40 and Leftovering away

The first thing they say about Gloria Steinem in Mrs. America, where Cate Blanchett and Sarah Paulson are looking at her face splashed across the front covers of a magazine, while having their heads shampooed and steamed and blow dried in a salon, having to lean ahead to be heard over the whirring space helmets, is this – “I understand the others. But why is Gloria Steinem not able to find a husband? She’s so pretty.”

Sometimes I pick out all the disparate, conceptual and interlocking pieces of movie making, and wonder at the communion of all these factors, neatly assembling themselves into a great scene, and applaud – in quiet acquiescence.

Because “why is Gloria Steinem not able to find a husband?, could have been in a multitude of alternate settings, I suppose, but here it is, it plays out right here in the salon, where the privileged white women of an America, that has deftly organized funerals with pencil black skirts and porcelain casseroles, convene regularly to discuss their personal and political leanings, all in good restrained measure – because their personal situation is never fully and willingly disclosed amongst themselves, despite their stifled existence and quelled wild woman instinct, in the stultifying presence of stiff collars and regularly polished cufflinks.

No woman sitting there in that salon, is not repressed by her domicile habitus – she has been all, and only – about dropping the kids to tennis classes, organizing the weekend play dates and social soirees, signing up for school charities, ushering in the reluctant and stiffly bored bouts of enthusiasm from their respective husbands for pet projects, neat coiffeurs and – casseroles. Their biggest dilemma for the day – which is a privilege in some ways but also a severely exhausting rote is – what to cook for dinner? They all secretly wish they had an alternate existence where they felt valued, where they could contribute to some real progress besides the casserole conventions, and have meetings to go to, that ushered in the new era of the glimmering possibilities that women could bring forth.

Yet – when presented with Gloria Steinem and her advocacy for abortion rights, amidst all her editing and organizing and peripatetic writing about all things that mattered and were imminently urgent and necessary – the first thing that wives, wonder about her is this.

“why didn’t she find a husband? She’s so pretty.”

Three things here –

1.That bagging husbands is the happy ending to life – then of course, came the nice house, the kids and the summer getaways and throw in a yacht it or two, and then the casual comment that’s always delivered with a sigh – “Oh I can’t wait for the kids to go to college”.

2.That the above was/is the only happy ending possible.

3. We are a sum total of our looks. Our looks and polish and pedigree are all judged – ultimately for bagging the husband, and in keeping him. Our usefulness is measured in the family that we are able to build and most importantly – showcase. (It’s very important that the house have some nice casseroles too)

This was 1971 – Mrs. America plays out in 1971 and takes us through the power play between the married woman and the single woman – in the backdrop of the historic Roe Vs. Wade.

Through incredibly visceral performances from everyone, especially Cate Blanchett – one comes to understand why women that have followed the stipulated pattern, that have given in and conformed, out of choice or out of coercion – despise the outliers, a.k.a the single woman.

The single woman that has never married, the single woman that has walked out of a marriage she didn’t feel like inhabiting or the single woman raising her kids on her own.

The married woman – not all of them, but A LOT of them, will fight to keep this hierarchy – because it gives them their due, in whatever format they were told to work for, which they did – ardently and even passionately, and they want that to count. So you will find the women, giving a subtle nod to patriarchy and marriage and structure. Like Cate Blanchett. They don’t like the Gloria Steinems – that come with the open road thinking, where they strap their boots and get on the next available ride on the rugged, rusty and mountainous terrain. The single woman is the “threat of some kind”- to their careful nourished indomitable structures.

But cut to 2022, and I just got off the phone with my kickass, super successful friend who has traveled 23 countries and can perhaps commission a private jet if she wants to – being told that she needs to find a husband quickly. Her extended family badgers her with alliances from terribly unsuitable men that are way too older than her, and they do this with such rigorous passion, that my friend, inspite of the incredible life that she has earned and worked really hard for, questions the whole purposefulness of it, in a mere, fleeting moment of self doubt.

I’ve heard similar stories from women who are NOT married – and NOT appreciably thin. Many subtle and not-so-subtle statements about why they need to “settle” and squeeze their ‘oversized’ bodies and their brilliant minds and their reluctant hearts, into a snug marriage.

I was told when I turned 28 that I should marry quickly because “I wouldn’t be pretty for too long.” Or that “you want to be an old bride?” or the favourite “the good ones have all gone by now.” Or “you’ll become a leftover pretty soon.”– and of course, the recent one that was quite the spectacle, “40, and no suitors.”

First things first, I want to say the “Leftover life” has been quite spectacular – it has seen many countries and far too many languages, it has presided over many cookfires and improbable communes where women from all other lands and smells and travails, have exchanged trinkets and soul stirring stories, an actress from Argentina, a refugee from Rawanda in the cold night at Karlsruhe, a Russian parting with her one euro so I could go pee in Slovenia; it has seen grandmothers withered and willowed turning soothsayers and advocates for wearing a bikini even if your tits are hanging out, it has seen women wash their long hair and armpits in community pumps and sparkling waterfalls, it has seen tramrides and Christmas markets and mulled wine and new year eves spent huddled in ATMs riddled with snow dirt – it has seen all the adventure and the impulsive plot turns that only a leftover life with cancelled flights, delayed train timings and an open road instinct can bring.

So I didn’t bag the husband, very clearly – but I am not surprised, because I can’t even ‘bag’ the potatoes and the extra coriander that the sabjiwala tosses at me, without dropping one or the other. Here I must clarify, my ‘bagging’ skills are not to be judged with consanguinity, apropos my cooking skills – I can cook up a storm, and I’ve cooked – in many countries and for many countries, that have demanded fervently the “Indian curry, but not too spicy maybe?”. Like all other women in this country, I started out cooking for the then boyfriend but I soon transmitted my culinary skills to other rewarding, worldwide platforms.

So if you do get a chance to live the “Leftover Life”. Please do. By all means.

So finally, what do I want to tell the single woman?

Well, Brace for it.

They will call you the leftover. They will fat shame you. If they don’t fat shame you they will age shame you. They will say you’re pretty but you’re fat or they will say you’re not that pretty but at least you’re not fat. They will say you won’t be pretty for too long, beauty fades. Or they will say, it’s harder to stay thin as you grow older. The mothers-in-law will tell their daughters-in-law – your single friend can be trusted around your husband? (well not all of them, some of the regressive ones, because again I’ve seen both – the really really lovely women who wouldn’t even think like this), your married friends will distance themselves – again not all of them, but be prepared for your friendships from the twenties, to fall away. They will tell you to settle, shrink, reduce, undercut, stem, don’t talk too much, don’t talk too loudly, don’t reveal too much about yourself , be minimum, be less, be much less, don’t show too much skin, don’t discuss politics – try to be likeable, don’t intimidate!

So, Brace for it.

The leftover life comes with the freedom that hits you in the face like zephyr, on a ferry ride across the Adriatic sea – but it is also all of this.

So choose your shape, your size, your doctorate, your masters, the car you want to drive, the food you want to eat and where you want to eat it, the company you want to be seen with – choose it all, despite your grimy knees and the dirt beneath your nails, stand up, brush off the cakes of mud from your knees and walk!

So, happy Leftovering!!!!

And while you’re walking or driving, or whistling and riding your bicycle – be sure to look back.

There is another single woman, in your wake.

And that is what you must do.

Leave behind A Wake.

Because You’re the Gloria Steinem.

Pic : A dinner in Brašov with a feisty girl from Romania. We discussed politics, liberation, and religion, and religious oppression.