Desicritics Category: Culture: Women

Worthy Matters

Cee Kay — Thu, 29 Jul 2010 20:15:20 EDT

Are housewives really "economically non-productive workers", just like beggars and prostitutes? At least that is what the Government of India believes and that is, indeed, a belief supported and propagated by many, including many housewives. If you are not bringing in the money, you are non-productive. Doesn't matter even if you are doing everything else to keep your home running smoothly. That doesn't count! The sweat and blood you put into bringing your kids up doesn't count! The three thousand and nineteen things you juggle every single day don't count! Basically nothing counts even if you do everything except bring in the dough. Sadly, such is our society and such are our views.

I have struggled with this issue plenty - what is my worth? How important a part am I, of my family? I have been on both the sides and I still don't know for sure. J can do, and does everything for the kids and the house that I do, except cook. When I didn't have a job, I thought long and hard about how it would affect him if I were to die this instant. And I couldn't reach a conclusion. Now that I am back in the workforce, I still doubt my worth because I bring in less money than J does. To his credit, he has NEVER made me feel inferior on this account. (Oh heck, on ANY account!) It is all in MY mind.

The best reassurance I ever got on this issue came from our financial advisor when he was helping us plan how much life-insurance we needed to buy for each of us. I assumed Jay's would be more because he earns more than I do, and I was right. I also assumed I didn't need any, or needed very little because I was bringing in peanuts (a 250 gm packet every month, to be very specific). He explained to me that my worth was hidden in everything else I did that Jay would need to pay to get done, if I were to say buh-bye to this world. I am telling you THAT was the biggest reassurance I have ever gotten.

So I ask the government of India - if a housewife were to pass away, leaving behind her husband and kids, and assuming that the husband wouldn't have ANY help from family or friends - what would he need to pay other people to do what his wife does? I think the answer would leave many people thinking hard!

I am not one to sing praises of the studies that deduce what is the monetary worth of a housewife because I feel it only superficially glorifies what a woman does. If it were to bring a concrete change to a society's mentality, I'd be all for it. But there IS something to be said for such studies because they do point out the one fact that we choose to ignore - A HOUSEWIFE IS AN EQUAL AND CONTRIBUTING PARTNER IN THE HOUSEHOLD!

poetry: tongue tied

temporal — Tue, 13 Jul 2010 19:46:11 EDT

kuch bijli bhee chumki thee
kuch O'lay bhee giray thay
sar e shaam se sehr t'lak
kashish maiN hu'a a'faaqa
na hee tishnagi maiN kami
meh'v e gharq tri sansON maiN
zindagi guzarnay ki
tamanna li'aye hu'aye
munjamid hee rahay hum

from dusk to dawn
the skies belched
hail rained
(stoning of a different kind)
nature nor nurture
calmed the tribulation
only the yearning
to share your
exultation and exhalation
kept me enraptured

yeh dekh ker woh shOkh boli
kaisii hay yeh tishnagi
hum kiya kahaiN oos shOkh ko
shabistaanoun kay bhanwar
se najat pa'ain tou bolaiN

seeing this, the cute one said
i don't understand this anguish

if i escape this whirlpool
of the transient night's
prison of perplexity
only then submerged
words will breathe

poetry: tropic of yes

temporal — Thu, 8 Jul 2010 07:05:46 EDT

credit

it was late night or early in the day

when she said he wasn't making sense

he replied he does so by choice

he is a whimsical gypsy

traversing

between the tropic of yes

the equator of maybe

and the tropic no

feeling at ease

at all the dhabas*

both in the land

of vertical nods

and in the land

of sideways neck jerk

people share the trait

the yesses, nos and maybes

whirl in eclectic ecstasy

chasing peripheral tails

compounding confoundment

the multitudes though inhabit

the waste lands of wiggles

where yesses collides with nos

and the sea of uncertainty

pirouttes around the maybes

he said he does so by choice

whirling, am unsure

if he is right

but true to my self

am uncertain if she is right

dhabas*

road side eateries

Poetry: Head and Heart

temporal — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 10:01:07 EDT

credit

awhirl in alphabet soup...

her (and her nazuki)

herd (and mentality)

heard through the media

(media as in plural of medium)

hard

hard on...up...down...hat

hard water

hardly any water

hard...task...effort...luck...

feelings...look...view...

bargain...character...currency...

hard to swallow

hard to come by

hard headed

hard hearted

- heart - muscle and timeless symbol

open heart

opening heart

heart to...in...from...of...by...

core...light...darkness...

courage...compassion...absence...

pore...set...steal...

lose heart and head

heads up

heads down

give... get... went to...head

put together....lose...make...

chop....go over...pull...turn...

head and heart

heart and heart

and back to her

(and her nazuki)

no soup

but whirling...

