The Red Dot (2)

Jokes about women’s bodily functions are not funny. Period.

She could eat to her heart’s content, but step in to the kitchen, she shouldn’t, they said.

She was banned.

Banned from entering the kitchen.

Banned from entering the temple.

Banned, for she was impure.

Banned, for she was unhygienic.

Banned, for she was unclean.

Banned, lest she contaminates the pickle.

[Voices of Ancestors]

Bury your clothes lest evil spirits take over them!

No curd for you,

No tamarind for you,

No pickle for you.

Summers playing gully cricket,

Laggori and hide-and-seek too.

One day it stopped; Abruptly, stopped.

She was free one day, tied down the next.

[Voices of Ancestors]

Suffer the bloating!

Suffer the cramps!

You shall stay in one corner of the house;

Suffer the misdeeds of your past!

No exercises for you.

No walks in the park.

No. No. No.

Laggori and hide-and-seek too

She could now see through her window;

She was free one day, tied down the next.

Running wild... wearing shorts and shirt; and a stick in hand.

[Voices of Ancestors]

And no… no bathing for you.

You shall remain…

Unclean. Impure. Unhygienic. A contamination.

She could now see through her window;

Children laughing aloud for every joke cracked,

Running wild... wearing shorts and shirt; and a stick in hand;

And suddenly they said, be lady-like.

[Voices of Ancestors]

You are cursed.

You will remain cursed.

Don’t you touch the holy cow.

Lest you make her barren

With your cursed touch…

Unclean. Impure. Unhygienic. A contamination.

Children laughing aloud for every joke cracked,

Jokes about women’s bodily functions are not funny. Period.

And suddenly they said, be lady-like.

It all started with a single red dot.

What about school?

[Voices of Ancestors]

No. Never.

Those days are over.

No school. No. No. No.

She was adorned with jewelry, flowers and fine clothes;

Paraded in front of neighbours and relatives alike.

[Voices of Ancestors]

Take this old piece of cloth

Treasure it. You will only get one.

Wash it. Sun dry it.

When it is as hard as leather

Use it to soak up your impurity.

Paraded in front of neighbours and relatives alike.

Beautiful as a bride behind a beatific child’s face;

Rest is a must, on these days every month, they said.

She was soon easily bored.

But it hurts… it burns…

[Voices of Ancestors]

Suffer the misdeeds of your past!

Your soul remains…

Unclean. Impure. Unhygienic. A contamination.

But, is she not a part of you?

How then can she be impure?

Are you also impure?

Unclean? Unhygienic? A contamination?

[Voices of Ancestors]

Ha! We are not you

We are the maker of rules.

We had ‘us’ too

Telling us what to do.

Your soul remains…

Unclean. Impure. Unhygienic. A contamination.

It all started with a single red dot.

The hatred of being born a woman

Flowed, but naturally.

The Privileged Indian Male

I am not you.

I am not you.

For… I am a privileged Indian male.

I was but a bubbly toddler when I first heard,

“Oh no, let him be, he is a boy…”

I was but an acne’d teen when I first heard,

“Here, I will wash your plate.”

I was but a confused youth when I first heard,

“Boys will be boys, let him play a while more.”

I was but a wobbly toddler when I first heard,

“Look how he pushes and fights! He is a boy…”

I was but a hormonal dude of a teen when I first heard,

“You must be hungry, let me cook you something.”

I was but a raging drunk youth when I first heard,

“He is after all a boy, he is supposed to be this way.”

I was but a drooling toddler when I first heard,

“Lucky for you, he is a boy…”

I was but a silent teen when I first heard,

“Home Science? That’s not for you; cooking and what not!”

I was but a temperamental youth when I first heard,

“Be a man! You can’t let girls affect you like that!”

These voices, they grew; all around me,

They grew every day, in numbers

And in tone.

The voices were always there…

Each of them feminine,

An aunt. A mother. A sister.

A grandmother. A cousin.

Now.

A mother-in-law. A wife.

A sister-in-law. A mother.

An aunt. A grandmother.

All feminine. Mostly feminine.

Now.

I hear them speak the same words.

The same words from decades ago.

They speak it to my son.

They speak it to my nephew.

They speak it to my little brother.

Why?

Why can’t you stop?

I don’t want.

I don’t want to

Be defined.

I don’t want.

I don’t want to

Live… live the life

Of a privileged Indian male.

You make me lean on you.

You make me incapable

Of looking after my needs.

You never set me free.

Yet, you treat me like

I am privileged.

I want these voices to stop.

Can you make them stop?

