Sunday, May 28, 2017

The Withering Flower


'She' born as the second gender, Oh!

but why is she the second gender?
Do you know?

She who played with a Barbie doll.
How did she come to choose Barbie doll and not an aeroplane?
Is it genealogy or social ideology?

She who wanted to be a superwoman like her working mother;
but why? I don't know.
Neither did anyone tell her not to be nor what to be.

And then she who was told to be careful always;
later learnt to be on alert anyway.
No, no one stalked her or attacked her,
but her cousin was stalked, her sister was teased, her friend was groped.
Her fellow second genders were molested and raped.
And she heard all their stories.

She put on a dupatta, wore longer skirts,
avoided talking loudly or laughing out,
never walked alone in the dark,
never walked alone on a deserted road,
never walked with head held high on a busy street,
never walked carefreely,
never got on a bus without being alert in all senses,
never travelled in a cab without fear,
never slept peacefully on any journey,
never felt safe alone in a deserted office,
never felt confident to raise a question,
never felt strong to put up a fight,
never learnt to be confident of her body,
never learnt to look at a mirror without worrying about her dress and looks,
never loved herself for what she was.

She learnt to hide in the shadow of her father.
She mastered the art of being cautious and never let her guard down.



Then she without a choice chose to wear the almighty Kavach that is the MangalSutra.
She never forgot her headgear - the Sindhoor.
Believing in its extraordinary powers to save her.

She became the superwoman that she was told she was.
She stood behind his success.
His shadow became her world.
She became an expert in hiding in his shadows.
She saw his dreams.
Her own dreams had died a slow death and she had no time to mourn.

Then they arrived and took up her time and energy.
She now learnt to see through their dreams.
Even after being a super woman she hid inside her Kavach and head gear.

Even when her fingers were hooked to their tiny fingers for their safety,
she found ways to adjust her dupatta.

The journey continues like a withering flower.