This is what a Feminist looks like.

Posted on by

Daddy's Girl.jpg

Exactly 32.5 years ago, a short man with a fearsome moustache stood at a nursery window, tears in his eyes, pride bordering on arrogance spilling forth via his words.

“See her? The one with the huge eyes? That’s my daughter.”

The strangers standing near him congratulated him and politely made remarks about his newborn’s full head of hair and yes, her eyes, which were peering around suspiciously as if she were casing her bassinet, planning a possible escape.

“She was alert, when she was born. She didn’t cry. She…uh…she takes after me. Strong.”

He cleared his throat and complained about the dust, using his ever-present handkerchief to wipe his eyes swiftly.

“Look at the other babies…they are oblivious. They’re nothing compared to her.” He had never been so smug.

My “Grandma”, who is a Russian Orthodox woman who married an Italian, who still sends me a check every January, who told me this story, stood by him, smiling.

“Oh, cut the bullshit George! Every parent thinks their kid is a damned miracle.”

She was teasing him, she didn’t mean it. She always admitted as much when telling this tale, because the next part of it involves her elbowing the woman next to her, and asking, “Have you ever seen a baby with so much hair and such big eyes? Most kids are bald. And squinty.”

My Mom was down the hall, passed out. There was still a tiny smudge of flour on her arm; she had been making chapati when I made my abrupt entrance on a Saturday night, after less than two hours of labor.

::

Much like the adorable protagonist of “Knocked Up”, my father had purchased baby books to study.

Ever the engineer, he charted out milestones and other information. He laid awake at night, unable to sleep; his brain, which already over thought everything, was now whirring even faster. He was the precursor to today’s “helicopter” parent, though he’d scoff at such dilettantes for being OCD-freaks-come-lately.

“That’s what happens when you wait until you are 38 to have a child. You really parent”, he’d explain to me and anyone else who would listen, later.

::

“You will be a book baby,” he allegedly announced to me, the day he strapped me in to the back of one massive Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, on the way home from the hospital. “You will do everything exactly when the books say…”

…or else. Or else, what? Who knows, I’m just lucky I did it. All that amazing early achievement would buy me some leeway when I turned out to be spectacularly mediocre, later on in life. When he heard that another young couple had given birth to their own first child a few days before, he elatedly rushed to their home, which was strangely dark and quiet. He had books in his hand, his books, which he was confident he didn’t need any more, since he had studied them so thoroughly (and made his charts and notes). Perhaps this new Father might appreciate them.

Daddy looked at the doorbell and then thought against ringing it.

“Probably, they are sleeping.”

That would explain the lack of light and absence of joyful if not ear-piercing noise. He knocked, carefully.

The door swung open, revealing a man I won’t call “Uncle”, because I have never met him. He looked haggard. My father would later tell me that the house seemed eerie and that he knew something wasn’t right.

“Hello.”

“I heard you and your wife had a baby. Congratulations!”

The man shook his head.

“Babu called and told me, I was very excited for you—“

“For what?” the man responded.

“For…your child? I just had one as well, it’s wonderful!”

The man looked startled.

“Oh, I am so sorry! We would have come to see—we thought you had a daughter, Babychayan didn’t tell us you and Mollykutty had a SON!”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have a son. I have a daughter. Anna. 8 lbs, 22 inches long and already very intelligent,” he boasted.

“So we were both unlucky, then,” he lamented. “I am sorry.” He shook his head at my father sadly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“What do you mean…unlucky?” Daddy was sputtering.

“To have daughters! I told my wife over and over, I only wanted one child and it must be a son. We prayed constantly…and this is what our prayers brought.”

“You are UNHAPPY because you have a girl? Is the child healthy?”

“I don’t know…I assume so…”

“You ASSUME?”

“Well, once they told me it was a girl, I left. I was so upset at our misfortune. All I could think of is, how will I tell my parents this?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You haven’t even seen your own child? Are you sick?”

