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By A ‘Common Woman’

When Arjuna went to the battlefield and realized that he must fight his loved ones, he no longer wanted to fight. His fingers trembled as his bow fell from his hand. He was depressed.

When you are depressed, you lose your will to fight. You want to self-destruct. You feel completely and utterly hopeless. If you are me, then you do not want to feel positive about a situation because you are afraid, you’ll sink lower into depression if you allow yourself to feel happy for even a moment.

I think my marriage is ending. I know the feeling – it’s familiar to me by now: exhaustion, high blood pressure, insomnia, everything feels… static. It’s like you’re a fallen soldier on a battlefield. There’s a war going on around you and you know you must fight, but you’re lying on the dusty ground, seeing blood and gore around you thinking, “What’s the point?” You want to rest but you can’t. You want to silence your mind, but all you feel is numb. Pointless. Fleeting moments of happiness, amusement, and joy come and go, as you observe the world with a heavy heart and a restless brain.

Deep down, I know my marriage was never a strong one to begin with. Sure, it carried with it the promise of a wonderful and fulfilling relationship. After all, who voluntarily enters a marriage thinking it might not last? I entered mine with hope and trepidation. I knew we had potential problems we needed to sort out, but as long as ‘we’ were a team, we would manage to overcome every challenge sooner or later, right?

Turns out, when it comes to a large number of men, or perhaps Indian men, there is no ‘we’ in a marriage. For mine too, the ‘we’ in my marriage belongs to my husband and his parents. In one of the many fights we had in the first couple of months of our marriage, I’d yelled, “You and your parents are a team, but what about me?” I don’t even remember what he said, but I highly doubt he’d have reassured me otherwise.

I have never been part of my husband’s club since we got married until the day of our impending divorce. His parents make all the decisions for their thirty-three-year-old child. What work he does at his office, what he wears to what he eats are all dependent on their wishes. He doesn’t get up from bed in the morning or go to sleep at night without hearing from them. And if you’re wondering whether he was like this on our honeymoon as well, let me tell you he canceled having a honeymoon in the first place and instead, chose to spend his vacation days hanging out with his parents. In fact, he spends all his vacation days reserved for his parents – not even one out of twenty-one days is for anyone else. And not a single one belongs to me.

I never thought I would be the girl on the internet ranting about her husband. Then again, I never thought I would be the girl who’d be contemplating a divorce when I have wanted my own beautiful love story since I was five years old. To have the perfect partner, you must be the perfect partner. So I became the most perfect version of myself I could be: got the best education from the best places, got multiple certifications, got the good job, and developed all the skills a person should have – be it cooking, taking care of pets, driving, changing a bulb, you name it. I continue to educate myself on all things that matter to him, from how to give the perfect blowjobs to how to invest wisely in high-risk investments. From doing my laundry to filing my taxes, I do everything and try to learn everything.

Yet, it makes no difference to my marriage. If my mother-in-law tells him not to eat a banana because it’ll give him ‘high cholesterol’, he won’t touch a banana. All the logic in the world given by his wife makes no difference. After a point, you think, “Did my husband want a ‘wife’ for his parents or a best friend for life?” Sadly, I know the answer and it depresses me more.

I do not want to complain about my husband. What I do want to do is ask all parents – Is this what you want, your child to remain co-dependent for the rest of your lives? What will that child do when you are too old, and he can neither talk to you nor his estranged wife and kids? Why are so many mothers hell-bent on making their children completely unsuitable for the world? Will we as a society ever change, or will you continue to ruin the lives of more women and ultimately, blame them when things fall apart?

In the end though, Arjuna had to perform his duty, his dharma, just like millions of Indian women who fight for their marriage despite society considering them the outsider in a family of parents and their son. And when they fail like the Pandava prince, they surrender the fate of their lives to Krishna, and the divine will of the universe.

Guest Author (Anonymous)

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By Srinivas Rayappa

“Having a sister is like having a best friend you can’t get rid of. You know whatever you do, they’ll still be there.” – Amy Li

Bebe, Heather, Mimi and Laurie – popularly known as The Brown sisters have shown that sisters can indeed be best friends for life, through a very unique experiment – that although they had stumbled upon to pass boredom, eventually became an annual ritual that has continued for the last 40 years.  

