I want to become a formidable woman.
The thought strikes me as Mr Beloved’s phone rings for the second time with the same unknown number flashing across the screen. He’s asleep in another room, heavily dosed with four different drugs thanks to a fever spike that set in prior to ward rounds today evening. Miraculously, he managed to get out of doing the rounds and sleep in the residents’ room before I went to get him. I’m guessing Christmas-New Year break must mean lesser patient load and admissions in general. I was able to go pick him up around 8, but as luck could have it, the heavens decided out of the blue that we had had enough of our dry winter spell and drenched me in due process while I was on my way, and he ended up taking a rickshaw after all.
Anyhow, after almost an hour of incoherent muttering about various aches and pains, he managed to finally sleep after having some dinner. And just as I sat down to get some work done, his damn phone rings. I hear that Portugal recently made it illegal for bosses to call you after working hours. Good for them. I don’t see this happening any time soon for India. Heck, I don’t see it EVER happening for doctors in India. For what really is a doctor but a ragdoll that’s expected to serve humanity every minute of the day? Who cares about our well-being or peace of mind anyway? It’s not as if healers are humans.
Okay, maybe I should stop digressing and put all that particular bitterness into another post.
The phone call, yes.
I picked up the phone the second time around and duly informed what seemed to be a young clueless postgraduate that my husband was sick and sleeping. He apologised and hung up. That’s when I thought long and hard about becoming a formidable woman.
I like the type in movies. I guess that’s one female character trope that I actually enjoy in a way. The woman who everyone is afraid of. No, not the scary monster kind. The kind who stands up to moneylenders when they turn up looking for their husbands, or make questionable remarks to the dean when her son fails a test, or unabashedly defends anyone related to her. The kind that all men, for once, seem to he afraid of crossing. Mrs Weasley comes to mind.
I wonder if there is a name for that kind of thing. I wanted to say tiger wife, but then a random website tells me that it’s not as original a term as I was hoping for and that it doesn’t necessarily mean what I want it to mean. (Google tells me there’s also something called a tiger woman, who’s something of a hypersexual woman single-mindedly pursuing men. I’m guessing cougar and nymphomaniac were not enough words to describe such mythical creatures borne of male imagination)
Well, I wish I could be that kind of a woman. MB is obviously not capable of making the right choices about work-life balance and maybe I should step in periodically to scare his colleagues away. That would be quite swell. Him being knocked out also gives me a great excuse to begin honing my skills right now I suppose.
Toxic workplaces, here I come.