Room of one's own

Room of one's own : Virginia Woolf

I remember reading her in narrow lanes of an old library. It was an old book; tattered pieces. I was aware of the scepticism I felt regarding feminists books. Woolf was ready to argue for women and her rights. But I was feeling dejected with life and I wanted to read some fierce article seeking my place, my thoughts and my views. Woolf did not disappoint me at all.

By the end I was convinced I needed a room of my own.

This was three years ago, when I had read her work. Three years later I still never got the room, I remember coming back and staring at my parents room. I went and stared at the kitchen and stared at it for good 10 minutes. The kitchen, where the most important work was done : cooking. I would be there one day , trying to hold on to some thought.

But now I needed a room. A room not just devoid of disturbance, a room devoid of responsibilities, a room devoid of cynicism. In short I was aware of the fact that I was demanding a room of thoughts.

I am still romanticising this room, but am sure this room exists somewhere.

Why do I need a room, for the fact that I am not a painter, I do pretend to be one sometimes in my mind and sometimes in my life, but no where near being chaotic and messy. I do try my hand at writings sometimes, I write for 10 minutes and then I see my words and my mind travelling to an another zone, yes I have a small attention span, so there goes the art of writing. But I still sometimes  crave for this so called room where I could just lie down and stare at wall and think of these great great great thoughts.

There have been time when I think of thoughts, and then by the time I finish all my work and come back to write it, it melts away. As someone rightly said there is something about a great idea, one needs to write it down as soon as it is planted. Or it will be lost in the valley of thoughts.

“What does the brain matter compared with the heart?

So I take care of myself, I take care of home, I take care of food, I take care of family. No, no; this is not a Victorian set up . This is what happens in everyday life.

The idea keeps floating. And one keeps holding on to this great thought which floats around. I am not the first one who is going through this, Kamala Das had to wait for night to set in to write, Jane Austin had to hide her manuscripts.I am way better than these women, I am allowed to think and I am allowed to write also. Just that I am not able to find the time to write it. Excuses, petty excuses.

I am not stating anything which is out of the ordinary, these things happen all the time, but what does not happen is repetition of these problems in the 21^st century . Nothing has changed with time. Women are still playing the roles of home-makers; With time, we have become even more super-human.We are playing double and triple roles. I don’t think so we ever inherited any room. We inherited multiple rooms with multiple complexities. Our roles and duties increased.

Woolf when she was debating for a room of her own, I repeat she was not seeking for space, she was seeking for an idea where women were the producers of thoughts. Where women instead of being the care-takers, were the Einstein of their times. Women were not responsible for a man's success, woman themselves were success.

I still have not found the room.