Around this time last year, the Delhi government announced that pillionriders must compulsorily wear helmets. The day after the announcementappeared in the papers, my neighbour, Manjit, appeared at my door, huffingand puffing. "Have you heard the latest ji?" she asked to an accompanimentby my armchair's springs, squeaking their protest musically. "Will you havesome tea?" I asked. Manjit usually unburdens herself without anyencouragement on my part.

"No ji, this government is too interfering. They have so many problems toworry about ji, but here they are, telling us to wear helmets. Ladies cannotwear helmets ji. All the hairstyles get spoilt na?"

I eyed her sternly. This was something I felt strongly about, and here I hada captive audience. There was no way Manjit was going to be able to get outof that chair in less than five minutes. But Manjit was too well gone tonotice my stare or otherwise. I decided to let it go. Not so Manjit. "Lookji, we are taking out a protest march at the government office. All of usladies. You must join us. They are interfering in our rights, ji."

"Rights to what?" I cut in. "Right to die? Manjit, what do you think helmetsare for? They are to protect you if you have an accident."

"I don't know all that ji. But I can tell you the last time the policewalastopped us, we were fined so much money for being without helmets, I triedone the next time and you should have seen my hair when I went for Bunty'swedding. I could not take off my dupatta ji, even when we came out of thegurdwara."

I changed the topic. Anyway, Manjit was proved right. For in the next fewdays, the courts did uphold the rights of women to die, hairdo intact, ofcourse!

The other day, the son, who once in a while indulges in a frenzied bout ofTV-gawking, started conversationally at the dinner table: "Mom, what'skanyadaan?" That being the name of a new soap opera of thetears-and-heaving-bosom kind that my mother delights in I decided it wastime Hindu tradition-of which I am a member only courtesy the census-wasexplained to him in its most exemplary form. So I began my diatribe aboutthe high status women enjoyed under the original laws of Hinduism, and thatbeing so, how the daan of a kanya ensured for her father a place among thegods, no matter what other sins he may have notched up against his name.

I was just leading up to how, therefore, it was the ambition of every man tohave a daughter so that his sins could be expiated in one go, when themother (mine), who had been holding her breath in fury all this timeexpelled it in a hiss: "Yes, yes, give his daughter as a free servant forthe man, plus pay him handsomely for the privilege." The son looked at mequizzically. I shrugged my shoulders. Well, it was no use him being the onlyman in the world who thought women were something extra!

A recent sanitary napkin ad that beams on television these days-at the mostunsuitable times on television, I must say, usually during that little lullin the conversation, and all eyes and ears are for once fixed on theTV-shows a woman busting an age-old myth: A menstruating woman cannot makepickles rot. That's it, just two seconds for her, and think how manycenturies of female conspiracy she has blown to shreds. As long as menbelieved that menstruating women must not enter the kitchen, women enjoyedfive full days of rest every month! Now, not only must they put up with thatoft-ridiculed-by-men phenomenon the world calls PMS, plus cramps, plus thedeadly nuisance of it all that not even the most sophisticated sanitarynapkin can allay, they must also go to work as usual and come back and cookdinner for the family.

In fact, with all due respect for the leaders of the suffragette movement, Imust agree reluctantly with the men when they say that women do not thinkout a matter fully before rushing headlong into it. I mean, equality withmen is all very well, but did we have to take on their work in addition toours? Couldn't a simple exchange have been worked out?

An article in a recent issue of a popular current affairs weekly states thatmen are dying out as a breed. That they are soon reaching the point wherewomen were before their so-called emancipation. But I am sure they willmanage affairs better than we did. In the 22nd century, we are not going tosee men opting for pregnancy or maternity leave, no sir!

My own extra special edition of budding manhood has not taken too kindly toa little girl-his own classmate-whom we introduced into the home on atemporary basis a few months ago. As a sturdy 11-year-old, he stoutly deniesanything female the right to exist. A month of skirmishes later, he hotlyvoiced his indignation to me: "It's all very well for women to want equalityand all that rot, but then they mustn't want the best seats, or first go atthe ice cream. Equality means equality, not ladies first." Like I said, whenyou cut off your nose to spite your face.