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Poem: Disguised Motherhood. A young poet writes about the grief of losing her mother. She remembers how her mother's life was when poet was a child.
I stepped into a graveyard of a woman last night, The woman who once picked out lice from my scalp on every Thursday’s for she knew that was the most opulence service her child would be able to afford.
The woman who was alone in the same frame for her drunk husband who touches other woman more than her. The woman who left her permanent footprints within a temporary world over her gravestone, her daughter’s heart. Is not any more.
I remember. As a little child how I used to bite down the dust and chewed the threads of the torn dupatta of her silenced moans and snivelled screams.
And I withered roses in their crypts screeched out to the celibate women, who danced in circles until the shadow of the gloomy- old trees fell upon their gowns.
I do not understand how I am supposed to write about love when my mother didn’t receive any? Do mothers have a place where they can scream? Who was remembered for her existence for nothing but the kitchen tea.
For the living room to be eyed and bathrooms to be clean of every house member. My mother, who always tells me how I must never stray away from her in crowds for she has already suffered consequences of strangers. Is not any more.
I paint my mother better in my pieces than I wish her to be. But then again, are my wishes any saner than a drunkard’s greedy moustache which drinks more beer than what reaches his mouth? Even when I did kill the bird who sang me to sleep, you wouldn’t paint me as a villain, for I would still be a bipolar for you.
I step down the cemetery Of my mother who abandoned heels to not look taller than my father, who was one-fourth the woman she could be and three-fourths the woman she had to be.
While I excavated years of generational expectations from in-between her vertebrae, a frail framework of brittle bones and tattered tissues.
Image Source: Still from Fame Game on Netflix via Canva Pro
Amateur Poet // Student read more...
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People say that women are the greatest enemies of women. I vehemently disagree. It is the patriarchal mindset that makes women believe in the wrong ideology.
The entire world celebrates International Women’s Day on March 8, 2024. It should be a joyful day, but unfortunately, not all women are entitled to this privilege, as violence against women is at its peak. The experience of oppression pushes many women to choose freedom. As far as patriotism is concerned, feminism is not a cup of tea in this society.
What happens when a woman decides to stand up for herself? Does this world easily accept the decisions of women in this society? What inspires them to be free of the clutches of the oppression that women have faced for ages? Most of the time, women do not get the chance to decide for themselves. Their lives are always at the mercy of someone, which can be their parents, siblings, husband, or children.
In some cases, women do not feel the need to make any decisions. They are taught to obey the patriarchal system, which makes them believe that they are right. In my family, I was never taught to make decisions on my own. It was always my parents who bought dresses and all that I needed.
14 years after her last feature film Dhobi Ghat, storyteller extraordinaire comes up with her new film, Laapataa Ladies, a must watch.
*Some spoilers alert*
Every religion around the world dictates terms to women. The onus is always on women to be ‘modest’ and cover their faces and bodies so men can’t be “tempted”, rather than on men to keep their eyes where they belong and behave like civilized beings. So much so that even rape has been excused on the grounds of women eating chowmein or ‘men will be men’. I think the best Hindi movie retort to this unwanted advice on ‘akeli ladki khuli tijori ki tarah hoti hai’ (an alone woman is like an open jewellery box) came from Geet in Jab We Met – Kya aap gyan dene ke paise lete hain kyonki chillar nahin hain mere paas.
The premise of Laapataa Ladies is beautifully simple – two brides clad in the ghunghat that covers their identity get mixed up on a train. Within this Russian Doll, you get a comedy of errors, a story of getting lost, a commentary on patriarchy’s attitude towards women, a mystery, and a tale of finding oneself, all in one. Done with a mostly light touch that has you laughing and nodding along.
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