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Society tells women to wear a Saree and be a good girl so that no one can rape you. But the truth is- dress has nothing to do with any form of sexual abuse.
Society tells women to wear a Saree and be a good girl, so that no one can rape you. But the truth is- dress has nothing to do with any form of sexual abuse.
I scrub, I re-scrub, I soap. I soap, I scrub, I wash again. Repeating, Till I feel I’m squeaky clean.
The groping in the rain. Must come off. I towel myself. Stop midway and scrub again.
The indecent brush of fingers over my Saree clad navel. I must scrub again. Scrub. Scrub. Wash. Soap. Scrub. Clean again. Rid my body, Of bad grime.
Wear a Saree, they said. Like a woman should, They said. Not jeans, not tees. A decent Saree.
I wore a Saree, as decently As possible. I was rewarded with stares, And incredulous glances.
No Saree could change the already seasoned mind. I stooped, and their eyes stopped with me. I stopped and their eyes raped me. Undressing me. Harassing me. Clawing me. Pawing me in between flesh, Between the folds of my Saree.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. Wash. Soap. Scrub. It lathers well and washes clean, Says the label.
No miracle soap can wash my skin from the grime that has settled on, Like second skin almost. I wonder if I should use a body wash. Snaking hands in between the cottony, Thinness. Groping, Hungrily waiting, To gather flesh. What pleasure? What love? What did my saree show?
Didn’t it wrap me up in good girl light? Like a girl who wears Kum Kum and goes to temples like all good girls? Didn’t it conceal my flesh? A rush of bile to my mouth. Poison spitting vampire stares. Snake venom. Poisoned minds. Know not to treat a good saree wearing woman. A saree wearing good girl.
Why was I touched in places that made me cringe? Was I not human underneath my Saree? Was I not human enough to wish for pride, Of being a woman and not a zombie. Underneath my good girl saree?
I’m ashamed of my saree, actually.
It failed to conceal my sex, Like a good black burqa. It failed to mask my body, My hidden lush, my beauty. It failed to protect me like they all said it would. It failed to be my saviour in disguise.
My saree. Showed my curves, Showed my naked vulnerability, And put me prey before hungry hunting eyes. But they said it would project me in good light. With a saree, I’d be spared. A saree would be my saving grace they said. They promised.
All of them. With their wide cheshire cat grins. A Saree. Can it change seasoned minds to not sin? My Saree. Burnt and shredded. Lies in the kindling embers of a growing garbage pile.
Cover image via Shutterstock
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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