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Apart from the many challenges of the writing process, women writers are burdened with societal norms and limits that they cannot easily challenge, says this post.
Thoughts are never concocted, they just form. Dreams are not fabricated, they just pass. And if you happen to be among the lucky few who have the flair to pen them down, you can call yourself a writer.
The urge to write, comes so spontaneously that if the thoughts are not laid down in black and white, you feel frustrated and disappointed. But how good are you at putting them down just as you had them in your mind?
Some abstract images do form in my mind too. I then try to add some flesh to it, give shape to it , beautify it with the hues I have in my mind. Like a spider, I work on it day in and day out, until I feel satisfied that I have weaved a pretty cobweb with perfection. But quite often, during the whole process, my mind gets hitched somewhere and some unnecessary inhibitions ruin my chain of thoughts .
The thought that I am a woman, and a that woman needs to write in a certain way, boggles my mind. I sometimes meet roadblocks where I either decide not to go any further or decide to deliberately change the course of my thought process.
The thought that I am a woman, and a that woman needs to write in a certain way, boggles my mind.
Yes, being a woman in this conservative world, where men are the epicenter of all activities, I reach a point sometimes when I feel the necessity to edit, discard, or recreate a thought that ought to conform to the coy-Indian-girl persona!
I would love to write some romantic stories and explain those overt sexual nuances in detail, but my timid mind fears that I would be labelled unchaste. I shudder at the thought of my own loved ones raising their brow in displeasure.
I would love to write about women who rise up and show courage – even to raise their hands at those men who oppress them. But some invisible thread pulls me back each time I venture to write on those lines.
I would love to write poems on love , passion, violence, or anything that is known to be ‘men’s forte’, but I fear my morality would be questioned if I cross a certain limit.
I would love to write stories of broken trusts, marriages, relationships, divorce, and adultery, but I fear they might be misconstrued as a chunk out of my personal experience and I restrain myself from writing many of them, for saving my dear and near ones from consequential disgrace and lose of good will and prestige. I would love to write on all those subjects without the aid of a pseudonym, for I feel I cannot surrender my creations to a fictitious person. I want to be known for what I am. But I fear that it might be at the cost of losing some loved ones who would not be able to comprehend the writer in me.
How many of you feel that the way we are socially and culturally programmed curtails the thinker or writer in us?
How many women writers have encountered this chaos in their life? How many of you feel that the way we are socially and culturally programmed curtails the thinker or writer in us? How many of you have modified your creations to suit the societal outlook? How many of you feel that women writers are expected not to cross a certain point in their writings? Why are women writers overburdened by the fear of so many stigmas cast upon them? Why are they weighed down by so many taboos when it comes to writing one’s own mind ?
I strongly believe that only when this embargo is shred into pieces and blown off into thin air, when you unleash the words locked in your heart in their fullest fury, could one be regarded as a writer. I am afraid I am yet to break free from these mental shackles.
I revere writers like Kamala Suraiyya who spoke their mind, wrote their mind, and still stood strong. I hope one day I too shall find the courage to write my mind without any chains inhibiting my thought process.
Yes, one day I shall, too… and until then, I shan’t call myself a writer.
Pic credit: Image of a woman writing via Shutterstock.
Lawyer by profession, specialising in Service Laws in Kerala, India. Hobbies include blogging, poetry writing, write-ups on day to day issues, parenting, relationships, and other socially relevant matters. read more...
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Neena was the sole caregiver of Amma and though one would think that Amma was dependent on her, Neena felt otherwise.
Neena inhaled the aroma that emanated from the pan and took a deep breath. The aroma of cumin interspersed with butter transported her back to the modest kitchen in her native village. She could picture her father standing in the kitchen wearing his white crisp kurta as he made delectable concoctions for his only daughter.
Neena grew up in a home where both her parents worked together in tandem to keep the house up and running. She had a blissful childhood in her modest two-room house. The house was small but every nook and cranny gave her memories of a lifetime. Neena’s young heart imagined that her life would follow the same cheerful course. But how wrong she was!
When she was sixteen, the catastrophic clutches of destiny snatched away her parents. They passed away in a road accident and Neena was devastated. Relatives thronged her now gloomy house and soon it was decided that she should be married off.
Women today don’t want to be in a partnership that complicates their lives further. They need an equal partner with whom they can figure out life as a team, playing by each other’s strengths.
We all are familiar with that one annoying aunty who is more interested in our marital status than in the dessert counter at a wedding. But these aunties have somehow become obsolete now. Now they are replaced by men we have in our lives. Friends, family, and even work colleagues. It’s the men who are worried about why we are not saying yes to one among their clans. What is wrong with us? Aren’t we scared of dying alone? Like them?
A recent interaction with a guy friend of mine turned sour when he lectured me about how I would regret not getting married at the right time. He lectured that every event in our lives needs to be completed within a certain timeframe set by society else we are doomed. I wasn’t angry. I was just disappointed to realize that annoying aunties are rapidly doubling in our society. And they don’t just appear at weddings or family functions anymore. They are everywhere. They are the real pandemic.
Let’s examine this a little closer.
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