Boys will be Boys but Girls have to be Women

Roop, his better-half, smiles her agreement, telling you about her family of four sisters and one brother. But she is quick to point out that she never felt deprived. And the unwritten code that forbade the sisters from staying the night out did not rankle them either.

This admission brings a smile to her daughter, Simer’s face. You see, nights out are still a taboo for this Class XI student. A fact that her younger brother Mehtaab, who has just stepped into Class VII, acknowledges with a grin. Sukhpal admits to being very possessive about his daughter. ‘‘I guess it runs in our blood,’’ he says wryly before hastening to clarify that it has got nothing to do with the son-is-supreme syndrome. Roop agrees: ‘‘For us, our children are equally dear. In fact, my husband tends to indulge Simer more than Mehtab.’’

Incidentally, the name plate outside their palatial house bears the name of Sukhpal, his father and Mehtab. ‘‘My son insisted on it,’’ Sukhpal laughs. Ask Mehtab and he gives a shy smile before disarming you with: ‘‘I think I’ve come of age.’’

Coming back to the restrictions reserved only for girls, the couple say these are born out of fear. ‘‘One mistake can ruin a girl’s reputation for life, a boy has nothing to lose,’’ they chorus. ‘‘He can commit a thousand transgressions and still be canonised,’’ Sukhpal sighs, while coming down heavily on the wave of permissiveness sweeping society.

Emancipation, thunders the man who took on Bibi Jagir Kaur in the recent Assembly elections, lies in education, not in skimpy clothes. ‘‘It pains me when I see mothers encouraging their daughters to ape so-called high fashion.’’ Short skirts may be out for Simer, but she can wear the latest in trousers and tops.

Ask her what she thinks about all this, and father Sukhpal stands up. ‘‘Go on,’’ he says, leaving the room to take a call, ‘‘speak your mind.’’ Simer does that in her quiet confident way. She has enough freedom, she tells you. ‘‘I can go out for lunch with my friends; I can see movies with them, I don’t think I am missing out much.’’ No, she does not demand late nights. ‘‘My parents’ reputation depends on me,’’ she half-smiles as a delighted Roop says: ‘‘She is very mature for her age.’’

Kiran Bedi is the role model for this beauty. Dad is a one too, but she does not want to follow in his footsteps. Mehtab does. This tall boy has just one ambition: to be a politician. Not just any politician, but a prime minister.

Sukhpal, who overhears his son, guffaws with appreciation. When asked whether he would like his daughter to join politics, he lets out a sharp ‘no.’ ‘‘There is no decorum there, no respect for women, I don’t want to see my daughter being jostled around at rallies,’’ he says fiercely. Papa dear is protective indeed. Which is why love marriage for his darling is also a big no-no. So what if he himself tied a love knot at the age of 21. ‘‘He saw me at an ice-cream parlour,’’ Roop simpers even as Sukhpal quickly steers the conversation to less mushy grounds. ‘‘We were from the same background, the same religion, caste..,’’ he reasons.

An early marriage is what they have planned for their daughter if ‘‘she doesn’t do anything.’’ ‘‘I think the ideal age is 20 or so for girls and 24 to 25 for boys,’’ says Sukhpal.

Both are equally traditional when it comes to issues like division of property. So, Roop cannot even think of staking claim to her father’s land. ‘‘It belongs to my brother,’’ she says. This is one sentiment that Sukhpal would like his daughter to emulate. ‘‘That’s the way we’ve been brought up,’’ he justifies.

This sacrosanct custom, however, has got nothing to do with the notion that sons are the pillars on which parents can rest in old age. ‘‘That is bunkum,’’ says Sukhpal. ‘‘Nowadays, I find more and more girls looking after their parents.’’

Some things never change.