“I didn’t even go in to the room, I couldn’t. I don’t want to see it. I left them both there, until I decide what to do. Maybe we will send it home.”

“You are a low, ignorant asshole. If your wife and child are healthy, you should be on your knees thanking God.”

“Who are you to call me such a thing?”

“I’d break your bones, but it’s not worth my effort. You fucking asshole.”

The man shoved my father and Daddy roared. After administering one stinging backhand, he angrily made his way back to our home.

::

For years after the incident, he still ranted about it, his rage unchecked. “Can you imagine? Leaving your child in the hospital without even seeing her! And then sending your own baby away, as if it were a parcel you didn’t want? Thendi, patti kazhuda mone, if I see him again, I’ll step on him and break his bones!” Thantha illatha pottan. Pattikunnan bhuthi-illathe thendi!”

He’d carry on like that for a good twenty minutes, after which he’d pointedly remind me that he only asked my mother for one child, ONE and that he hoped it would be a girl.

“My sister was the fifth out of eleven children, and the only daughter of our family. My father often said that she had the biggest andi of us all.” He’d smile, sweetly immersed in nostalgia.

“Must you be so disgusting?” my Mother would mutter.

“Is it disgusting to respect women? To value them?”

“Is it valuing to say that your sister’s…ah…thing was bigger than all of yours…chey, I can’t even think of such words!”

“Edi, my father may have used colorful language to make his point, but the point he was making is what is important—he thought his daughter the equal of his sons and in many ways, he found her superior to them. For someone born in 1885, that is nothing short of marvelous. What do you know? Your grandmother was married at age seven. Chey!”

“Don’t you insult my family!”

“Who needs to insult, when the truth is damning enough?”

And a door would slam and my father would smirk and coo about how I looked just like his Mother, the woman I was named after.

“Ada”, he began, using the masculine form of that noun. “Chakkara-kuttan. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you that you are less than a man, you hear me? My appan was right about my pengala—she was better than any man, she still is. You know, she thought raising children was boring, so she told me to make myself useful and look after them.” He chuckled.

“That is how I know how to braid hair. Asha’s hair was just like yours.”

“Did you also carve lines in to her scalp like you do mine?” I mumbled darkly. My father didn’t do anything gently. My partition line was more of a furrow. Stupid unbreakable black comb.

It didn’t matter, he was blissfully marinating in his reverie.

“I used to make sure that Geetha, Asha and Subash were awake and then I would get them ready before taking them to school. At first, I thought, what 18-year old has such annoying responsibilities? Then I realized how satisfying children can be. That was when I started to wonder if I should still become a priest. My desire to one day be a father myself left me thinking otherwise…then of course your Grandfather objected to that vocation, too. He thought engineering best, which is certainly hard to argue with…but Ammamma…she went to law school, just like you will. And now she is a Judge, just like you will be. But instead of Kottayam, you will be on the Supreme Court…the first Asian woman…”

And then he snapped out of it all so fast, I was shocked he didn’t have whiplash.

“Don’t you do drugs, you hear me? They will ask you all types of things when they consider you-— you think about that before you do something stupid now, which results in shame later. What does Daddy always say? You live in a world of idiots. They will underestimate you because you are a girl. So! What do you do? You score 200% and then tell them po oombe. You are better than a son. Someone asked me, ‘but what about your name, Thampy? Who will carry it on for you?’ And I said, ‘Maire, what makes you think my daughter will change hers?’ And he said, ‘her husband won’t appreciate that’. And I said-“

“You said, I don’t need to get married. I know, Daddy. I know.” I was rolling my eyes, disrespectful because I had no idea how extraordinary all of this was. Silly, sullen teen.

“I didn’t raise you to cook or clean things, you know. If a man wants a maid and a housekeeper, he can hire them. If he wants an equal partner, he can ask for you. Maybe.”

