Give me good mothers and I shall give you a great nation— Napoleon Bonaparte
“Pitiful women”, a painfully honest piece of writing and brutally straightforward, brilliantly written but sad insight into the lives of the eastern women, in our society, and possibly so many others alike, the role of Mothers here, and our women’s sheer lack of ambition, followed by the writer’s sorrow and her words of wisdom, was written by Rida Iqtadar and got published in The Daily Times on July 24, 2017.
As soon as I finished reading the article, I emailed her to express my thank you for talking about something very important and something that we should all be thinking about. I shared how this was something that I have always said and excited that someone has finally put this out there. I, then, went on to ask her permission to share her article and future content on my blog and my LinkedIn. Rida Iqtadar very sweetly said yes, for which I’m grateful, and told me that the issue was bugging her for so many days. I decided to share her article in writing here. According to her, when you write from heart, your voice finds way into someone else’s.
And, now, here is her voice
Whenever I see a woman wasting her energies on manipulating domestic situations, befooling people with her strategic “look busy do nothing”, making conspiracies, watching mindless soaps, backbiting, or spending extravagantly on clothes and cosmetics only to maintain her false pretence, anger wells up inside me triggered by pity and sorrow. Such a waste of life should be a punishable crime. I always end up wondering who is to be held responsible if not the woman herself?. Only one in, say, 10 maybe is different and may insist to have other tastes as well such as reading books, but most of the women are run-of-the-mill sort with average minds and ordinary preferences.
Unfortunately, a woman hardly dreams beyond finding a suitable man for marriage in our society. How can a girl’s mind be not confined by such limits when her parents, too, send her to university only to augment her chances of finding a good proposal? How many of us see a woman becoming an entrepreneur after her MBA, for example? We may find many doctors being settled as housewives. And by not taking their professional degree seriously, they not only have wasted the number of seats against which the male candidates may have been selected but also the revenue that is spent on them during their MBBS. See how, the pursuit of marriage is deemed far more important for girls than any other pursuit in life, may it be education or profession or both!.
The pitiable scope of their dreams is one reason; improper training at home is another significant factor contributing to a woman’s sorrowful state. Only a sensible mother can train a sensible daughter. When she only masters her daughter in the lethal use of tongue than the skilful use of brain, what more can we expect from her in return other than conniving and backbiting?. Observing the regretful situation of majority of mothers in our society, one may prefer children to be guarded against their influence lest the mothers should mend their ways.
Napoleon Bonaparte’s famous quotation says it all, “Give me good mothers and I shall give you a great nation,”. If a mother does not train her daughter as adequately as it is required, how would her daughter be a good mother in return?. We mothers are far behind what our duties demand of us, and we women are far behind what potentially we are capable of. We may spend a lifetime grooming our outer self by dressing up in costly and latest in-trend clothes, but we hardly know that these things do not matter in real. What genuinely count are pure thoughts, well-informed speech, sincere behaviour, and the capacity to grow into individuals capable enough to live as independent as to rely least on external support.
I admire working women because in my opinion, they are far more skilful in managing their household than ordinary housewives. I have seen them creating a successful balance between their home life and work. Given the time constraints and a tight schedule to follow, a working woman would be more attentive to her work, and would hardly leave any flaw behind while getting the job done as compared to her easy going fellow at home. I do not count the exception in the non-working class; there may be many who perform extraordinary. To counter my opinion, the targeted class of women may protest and raise a list of objections. For instance, the lazy category may say that this amount of work is highly demanding. A woman should not be expected to work like a donkey. While the emotional blackmailer category may say that to do this much would affect their health badly, they are fragile and are not biologically designed to toil away. Happy-go-lucky is another category of women who, when are asked to do anything, their highnesses get as offended as to force their husbands to kneel on their knees and ask for forgiveness. In the presence of servants, I wonder where the housewives spend their time, if not on shopping, sleeping and gossiping over long miserable phone calls. Whereas, a working woman values her time more, for she has to manage expertly at least double the amount of work any housewife may do her whole day. Moreover, earning herself, a working woman knows the value of money. She may think twice before spendong on not-so-essential things.
Today, a woman is as ignorant as to have underestimated her own self. God gifted with absolute forbearance, daunting courage, and matchless skills for multitasking, she hardly realizes her potential. To live a day-to-day life from waking up to a morning show to sharing of the latest gossip before sleeping at night, from the care of breakfast to the trouble of deciding a dinner menu should not be the routine of a woman’s clock.
–By Rida Iqtadar–
Miss Rida Iqtadar has another article coming up in a few days, more of a reporting on Jane Austen than an opinion-based writing. When it does, I will update this post with the link.
— Miss Rida Iqtadar is a lecturer and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org —Jane Austen