I remember a cold November morning in 2018. I punched in my id card at work at exactly 9 am, in fear of my salary being cut (fuck capitalism). I was checking mails and my stomach was cramping as it usually does on the 1st day of my period, but guess who couldn't' take any days off ( fuck capitalism again). Despite the pain within myself and my soul, I was all dressed up, because it was festive season in India, as it always is. However I am still considered impure because that is what a menstruating woman is in India.
I was sipping my morning chai with elichi and listening to a colleague talk about how her husband is essentially a man child and justified his man-child behavior with the fact that he earns more than her. I didn't know if she was proud of herself for tolerating Mr.Man-child or felt sorry for herself. Now this woman wakes up at 5 am, makes a dabba (also called a packed lunch) for herself , her 2 year old daughter and her man-child. She then drops her 2 year old off to playschool and comes to capitalist office herself and stays till the evening, picks up her daughter and goes back to cook for Mr.Manchild (who by the way needs his wife to even tie his shoe-laces). This woman was tired to the bone, cooking, cleaning and doing everything for the house, without having any help.
"Why don't you just talk to him and ask him to help out as well?. I mean it's his house, food and daughter too", my feminist mouth had to open then. The thing that came out of her mouth almost made me wish I didn't hear that. "If my husband has to do all that, he might as well wear a sari, bindi and bangles from tomorrow". I was disappointed for and with her because this is the woman who fought with her husband to work post marriage and is a feminist in her own way and thinks a man who cooks, cleans and helps out in his own house becomes less of a man.
As I moved on with the day, feeling confident about myself because I was dressed well, fit and was doing well at my new assignment at work. I remember another female colleague at work telling me I didn't look nice today because I was wearing a wrap around top that didn't suit me, my skin color was too dark for the lipstick I wore and I am beginning to age and should start applying blah and blah to my face ( I was only 23 years old at this time). I kept wondering, why is a woman deconstructed and objectified all the time, we're either our face, boobs, butts, legs or our shy nature, good cooking skills and in the side a successful professional. The contrast was shocking, a woman let's her man child go because he is a man that earns well. But a woman has to be perfect and despite that dragged down at each step.
The irony was, that it was Navratri. Which is essentially a festival in India celebrating a woman and womanhood. It celebrates her strength and courage. It celebrates a woman's ability to give and take knowledge. It celebrates a woman as a person who will bring wealth to the house. Yet after all this, a woman drags another down. I open the newspaper to read about the brutal crimes against women. I wonder, why is our head in the sky and feet in such intense dirt?
I was a 23 year old early professional. I was the Durga of my life, the Laxmi of my family and the Saraswati of the knowledge I had and wanted. I remember this day so well and have lived to see many such days and I wrote a poem that day and I also took a picture from the day.
Women,
Our bodies,
They are not apples, pears or peaches ( we'd like finer quality bananas though)..
They are the vessels that carry us through the longest thing we'll ever see...
Own it!
We are the Marie Curie's and Kalpana Chawla's of the world,
We are the farmers that feed the people,
We are the teachers that empower young minds,
We are, who we are..
Within us lies sunshine, energy and dark matter... Within us are every spectrum of every season...
We will not be reduced to anyone's patriarchal conditioning,
We are roots,
We are wings,
We are the soil..
We will not be reduced to fruits!
