‘The Day I Came Into The World, There Was No Celebration Like When My Brother Was Born…’

On the International Day Of The Girl Child, this beautiful poem charts a girl’s journey from being born to becoming an adult!

The hard-hitting poem called ‘A Woman’s Monologue’ has emotional lines such as- ‘I grew up to be my father’s daughter/Very casually, I was given his surname/Why was my father given entitlement for my mother’s labour?’

‘And after so called ‘kanyadaan’/I was going to be my husband’s wife/I would be the one changing names/I would be the one swapping homes.’ Read the full poem below…

A Woman‘s Monologue

It started the day I came

Everyone was happy

But there wasn’t a celebration like the one when my brother was born

I grew up to be my father’s daughter

Very casually, I was given his surname

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Now, when I am 18, I wonder

I wonder the reason behind it

Why was my father given entitlement for my mother’s labour?

Why is father’s name on every document mandatory

Then, I had a sudden epiphany

My basic identity was dependent on the males in my life

I was my father’s daughter

And after so called ‘kanyadaan’

I was going to be my husband’s wife

I would be the one changing names

I would be the one swapping homes

And if I dare wish to live separately with my husband

I would be a home-breaker

I am given equal right in property

But I am expected to relinquish it

I am free to work after marriage

Provided the in-laws approve of it

As a woman, it is natural that I be the one to sacrifice

When husband wants sex, it is expected that I oblige

Is marriage a license to rape?

Perhaps that’s why marital rape isn’t criminalised

I am so used to getting less,

That occasional equality makes me cry

I am the one raped, yet I am the one restricted

I am abused, my privacy violated

‘Not all men’, they answer in collective

Its high time you change your perspective

I know it feels uncomfortable

To have less, when all this time you had more

But it’s not just about me,

You know, equality is mutual!

Image source: Still from Nil Battey Sannata

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