A Room Of One’s Own
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction”
A room of one’s own is an essay by Virginia Woolf where she argues that a woman if she wants to be a fiction writer should have money and a room of one’s own. The role of women in society has changed since then, but in many ways, it still remains the same. What a room of one’s own means is being cut off from the outside world, where one is not fulfilling the duty as a daughter, a wife, or a mother and concentrating on the task at hand, which is writing in this case.
When I thought of this in the Indian context it felt like India would hardly produce any women fiction writers. Most Indian girls do not have a room to themselves, even if they do, they are often not allowed to stay locked in. Parents need to know at all times what their children are up to.
Growing up there was no concept of privacy, but that seemed to be the norm all around. As a teenager, I would scribble at times on the backs of paper, but it was very embarrassing if someone read it. The task was for me to guard those pieces of writing and ensure they did not catch anyone’s eye. So I always wrote as if I would get caught. I would never explore anything which I was not comfortable sharing with people around me because there was a fat chance someone would find out what I was writing about.
Life hasn’t changed much in the sense that we do not live in grand houses where I can have a room of my own and ask everyone in the house not to bother me, but I have a makeshift arrangement, where I can go into silent zones with people around me. But go into it for too long and I am rude and inconsiderate. I wonder which Fiction writer or writer, in general, had to bother about the feelings of those around them. As I write this my husband is prancing around, it distracts me, but I work around the prancing.
The lack of a room of one’s own and privacy might be the reason India produces many engineers and not writers. Because studying circuits and drawing 3D projections does not require privacy, in fact, I remember the times I would pretend I was reading thermodynamics but would actually be reading Gone with the Wind. I even started reading spiritual books I knew I would never be asked to stop. I fancied myself becoming a monk after reading a few of them but like a lot of teenage fancies, it saw a pretty quick death. It was ironic on one hand I was fascinated by erotic fiction on the other hand I was imagining myself as a monk.
When the café culture came to India, it was fascinating to see strangers sitting around and chilling, writing and typing, sipping coffee. It was a space of one’s own where one could not be disturbed, especially if you were typing and looked serious. It was a much-needed space for people who lived in homes where there was little privacy and needed to get away and focus. I remember buying the cheapest coffee and sitting for hours waiting for inspiration to strike me, I would keep checking my surroundings to ensure no one was too close, if they were I would move to the remote part of the café and resume staring at a blank screen.
As a grown-up, I have a room of my own, I have money of my own (not much but enough to buy me the occasional coffee), and access to spaces where I can switch off and write, but one thing that holds a lot of Indian women back is the balancing act. Pursuing our “Hobbies “while we ensure the ball is not dropped on household chores. Trying to write my next greatest work, while worrying about inventory supplies. Because I have been wired to think about my life as a balanced act. There can be no room for lopsided pursuits of interests, where I can order food at all times and not cook, make a mess of my house, not meet my relatives, and just pursue writing. So I stick to my balanced act at all times. I pass along, but once in a while I chance upon a book like Mrs.Dalloway and I knew this is a work of someone who has not bothered too much about balance. She does seem to be someone who had a room of her own, who threw the balancing act out of the window and put pen to paper and let the world see what a little insanity could do.
