Sreemati Sen Karmakar holds a Masters in Social Work (MSW) From Visva Bharati, Shantiniketan. She is a Development Professional, specialised in Psychiatric care of Differently Abled Children. That hasn’t stopped her from exploring other fields. Years of experience in Social and Consumer Research are also a part of her portfolio. A mother of two, she is passionate about travelling and writing. When she finds the time, she writes. Writing is catharsis.
She has been writing on a number of online platforms. One of her short stories was recently published in ‘I’m Not In Stories Only’, an anthology of horror stories by Criticspace Journals and Evincepub Publishing. She has also contributed to an anthology of short stories on Caregivers, titled, "No One Fights Alone", published by Criticspace Journals and Evincepub Publishing.
Our society doesn’t treat their daughters the way they treat the Goddess. They will throw themselves at the feet of the Goddess but they will cry their voice hoarse if a daughter is born.
It was a matter of shame for a woman to eat publicly or be fanned while she ate. Women ate the leftovers, with no question of a second helping.
“Isn’t it enough that we are all looking after her? We are doing all her chores. Can you imagine that the men of the household are doing her seva? She is blessed to have us, Didi.”
She tells me about the money she has saved for medical emergencies that might crop up, and to keep her salary on hold. She has also prepared her 13-year old boy, taught him to cook, just in case.
It’s always expected that the son has to bear all responsibilities of the parents. Not the daughter. Her one and only responsibility is to take care of her parents-in-law.
Gradually, I realised that food was an effective tool for discrimination. Despite being the queen of the kitchen, it was the man who exercised the control. Food was cooked for men- whatever they loved.
One has to understand that every child is different. Not everyone excels in academics. Academics should never be the sole criterion to judge an individual.
A woman is who refuses to change her last name after marriage is still considered a rebel and a misfit. Her decision is still not accepted!
You are a part of me. So, when you miss me, feel your heartbeat. Here, let me show you. That right there is me beating inside you.
Read this tragic short story of the night during Kaalboishakhi that will leave your heart-wrenched and senses alarmed.
Just because I am a modern woman, doesn't mean I don't enjoy festivals. Traditional celebrations mean a lot to me and I'll tell you why!
Quarantine is not a new word for us. We have been putting people in isolation for some time now, right from pregnant women to some gods!
Every festival and every ritual in our society reeks of patriarchy. Narrow-minded and parochial, isn’t it time we ushered in a change?
What is wrong in telling my son about periods and buying pads while he is around? Isn't that one more step towards normalising menstruation?
A dad who wants to pass on his A-1 skills to his daughter
For five days, when we bleed and suffer from the cramps, it’s absolutely fine to demand the much-needed rest for our body. Proudly declare, yes, we bleed!
Right from her second birthday, she was told that her place was in the kitchen. Is a woman's place only in the kitchen? Does she have no other identity?
My father's best friend took advantage of this relationship and sexually abused me for years before I spoke up, only to be silenced. But I've now found healing by fighting back as an adult.
Isn’t it high time that we changed these norms and expectations? And one last word….next time you think of such ridiculous ideas, also remember that you have a daughter.
“You have been a true warrior, beta. When everyone around us refused to help, you were the only one! Salute, warrior! ”
The indignity of baring her breast, allowing strangers to handle her private parts and the disappointment of not being able to feed her child smothered her. The happiness that she had known was short-lived.
She had no idea how long she had stood looking at him. The doors opened to her floor. Holding her by her elbow, Arjun guided her to her seat.
As if taking a cue from his friend, the furry ball jumped on mother and licked away her tears.
Food was never special for them. It was a means of sustenance. Delicacies were always cooked for men. Women learnt to survive on leftovers.
She was not a conventional beauty. Her defiance and fiery temperament was deemed unsuitable for their family. The conditions laid down by her were totally unacceptable.
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