The space to make our own mistakes.
If we are not immediately good at something in the first couple of attempts, then we are bound to be suck at it forever.
Millennials – the impatient generation. Perseverance is a trait that has not really been cultivated in us.
A step further.
Because women experience a number of setbacks in the world, because it is extremely risky for one to function out there, it is better to stay indoors, out of sight, safe from all the lecherous and dangerous men.
Better for whom?
I have been denied my freedom.
I don’t mean to say men have it easy. They have their own battles. Yet their battles do not eclipse mine.
A career counselor laughingly told my friend today that parents always support a career.
Hah.
I personally know a number of girls and women, living in such restricted environments that the counselor’s claim is arguably and laughably wrong. It is so wrong that it’s pathetic. Female friends of mine have been denied their right to education because the world outside is too fraught with obstacles for them to fully function.
What a fuckin load of bull.
I have wanted to study in some of the best universities my stream has to offer; and make no mistake, I know my hard work would’ve gotten me there. I have women in my family who live in perpetual purdah and who have been confined to the four walls of the place they call ‘home’, that I could count on my hand the times they have left the house with – their own permission.
This is no joke.
It is infuriating how they are treated.
I have allowed myself to be pushed into a box, where I am not volatile and where I can function. Where I have become someone society is ‘proud’ of. That is something I strive for.
I have allowed myself to not ask. I don’t make demands. If I do ask, I can be, and at most times, I am, denied. To live with that rejection from people who are supposed to foster, to nurture you, is what leaves me volatile. It seems like a constant struggle where everyone wants to fit me in a clean, crisp stereotype of a person who has her life sorted and conformed according to the standards of society.
What I end up being is a highly unhealthy person. Who needs to vent and cry of the injustice every fortnight, if not more, to stay functioning; or else work through the defensive tactic of Escapism – be it Romantic or Fantastic.
I have allowed myself to pause, postpone, and give up my dreams and desires because, underneath all the bravado of me enforcing my identity, I believe that is my worth. I have allowed myself to be treated less; I have come to a point where ‘not asking’ is lauded.
A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf talks of the importance of space – exclusively for oneself, and of financial independence for women. It is not funny to me how the lives of countless women are controlled by the single word of ‘Reputation’. A woman does not smoke, drink, laugh too loud, argue, in fact, she should not really exist if not to make the lives of others’ easier.
Gender stereotyping may seem harmless in the beginning. Restricting girls from sports as their fragile little knees could be scraped. What is taken as a safety measure for girls is an encouraging factor for boys. Let them have scrapes and bruises and broken bones, that toughens them up.
Men are allowed to make mistakes. They should argue. Stand up for themselves and others. They should be heroes. They are allowed to brood, to be angry, to slam the door. They are allowed eve teasing, wolf whistles, cat-calling. Heck. They are allowed to stab women.
The progression from seemingly harmless indulgence, separation escalates to something that cannot be controlled.
To have the narration of your life defined by people whom you are most vulnerable with. To have the people in your life treat you as something less than what you are because you did not live up to their narrative of a girl and a successful one at that – is debilitating.
I have not allowed myself to be angry. I have cried and tried in vain to make my emotions smaller than they are. But I am angry. I am angry for myself and the countless other people who suffer under patriarchy.
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It is ingrained in my culture for men to be served first during the meal. The women of the house later. The one who cooks, at last, if there is some left for them. It is not a sad picture. I should be more grateful for what I have. The opportunities that come my way. My right to vote. Thank you.
Why do I not have the freedom to do the rest?
Why are my needs and desires secondary? Why is it okay to sacrifice mine for the peace of mind of the man in the house?
It is not.
A woman’s place in society is wherever she fuckin wants to be.
Instead of policing my desires why do you not for fuck’s sake teach men to respect my space?
Killing dreams is easier than to limit another’s privilege.
Listen.
We are the daughters of Woolf and Beauvoir. We read Maya Angelou and Mahashweta Devi. We listen to Beyonce and look up to Hannah Gadsby. We want to work with Gloria Steinem and Ruchira Gupta. Many of our desires have been silenced already. But there is a steady gathering of intent. It is slow. It is in the heart of every woman who has been denied the autonomy of her own body. Who has been denied the right to freedom and independence.
I want to allow myself to let go of all the conformities that have been holding me back.
I want to allow myself the freedom to falter.
Silverleaf Corner 