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The
Landscape of Being Properly Improper
But
am I even a real feminist?
I
certainly don't "look" like one or so they say. What is all
my adornment about? Could it be resistance to cultural and
societal demands? Protest to all that is dark within me? Elimination
of purity and all that is symbolises in order to allow myself
to be impure? Could the mascara, the eyeliner, the rouge,
the powder, the lipstick, the jewelry, the clothes really
mean all this or is it simply adornment for the approval and
attention of men? Or is it both? Can one adorn oneself each
morning and then look at the reflection in the mirror and
say, "I am a feminist."? What is the reaction of others? Especially
other feminists?
"I am a feminist," -- silence.
"I am a feminist," -- shock.
Why is there always the ""proper" and who determines it? There
is the "proper" Punjabi daughter, the "proper" Punjabi daughter-in-law,
the "proper" Punjabi mother, the "proper" Punjabi mother-in-law,
the "proper" Punjabi wife, and even the "proper" Punjabi widow.
And in my experiences, there is the "proper" Indo-Canadian
woman, the "proper" minority woman, the "proper" teacher,
the "proper" vice-principal and there seems to be the "proper"
feminist. I have always felt excluded from all of these groups
not because of my actions, but because of the many, often
silent, re-actions.
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in the Terrains |
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Trying to translate and re-translate the tangled terrains in
order to determine my own space within THEIR and Their confines.
The curtains open, but I am no longer just looking on, suddenly
I am also in the play, the actress playing the other part --
the improper part. Writing poetic language-writing-contradictions-disobediently.
Knowing the rules and knowing the injustices of those rules.
Flying out momentarily somewhere in the beyond and then returning
only to begin again improperly in the next act. In the next
play. Tangled in a marginalized existence in between two landscapes
under the close scrutiny of two CULTures and the one in the
beyond. |
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How could she be a feminist
Just look at her adorned in
make-up and jewellery. They
stare at her and she loves the
attention. | | |
Puzzling
the Pieces "Properly"
She
picks up the dis
placed pieces of her fineness, of her immorality, of her resistance,
the celestial light, the improper Punjabi woman, the improper
feminist,
the teacher, the French/English teacher, the English/French
teacher,
the vice-principal, the teaching vice-principal, the vice-principaling
teacher.
All the pieces flying and whirling into de-constructive chaos.
Self-creating the selves,
the selves creating, and created and re-creating.
She tries desperately to run after them and ahead of them
and around them,
to catch them and hold them down.
To gather them, colonize them, rule them.
To fit them all together in their "proper" marginalized hybrid
places,
But each time, the spaces have changed once again
from one CULTure to another, to the other.
Praying them into proper places.
Dreaming them into decent directions.
Negotiating them into kneaded niches.
The pieces refuse relentlessly.
She catches the corner and dangles them into some darkened
doorway
dropping them into abysmal depths
never to be reclaimed again.
Not even by the Keepers of the Laws.
The deviating pieces dutifully destroyed.
The unidentifiable constructed and re-constructing identities
conveniently erased.
The remains for THEM and Them to place with "proper" pride
I am a proper-improper Punjabi woman
I am a proper-improper vice-principal
I am a proper-improper feminist
Trying carefully to unfit my-selves improperly into "proper"
predetermined places.
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