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Words help unravel complicated selves that, we didn't know existed within ourselves.
Words help unravel complicated selves that, we didn’t know existed within ourselves.
A poet gave me his words today – I took it from him, in fact. They now snuggle around my neck, They run their fingers across my pieces cracked.
My tongue now rolls around his words, His words now roll around my tongue. I hold them gently between my lips, And breathe; to calm my mind unstrung.
He didn’t guilt me into agreeing with him , He didn’t tie a leash to my thoughts. Instead, a new perspective he has revealed, A new light he has brought.
His voice now whispers in my ear, When I let it, the chaos I call my life, it tames. A poet gave me his words today, And I am no longer the same.
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Doctor, ambivert. Her voice stutters; her pen doesn't . read more...
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We are conditioned to normalise domestic violence out of fear of abandonment. Thinking that 'trauma bonding' is better than no bonding holds us back from speaking up!
(Trigger Warning: This post may be triggering for survivors of domestic violence. This post has been published especially to honour the International Day For The Elimination of Violence Against Women.)
Everyone said my perfect husband was like Lord Ram…. but this is how he took unfair advantage of my tolerance!
My grandmother was very fond of my husband whose name is synonymous with Lord Ram’s name. Every call she made to my husband started with the bhajan “Aaj sab mil mangal gao, Awadh mai, raam aye hain“. (Hail everyone, sing praises, Lord Ram has come in the kingdom of Awadh.) It was a mandatory welcome song whenever she met him or even spoke to him on the phone. Yes, his attributes were like that of Lord Ram. His attitude, chivalry, persona, fair skin, smile, height, physique and charm illustrate the perfect image of Lord Ram.
Alone in the apartment the whole day, Riya used to feel claustrophobic. She could not imagine anyone living in with just one bunk to call one’s own. She thought about the clean air and the verdant hills of Siliguri.
The Muse of the Month is a monthly writing contest organised by Women’s Web, bringing you original fiction inspired by women.
Harshita Nanda is one of the winners for the November 2021 Muse of the Month, and wins a Rs 750 Amazon voucher from Women’s Web. The juror for this month, Anuradha Kumar commented, “This is truly an unusual, and moving mother-daughter story, set dually in Dubai and Siliguri. This story of courage, determination, and love of the mother, and the growing awareness on the daughter’s part is really insightful and very moving. A very contemporary story, featuring characters not much written about before.”
The Kanyadaan ritual epitomises many of the problems with marriage, where 'girls' are seen as the property of one family, to be handed over to another.
The Kanyadaan ritual epitomises many of the problems with marriage in India today, where ‘girls’ are seen as the property of one family, to be handed over to another.
Let’s travel back fifteen years. I was getting married to the man I loved. I was elated; in fact, ecstatic. The wedding preparations were fun. And, since in Bengali weddings there is not much of ‘lena’ and ‘dena’ (give and take) there is nothing really that can cause the eyebrows to rise and give one those last minutes jitters. So, it was all within the limits of sanity.
I would also like to say this without any qualms that I was least a feminist then. I didn’t understand all this much. For me, it was enough that I was getting married to him, and there was no unnecessary fuss around the marriage; that was good enough to roll the ball. But, even with all the naïveté that I was wearing on my sleeves, ‘Kanyadaan’ was a word that irked me throughout. It’s just that, I never said it aloud. I never had the courage to delve deep into it because it was something that I have been hearing all throughout my life. “What is new anyways, probably I am just being cynical”, is what I hushed my voice with.
Ages ago, Draupadi was abused, and the court watched. What has changed for Indian women's rights and safety?
Ages ago, Draupadi was abused, and the court watched. What has changed for Indian women’s rights and safety?
It is a low night for me, something bitter in my tongue, something burning in the pit of my stomach. All my thoughts are going back to the little five year old. I am a coward. I am trying my best not to think of her too much. It would make me burn more.
Last night, I again chose escapism. I tried not to think of it. I tried hard to talk to a friend over Facebook. I tried to read and write. But I knew something was wrong, very wrong. Night set forth, and all night through I stared at the summer sky. It was such a melancholy night. At 28, when I think of her, motherly love comes to me. She could have been my daughter. Something in my womb hurts. When Jyoti was gang raped last December, I thought of myself. I too take public transport. Now that Gudiya (name coined by media) is raped, I wonder if she could have been my daughter.