He closed by hissing, “ Asshole!” at his future son-in-law and then he waved me off. As I started up the stairs, on my way to my room, he shouted at my backside…

“Whose name are you going to have?”

“Yours, daddy.”

“No, stupid girl, YOURS. My name IS your name. Don’t you take that bastard’s name. He didn’t put up with you like I have. You put our name on your law degree, you hear me? There is nothing wrong with that! Nothing! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? Oh! What a miserable existence, to have a daughter so dense, she might as well have testicles…”

257 thoughts on “This is what a Feminist looks like.”

  1. Very well written, Anna. And I love the picture! Being the first born & having grown up in a similar family dynamic, I really enjoyed reading this. And I’ve still retained my maiden name, which my dad was quite pleased & encouraging about. Which is ironic (& caused my mom to get on his case) because when they got married, he insisted she change her name ASAP.

  2. Hi Anna,

    Thank you for this post. The trolls may kindly go and drown themselves in chullu bhar of paani. I can totally relate to what you’ve written. I’m the younger of two daughters. My father, like yours, is an wonderful man. The women in his family (in his generation and the generation before that) didn’t really have much exposure/education/control over their own lives. He changed that when he brought us up. For my sister and myself, gender has never come in the way of a good upbringing. In all my relationships too, I’ve met wonderful strong men who don’t have a problem with strong women:)

  3. this blogger’s dad expresses himself in wonderful verbal and non-verbal communication to make his point. because the story is personal, any contrary viewpoint (for example, the desire to have a girl and a boy; disgusting use of filthy language at home; unnecessary and repeated sneaking in of good ‘priestly’ habits in her blogs), by definition, will be a troll. please carry on with your blogging. it’s nice to know your network.

  4. This is what the French poet Beaudelaire wrote in homage to Anna:

               To a Malabar Woman

    Your feet are as delicate as your hands, and your hips Are wide enough to make even the most beautiful white woman jealous; For the pensive artist, your body is sweet and dear; Your big velvet eyes are even blacker than your skin. In the hot, blue lands where your God chose that you be born, …………………………………………………………………………………. All day long you direct your naked feet wherever they wish to go, And softly hum old, unknown melodies; And when the scarlet-cloaked evening descends, You gently lay your body down on a straw mat, Where your floating dreams are filled with hummingbirds, And are always, like you, gracious and flowering. Why, fortunate child, do you wish to see our France, This over-populated land harrowed by suffering, And, confiding your life to the strong arms of the sailors, To bid a fond farewell to your beloved tamarind trees? Half-dressed in thin muslin, Shivering there beneath the snow and hail, How you would mourn your sweet and honest leisure, If, a brutal corset emprisoning your belly, You had to glean your supper in our mire And sell the perfume of your strange charms, Your eye pensive, seeking, through our filthy fogs, The scattered phantoms of absent coconut trees!

  5. because the story is personal, any contrary viewpoint (for example, the desire to have a girl and a boy; disgusting use of filthy language at home; unnecessary and repeated sneaking in of good ‘priestly’ habits in her blogs), by definition, will be a troll

    Because the story is personal, you are extra out of line with your rude, dishonest comment. No one has condemned the desire to have children of two genders. As for the reproduction of filthy language, the post is autobiographical. That alone should remove it from the typical unexamined flaming which occurs on SM posts.

    I am not sure what the “good priestly habits” part is about, but if you are referring to the author’s religion, and you still can’t grasp the concept of an autobiography, then consider going elsewhere before you are banned for violating three different parts of our comment guidelines. You have been warned.

  8. It was 1973 and gas was 29.9 cents a gallon. Gas prices were very close to my heart back then because, while waiting for a promised teaching assistantship, I toiled at a gas station filling tanks, checking oil and cleaning windshields. That’s when I first encountered this 1970’s symbol of American prosperity and world dominance – the Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. However, given my vocation, my personal experience with the Brougham was confined only to the front and rear, either checking oil or filling ‘er up. Occupying the middle would have been a futile FOB dream. There were other surprises surrounding this palace on wheels that frequently titillated my FOB senses – the fact that the living-room size cabin was never occupied by more than one or two people (why, the Amby back home could hold 9 in comfort), the car sucked in $7 to $8 worth of gas before it even burped full, the occupants ate, drank and kissed each other shamelessly while driving their Broughams, activities we would not have dreamed of conducting in a moving vehicle back home.

