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One day, when I was fed up of calling and asking people if they wanted to go for a movie, trying to schedule my time around theirs, and being the one who has to book tickets and text everyone the information, I decided I'd go for a movie by myself.
This wasn't such a big deal, of course. There are no crocodiles under the seats in Satyam. But I knew my parents would say no and point out about fifty instances of young women who did this and paid for it dearly. So I told them I was going with friends.
I enjoyed myself hugely.Part of it was because I was doing this 'in secret'. But a large part of it was because I suddenly realized I could be by myself and have fun (note to Amma: I don't mean 'inner peace' here). I didn't have to wait around. I just had to make a plan for myself and do it. Zero coordination, the zen of a movie plan. After this, I went for several movies by myself. Nothing happened to me. I wasn't groped. Nobody murdered me in the toilet. No one followed me home.
I also used to go and sit on the beach by myself. My mum thought (and I'm sure still thinks) this was an 'I'm a feminist' statement. I have no problems being called a feminist. I am one. But by sitting on the beach alone, I wasn't playing out my politics. I was simply doing something I felt like doing without putting in the effort of inviting other people there. The joy of one-person plans is immeasurable.
Almost every girl I know has parents who're worrying to death about her. Either it's to do with their safety or the fact that they are not married yet. These two are often linked. Because once you get married, then worrying about you becomes somebody else's primary responsibility. Worrying about someone is a sign that you care about them. I get that. I also understand that when parents read about horrible incidents and terrifying statistics in the newspaper, they see their children in those numbers. It shakes them up. I still get emails from my mum telling me not to drink Dabur honey because it has too many antibiotics.
But when this worrying becomes gendered, when it begins to control your life, your thoughts, your movement, your future- it's time to take a look at it. The world is an evil place, more so if you are female. There's no refuting that. There's probably not a single woman alive today who hasn't been groped at least once.
Girls grow up all too soon. We learn the world is not an easy place much before boys wake up to the fact. We learn to walk with our jaws set and our chests caved in when we're in our pinafores. A stern expression every time we get into a bus. Keeping our eyes averted and gazing at a distance. Using umbrellas and schoolbags as body shields. Not sitting next to a man even though it's a General Seat and not a Gents' Seat. Believing in safety in numbers. Checking for cameras in dressing rooms. Quickening our steps on an empty street. Rage bursting inside our heads. Shrinking our smiles when we step out of the house.Who taught us these lessons?
Many of them come from our mothers. What they've gone through, they don't want you to undergo. Many come from our sisters and friends. Many come from experience. All these stories don't come with the comforting notion that they are, after all, fiction. Each is true. Each has happened. Each is real and alive in the memory of someone you know. How can you forget them? How can you ignore them and believe you will be unharmed? It would be foolish to do so. Better safe than scarred.
All these stories get even worse when it's about a single woman. If pre-school, school-going, college-going, working/married women have it bad, the single woman gets the worst deal of the lot. Because she's laid herself open to attack by not signing up for the most favored insurance policy for women.
Not all women are single by choice, some are single because their horoscope has denied them this safety. Some are single because the right boy never came along and so now, they are grey and half-dead at the age of 30. Some are single because of family circumstances.There's no bigger tragedy than a spinster, it would seem. And so, if you're a choosy daughter who's not willing to 'compromise', you are frequently reminded that spinsterhood is no joke. Not only is society unforgiving, you will find it impossible to live. No landlord will rent out a place to you. Better to marry someone, even if the person doesn't seem half worth the trouble. If you get bashed up and cheated and later divorced or abandoned, you'll at least know you tried.
With all these warning bells ringing in your head from the time you are old enough to understand language, it's very difficult to believe that you will not be a victim. It's very difficult to have the belief that you can live or do things by yourself, in spite of being a woman. It cannot be done. But...do we give up without even trying?
