Kem Cho, Sassenach? Ep. 2
by: Bhim Pandya (June 2021)
Weaving is the careful arrangement of thread. Not one thread is superior or inferior, for it is merely thread. It is the colors, symbolism and meaning that we give to fabrics that define its value. Of course, value is not inherently linked to the dye, but also the fibers from which a fabric is made and these are a result of fluctuations in supply and demand.
Silk is more valuable than basic cotton. Why is cotton basic? Is it because it is always there; in abundance? So, it means that cotton, then, is essential?
Why is it that what is in abundance is always taken for granted whilst that which is hard to get more valuable?
But, silk and cotton or any other fabric are still fabrics. Just like men and women who are people.
So, the fabrics of inequity and equality are a result of marketing and propaganda by the company? Are the fabrics of oppression , patriarchy a cultural norm of the company people living on the isles?
In our land and in our scriptures, we do pooja (worship) goddesses, dedicate celebratory holidays to pay homage to them. Then how and when did we stop respecting them?
The answer lies…especially the answers written by them, theirs and their His’…they were the other…
When did we become the other…on our own land? When did this othering cause us to smack the ideals and idols of our goddesses to the rubble of earth and walk all over them, until they were nothing but soil in abundance that can be taken for granted?
We cannot exist without the earth, yet we stand on earth . It is the standing ‘on’ which makes us feel superior. Are we really superior, inferior…or are these just two sides of the coin minted and tossed by oppressors?
Well our Men started following them… and they too began thinking it was necessary to tame the wilderness…taming with the scythe called colonialism.
They did it…all of them…those who came from the Arabian sea and took the detour from the Bay of Bengal; all the gatekeepers; invaders; penetrators; MEN!
Let me tell you in layman’s terms: Our construct was gangbanged by weak wannabe weavers of reality who call themselves the East India Trading Company…Heard of the Hege(money)mony…shot?
The shot is made of gunpowder and the gun is coercion. You can call it taming the wilderness or colonialism. Or you can blame Darwin, his book, his mind or his existence or probably those who read his book; those lacking in comprehension and of course the other weak, wannabe weavers of reality called theologians before Darwins time and scholars -bloody anthropologists, more like spies gathering intel for cultural destruction-thereafter…
The scholars and theologians should have taken a big breath and held it forever or at least until springtime and then daisy pods would be visible by their strong pushing up, and the last exhale in unison would be heard from six feet below which would fade away with the passing of the wind into the very nature they thought they could tame.
Instead, they pushed the air before being taken under and that which filled the first His’ canvas in 1492 so he could sail the ocean blue. The His of 1492 must bear the title of GMFOAT (Greatest MOFO of all time). Ironic how sweet language and profanity work to disrespect Women.
Wonder why He did not get scurvy when he felt like exploring? Perhaps someone should've strapped the opening of a cannon to his mouth so the cannonball could be sent down for some deep exploration. Now that is what I call History from Above, my boy. Wondering how that would be recounted.
'The great Columbus while exploring died (scratch our exploded) a heroes death for he sacrificed his life by swallowing a whole cannonball. A piece of his heart was brought back by his first-mate for preservation in the "Museum of hearts" with exhibit titled 'Colonial Explorers who got owned by the locals even though they went in with an open heart to obliterate their culture'.
Regardless, many GMFOATS came after this and they even exist today.
You can change that by scramming and respecting you mother, sister and motherland because that is where it starts or for sure I will dye the fabric of your face and the face of a generation of your brothers to come a crimson red with my croquet club, with embellishment of the torn aesthetic--no needle or thread will be able to patch that, boy.
The Suffragette
Outside the lotus flower gate, some leagues yonder, inside the Golden Circle hall, situated on the eastern side of the Piazza overlooking the city hall, there is a gathering.
Women in sarees of various prints, bonnets, petticoats and bustling dresses are signing in at the entrance. Further into the hall is a proscenium stage with the curtains drawn.
The fabric of the fourth wall...
A warm, apple cinnamon-like, nutmeg-like scent engulfs the air along with the aroma of curry leaves, tomato gravy with chickpeas and freshly fried gram noodles. The smell of baked cheese is also present.
After signing in, some of the guests find their seats and wait patiently for the program to start, while others secure their seats with their belongings and then move to the foyer and chat. Most of the chatter revolves around the new Millwood factory's limited edition sarees due for release during Diwali time and about supporting the mill operated by the Lady CEO. There are few groups discussing their expectations and anticipations for what is to follow at the present event, inside the hall for there is no program flyer except for an easel hosting a canvas with a ship sailing against the current, facing rogue waves and the ship name "The Suffragette".
A group of young volunteers walk around urging guests to help themselves with some warm apple cider, sev usad and cheese straws at the refreshment table.
More women sign in. A woman in a Croquet dress has appeared back stage passing her bicycle to a member of the crew, with a parcel in her hand, catching her breath. Now she can be seen giving instruction to a team of young women . The young women then instruct the volunteers to usher the guests from the foyer to their chairs.
Thereafter, the woman in the croquet dress makes her way up the flight of stairs from the left-wing and onto the stage where two stage hands place a podium behind which she stands tall overlooking the audience as they find their seats. She opens the book-marked page in her diary placing it on the podium.
'I wish to thank all of you for joining me to discuss a topic ever so important. It is the matter of Equity.
'Is there a sale at, Equity Shoes? Is that why you are here to promote it?', inquires a young woman.
'No, Not Equity shoes. I do not work there anymore. I must say I am tired of sewing shoes for men who wear them only to walk all over us'
The audience bursts into laughter.
'Now in this place, on this stage, permit me to introduce the character of this play. Her name is Lady H-that would be me- who has spent countless years contributing to the creation of shoes that men use to walk on land and over women to oppress them by reducing their existence to that of the ground beneath their feet. Through policies, governance, culture, tradition, superstition and art our existence has been lowered to the notions of beauty, uncanny --remember Salem? and reproduction. We are more than what we are perceived to be, and when we begin proving to the world our capabilities we are gaslighted (literally at some points in history and mentally burned to the stake). I can tell you that we are capable of more. The time of reckoning has now come; to let them know we no longer need their spectacles to find our way around this illusory reality because we have our own visions and magnifying glasses and lenses for careful examination into our own realities; the power to question it and destroy it if needed . We can definitely use our magnifying glass with a little bit of sunlight to burn their notions and biases to ash. We must change the course of 'natural order' as perceived by them and as dictated by them. I am othering the Men, if you catch where I am going with this. Survival of the fittest is the talk of culture these days. There is some book written by a man whose name starts with a capital "D" to be precise. Few weeks ago I heard he lost it when he saw his name written in lowercase because the press was running low on ink and some lackey decided to replace all uppercase letters to lowercase in an effort to salvage some ink . The small 'd' offended him and he went primitive because the lackey had naturally selected the lower case 'd' in a effort to balance the print job . Lets talk about the vulnerability of men...shall we?
The world is littered with Men on the apparent 'winning side of the history. Let us be women and clean up this mess. Let us be women and help other women including the land and the construct which has faced years of maltreatment. I plan a March the following week across from the piazza to catch the Mayor off guard as as start. We may have to see the face of prison, or the prisons may have to see our faces and in the end it will be all worth it. This is just the beginning.
'Who is with me? Tell me what questions and concerns you have and we will resolve them. By the way how was the sev usad?.'
A loud banging can be heard from the door followed by sound of a screaming woman...
To be continued... (Next Episode Wednesday June 16, 2021 at 8:00 PM)