She is a wife. She is a daughter. She is also a sister to her brother, a mother to her son.
She wakes up every morning before the crack of dawn. She kisses good morning to her son,
as the house awakens from its slumber. She cooks for the family, brooms the floors, waters
the plants. She massages her mother-in-law’s aching legs and oils her now fading hair. After all, it’s her duty to provide for others.
She celebrates the success of her brother who has recently been promoted to an associate
manager, as she continues to dangle between being a wife and a mother.
She wishes to catch a film at the cinema, but how can she go alone? What will people say?
She has a son who describes his mother as a magician, as she always finds the missing pair of
socks and the warmth of her lap takes away all his sorrows, as he clings to her chest.
She makes sure the last slice of pizza goes to her son, the second last to her husband. Don’t
worry, there is always dal chawal kept in the fridge.
She reads novels as a break from her monotonous routine of domestic chores. She reads of
female leaders who encourage women to explore their identity, independent of men, who
strive to create a world of equality, where women are paid in equivalence to their male
counterparts.
Ah! Fiction. Such a world exists only in fairy tales.
She washes utensils and cleans the rooms with her now calloused hands, as her ankles swell
and her back aches, drooping under the burden of a perfectly kept abode. She dared to dream of being a dancer, as her body flowed to the rhythm of music. Alas, that is all it remained, a dream, for her parents found her the perfect suitor, providing her with a house, mind you, not a home, and this was a better trade-off against performing theatre.
She has a wonderful husband who allows her to meet her parents, once in a while of course,
and gives her permission to wear jeans and t-shirts. Only at home though.
She has a wonderful husband, who at times, loses his temper, and lashes out at her. After all,
she is his punching bag, how else will he vent?
You see, his mother never taught him the art of communication.
I forget, aren’t bruises marks of love?
Loneliness consumes her often, as she cries tears of helplessness and yells silent screams into
her pillow at night. She puts on a brave face so that others don’t notice the wrinkles of sorrow that line her face. She keeps her troubles to herself, bottling her comfortable miseries for her compromises are the epitome of living sacrifices.
She is tired. She is brewing in the calm of the storm. She will no longer be unheard.
She is a strong, independent woman, the CEO of a multinational company that focuses on
shattering glass ceilings and along with it the aura of male dominance that dares to silence her.
She is a lover, not a provider, who occasionally asks her husband to make her early morning
coffee.
She is a fighter, who raises her voice against the normalised expectation of looking after the
house and providing for her in-laws. Her husband can give massages too.
She is politically engaged to bring about a change in the patriarchal society that suppresses
women, not allowing them to vote and stealing the right over her own body.
She is an advocate for women’s rights who brings to light the need for replacing the male gaze
that rules cinematic representation of women with the portrayal of all genders without being
objectified.
She is an adolescent who has the right over her own body and over her mind, dressing herself in clothes of liberation and wearing the tiara of independence as she walks through her life.
She is an ambitious leader, for she works to create a world where her son grows up to be a
man who respects his partner like an equal, not a subordinate.
She is a mother to her sons, daughters and others, who are conditioned to break the
conventional orthodox standard that is disrespectful, and make new rules that are unbiased
and beautiful.
She is an orator who voices not only her concerns of hardly discussed postpartum blues but
also celebrates the joy of motherhood.
She is an athlete who paces her life the way she paces her runs, balancing between being a
wife and a devout follower of her dreams.
She is the captain of the boat of womanhood that has set sail on the oceans of discrimination
and is focused on reaching the shore of equal opportunities.
She is a writer, who is committed to changing the narrative of stories where a damsel is in
distress, awaiting the arrival of her charming prince.
Instead, the damsel shall now wield the sword from her sheath to liberate herself from the manacles of women oppression.
She is an avid reader who immerses herself in stories where women are leaders, activists,
politicians, writers, painters, musicians, doctors, lawyers. She reads of books that celebrate
women for their unique individuality.
She reads non-fiction.
She is you, me and every other female who was asked to keep her troubles to herself because
the world was deaf to her pains.
She is a woman.
- Isha Sharma
B.A. (Hons.) Philosophy
(Edited by Anushka and Pallavi
Art curated by Anshika)
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