    It wasn’t long before I had decided that if I could make a few dollars in this country, my first mindless splurge would be the Brougham. That day came eventually, but I never bought that Cadillac. Priorities had changed, but the memories of that creamy vinyl roof, sofa-sized bench seats, the John Wayne like swagger as one pulled up next to one of my pumps are still fresh in mind.

    The Brougham is not all that I got out of your post, ANNA. Keep up the good work.

  9. OK, am I the only 2nd gen person who can admit that if I could only have ONE kid, my preference would be for a boy?

  10. Which in no way indicates support for female infanticide or feticide (it’s too bad I feel I need to make that clear). If I ever have a daughter I’ll cherish and love her as much as a son, and be very grateful and appreciative.

  11. 59 Amitabh: “OK, am I the only 2nd gen person who can admit that if I could only have ONE kid, my preference would be for a boy?”

    Ahhh, you just want to take him fishing, teach him how to appreciate football and have him for a golf buddy. Nothing wrong with that. I tried all those things with my daughter and she hated them all. But she has a type A, born-leader personality that doesn’t need any more football fuel.

  12. i always find stories – reflections like the one above to be the most comforting when it comes to sorting out our internal east/west power struggle. to critics and trolls who wag their finger at any negative, stereotype-reinforcing notions, get over it. to have the ability to take a hard stand against the worst aspects of our culture(s) and still point out the bittersweet,royal tenenbaumish aspects is quite admirable. south asians = dark comedies. i guess in more ways than one.

  13. You know, ANNA, that picture (of you and your dad in your car) is a classic slice of desi 1970s new immigrant life…it reminds me of many pics my family has in old albums depicting my parents early days in this country in the 70s. The way that the film version of The Namesake (I never read the book) resonated with me because it brought to mind my parents’ early days in this country (also in NYC), is the way your photograph resonates with me too.

  14. The roads are dangerous enough with tweakers, teenagers, magoo-like geriatrics…babies must not be allowed to drive! They have poor depth perception and most have a tendency towards solipsism

  15. Anna –

    Thank you for sharing this story… your father sounds like a remarkable man, who has an equally remarkable daughter.

    Peter

  16. Speaking of Indian dads and the 1970s, one of my ABCD friends and I still know and sing the entire theme song for the Jeffersons, because both our dads thought George Jefferson was “the man” and would watch every episode. And both our dads had two daughters whom they adored.

    Amitabh, I would love to see a whole collection of those 70s desi pics, the images in Namesake struck a huge chord. I sometimes try on my mom’s 70’s mohair coat which she splurged on at Harrods on the de riguer mad sightseeing dash thru London during layovers.

  17. the John Wayne like swagger

    Was the suspension so bad that it had to sway dramatically from side to side with its left and right side wheels trying to stay as far apart from each other as possible, almost as if there was rough leather chafing between them?

    Floridian, you should consider giving the 70s immigrant experience the Ken Burns treatment. Complete with reenactments.

  18. The “fierce ‘tache” :-).

    Anybody know how the gender bias works for adoptions?

    Also, I see several comments that reflect “wanting a girl”. Isn’t “wanting a boy/girl?” carry the same connotations?

  19. Neale, I don’t know what the adoption stats are. There is some information in one of the Slate articles though:

    Adoption agencies report a higher demand for girls. But this is exactly what you’d expect in a world where parents prefer boys. In such a world, boys will tend to be put up for adoption when there’s something seriously wrong with them, but many girls will be put up for adoption simply for being girls. So, if I’m looking to adopt a bright healthy child, of course I’ll choose a girl: I expect that among children put up for adoption, girls are on average brighter and healthier than boys. I could well make this choice even if I prefer boys to girls, as long as my preference for bright and healthy is stronger.

