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Instilling a sense of freedom from stereotyping by gender begins early. Here is a mother telling her unborn child to be free and not be tied down by these!
I feel you inside I feel you deep
A part of me, apart from me, In only some time always with me, You live because of me and soon the scene reversed it will be
I feel you inside I feel you deep A part of me, apart from me
My stomach has a beat It lets me know Its there, a reminder constant, I know With racing pulse and throbbing heartbeat, I begin to show It makes me smile just to think of the joy I’m about to know With silver streak and wrinkles anew, tiger stripes all in tow, The rising heat, with tempers to match, the bluish veins and saggy breasts, medals of honour for all to see and few to know …. My stomach has a beat It lets me know
Blue is your hue the world will say, Make up your own mind my little bae
Engines will whir, muscles will ripple, If you choose to ignore it shan’t be without peril
But go the distance my little one And don’t pay heed…
For soon you shall know Only you can make you, In thought and in deed
“Be a good girl“ I shall from saying, refrain The price is too high and deep goes the pain Be bold my darling, be kind all the same, let not self worth you, confuse with vain
Be humble my darling, but head held high,
make a difference to those nigh
Let not your mind be shackled, may you be free to express But beware my darling a world in duress
A thinker, a doer may you be And challenging status quo, become a hobby. I’m always here for you my darling May you a “good girl” never be.
Image source: shutterstock
Neha is a Professor of Mass Communication. An erstwhile Copywriter and Corporate communications specialist, she is an an avid reader, editor of all that she reads, part time writer, full time friend and gym junkie. read more...
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Before expecting the daughter in law to love, respect and accept the new family, it is only fair that the family demonstrates all of these first.
If you are a married Indian woman, one of the first words you hear from your in laws is that you are now a daughter of the house. How true is that statement though? Are daughters in law really treated as daughters or is this only lip service?
A friend recently confided how hurt she felt when she wanted to visit her in-laws along with her husband but was told not to, because the in-laws wanted time alone with their son. Naturally, she was taken aback since she had always been fed this trope – that she was the daughter, not the daughter in law. Why then this sudden keeping at arm’s distance? Would a son in law ever be told not to accompany his wife on her visit to her parents because they wanted quality time with their daughter? That is unimaginable in a patriarchal society.
It is ok to want time alone with the married offspring but how does that meld into the Indian family system, where independent choices are less important than the whole family coming together?
Beauty is a very clever, very evil capitalist tool. It traps those who have it into hanging on to it for dear life and those who don't into mutilating, torturing themselves to achieve the unachievable.
I recently wrote a piece about MP Shashi Tharoor’s tweet in which he had shared a pic with six women parliamentarians tagging them and saying “Who says the Lok Sabha isn’t an attractive place to work?”
There was a rash of comments on the post shared on Instagram, which ranged from “chill, it’s just a compliment” and “stop overthinking compliments”, to (worried) men lamenting about “these feminazi”.
Here’s my answer to all those comments.
Losing a baby in early pregnancy might be common, but the loss can be devastating to the parents-to-be, as this emotionally harrowing personal account narrates.
My dear Baby,
For several times now I have started writing this post and deleted it, without even saving a draft. So let me tell you this first, I am confused (about so many things right now but right now lets talk about this) about whether to share this or not. But the fact that I’m not able to get any proper sleep even now, keeps pushing me to do this. Maybe this can help me in the process of coming back. So let’s do this.
This is my story of becoming a mother, a story of insecurity, faith, and love. And it is not easy, never easy - something we understand only after giving birth.
This is my story of becoming a mother, a story of insecurity, faith, and love. And it is not easy, never easy – something we understand only after giving birth.
Two months ago, I attended the birthday party of my neighbor and good friend’s daughter. As I cross the threshold of Keerthi’s home, I met the usual celebration feast laded with balloons, ribbons, food and merriment. As I advanced to the end of the room, my eyes fell on a wall comprising moments that had started four years ago from that day. Keerthi had beautifully captured the essence of Saha’s last four years in pictures. There was a picture of Saha’s birth, and of her mudan ceremony, and one with her daada (father), and all the important milestones of her life.
For a second I felt a lump in my throat as I lived the bond that Keerthi has with her daughter. It is the most divine, surreal, and beautiful feeling we all have been through – be it as a mother or a child. This reminded me of my bond with my dot and the time we spend together – starting from the start.