The Feminist Hangover

IdeaSmith — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 07:12:53 EDT

I feel let down. I put my foot right into my mouth justifying why women want to watch Sex And The City 2 despite the first movie having been such an epic disaster. The second one wasn’t just bad, it was mortifying! I’m tempted to suspect that the second movie was secretly scripted by men and acted out by guys in reverse drag, all part of the anti-feminist movement. But credit where it’s due (or blame in this case). The SATCmania has spiraled downward into a place where even your best galpals don’t want to follow, or indeed be associated with.

Whininess, cheating (and being condoned), shameless ignorance of and blatant disrespect to other cultures, spoilt-princess behaviour….okay, none of these were ever on the agenda for women’s lib. The Vigil Idiot posts a satirical comic based on the movie but mostly all he has to do is relate the facts as they are. We did it to ourselves this time.

I feel like I should apologize to all the men I’ve been preaching to over the years about equality and empowerment. This, ah….this wasn’t what I meant.

At another level, I feel like this movie mirrors my own attitude shift in the recent times. A close guy friend (yes, there is such a thing even though he’s straight) said something interesting.

“You know what the trouble with you women these days is? You’ve got your grades and then your promotions. You’re taking care of your families. You’ve got great careers and fabulous lives. And so you believe you’ve achieved everything and that you’re invincible. You know, you still do fall sick, you still need other people too. Everyone does. It’s not a man or a woman thing. But all of you act like no one else matters, run over anyone who cares about you because you think that’s how a powerful woman is supposed to behave.”

I didn’t like hearing that at all. But there was truth in what he said. He was thinking about his ex- who was sacrificing her health for career and lifestyle and refused to listen to his concerns over it. But I was thinking of my own workaholism, my arrogance and ruthlessness. I cultivated all of it thinking I needed it to survive in these times. Well, maybe that’s true or maybe it’s not. But it’s also left me with an unhealthy level of cynicism, I’ve lost a number of good friends over the years, there’s judgement where there used to be connection and oh yes, the health has suffered too. I’m not condoning chauvinism or saying equality was a bad idea. But that’s why this is so difficult. Toughness has meant losing gentleness, caring and indeed some of the most wonderful things about being me, being us.

The other side of feminism was supposed to acknowledge that men had emotions too and could be just as nurturing and caring. But somehow it spiraled into a blamegame, an ugly, vindictive ‘up-yours’ crowing-over. It’s not about equality anymore, it’s one-upmanship (upwomanship?). All of us are losing.

My friend is as torn up over his breakup as I’ve ever been over mine. I just fear his lady is as well but she doesn’t know it or won’t acknowledge it. Remind me again how this is good for any of us? It takes two to build a relationship. How do we proceed when one of us is hungover on power, sado-masochism and inaccessible?

I had another thought about the classic equation of relationships – men trading love for sex and women trading sex for love. At that oversimplified level, all these years were about men reneging on their side of the deal by taking sex without paying back with adequate love while women withheld sex till love was forthcoming. It was a business and it worked with all the bartering, the bad debts and the constantly fluctuating scales on both sides. Today though, it’s women saying they’re not interested in shopping at this market anymore. Why pay for love when you can get its substitutes (power, fame, respect, attention, awe) far more easily? And there are the women who decide to infiltrate the competition and take over the business. Enter the Samantha Jones prototype – a woman who trades for sex the way men have been thought to do.

I’m not going to judge what anybody wants and how they go about getting it. But I do wonder about the fabric of our society, based as it is on the warp and weft of both sexes, the constant barter and transfer of emotions and sex, of needs and provisions.

This is the morning after the party and we’re hungover on that potent mix of power, glory and attention. I don’t think most of us are thinking straight any more. Who’s going to rescue the world now that Superwoman has ousted Superman and killed the collaboration?

The World Of Straight & Gay-Friendly

IdeaSmith — Sun, 6 Jun 2010 23:48:28 EDT

I've had the privilege of being the straight voice of Gaysi for a year and a half now. I've listened to coming-out conversations. I've met openly gay people. I've attended the launch of a book about gays in India. I've faced my own conflicted confusion and resolved it. I've even been hit upon by a gay person. This is all me and how homosexuality fits into my head.