  20. Also, I see several comments that reflect “wanting a girl”. Isn’t “wanting a boy/girl?” carry the same connotations?

    Of course! As long as you want a boy the way Amitabh does, and not the way the man whom my Father fought with did.

    It’s sad that this was/is a reality and really, that I have to point this out explicitly, but in some instances, I think expressing preference for a daughter over a son is a revolutionary act. It’s not like my dad had any peers who shared his view. Even during the final year of his life, which wasn’t that long ago, he had people who asked him, “didn’t you want to try for a son?” as if my sister and I were failed attempts at procreation.

    The bias is more than a preference and it is alive and festering in our community.

  21. Floridian, you should consider giving the 70s immigrant experience the Ken Burns treatment

    Life is too short for Ken Burns documentaries.

  23. Life is too short for Ken Burns documentaries.

    Dude. Have you seen his one on jazz? It’s fantastic! Also, life is too short for only two things – books by Ayn Rand, or Umberto Eco.

    Wanting a straight/gay offspring.

    Why choose? Want a bisexual kid. As Woody Allen said, it doubles your chances of a date on Saturday night. Although, he was wrong. As we’ve seen in the past couple of threads, it actually more than doubles it if you’re a guy!

  24. 67 Rahul: “Was the suspension so bad that it had to sway dramatically from side to side with its left and right side wheels trying to stay as far apart from each other as possible, almost as if there was rough leather chafing between them?”

    Perhaps swagger was not the right word, but the suspension of 1970’s vehicles was so soft and willowy – if that’s the right word – that when you braked to a halt, big cars like Brougham would sway back and forth a few times like a drunk before becoming stable. I remember taking two British clients to a night on the town (Chicago is) in the late 70’s in my brand new Cutlass Supreme. We had had one too many (the term designated driver was still to be coined) and the two British guys on a business trip were not feeling any pain after a politically incorrect night of imbibing. On the way back, one guy sat in the back seat, and by the time I had pulled up in front of their hotel, he was throwing up from motion sickness, and was about to become like a patient etherized upon a table. Oops.

    70 ANNA “I think expressing preference for a daughter over a son is a revolutionary act.”

    I didn’t have a preference one way or the other when we were adopting, but the line for baby girls was a lot shorter. You know why. For once I was in a line that moved fast.

  25. 73 Rahul: “As Woody Allen said,”

    What! You like Woody Allen, too? Is there no end to your talents? I have always wanted to adopt a son.

  27. Anna, your post is really finely written and so illuminative of your family and your close relationship with your father. I was the third daughter born to my parents who were very modest being that Dad was in the army and mom was teaching in the army school in Calcutta. All I know is that people made my mother feel so disappointed and basically came to condole with her, that the pediatrician (who had 3 sons and was desperate for a daughter)had to be almost forcibly stopped from taking me home. To cut a long story short (38 years coming up Tuesday), my father made us tough, brilliant, beautiful and independent. NOTHING was off limits for us girls…squash, tennis, horse/riding, great schooling…all opportunities which others would remind my parents were really wasted given that we would be married off and become part of other families!! Did that stop my father from raising us strong and independent and well…really feminist..NOPE. I tried to not change my name early on in my marriage and the man i was married to 13 years ago felt it was such an affront to his manlihood, his illustrious family name that….well, that’s a long story. He had the absurdity to point that it was all very confusing to have different last names and how would our names be listed in the @#$% telephone directory!!!

    No surprises there…our marriage crumbled as that was the first crack in the foundation and I still remember it. So here’s to your dad and my dad…and all those beyond-their-time men/fathers/husbands who have courageously shown respect to the women in their lives.

