Daydream
One of the advantages of adjacent flats is that sometimes casually spoken words are easily heard by the neighbors. But perhaps, that’s also a disadvantage.
I was sitting on the balcony, reading something, when I heard a vendor knocking on a nearby door, trying to persuade someone to buy his goods. It seemed like he was selling paneer (cottage cheese) and was repeatedly urging the lady of the house to purchase it. I couldn't hear the entire conversation, but I did catch the sound of the lady getting irritated and shutting the door. She had said, "I don’t need it, yaar!"
The vendor left, and the lady must have gone back to her daily chores, but I, sitting there, felt as if I had found something to think about. Maybe what I was reading wasn’t engaging enough, so my mind drifted toward this incident.
I started wondering—if this had happened twenty years ago, how would the woman have refused the vendor? If she had been an elderly lady, she might have said, "No, son, I don’t need it." If she had been younger, she might have said, "Brother, not today." And if she were a little girl and the vendor an older man, she might have said, "No, uncle."
Since there are no restrictions on thoughts, my mind wandered further. His paneer would have been sold sooner or later, but the semi-literate vendor, moving from house to house, would have continued his social learning. Somewhere in his subconscious, a deep impression would have been formed—that an older woman is like a mother, a peer is like a sister, and a young girl is like a daughter.
I started thinking about synonyms for the word "yaar"—friend, buddy, companion, etc. But the biggest danger of thinking is that a person thinks both good and bad. I started wondering—what if the woman met this vendor alone someday? How would he perceive her then?
Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. A female voice on the other end, slightly sharp in tone, asked, "Why is the woman always blamed in every situation? Can’t a woman call someone a friend? And even if she does, does that give the other person the right to take advantage of her?"
Startled, I disconnected the call. But the phone rang again. Maybe my abrupt hang-up hadn’t actually disconnected it; instead, another call had interrupted.
The next caller, a gentleman, said, "The other day, the Prime Minister of New Zealand called one of our senior leaders her ‘friend.’ Was that lust?"
Frightened, I asked, "Who are you?" But he ignored my question and continued, "Don’t we call God our friend? Weren’t Krishna and Sudama friends?"
This time, I deliberately cut the call. But apparently, the call hadn’t disconnected completely. A familiar female voice now echoed, "Sir, you have a great reputation in literature. If you speak against gender equality like this, your image will be tarnished."
I scratched my head in frustration. As I did, it felt like an antenna had shifted inside my brain. I suddenly remembered a seminar I had attended recently, where a professor from abroad had passionately argued—
"If an unmarried woman or a woman living apart from her husband views every man as a brother or father, then what about her orgasm? Does anyone have control over their body? Has society created a system for this? People fight for the rights of dogs and cats, but a woman is alone everywhere! Doesn’t she have human rights?"
She had spoken with such anger and intensity that I was shaken.
I quickly flung my phone away, feeling as if a lizard had crawled onto my palm. I began slapping my own cheeks, as if trying to wake myself up.
And then, my conscience started speaking to me. "Why can’t a man control his gaze? If a woman says she has money in her purse, does that give you the right to steal it? What about your own integrity?"
I sat there, speechless. I felt like I had been trapped in a web of my own thoughts. Maybe it would have been simpler to just buy the paneer and enjoy shahi paneer for dinner.
Just then, I heard a knock at my own door. Peeking through the window, I saw a woman standing outside. Her voice carried traces of impatience and irritation—
"Give me the clothes for ironing."
Absentmindedly, I muttered, "Coming, darling!" and started gathering the clothes for ironing.
Wait—what had I just said? What was happening to me today? Had I forgotten the law? Unwelcome romantic advances are an invasion of someone’s personal space. Calling someone "darling" without consent is practically a declaration of love. And if love is at least pardonable, this was an outright declaration of lust.
I started feeling guilty, as if I had committed some crime. My head felt heavy.
But then, suddenly, a thought occurred to me. "I am alone here. I haven’t said anything to anyone, nor have I heard anything from anyone. All my thoughts are still inside my head, unsaid, unacted upon. And no law can prosecute mere thoughts."
Besides, we are neither the directors nor the producers of our dreams. We invest neither capital nor effort in them.
The weight on my mind lifted. Feeling relieved, I headed to the kitchen to make myself some tea.
—Prabodh Kumar Govil