I can feel my chains giving way,

Tearing away…

From the reality that is mine,

Weighed down by your words.

I don’t want.

I don’t want to

Carry this burden.

I don’t want.

I don’t want to

Love… love the life

Of a privileged Indian male.

[Female voices of ancestors in loud whispers and strange tongues]

Innocence. Tie she up. Kill she. My boy. Want boy. No she want here. Please see me. Destroyer of dreams. My boy. Want boy. Jewelry… pretty, we like. Parade she front of neighbours and relatives. My boy. Want boy. Red dot, we no like. Hate we be woman. Sit she down. Tie she up. Give she away. My boy. Want boy.  

The Stirrings of an Ineffable Soul

She closed her eyes,
As she felt every part of her being
Immersed in a consciousness, alien to her.
The voices in her head, faint whispers
To begin with, rose to a cacophony,
As the consciousness reached
A crescendo of its own!

Suddenly, it was all over;
She could hear the crash of silence
Against her pining soul.
A silence so loud, she wished
For the cacophony of the voices
In her head again.
Unknown to her, every bit of her soul
Transformed, mutated and altered
To soak in the silence,
Silently creating a sound of its own.

Exhausted, she lay, waiting
Patiently, for the pain,
The angst and the clarity
Of the unknown.
She relinquished her ego;
She relinquished her name;
She welcomed the unknown
With open arms and
Closed eyes.

In darkness of the sun,
It crept up on her,
Shrouding her being,
Purifying her soul,
Lightening her mind,
Brightening her body, and
Freeing her dreams;
Until all there was left
Was a single unity;
An unknown one.

There was no her;
There was no soul;
There was no light;
There was no pain;
There was only
The pureness of being.

No More...

If you gave me something today,

I would give you something for tomorrow.

If you broke it tomorrow,

I would give you something for the next day.

If I thought you'd give me something today,

I would dream of what I'd give you tomorrow.

If I thought you'd break it tomorrow,

I would dream of something to give you the next day.

If I saw you breaking something I gave you ever,

I would stop giving you anything...

Today, tomorrow and forever.

Right here, right now, it's just a muddle of words;
Contradicting emotions and
Ramblings on a September afternoon,
Nothing more, nothing less.

A Teenage Girl's Open Note to Sunil Gavaskar:

This is something my 14 year daughter wrote as an essay for her English homework. The angst she has felt over 5 years comes out with deep clarity and she wants to do the best to make sure this reaches Sunil Gavaskar. Her hope is to ensure first that people like him are able to see and accept this as a deeply ingrained cultural problem for young girls; Second, that someone in his capacity and influence in this sport does something to ensure girls from every part of the country have access to the same facilities and training that boys do with ease today.

So without further ado here goes... 

An Open Note to Sunil Gavaskar:

Cricket. Some believe this sport to be a religion, and others believe it’s a job that pays for athletic people. I believe that cricket is a way of life for those who choose this path. However, in this essay I will not be writing about the details of how the game is played, but in fact, what women or girls face when they choose to be cricketers. I believe that the hardships that these women face are not related to sports but actually related to a cultural issue. There have been several instances in my short life of fourteen years where I have experienced such prejudice and I would like to discuss them as we proceed with this topic.

               

I first fell in love with cricket when I watched the ICC World Cup in 2011, and ever since, I knew that this wonderful sport would play an important role in my life. Only recently did I have an epiphany that I definitely want cricket as a life-long career. An observation I have noted of in these past few years is that only girls who have brothers are excused to play cricket in common society. If a girl actually has an interest in playing cricket and wants to pursue this sport, the next step is to enroll for a coaching camp. This process for boys is quite simple. The parents check if the camp is close by and fees is moderately cheap, and the deed is done. Whereas for a girl, the parents need to check if the camp accepts girls, if it is close by and affordable. Quite commonly, if the camp accepts girls, it is not at a convenient location or the fees are too high.

As the years go by, and the girls have completed their education, they realize that cricket does not pay the bills. Many women go through a decision-making point in their lives. Their options are to either stop the pursuit of cricket and get a full-time job or continue their cricket journey and get a part-time job; few women opt for the latter.

The strength that all sportswomen possess, both mentally and physically is much more well-balanced in comparison to men. These women go through years of bullying and teasing, but they shine over the harsh words ultimately. I would like to conclude this essay by addressing women who are breaking stereotypes all across the globe:

“First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.”

-Mahatma Gandhi

From,

Vedha (a hopeful 14 year old)

NOTE: Here's a recent article in Deccan Herald that talks about this issue "Raising Sporty Girls"