MEN UNDER FIRE: I miss my ‘bhaandi-kundi’

Growing up, I was the only boy I knew who had his own kitchen set. We called it bhaandi-kundi. Surely you know those miniature steel pots, pans and stove that little girls usually play with? Usually being the operative word here. It was unusual then, as is now, for a boy to play with utensils rather than play cricket in the sun. I also had a doll. A little boy-doll my grandmother named Georgekutty (Baby George in Malayalam). I preferred the company of girls (my rakhi sisters) to the competitiveness of cricket.

A few times I had to play with the boys because they needed one player to make even teams, I was kaccha-limbu, a novice. It didn’t take long for me and them to realise that I was no good at cricket. I did not enjoy the game. Watching or playing. Batting was fun because I could make the fielders run around. But I had no control over the bat and the ball would often end up somewhere it shouldn’t have and I’d then have to go retrieve it. I sucked at fielding. They never let me bowl, although I could do a mean leg-spin. Under-arm of course.

I now get that not participating in cricket made me “less of a guy” for them. I would sense a slight derision when aunties in the building would say, “He doesn’t go out to play. He plays with the girls.” I did not think of it much then, which probably explains why I did not bring it up with my parents. They have been nothing but supportive of what I wanted to do. I was good in craft in school and would immerse myself in DIY projects at home. I learned how to cross-stitch, sew buttons and hooks when most boys in class couldn’t.

Every little ‘girl’ thing I learnt in my childhood has only added to my life-skills. Playing with utensils continues. I am no cook but I can eat what I make and thrive. I like that I can repair minor wear-and-tear issues at home. I know if I ever lose a job, I can put my cross-stitch skills to good use.

My wife wears pants in the house (when she’s not wearing shorts or anything else she is comfortable in). We share chores because it is hard work and no one should be doing all of that alone. She has no sense of interior décor but patiently listens to me when I tell her about plans in pipeline. Patriarchy might have tried its dirty tricks in my childhood but it has no place in our home now.

(Hari Chakyar is a writer who lives in Bengaluru with his wife and three-and-a-half-year old body-shamed feline daughter)

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