My daily vocabulary has included the words cooking, sewing and husband more in the past couple of days than it has in the past year and there’s a really simple explanation for it, grandma’s come to visit.

As I sat down with my nani (grandma) for a quality session of making a thaal (a platter we south Asians decorate with food to display at a series of pre-wedding events), the conversation quickly turned from how to best rearrange the floral shaped pastries onto the platter to how I should really learn to cook for my (non-existent) husband.

I say non-existent because well, I’m not married. I’m not close to marriage, I haven’t found myself a potential spouse, I haven’t even begun to look for a spouse. I mean, I’m closer to removing the peach fuzz off my face with a men’s razor than I am to getting married to an actual male-person. It’s still an alien concept to me.

“If you don’t learn how to cook, what will you have to offer your husband?”

 

Ouch.

Right, what do I have to offer my husband? Won’t my pleasant company and sarcastic humour be enough to please thy husband? Won’t my love for a late night KFC drive-thru make for excellent company? I’m a really good movie buddy, I just sit there and watch the damn thing and don’t make annoying commentary throughout – that’s always helpful when looking for a life partner that will inevitably be your movie buddy by default.

What else do I have to offer? Won’t my compassion be enough? Will he go to sleep resenting me because even though I stayed awake and helped him finish his presentation at 2am in the morning, despite making sure his tie matched his shirt for his big meeting, even though I planned him a surprise birthday dinner, I talked to him about his worries well into the night, I let him rest his head on my shoulders to relieve his tensions, I guess I didn’t offer him much because well, I couldn’t cook him a damn curry.

Sorry husband, my bad.

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Before I am someone’s wife, I am someone’s daughter. I am someone’s sister. I am someone’s friend. I am an individual. So why am I being told that I don’t amount to much because I can’t offer something to someone who doesn’t exist for me. I am reminded that my true worth lies under my use of kitchen utensils and what I have to offer my husband.

No grandma, I’m worth more.

My self-worth cannot begin when I know I’m able to feed my husband a number of delicacies. I know that I’m worth more in the way I show empathy, the way I look after my loved ones. The way I tend to my friends worries, the way I help out my aging parents. The way I commit to my career aspirations, the way I pick myself up when I’m down. I know that I’m worth more for my speech, for my thoughts, for my love and compassion, not for the way I know how to cook a chicken jalfrezi for a husband I don’t yet have.

It’s so important to teach your daughters that they are worth more as individuals than as the many labels they get given in life. What will I be worth if I don’t ever get married? Will you resent me? Will I be a nuisance, an obstacle, a burden.

I’m not mad at my grandmother for telling me that I’m not enough. I wish she had someone to tell her that she was enough. That she was kind, compassionate, courageous, courteous and empathetic. I wish someone had told her that her childhood years were just for being a child, unapologetically. I wish someone had told her that her adolescent years were for discovering herself, learning her likes from her dislikes, her passions and desires for herself, not for getting married at the tender age of fifteen.

I’m sorry that you were told that it was okay for you to become someone’s wife and mother before you even knew how to look after yourself. I’m sorry you were told it was the right thing to do, when in fact you should’ve been told better. I’m sorry for a lot of things that you might’ve had to experience in your life but I refuse to apologise for not accepting your teachings and adapting it to my own life.

You’ll find that a lot of women will happily cook for their husbands, that’s not the problem. The problem is we object to the sense of entitlement that it is a duty to do so.

If God wills, I will attract a spouse that will choose me for the many qualities that are non-food related, or simply fall in love with me for my unhealthy obsession with chicken nuggets… who knows, I’ll guess we’ll have to wait on that one.

The point is, our mothers and grandmothers were part of a generation of women who were made to conform to societal norms.

As for us, we’re here to change that.