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Our Afghan sisters lost their freedom and loves into terrible hands. But even in India, are we really free in our familial and marital bonds, abusive schools and insensitive workplaces?
Broken and crushed to pieces, why do you languish in the dark pits dung by shameful masculinity. Fearful and stricken, why do you tiptoe, oh woman, in hopeless dimensions of hopeless men. Do not you know the strength of your own being, the being behind the mighty creation.
Why do the ego-ridden, nervous men drive you into the dungeon of silence, why do you lend yourself to their powerless shouts of exalted power, do you not know the strength of your voice, the voice that moved Shivaji, and the voice that crashed down the Dharma of the Kuru Court.
Why do you let foolish men undermine your intellect, why do you submit to their weak servitude, do you not know the power of your intellect, Gargi’s daughter, Draupadi’s sister.
Why, why, tell me, oh women, you stand party to injustices inflected upon your sisters, why do you, the daughter of the goddesses, accept the old and rickety dying order of patriarchy. Know you not the strength of unity, oh slayer of the demon Raktabheej.
A thousand Rakthabheejs roam on your own mother’s land, snatching away your freedom, killing your spirit, undermining you at every step, insulting you at every bent.
Rise, rise, Kali’s daughter, the time is not to sleep, the time is not to adjust, not to compromise, it is the time to dance a fiery dance it is the time to reclaim your land, your space, your voice.
And who else will do it, if not you, sister,
you, of whom Vivekananda said possessed the “hero’s will and the Mother’s heart”, in the figure of whom Aurobindo and Bankim saw Mahisamardini rising again.
If you do not rise to help your sister, if you do not rise to help yourself, if you do not rise to help your Mother, who else shall?
Rise, Kali’s daughter, rise and fight until freedom is won and our land lays conquered.
Author’s note: A few days ago India celebrated its 75th Independence day with full gusto. But on the same day our Afghan sisters lost their freedom and loves into terrible hands. Even in India, are we really free in our familial and marital bonds, abusive schools and insensitive workplaces? No, women in India are not free, even after 75 years of Independence. But what horrifies and saddens me the most is that we women refuse to stand by each other. By seeking refuge behind patriachy and its terrible beliefs, we think we are securing our safety but no, patriachy is a quick sand that strives to swallow each women to death. So, sisters rise up united and one , for which force on Earth can limit the freedom of the shining army of Goddesses, the daughters of the ones who rallied together and slayed the demon Raktabheej.
Image source: a still from the film Mirch Masala
Isha is a 18 year old student of English Honors in Christ University. An aspiring poetess, a blundering writer and a hopelessly old school romantic, Isha, decidedly in love with English, Maddhava and all things read more...
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As he stood in front of his door, Nishant prayed that his wife would be in a better mood. The baby thing was tearing them apart. When was the last time he had seen his wife smile?
Veena got into the lift. It was a festival day, and the space was crammed with little children dressed in bright yellow clothes, wearing fancy peacock feather crowns, and carrying flutes. Janmashtami gave her the jitters. She kept her face down, refusing to socialize with anyone.
They had moved to this new apartment three months ago. The whole point of shifting had been to get away from the ruthless questioning by ‘well-wishers’.
“You have been married for ten years! Why no child yet?”
I huffed, puffed and panted up the hill, taking many rest breaks along the way. My calf muscles pained, my heart protested, and my breathing became heavy at one stage.
“Let’s turn back,” my husband remarked. We stood at the foot of Shravanbelagola – one of the most revered Jain pilgrimage centres. “We will not climb the hill,” he continued.
My husband and I were vacationing in Karnataka. It was the month of May, and even at the early hour of 8 am in the morning, the sun scorched our backs. After visiting Bangalore and Mysore, we had made a planned stop at this holy site in the Southern part of the state en route to Hosur. Even while planning our vacation, my husband was very excited at the prospect of visiting this place and the 18 m high statue of Lord Gometeshwara, considered one of the world’s tallest free-standing monolithic statues.
What we hadn’t bargained for was there would be 1001 granite steps that needed to be climbed to have a close-up view of this colossal magic three thousand feet above sea level on a hilltop. It would be an understatement to term it as an arduous climb.
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