Songshaari: I tried to find a befitting English word to replace it -- homemaker seemed too professional, domesticated sounded dominated and homely, was well, it did not live up to the grandiose of "songshaari." Now, "songshaari" is a Bengali word and must not be confused with the much in vogue Hindi "sanskaari." While the later is a dictionary in itself, full of convoluted meanings, "songshaari" is a favourite word with the Bongs.
Let us see, vaguely, what it implies: If you are "songshaari," in all probabilities, you are a woman, fair wrists complete with red and white bangles which jingle as you put the bottle back in the fridge and place the glass on the coaster when you serve it to someone. You see, it is a combination of knowledge, common-sense and manners, but somehow, it is perceived as the paanch-foron (five spices) called, "songshaari." It is the knowledge of handy things conducted in a dainty supervision. I will give you some examples. You see, a "songshaari" person will somehow (experience, or inheritance, not magically!) know, that there is only one way to place the bay-leaves box -- next to the dried red chillies one. Get it? That all things tea, are clustered together in either an ascending, or descending, or circular, or modular way. Draped in her taant (Bengal cotton), bathed from the morning, khunti (ladle) in hand, when she says that neem leaves and napthalene balls inside an empty suitcase keep it from stale smells, we tend to fall in love with her modus operandi.
It is another thing altogether, that someone like me, let us examine -- clad in a hoodie which either reads the lyrics of a song, or the name of the institute which made me "otiriktto shikhhito," (excessively educated) moving around in my cargos, complete with socks and Nike, and the watch (in place of her pendant), hair roughly pulled into a top bun, and the earring bang on its place -- does the same. You see, there is hardly any presentation. Huh. I should have known that the mutton I cooked tasted better in my wedded status than in my divorced one. Why? Well, I honestly don't know. In fact, now, I even heat the mustard oil better. Shrug.
It is also another absolutely different thing when a man of the house is adept in the dainty supervisions. He, as opposed to our fair woman, should not be. Simply. A man should not (not cannot) be "songshaari." It makes him interfering, womanly, irritiating and well, unmanly (which is not the same as womanly). Somehow, the fair woman, alright, she too can be in her comfort wear and not so fair demeanour, takes to it like a bee making honey -- she is the queen of her little world of four walls and the kitchen is her sanctum sanctorium.
Often, it is quite relaxing to have such a woman around, who gets things done without you even asking for it. It makes me wish for a maid (did you think wife?). But she also claims (perhaps correctly), that there is a difference in how things are done by the maid because she told her to. Right. Such cases make one long for a wife, who, like the successful event manager that Mr Banerjee, or Events Anytime is, can whip up any occasion from chandipaath to, you know the rest. Everything about her is acceptable, and why not, who would not like to return home to a steaming dinner? Except for those (as she would say) "forgivable" moments when she chooses to place a red mark on my "shongshaari" report card. She and other olders of her kind approve of my diligence in getting things done, and "Why not? She better! She is neither married, nor has any responsibility!"
True, and alarmingly so. If I choose to remain clean, why should it be anything else, but because I can afford to devote the time to it -- because I have no other responsibility? When I make my own tiffin, of course, that is only because I have no child to rear. When I fashion my life insurance, I do it purely and precisely because I do not have a husband's shirt to stitch buttons on. Things like queueing up for banking and cursing in traffic are my choices because I did not invest in becoming "shongshaari." And oh, paintings on my wall are absolutely not because of my aesthetics. They are there because in-laws are not.
Strangely, as I write, I know what "shongshaari" readers feel: "We have so much to do in the mornings, breakfast, run after our children, follow the servant, that such frivolities do not find time in us!" Thank you. The rest of the readers, beware, you are reading -- in an age when reading has faded, taken time out to indulge in a piece of an unknown, unpublished person/woman, who rants -- it speaks a lot about your levels of your being "shongshaari."
PS: You are welcome to my house anytime I am home. Even if I won't be able to cook you a lunch comprising five items on the menu, two will be enough to satiate your hunger and soul. And the rest of the time, you can encourage me to write better over the cup of tea we sip. What would you like? Honey-lemon, milk, rose, ginger, jasmine, mountain-flowers? I have 'em all, "shongshaari" or not.
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