Do we stay safe and lead half-lives? Because it is a half-life when so many of our decisions are colored by the question: will we be safe? Professionally, when I've had to travel by myself, my parents have been worried sick about my safety. My mum would advise me not to eat in restaurants because then everyone would know I was alone. So I'd tell her I'd order room service. But then, that would mean opening the door to a room boy. I'd have to ensure I wasn't arriving or departing from anywhere at a too late or too early hour. I could never just go and focus on what I was supposed to do. It drove me insane. This constant worrying. I understood why they were worried, but that didn't make me feel any better about it. I did not want to be an any-moment victim.
The more I alienated myself from this victim status hovering around my head, the more I began to enjoy myself. I stayed in this tiny lodge in Cuddalore when I had to go there for some development program. I noticed the extra courtesy and helpfulness of the staff. I ate in a motel nearby where the waiter, an old man, gave me a table all for myself though (or because) I was alone. I went walking down the streets by myself and nothing happened to me. I sat in a park where there was nobody. I felt exhilarated. The weight of considering every strange man to be a dangerous animal fell off my shoulders.
I taught myself to be unafraid and I savoured every trip I took since then. I genuinely believed the world wasn't such a bad place after all. I refused to make my decisions with Safety as No.1 on my list. I wasn't going to strike it off the list; it would be stupid to do so, but it wasn't my No.1 any more.
I think it's important that we do this if we're to lead lives that allow us the freedom to think. To be normal. To stop being so crazed with worry. To believe we're able and capable. To know that we're not infants who need to be under someone's supervision. To make one-person plans. To put yourself as the person in command. Instead of just telling your daughters horror stories (that they inevitably end up experiencing despite your best efforts), infuse them with self-belief, the agency to be in control, the courage to face the world. Alone. Because let's face it, in that lonely toilet on a solitary hill, when the monster crashes out of the two-way mirror to swallow you, you will only have yourself to depend upon. And as women, we all know this is the case too on a crowded bus in the middle of everywhere.
There's a slow python inside all of us that eats our self worth day after day if we let it. This python whispers that only fools rush in where angels fear to tread. This python coils around our limbs, keeping us frozen with fear. Recognize it. Grow unafraid of it. Peel its skin away. Let its flesh fall off its bones. And then, when it's dying, kiss it goodbye. It was an old friend, after all.
One day, when I was fed up of calling and asking people if they wanted to go for a movie, trying to schedule my time around theirs, and being the one who has to book tickets and text everyone the information, I decided I'd go for a movie by myself.
This wasn't such a big deal, of course. There are no crocodiles under the seats in Satyam. But I knew my parents would say no and point out about fifty instances of young women who did this and paid for it dearly. So I told them I was going with friends.
I enjoyed myself hugely.Part of it was because I was doing this 'in secret'. But a large part of it was because I suddenly realized I could be by myself and have fun (note to Amma: I don't mean 'inner peace' here). I didn't have to wait around. I just had to make a plan for myself and do it. Zero coordination, the zen of a movie plan. After this, I went for several movies by myself. Nothing happened to me. I wasn't groped. Nobody murdered me in the toilet. No one followed me home.
I also used to go and sit on the beach by myself. My mum thought (and I'm sure still thinks) this was an 'I'm a feminist' statement. I have no problems being called a feminist. I am one. But by sitting on the beach alone, I wasn't playing out my politics. I was simply doing something I felt like doing without putting in the effort of inviting other people there. The joy of one-person plans is immeasurable.
Almost every girl I know has parents who're worrying to death about her. Either it's to do with their safety or the fact that they are not married yet. These two are often linked. Because once you get married, then worrying about you becomes somebody else's primary responsibility. Worrying about someone is a sign that you care about them. I get that. I also understand that when parents read about horrible incidents and terrifying statistics in the newspaper, they see their children in those numbers. It shakes them up. I still get emails from my mum telling me not to drink Dabur honey because it has too many antibiotics.
But when this worrying becomes gendered, when it begins to control your life, your thoughts, your movement, your future- it's time to take a look at it. The world is an evil place, more so if you are female. There's no refuting that. There's probably not a single woman alive today who hasn't been groped at least once.
