The Jasmine in Her Hair
What my mother saw, her rage, and the invisible disparity among women.
Note: I don’t hate men at all, whatsoever. Real, secure men, know how the world is designed for men by men — — a personal testament from many that I know. I know how much the system hurts both women and men, but here I’m focusing on one argument. This is written from the perspective of the South Asian diaspora but can be attributed to several immigrant cultures.
The jasmine in her hair is the symbol of her large heart and naive soft nature. The flower embraces a beautiful fragrance, embodying aspects of purity, delicacy, youthfulness, prosperity, and beauty.
The invisible disparity is a widespread understanding among women. You don’t have to share strife or even dump your trauma, women just know that this exists worldwide.
It’s not about being a victim, it’s about the mental load of this invisible norm carried everywhere. It’s in our daily struggles, the prowess of our sexuality being abused, the constant stares, and the lack of discipline in a world designed for men.
Without us they say, there would be a void — a lack of energy. However, with us, we’re unbearable and deemed insignificant, and that's why manipulation tactics are on the rise within the realm of relationships.
The jasmine in her hair falls, when the world doesn’t preserve her innocence.
My mother’s story highlights how societal conditioning can lead women to dark places.
The conditioning I'm referring to, is the one where limiting beliefs such as “life is hard,” or “just get her master’s done so she can get married” or “hitting the wall after 30” comes into play.
She’s had a lot of rage inside of her, knowing how much pushed her back in life. Many of the relatives and neighbors she knew while growing up, played their part in it. She’s a naive, soft individual, with a large heart.
A naive, soft woman with a large heart, is a recipe for disaster.
In the wise words of my mother, who’s now learning about the invisible disparity, declares that “women should be selfish.”
The story is pretty interesting where it comes from.
Shimla has a lot of small-town vibes.
Its romantic architecture was inspired by the British raj’s fantasy of a summer vacation spot.
However, in a place like Shimla, there isn’t much room for growth. The only growth there is, is to continue to see families grow. The institutions are known for their own caliber across India, so while it has its perks, the academic system of India and its one-dimensional view, made it easier to feel stuck.
That’s exactly what my mother was facing.
She’s always been soft-hearted, knowing how much her parents worked hard in order to give her and her brother a decent life. My nanaji, was a gentle soul, but also didn’t have boundaries when it comes to people pleasing — — more than that, when it came to pleasing his siblings.
He had to harbor more responsibility as the oldest child from a very young age, as I’ve depicted here in his intricate life story, Dreams of my Grandfather.
As the oldest child, the disadvantages are real. The most major one is how Westernization turned all collectivist societies more selfish, where there’s a lack of unity. My nanaji paid the price for how the rest of his siblings turned out more selfish, where they paved the way to come to the U.S., and forgot about where they came from.
The most notable figure for proving that selfishness, is my nanaji’s brother, Jaggi, and his wife.
When my mother grew up, being naive, she didn’t learn the world around her as much.
She had parents that cared, and she grew up working hard, but it was always followed by a lack of self-esteem and confidence.
There were so many chances where she could have taken a risk, and changed the course of her life. She was too afraid to. There were neighbors who put her down for not being talented in math or science but were envious of her ability to analyze intuitively and write like no other. Societally, they encouraged my mother to be a perfectionist and not a risk-taker.
When she got to college, there were men who were 20 years older than her, admiring her soft dainty appeal, but who weren’t head over heels for her. The backstory of her family delivered so many limiting beliefs, that all of it transcended to the most significant part of her life — — her marriage.
As they say for women, marriage can either upgrade you or derail you.
The marriage was arranged, from believing that she would hit the wall after 30, so she settled, and the person my mother chose, was out of the same lack of self-esteem and confidence. So the father I have today is a reflection of all of it.
My father introduced her to the toxicity of life.
It shattered the naive, softness she had, inducing loneliness like no other. She had no sisterhood to confide in, as a daughter, I navigated her struggles with her, while the families nearby would either mock her or put her down — — to the point where she thought about giving up on life. That’s where I saw, there’s a special place in hell for the women who don’t uplift each other. To be real, the same women who mocked her had the same struggles — they were mostly “pick-me” women who didn’t realize how much they were compensating in life.
Most women who acknowledge the rage inside of them, and how their expression is curtailed, know the feeling of being “easy prey” within the jungle.
She felt that my whole paternal side considered her easy prey, where her existence was shredded apart, to be easily molded and controlled. She lost her hair, her figure, her ability to dissect, and most of all, her autonomy.
Her rage, and the politics of Jaggi and his wife.
Jaggi and his wife came to the U.S, to embody certain American values that weren’t true. The first one is, how selfishness is key — — to the point where they wouldn’t be a cosigner for my mother to enroll in grad school here, years prior.
They took the elements of traditional desi politics and merged it with selfishness, to prove to certain relatives that would have otherwise helped my mother in times of need, that she is less than others.
However, in this entire game, I truly admired something, as it speaks volumes to the conditioning of my mother versus the conditioning of Jaggi’s wife.
My mother was conditioned to be a perfectionist, but Jaggi’s wife was conditioned to be a risk-taker. She took numerous risks, attached herself to the goals she wanted to achieve instead of people, and won.
Jaggi’s wife won because she was emotionally disciplined to be selfish.
Aside from the many problematic parts of this story, there’s a big lesson about the invisible disparity here.
The invisible disparity is the reason why women today have 500K to a million less in lifetime savings. It’s also the reason why we have the wage gap, a pink tax, and the emotional, mental, and physical overload of a household is often unrecognized nor paid for.
Sexual assault is now a common scenario for women, with a lack of discipline for p*rn and other things that make women a commodity.
It’s the little things and the big things that highlight how women are second-class citizens. So the rage that I’ve felt by my mother and personally is well and alive.
Dating and relationships are vulnerable places, where women have left dating more knowing how the world works against them. However, Jaggi’s wife demonstrates how we should be more attached to our goals in all aspects of life. The biggest lesson is to have a healthy dose of self-centeredness — — be self-focused. The rest of society trains men to think this way, so why not train women?
We often lose at the game of life, because of our inherent conditioning.
We often lose at the game of life, because we don’t have unshakable confidence.
The rage of not winning at life would lead you to give up.
So in the wise words of my mother, “women should be more selfish.”
The jasmine that fell onto the earth, as the broken pieces of her heart, couldn’t return to its original grace.
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