manner in which severe crimes were to be dealt with. The ordinary issues were dispensed with a quick slap. Children were to be seen rarely and never heard.

This system of immediate justice was reserved almost exclusively for me; being the elder son. My brother, younger by almost three years was a cute kid. Very naughty, but super cute. So he escaped this legal system. My father by exercise of his ultimate authority had exempted my elder sister from this punishment. "Real men don't hit girls". (In my teenage years he explained to me while we don't hit girls, we ALWAYS hit on girls)

Now before we go ahead, please don't get me wrong. Dad was great; actually make that present continuous tense- Dad Is Great. It was his quick fire method of dealing with any and every of the weird things that the three of us would keep doing. Chopping up the entire banana grove in a game of 'chor-pooleece' - BAM, eating an entire bottle of Pork Pickle on mom's Santoshi Ma Friday fast - WHACK,  bunking school and going swimming - THWACK, outside the house in bathroom slippers - major crime - KA BANG.

The thing that I remember the most is there was no difference between the rules for us two boys and my elder sister. Restrictions were plenty and across the board with no gender bias. Kids will be home before dark - all of you. Likewise, all kids will wipe the kitchen counter, dry the dishes, set the table. My brother and I were taught to do the dishes, make tea, set beds, broom, mop - everything. Housework was OURS, and it better be done well - punctuated with a loving cuff on the ears.

That is why when some neo liberal lady says her husband helps her with HER housework, I see red. If some guy condescendingly says he makes the tea on f&%*ing Sundays, my blood boils. There is a couple i know; the guy proudly claims to have boiled eggs, all while grinning like Mr Bean - his wife listens to this with that glowing smile. Excuse me, I need a barf bag. And with the guy who says he takes his kid for a walk in the pram on the fourth Thursday of  every month, I wanna get violent.

Because, that is so damn wrong. I mean she is your wife. That is your kid. I used to hate Poha and I detest Sabusana Khichadi. But my wife and sons love this stuff. So I learnt it from my chef brother and made it. My mom taught us kids to do the bathrooms. The result is that today my wife knows that I have a very sound post retirement job as a safai kaaramchari. I cook, cut, clean chop, dust, wipe and mop like a professional. And it is no big deal. 

There are several who think that by this kind of house work stuff makes them a little un-macho . To them I say fuck you. The people who know me, can tell that I am an Alpha male. So was my dad. So is my younger brother. But our women mean the world to us.

As I said, my parents are old school.