With Section 377 and Indian Gay Prides, my world mirrors the world around. People are talking now, yes. Some agree, some don't but at least it is being acknowledged. Ordinarily, I should have been an indifferent observer since I'm not gay myself. But I've been drawn into the world of these questions, first by friends closetted-suspected-gay, then the blog and finally all the other people and associations that happened as a result. It's changing my life.

Being a straight and gay-friendly person is not as easy as it looks. Having sorted out (mostly, I hope!) where I myself stand on the issue, I find there's a whole new can of surprises (and now, let's not call them all worms) opening up. Some I resolve, some I rationalise and on some, I'm still ambivalent. The list has the four most important areas of my life, which is a good indication of just how big the question has become even for a supposedly uninvolved bystander.

Family

When I first started writing for Gaysi, I worried about what my parents would think. They could be tempted to associate my still single status, my fiery (often anti-male) behaviour with possible queerdom. It took a lot of self-examination before I could stand by my belief without righteous indignation and only a rational stating of facts. I'm happy to say it went through quite smoothly. It's possible that they may be thankful that I'm only writing about homosexuality and not practicing it but I'm willing to live with that.

Love life

The average Indian male seems to be homophobic, this is true. At some point of time, the question of homosexuality comes up (it has been in the news after all). I'm in a dilemma when I come up against homophobia. I have friends who are gay and to be involved with someone who may not treat them right, doesn't feel right. On the other hand, I also wonder if this topic is like politics and religion, where differing viewpoints can be respected and need not interfere in the relationship. Should homosexuality be a deal-breaker in a straight relationship? That doesn't sound fair to me.

Friendship

Before introducing a straight friend to a gay friend, I make sure to mention the gay orientation. It's not part of the general description to make a person interesting ("She's a film-maker. He speaks 5 foreign languages"). It's a veiled safety-clause that says, I'm telling you this beforehand so if you have a problem with it, say so now or forever hold your peace. I hate having to state that since in an ideal world it shouldn't matter. I know it smacks of underhanded discrimination but I'm rationalizing it as a practical solution.

But even this is complicated by the fact that a lot of straight people are not homophobic as much as homo-apathetic. That's until they're faced with a situation and then their reactions could go anyway.

Recently, I introduced a gay friend to my companion at a party. It turned out they stayed close to each other and my gay friend offered my companion a lift. Later that night, he called me in a huff. It transpired that in conversation during the ride, my straight friend had asked,

"Are you hitting on me?"

Now it could be that my companion was just joking. Or he may have been serious whereupon it might have been a deep-seated phobia or just an innocent misreading of signals. My gay friend on the other hand, prides himself on being able to discern the gay strain in others, even through confusion or outright denial. He might have been on track there or he might have been mistaken.

It's an awkward situation for me in the end, even though I wasn't even a part of the conversation. They're both friends and I find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to think about who is closer and who I may have to, eventually, let go.

Professional life

This hasn't actually posed a problem but I'll add a 'yet' to that. I had a coming-out experience of my own kind recently when I dropped my five-year long anonymity and revealed my identity to my readers. The worlds of social media, writing and work are merging and I'm finding it more practical to consolidate than to compartmentalize. My blogging activities are now ennumerated in my resume. No organisation will openly admit to being gay-unfriendly. But I've been a woman in the corporate world and I know all about biases and prejudices that are never acknowledged but hinder you anyway. I wonder whether I'm setting myself up for yet another one of those and I've been tempted (several times) to take Gaysi off my list. It's the easy option but each time I hit delete, I also get that bad feeling in my head that feels like cowardice.

In each of these situations, I'm faced with the question of how important this issue is to me. I'm not gay, I'm not a close relation of anyone who is (that's to say, I'm not living with or supporting anyone who is). Why then should I bother? Because it's the right thing to do, this is true.

But there's just this much I can do. And while I will never endorse discrimination, I often wonder if I can just pipe down instead of crusading for a quest I'm not even a part of. In this world of so many sins, I must pick my battles. Homosexuality is on the list but I can't honestly say I'll always have the courage to keep it there.

Fiction: Playing Mommy

IdeaSmith — Wed, 26 May 2010 07:19:40 EDT

Shaina Seth's baby is eighteen months old today. Shaina is a successful executive with a leading business house.�Shaina wears diamonds. In her ears, on her fingers and in her eyes. Sharp, cutting and forever bright.

