Column | Gulkand ice cream and ambition

I had just finished my first year at medical school, and was visiting Phuphee for the summer holidays. The days were hot but a constant breeze made the heat tolerable, even pleasurable at times. One such hot, breezy afternoon, an elderly gentleman and his wife arrived.

When it was hot, Phuphee usually made ice cream. She would put together all sorts of flavours, depending on her mood and on what the wind told her to expect — in terms of the people who would come seeking guidance. Early that morning, I had helped her churn cream for the gulkand ice cream she was making.

We were sitting in the garden, under the shade of a giant chinar tree, when the couple walked in. She greeted them and asked what had brought them to see her.

‘We are a little embarrassed by what we have come to seek help for,’ the gentleman began. ‘You see, we have a son. He is married and has a four-year-old son. Our daughter-in-law is a teacher, and she works in the local school. Our son is a teacher, too. Everything has been well so far, by the grace of Allah, but now our daughter-in-law has decided that she wants to study further.’

‘For this she will have to travel to Srinagar and stay there for at least three to four days every week. The child cannot go with her for obvious reasons. She is proposing that the child stay with us on the days she travels. It is not feasible for our family. Our daughter-in-law has refused to listen to our pleas. We need your help. Could you speak to her and explain how the child will suffer, and how the family will break down.’

Phuphee sat quietly before turning to the gentleman’s wife. ‘Tche kyah chekh dapaan [what do you say]?’

‘I don’t know what kind of mother even considers leaving her child behind to go off and do some degree. She has degrees, what does she need more for? Yei chaa sonchanas laayak kanh kath [is this something to even think about]?’ she replied, clearly very cross.

Phuphee asked the maid to prepare some lemonade, but to bring the ice cream first. She served generous portions for all of us. As we sat there quietly, lost in the cold treat, scraping the bowl to make sure none of the deliciousness got left behind, I thought about what could be done to prevent the daughter-in-law from leaving. Then, the gentlemen broke the silence.

‘Waariyah asal [very good],’ he said, putting the bowl down.

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ replied Phuphee. ‘But you know the purpose of a rose is not to end up in a cold treat, it is to bloom in a garden. We are human beings and we like to control everything around us, even the destinies of beautiful flowers. And though the cold treat is delicious, and it has cooled us down on this hot day, it is wise to remember and acknowledge that what we did to it is a form of violence.’

The elderly couple looked confused at first, but you could see their faces soften a little as they understood.

‘I will speak to her in a couple of days,’ Phuphee told them. With that they left.

‘How will you convince her?’ I asked.

‘I will not try to convince her to stay,’ she replied.

‘Why? How can she leave her child and her family?’ I asked.

Phuphee sat there, looking at me silently.

‘Would you ask the same question if it was the father who had decided to go and pursue a degree in Srinagar?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘But she is a mother. Aren’t mothers meant to want to stay with their children and families?’

‘But she isn’t leaving them, is she? She is choosing to fulfil a dream she has,’ Phuphee said.

‘Do you know in the 50 years that I have been doing this, not once has anyone come and said can you stop this or that man from fulfilling an ambition he has. Not once. It astonishes me even now, after having spent nearly 70 years on this Earth that women are judged in every single step they take. It is exhausting. A woman is a good mother only if she constantly puts her children first, a good daughter if she puts her parents first, a good wife if she puts her husband first. When in her life is she allowed to put herself first? As long as she keeps sacrificing everything she has, she is ‘good’. But what is tragic is that if we apply the same logic to men, we will find that not one man passes the test of being a good man. Women shouldn’t have to be good just because they are women.’

I felt uncomfortable upon hearing this. She had just sowed the seeds of an internal battle that would take root and keep growing for the rest of my adult life.

‘Boaz myoan gaash [listen, light of my eyes],’ she said, holding both my hands in hers. ‘Ask yourself this. Why does it make her ‘bad’ in any way if she chooses to go and pursue her degree? Men go away all the time, leaving behind families, to pursue whatever they wish. They are called ambitious. In this case, the child will be well looked after by one parent and there are two grandparents to help. I don’t see the problem.’

‘I want you to remember that aspirations, desires, ambitions, hopes and dreams have no gender, but for reasons known and unknown, a man with ambition is to be admired but a woman with ambition deprives the world of a maid and is an inconvenience. A woman does not stop thirsting or hungering because she has children or a husband. Like any other human being, her needs remain the same.’

Saba Mahjoor, a Kashmiri living in England, spends her scant free time contemplating life’s vagaries.