  28. Wanting a straight/gay offspring.

    Now THIS is something I never considered before….do some gay people who adopt (or artificially inseminate or whatever), hope that their kid will be gay? I would have thought that they’d want the kid to be (in terms of sexual orientation) whatever he/she happened to be, but with tolerance/acceptance of other orientations. In fact, given the difficulties and stigma of being gay, and the fact that parents usually want the best for their kids, I guess I would think they’d maybe prefer the kid to be straight, but again, with acceptance/tolerance (or whatever along those lines) of gay people. No?

  29. Glad you had a proud father, Anna. My father didn’t see me until I was 3 months old. Then, when I was one, they packed me off to my grandparents until I was 2 1/2…supposedly because I was so sick, and needed to be where I was born. What kind of bullshit is that?! And now they wonder why I have no feelings for them whatsoever.

  30. what a cute photo! great post, wish my dad was like that… have an older loser brother that my parents still spend all their time on, not their “successful” daughter. he did recently tell me he was proud of me. yay!

    btw, why don’t you delete those awful mean comments above? bewakufs.

  31. In Konkani, there is even a term for a boy born after three girls – tiklo. 🙁

  32. I have always wanted to adopt a son.

    Well, my parents have never told me, a la Sgt. Bilko, “You are like the son I never wanted.” But, I am sure they will be more than thrilled with your offer. Umm… there are no lemon laws for adoption, are there?

  33. What an incredible story. Since I grew up with the complete opposite, this is a breath of fresh air. My father never made contact with me since I was a girl. I applaud your father for his progressive mind and manner. You are incredibly fortunate to have been raised by a man like that.

  36. Great read. I am the father of one girl and I hope she has nice things to say about me too. I know I am trying my best to have her say nice things about me…

  37. For someone born in 1885, that is nothing short of marvelous.

    Indeed. Your grandfather was way ahead of his time. What experiences shaped his opinions? Maybe there’s a post in there somewhere.

    While on the subject, here’s another old school feminist worth reading about.

  38. i hate to disillusion everybody, but i doubt the veracity of anna’s story. i don’t see a b-pillar in the pic. it can’t be a cadillac fleetwood brougham. i think its an itty bitty coupe de ville.

  39. 77 PP

    “I tried to not change my name early on in my marriage and the man i was married to 13 years ago felt it was such an affront to his manlihood, his illustrious family name that….”

    The tradition of taking on the husband’s name is a western import. In India lady’s used to maintain the name even after marriage.

  40. For all of you who say this is a common attitude everywhere in the world – why haven’t I come across this anywhere outside of India?

    Umm,,China????? You do realize that due to the one child policy over the last generation, some couples abandoned babies or even did the equivalent of what that grandfather in India did and that is the reason why there are more men than women in China.

  41. nice photo. I think you have mastered the knack of posing for photographs from “infant”hood.. 🙂

  42. LOVED this post. It definitely made me think about my dad. I think our dads would have gotten along superbly — maybe they’re chillaxing together now.

    A N N A: You really have a beautiful way with words.

  43. ANNA, it’s not just an Indian thing, and it’s not over either – on a political blog last year someone in either the US or UK whose wife was pregnant posted about how surprised he was at his coworkers, people who he had thought were non-sexist liberals, going on and on about how Of Course he wanted a son for himself, he couldn’t possibly mean it that he didn’t care/would be happy so long as the child was healthy/yes you have to say that, PC, wink nudge etc etc etc.

    It’s not as overt, maybe, but it’s definitely a real sexist bias that still persists in North America and the UK – girls are just, like Aristotle said, defective males, and to be a REAL father you need to have fathered a male to “carry on your name,” otherwise, like you said – failed attempt at procreation.

  44. Anna’s Dad…thendi, patti kazhuda mone…” Thantha illatha pottan. Pattikunnan bhuthi-illathe thendi!
    1. I have a hard time believing your family is vegetarian And this language? Shudder, cringe. There can’t have been much left of that uncle after your Dad was done with him!
    2. Anna, you heard all this when you were about 3 hours old?