Of Ray, there is nothing more than a memory. His last words, engraved in Kara's mind; unheard, hearsay and hauntingly clear.

You killed my baby.

And Kara thinks...a child could lead the way to oneness. But from a union blessed by angels, was conceived a child that lead to separation. A demon child, an infestation, a violation, a catastrophe that left everyone changed in its wake.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Blessed by an angel

The phone cranked maniacally. That alone should have been a sign. Telephones do not crank. Machines don't turn into maniacs. People do. And the person at the end of the line was turning into knots of flesh.

I can't believe it...bless my soul..I think I'm...I'm pregnant!

That revelation really shouldn't have been met by a pregnant pause. A crime of thoughts and words. And this was no time for humor. Except that Kara really couldn't help it.

But how?

What do you mean how? Don't you know how people get pregnant?

Shaina's voice took on a steely tone, overcoming the bluster.

Kara winced at the sharpness in her voice.�Shaina had a razor tongue but it had never been used on her.

Sorry, I meant who?

Shaina's voice held mixed wonder and reproach as she replied,

Ray, obviously.

But he isn't here.

said Kara, her voice returning to normal as her mind found its way back to logic.

From her memories came the image of Ray, Shaina's boyfriend. She had met him the day he left for college. Then she had been shown photographs. One on Shaina's dresser, with a baby picture of each of them framed in twin hearts and engraved with,

The day that you and I first met,
The angels whispered, "PERFECT!".

No one would have called Shaina, an angel. Except those who saw this photo-frame. Kara had. And she was the only one.

She didn't know much else but as Shaina poured her story down the telephone line, Kara found herself picturing the man she had met just once. Ray had visited on New Year. A secret lovers' gift. And he'd left something behind.

What was to be done now? Kara had never had a boyfriend, much less had to think of unwed motherhood. Yet, how easily the thought floated and her mind grasped at it!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

The test

Shaina opened her door. There wasn't a book in sight. The computer wasn't on and the television was silent too. She had probably been pacing up and down the floor, Kara thought.

Here, have this. I brought you lunch.

Odd, the times one thinks of playing mommy.

Have you told Anya?

asked Kara, referring to Shaina's vivacious best friend. Wondering at the same time why she was here and Anya wasn't.

Shaina paused in her chomping, her eyes curiously soft.

No, I couldn't bear to lose her.

Kara wondered...and what about me? As if in reply, Shaina added,

You're the only one I could think of who wouldn't judge me.

A blood test then. Let's get it out of the way.

Kara snapped, springing into action.

The girls spent the next hour walking about the block, talking about nothing in particular. When Kara's watch showed 4 pm, they walked back into the pathology lab. Just before they turned the doorknob, Shaina squeezed Kara's hand and said...nothing at all.

Congratulations, you are pregnant.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Cursed by an angel

Shaina boarded the flight the next day. One quick nod to Kara and she was gone, walking swiftly on the tarmac. She returned a week later, with an empty womb. And unnaturally bright eyes that Kara never quite got used to.

The twin photo-frame was missing the next time Kara visited. The daily life of a student took over.

Once, while walking down a line of shops, Shaina looked at a window display in a children's store and murmured,

My baby would have been one today.

..and continued walking on without missing a step.

Three months later the girls went off to college, different campuses.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~

A trail of diamonds

Two years after graduation, she married a classmate. The family received an invitation of course. But Kara couldn't bear to accept an invitation that was preceded by,

I had to marry someone. He'll do.

Kara sometimes thinks of the child that never was. The child that broke Shaina and Ray. The child that was created inside Shaina. The child that sucked the real Shaina, into itself and took with it Kara's angel, when it was washed out. Leaving behind a trail of diamonds. They never discuss it.

Kara sighs and collects the gift-wrapped teddy-bear (and her thoughts) before going to meet her godson. Rayan is the spitting image of his mother. Minus the diamond bright eyes. But only Kara knows what put the hard shine into Shaina's eyes. And she wonders what she misses more - the Shaina she knew or the angel that took her away.

Fiction: Cherries

Deepti Lamba — Tue, 25 May 2010 09:14:46 EDT

He watched her melt down the pole on a sensual beat. Her movements were slow, her gaze glacial and her skin vanilla white under the psychedelic lights. His gaze rested on her pert nipples and then on the tight nylon patch of a bikini that barely covered her shaved vagina.

His adam apple bobbed and his prick became thick like an uncooked Cannelloni. He wanted to adjust his fly and shifted a bit on the bar stool he sat on. A Kingfisher beer chilled next to him on the bar. Cherries was one of the few nightclubs that served Indian beers and the place had come highly recommended when he asked his seasoned Indian techie friends for a good strip club.

