The place I would never go back to

Hating people is subjective and so is hating places, but hating everyone from a certain place or locality, for no apparent reason might sound a bit wired and irrational, but I have to shamelessly admit that I have this much unreasonable phobia for people from a certain town, although it’s the native place of one of my immediate family members. But the moment I get to meet or talk to someone from that ‘hateful’ region, my mind is too quick to create a very strong wall of hatred around that I cannot help but be indifferent and unpardonably snooty to them, no matter how good they are. I cannot stand the very presence of any one from that place, as anger soon snowballs in my mind, ready to burst out even from the thinnest of the fissures. With that said I must tell you about the reason why I slip to uncontrollable anger when I meet people from a town that’s very far from mine.

The bitterest of my childhood memories come from this town, where I happened to live in a large ancestral home, with a whole lot of members, mostly males who have the worst ego and superiority complex that one can ever find on earth. The females other than a fifty something matriarch and her youngest daughter had absolutely no say in the family, whatsoever, making the other women much worse than puppets who were made to work according to the whims-and-fancies of the big-headed males in family. Decisions where the monopoly of men, and women were hardly asked any opinions, no matter what their choices where. None of those submissive women knew what it is like to have self-identity or ho it is like to be independent, as they were steeply overshadowed by their indescribably domineering husbands and in-laws.

While the men were free to work and enjoy as per their wishes, their wives slogged every single day, juggling between truckloads of household chores and child duties. Sadly and shockingly I never saw any of those much ‘married’ men turning up even once to lend a helping hand to their wives who toiled each day with tons of backbreaking works. On the contrary, I used to see the flocking to the dining table near the kitchen area during meal times, when women would hide themselves behind the kitchen door, waiting for men to finish their meals, while the matriarch and the snobbish sister in law served the men, thus showing off their dominant position in the family.

While men where served the best potions of the food, women had to satiate their huger with what their glutton husbands left behind. Yet, with absolutely no qualms, they used to enjoy the leftover food and slog again until late night, hitting the bed dog-tired. With about a dozen members to serve and no domestic aids to ease their workloads, the womenfolk in the family slogged like slaves with whatever amenities they were provided with, and managed to serve others in the best possible way, amid all the silly and irking complaints and rants that they had to listen to. Quarrels were never new to them and occasional thrashings were something they were much acquainted with.

The matriarch was no less than the hellish mother-in-laws of stories that we’re familiar with. While she plotted and planned against each of her daughters-in-law, the demonic sister-in-law who was equally conceited gave her mother a great support in side-lining and bullying the women. They left no stones unturned to poison the minds of the men in the family with malicious stories about their wives, triggering ugly spats every single day. As they sat back and enjoyed the men howling, shouting, and occasionally thrashing their wives, these two vicious women slyly and devilishly smiled out of contentment, affirming their unmatched position in the family.

Simply put, the horde of awfully narcissistic men and their pathetically subdued wives gave me the worst shock of my lifetime that I even bore a very strong sense of hatred and bitterness towards men until a few years before. Although I waved good bye to this much conservative and tormenting ambiance several years back, I still have those memories sharply etched in my mind that I find it almost impossible to be cordial to people from that town no matter who they are.

Let your actions do the talking

When it comes to waiting for my turn in a long queue, I am not as patient as I should be, the reason why I always make it a point to do things on-time, and if possible a little in-advance, so that I can avoid long and monotonous waits. I do this everywhere, every time, especially when it comes to paying the monthly hostel fees.

Today being the last day of the month, I was all set to pay the next month’s fees, and reached the office room on time. Our warden was on a serious talk with one of the inmates of the old age home, and I was made to wait for about a minute or two, while the old woman paid her fees and had a usual chitchat before leaving. As she was about to leave, after sharing her share of unsolicited advices of which I heard the last part alone, I went inside to pay my fees. It was then that our warden told me about the heated debate that went on until I entered as the much unforeseen interrupt, for which our warden couldn’t thank anymore.

The topic of the debate was the fundraising program to help a cancer patient get his daughter married off. With a few steps more to embrace death, he is almost bedridden, and is desperately hoping to see his daughter’s marriage. Our hostel committee agreed to raise a part of the money required, and wanted the generous ones among us to contribute a little share each. Being the member of a rich and affluent family, she did have ample money to help that poor man, but sadly and shockingly showed her pitiable stinginess by giving just a meager amount, along with a whole lot of reasoning to desperately justify herself. Those who were well aware of the amount of money that she continues to squander each day couldn’t hide their shock to see her arguing fiercely for not contributing generously for a genuine cause.

I don’t intent to blame the old woman, but believe that she could have been a bit more generous. But sadly, other than selfless willingness, no persuasion in this world can make a person donate for a good cause. While people are keen only on futile talks on charity, their noble sounding words would quickly turn into plaintive pleas if they are asked to put them in to practice! What a pitiable revelation of double standards! A charity that doesn’t break the bank is always possible, but all that it takes it takes is a generous mind-set and the willingness to help the needy.

It’s high time to shun our hypocrisy of limiting charity to just verbal juggleries alone. We have to either stop all the talking and remain aloof from helping the needy, or match up to our words and lend a helping hand when required. I’ve seen the old woman willingly participating in many of the events in our hostel, and impressing the audience with her long speeches on helping the poor and needy. But the actuality turned out tad different from all the talking that she did so far.

With all these said, you would have an obvious question in mind – Whether I gave my share of contribution or not? Yes, I did. Although I am not as rich as the old woman, and has been in a deep financial instability, I did give a share without any futile talking, because I believe that my action should speak louder than my words.