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Poem: Patriarchy — I am sure, her, him or they, if you read this, you have come across men who think their highest achievement is being born a man.
I am sure, her, him or they, if you read this, you have come across men who think their highest achievement is being born a man
They may have a far lesser understanding of life but always pretend that they are tapped into the universal plan
And of course they don’t see women as a fellow human but someone to lord over
Their upbringing left no scope for learning, and they bring their own bar down lower and lower
Men who feel the need to be right, always weather with their daughter or son
Who like to have the last word or else all hell breaks loose with abuse and the fallacy of their being comes undone
As they age, they become these egomaniacs whose energy can fill up a very large space
Their show of this faulty power is an absolute disgrace
These powerful men, mind you, are also super dependent
There isn’t a single task they can complete in independence
But will have an opinion on how things should function around
If being a man was a job, they would have been fired or clowned
Humanity is the primary requirement of being a mammal called human
Such men and the women who are enablers of them are the reason of chaos and confusion
Being raised by two imperfect people so steely and strong, as a human and not just a woman
The least I can do is raise my little one the same, who will question everything inhuman.
I may sound a simpleton trying to be poetic of a problem so dread
But if my simplicity takes me to my humanity, I would rather be simple instead.
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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.
Every daughter, no matter how old, yearns to come home to her parents' place - ‘Home’ to us is where we were brought up with great care till marriage served us an eviction notice.
Every year Dugga comes home with her children and stays with her parents for ten days. These ten days are filled with fun and festivity. On the tenth day, everyone gathers to feed her sweets and bids her a teary-eyed adieu. ‘Dugga’ is no one but our Goddess Durga whose annual trip to Earth is scheduled in Autumn. She might be a Goddess to all. But to us, she is the next-door girl who returns home to stay with her parents.
When I was a child, I would cry on the day of Dashami (immersion) and ask Ma, “Why can’t she come again?” My mother would always smile back.
I mouthed the same dialogue as a 23-year-old, who was home for Durga Puja. This time, my mother graced me with a reply. “Durga is fortunate to come home at least once. But many have never been home after marriage.”
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