The two geeks grinned at the FOB and together said - Cherries. They printed out the directions courtesy google maps and over the weekend had him dropped via a cab at the nightclub with a set of strict instructions- no touching, no buying drinks for the girls and no blatant leering.

The first two instructions were easy to follow- he felt intimidated when two white goddesses slithered up to him in their sparkling bikinies and asked if he was alone. He gulped and nodded and blurted out - Just passing through!

Their shapely eyebrows rose in surprise and their eyes flashed with mirth. Newbie! they thought and probably living on Ramon noodles. He looked away from the women, unable to rest his eyes on their semi naked state. Their close proximity made him nervous. He gripped the beer bottle and wished them away.

The preying mantis moved on and tittered to each other. The man already forgotten.

He berated himself for being an inept, impotent delinquent. His solar plexus and buttocks tightened and he found it hard to breathe. There was too much skin glistening in the dark. He gulped his drink and looked at the strippers on the pole. They performed magnificent feats on the pole and he wished Indian women were as dexterous and uninhibited. Compared to the strippers his wife had the sex appeal of a doorknob.

In the womb of adult entertainment he came to hate his skin. He felt like a child who had been kept away from the goodies. He was a duty bound husband responsible for his old parents, his two children and his wife. He was a man who never walked on the wild side. The boisterous Americans behind him seemed to be at ease in the club. They drank and laughed amongst themselves oblivious to the skin and glamour whereas he like a parched soul couldn't take his eyes off them nor control his hardened dick.

He was convinced they all had raging sex lives with their women. And that was probably the reason for their satiated mannerisms whereas he was a quivering mess of pre-ejaculation waiting to happen.

This was a world he would never belong to. He felt inferior, he felt out of his depth and the acidic taste in his mouth had nothing to do with the beer that had lost its fizz.

He tried to shrug off the melanchia and turned his attention to harlot on the pole. But the moment was gone. He felt like a insipid roach caught in the glaring obscene light scuttling in a place he did not belong.

He left his beer and walked out of the club. There were no taxis on the parking lot . He sighed and on his cell called one of the techies who suggested the nightclub.

The guy on the other end sounded amused and asked whether he got to touch the white skin. Pain thumped between his eyebrows and he wanted to ram the cell phone down the throat of the amused techie.

He pushed back his rage and asked the techie to come and pick him up. The techie agreed and he shoved the phone in his jean's pocket.

Sudden female laughter made him turn and he stared at the glistening beauties in tiny clothes briskly walk towards their cars. Two looked through him and one gave him a slight smile. Strippers! his mind told him.

They drove off and as his eyes followed the cars he felt a sudden urge to brawl his eyes out.

Is Burqa Banning Correct?

Being Cynical — Tue, 25 May 2010 06:53:19 EDT

When a sovereign and prospering government like France does the unexpected, which many might term as a nasty piece of cynicism and an overdrive towards sabotage of one's personal belief and choice, it definitely invites some discussion. But what's there to discuss? could be the reply from the guys at the top France's helm of affairs. When it comes to our national security and when things boil down to make sure that all our citizens remain safe, we are answerable to none, is what one senior minister was seen briefing the media. More off, we are an independently running state with our own set of priorities and rules, so would appreciate if none shows any uncanny interest in interfering in our internal matters, he added. Fully accepted. On a second thought, isn't the commission which would monitor this new rule is somewhat similar to few groups present in India? It is just that here we call them Sriram Sena.

Jokes apart, does the whole argument of national security hold any water on this context? Many including me would perhaps say yes. Thanks to sudden rise of modernity and communication system, no place in the world remains unreachable. When the whole world has turned into a big chaotic fair like the Kumbh Mela, we the visitors need to take guards against the pickpocketers. That's exactly what the French government did: saving themselves from a bunch of fanatics which in Kumbh Mela terms could be addressed as pickpocketers.

Having said that, I am still not fully convinced, how in earth burqa could be synonymous to terrorism? Are all burqa clad entities terrorists? Of course not but they represent a community who are pioneer on that front could be the counter argument. We are just taking precaution without thinking much beyond is what the rational behind this French government's decision. This reason sounds somewhat convincing to me. Think of the irony of the security forces at various airports when they had to screen a burqa clad woman. With all respect, it even brings about a question mark on the gender of the person behind it. Don't believe? then just ask the Indigo flight crew member who raised an alarm doubting the gender of the burqa clad entity on board resulting in an emergency landing of the flight at Kolkatta airport. Even if the incident might look bizarre, the facts and the anxiety remains there. It is just that we are not following French footstep doesn't mean we don't share the same fear which the french authorities do.