Girls grow up all too soon. We learn the world is not an easy place much before boys wake up to the fact. We learn to walk with our jaws set and our chests caved in when we're in our pinafores. A stern expression every time we get into a bus. Keeping our eyes averted and gazing at a distance. Using umbrellas and schoolbags as body shields. Not sitting next to a man even though it's a General Seat and not a Gents' Seat. Believing in safety in numbers. Checking for cameras in dressing rooms. Quickening our steps on an empty street. Rage bursting inside our heads. Shrinking our smiles when we step out of the house.Who taught us these lessons?
Many of them come from our mothers. What they've gone through, they don't want you to undergo. Many come from our sisters and friends. Many come from experience. All these stories don't come with the comforting notion that they are, after all, fiction. Each is true. Each has happened. Each is real and alive in the memory of someone you know. How can you forget them? How can you ignore them and believe you will be unharmed? It would be foolish to do so. Better safe than scarred.
All these stories get even worse when it's about a single woman. If pre-school, school-going, college-going, working/married women have it bad, the single woman gets the worst deal of the lot. Because she's laid herself open to attack by not signing up for the most favored insurance policy for women.
Not all women are single by choice, some are single because their horoscope has denied them this safety. Some are single because the right boy never came along and so now, they are grey and half-dead at the age of 30. Some are single because of family circumstances.There's no bigger tragedy than a spinster, it would seem. And so, if you're a choosy daughter who's not willing to 'compromise', you are frequently reminded that spinsterhood is no joke. Not only is society unforgiving, you will find it impossible to live. No landlord will rent out a place to you. Better to marry someone, even if the person doesn't seem half worth the trouble. If you get bashed up and cheated and later divorced or abandoned, you'll at least know you tried.
With all these warning bells ringing in your head from the time you are old enough to understand language, it's very difficult to believe that you will not be a victim. It's very difficult to have the belief that you can live or do things by yourself, in spite of being a woman. It cannot be done. But...do we give up without even trying?
Do we stay safe and lead half-lives? Because it is a half-life when so many of our decisions are colored by the question: will we be safe? Professionally, when I've had to travel by myself, my parents have been worried sick about my safety. My mum would advise me not to eat in restaurants because then everyone would know I was alone. So I'd tell her I'd order room service. But then, that would mean opening the door to a room boy. I'd have to ensure I wasn't arriving or departing from anywhere at a too late or too early hour. I could never just go and focus on what I was supposed to do. It drove me insane. This constant worrying. I understood why they were worried, but that didn't make me feel any better about it. I did not want to be an any-moment victim.
The more I alienated myself from this victim status hovering around my head, the more I began to enjoy myself. I stayed in this tiny lodge in Cuddalore when I had to go there for some development program. I noticed the extra courtesy and helpfulness of the staff. I ate in a motel nearby where the waiter, an old man, gave me a table all for myself though (or because) I was alone. I went walking down the streets by myself and nothing happened to me. I sat in a park where there was nobody. I felt exhilarated. The weight of considering every strange man to be a dangerous animal fell off my shoulders.
I taught myself to be unafraid and I savoured every trip I took since then. I genuinely believed the world wasn't such a bad place after all. I refused to make my decisions with Safety as No.1 on my list. I wasn't going to strike it off the list; it would be stupid to do so, but it wasn't my No.1 any more.
I think it's important that we do this if we're to lead lives that allow us the freedom to think. To be normal. To stop being so crazed with worry. To believe we're able and capable. To know that we're not infants who need to be under someone's supervision. To make one-person plans. To put yourself as the person in command. Instead of just telling your daughters horror stories (that they inevitably end up experiencing despite your best efforts), infuse them with self-belief, the agency to be in control, the courage to face the world. Alone. Because let's face it, in that lonely toilet on a solitary hill, when the monster crashes out of the two-way mirror to swallow you, you will only have yourself to depend upon. And as women, we all know this is the case too on a crowded bus in the middle of everywhere.
There's a slow python inside all of us that eats our self worth day after day if we let it. This python whispers that only fools rush in where angels fear to tread. This python coils around our limbs, keeping us frozen with fear. Recognize it. Grow unafraid of it. Peel its skin away. Let its flesh fall off its bones. And then, when it's dying, kiss it goodbye. It was an old friend, after all.