    My wife is the first grandchild on her mother’s side of the family and her father’s. And she was spoilt (still is). How about 6-7 uncles and aunts waiting on you while you eat? My daughter too is the first on my side of the family and my in-laws’ side of the family two generations back. She’s been spoilt rottener – granduncles, grandaunts, grandmas, and grandpas all waiting on her at bkfast. As a Dad I have wondered if I mattered at all.

    I saw my daughter three days after she was born as I had to take a train across India, from the sunny South to the freezing East. Some kindhearted soul relieved me of my shoes on the train. When I got off the train I literally ran out of the the railway station and walked most of the way to my in-laws’ barefoot in the cold. I have never felt better, even bearing the irumudi/kattunurai, and walking on ice and snow around the Ayyappan sannidanam in Lanham.

  45. 1. I have a hard time believing your family is vegetarian

    Yes, we are vegetarian. Strict. What does my family’s diet have to do with this story?

    2. Anna, you heard all this when you were about 3 hours old?

    I guess you missed this part…

    My “Grandma”, who is a Russian Orthodox woman who married an Italian, who still sends me a check every January, who told me this story, stood by him, smiling…She always admitted as much when telling this tale, because the next part of it involves her elbowing the woman next to her, and asking, “Have you ever seen a baby with so much hair and such big eyes? Most kids are bald. And squinty.”

    ::

    General rage, not specific:

    What is up with some of the comments (many of which I’ve deleted, FYI) which call out my memories of my family?

    Manju, that’s not our Fleetwood. The Fleetwood was dark blue. So no, I’m still not a liar. Maybe I’m bruising too easily, but after this vicious attack on me/my family, I can’t see straight.

    I share myself and make myself vulnerable here when it’s relevant to an issue we are discussing, because people respond when problems are made personal and accessible. I don’t ask for thanks or praise or anything– I just crave courtesy and respect, which, thankfully, I get from most of you.

  46. noone is asking you to be vulnerable. it is your choice to expose yourself and you can always delete your exposure as well as critiques. you should not even call it vulnerability because that gives you a terrible loophole to leverage against any valid criticisms about your posts. And there have been valid criticisms that you have deleted that do not even fall within the category of pure hate. do you deny this?

    if you print this i ll be damned surprise.

  47. Yes, we are vegetarian. Strict. What does my family’s diet have to do with this story?

    Anna’MoLe for a vegetarian that’s some strong words! That was in jest! Your Dad seems to be or’nery even as Dads with teen daughters go such as myself go! I could learn a lot from your Dad! But how did your “Grandma” catch ’em words of your Dad’s? They can’t be translated, and are straight out of the most unparliamentary Malayalam. To be sure I could have added some of my own choice North Arcot Tamizh to spice ’em up!

  48. Good post! As the eldest of three girls, we never were made to feel lesser of ourselves for not being male by our family. We only heard it when we went to those Bengali parties, and I would hear uncles/aunties jovially (annoyingly) ask if my parents had wished for a boy. They would just give a tight-lipped smile back then, but I remember fuming. My parents are far more outspoken these days and would never let anyone get away in the community alluding to anything with those sentiments anymore.

    Reading all these comments reminds me of the James Frey fiasco. It’s a memoir, people. Deal.

  50. noone is asking you to be vulnerable. it is your choice to expose yourself and you can always delete your exposure as well as critiques.

    All the more reason such generosity of spirit should be appreciated.

    you should not even call it vulnerability because that gives you a terrible loophole to leverage against any valid criticisms about your posts. And there have been valid criticisms that you have deleted that do not even fall within the category of pure hate

    A terrible loophole? What can you validly criticize about a memoir? Were you there? Your arguments are bizarre. We don’t wait until the point of “pure hate” until we delete. This is a private site and we moderate aggressively; if this bothers you, you might want to visit a different space, one which is more agreeable to you.