The myth of the metrosexual parent

Apparently, there exists a species called the ‘metrosexual parent'. And this species is, apparently, happily prospering in India. Super. Lead me to one such. I may doff my hat to this remarkable entity. Or call him a liar to his face.

He may be performing all his maternal duties, but (if he is a working professional like me) the odds are 10 to one that these are but acts of necessity. For it is not easy to be a masculine single parent in India.

It is not just a mindset. It is a way of life. I recall how stressful it was when my daughter was very young and I was trying to bring her up alone. My wife was working abroad. I was juggling work and school and household chores, and that would be okay with just a bit of occupational leeway. Schools being what they are, I would suddenly receive a note in Manaswi's (my daughter's) school almanac asking me to come over during working hours, to pay the fees, to attend counseling, etc. The fun would start when I asked for leave from the powers that be. A blank look would be followed by the stereotypical query”, Can't the mother go?” or even better,” Sir, this is not gent's work”. In short, you leave work for this purpose under duress.

The problem would be compounded by me having to pick up my daughter from school every day. Not once was I not made to feel guilty, as if I was shirking work. And I will dare say it; my feminine colleagues never faced any such problems. Several assumptions are being made here. Firstly, the mother is the de facto home maker, even if she is working. Secondly (the impression given was only too obvious) if your wife is not performing these filial duties, then you are a) a weak husband b) a divorcee c) a widower. And none of these are the institute's problems.

It is not just the work place where you encounter this bias. Manaswi and I moved into a new house when she was five. It was Holi. What better time to show my little one how the whole friendly neighbour thingy works? So we decked up in traditional, put a little gulaal and some sweets on a thali and went knocking on doors. Imagine my consternation and anger when most people took one look at us and slammed doors. One blessed fellow opened his door to shout “, we are not buying anything!” I will never forget the shock and hurt on my daughter's face. And her subsequent confusion as a lonely little spectator from our balcony, she watched the children of the society play with colours. With just their mothers in tow.