Your faith and belief is one thing but to be a matter of concern for many, either intentionally or otherwise is another thing. With all respect, Muslims around the globe should introspect on this global psyche which might not be entirely correct, but definitely have substances attached which needs some serious considerations. By banning burqa at public places, the french government has no way insulted the Muslim women but took a precaution against all those religious fanatics who might take advantage of the burqa to carryout their nefarious activity. I don't see any harm in doing so either. On the same line when the Khalistani movement was at it's pick every Pagdi top Sardar was seen in the same light. You can only feel sorry for the innocents getting snubbed off because they belong to a certain community but can't help much as by nature we humans believe by example.

Before blaming the French or Belgian government, it is high time some brainstorming needed. Many might term me a religious bigot, but honestly when I can't come out from my own set of psyche on the whole issue, I just can't blame the french for theirs. I would feel much safer if I don't see a burqa clad entity on board when I am flying than the other way. If someone thinks his/her faith and believe is his/her priority then so as my and my family's security to me. The equation couldn't be simpler. In nutshell I am fully in line with French government's decision and if it had caused any agony, insult, humiliation to someone or some sections of the society then I am extremely sorry for that but my security is paramount for me and need none to ask me why is that so. Thank you so very much.

For my other articles visit my blog page http://shortofmatch.blogspot.com

Book Review: Yajnaseni - The Story of Draupadi

Kim — Thu, 20 May 2010 06:21:19 EDT

This is a translation of the work of Oriya writer Pratibha Ray on the story of Draupadi. This tale portrays Draupadi in a completely different light from Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni's Draupadi, in Palace of Illusions

I feel this book has lost a lot in the translation. The first half of the book was very diffcult to get through. The language is clunky and for someone unfamiliar with the multiple names for Arjuna, Krishna, Yudhishtir and Draupadi, the characters can be extremely confusing.

The translator Pradip Bhattacharya, is an IAS officer and the text of the first half is very heavy with convoluted sentences which made me feel like I was reading a bureacuratic report. It takes until the second half, for Bhattacharyato get into his groove and start writing a bit more naturally which really helps the story flow more smoothly.

Pratibha's Draupadi/Yajnaseni/Krishnaa is a woman trapped by circumstances. First having given her heart to Krishna (then told by Krishna himself that her destiny lies elsewhere) and then to Arjun, she is forced to split her time as a wife between 5 husbands, each with their own personalities and peculiarities.

A pre-occupied Yudhisthir, a demanding Bhim, Arjun who blames her for accepting his brothers as her husbands (for not saying no to the suggestion, although he himself didn't), childlike Nakul and Sahadev. Each husband needing to be treated differently according to his temparament. It is easy to empathise with Ray's Draupadi and feel sorry for her predicament.

To love Arjun and want to be his alone and yet have to spend 80% of her time with her four other husbands. Plus Arjun's long travels, as penance for intruding on the privacy of Yudhisthir and Draupadi, to gain astras from the different devas while marrying different princesses along the way. The final straw is when he marries Subhadra and brings her back to Indraprasth, before Draupadi herself has had the chance to be a wife to Arjun (in Ray's sequence of events). Yet, she manages to reconcile herself to all of this with the help of Krishna's council.

In this interpretation of the Mahabharatha, Draupadi and Krishna share a spiritual level of trust and love that her five husbands accept and understand unquestioningly. Draupadi, even instructs one of Krishna's wives on how the wives have got it wrong in their constant fighting to possess Krishna for themselves, while what they should be doing is surrendering themselves to him.

Karna is not the flawless noble hero, but an insecure man who nurses his insults and loses no opportunity to rub salt in Draupadi's wounds, even though he also saves her life at one point of time.

Ray, bases her novel on the Mahabharath by Vedvyas and the Oriya Mahabharath by Sarala Das. She also adds a few incidents from her imagination and mixes up the sequence of some events to help her own narrative.

Although Draupadi is one of the five satis, she is often insulted as the one with five husbands and hence implied to be a woman of loose character. Ray's objective in writing this tale was to clear this "negative" interpretation of her and to give her the honor she deserves for holding the Pandavs together and being an "agent of change" in her time.