Nicholas Nixon met BeBe in 1970 and they were married the following year. Nixon was 21, and BeBe was 20. They would usually spend the weekends with BeBe’s parents and that’s where this magnificent idea originated. A single photo of BeBe and her three sisters (Mimi, Laurie, Heather) taken back in the August of 1974 to bide boredom, turned into a long term project for Nixon with the sustained co-operation of the four sisters. Even though the first photograph was not upto his expectations, the idea continued to linger in his mind before it metamorphosed into an annual affair.

A year later, at the graduation of one of the sisters, while readying a shot of them, Nixon suggested that the four sisters line up in the same order that they had done the previous year. After he saw the image, he asked them if they might do it every year and they seemed to concur with him on the idea. It’s been 40 years since and the sisters have met every single year for this photo-event. This long photo-journey stands testament to the power of one simple yet great idea and the endurance of sisterhood.

For 40 years none of the sisters have missed this annual ‘photo ritual’ event, which emphasizes the strong bond they have for each other, which would be what most families strive for. When the first photograph was taken Mimi was 15, Laurie 21, Heather 23, and BeBe 25. Despite passage of 40 years since, nothing seems to have changed between the sisters as they still seem to lean on each other with the same fond affection as the first, in each and every photograph.

What stands out in each of the photos is that the sisters have a rather serious look but the attitude they wear is unparalleled. Staring straight into the photographer’s lens, they stand closely in a loving embrace which illuminates the sense of sisterhood and unity. The sisters don’t seem to be perturbed either by the passage of time, life’s transitions, changing seasons or their ageing process. The location seems totally unimportant under the circumstances.

The consistency in the order in which the sisters pose for the camera is indeed noticeable – left to right, Heather, Mimi, BeBe and Laurie. Nixon consciously chose to use a 8x10in view camera on a tripod and black-and-white film. It has been that way ever since.

The natural light, the simplicity, the casual postures, unfussy preparations and glamour-neutral attitudes are the highlights of all the photographs. Bebe Nixon in an interview explained the secret behind these simple yet powerful portraits – “We sisters never discussed what we are going to wear. We just wore what we felt like wearing that day.”

Had the sisters decided to start a rock band these black and white photographs would have probably formed the ideal CD cover for their albums.

Pursuing the whole project always rested on the idea of mortality. What if one of the sisters die? Would Nixon still be enthused to take this annual ritual forward? The obsessive photographer that he is, Nixon explains “We joke about it. But everybody knows that certainly my intention would be that we would go on forever, no matter what. To just take three, and then two, and then one. The joke question is: what happens if I go in the middle. I think we’ll figure that out when the time comes.”

The series of portraits have been unveiled at Fraenkel Gallery booth at Paris Photo and Museum of Modern Art, New York, coinciding with the museum’s publication of the book “The Brown Sisters: Forty Years”.

Nicholas Nixon, who grew up a single child, has been especially intrigued by the endurance of sisterhood and the deep emotional connect among the sisters which enthused him to pursue this ritual for the last 40 years. The cumulative effect of this 40 year journey is indeed emotional, dizzying, nostalgic and sends out a powerful message to all the sisters across the globe. Also, the extraordinary cumulative power that rests on the photographer’s singular ability to capture the passage of time and, with it, human ageing, emotions and the lurking shadow of mortality, is indeed laudable.

In an era where siblings hardly meet or meet via video conference, the life long journey of the Brown sisters is a lesson on the paramountcy of togetherness and bonding.

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कभी सिसकती बालाओं की, 

सुध लेती थी जनता सारी,

आज चहकती अबलाओं की, 

चिता सजाने की तैयारी।।

कब तक ऐसी दशा रहेगी? 

कब तक तांडव क्रूर चलेगा? 

क्या अब भी मानव बदलेगा? 

सारे मानव मूल्य तिरोहित, 

मानवता की कत्ल हो रही, 

हर्षित दिखते लगभग सारे, 

हाहाकार चतुर्दिक पाकर, 

कैसा वज्र हृदय मानव अब 

हिंसक, पशुवत, ब्यभिचारी? 

कबतक ऐसी ब्यार बहेगी? 

कबतक झंझावात चलेगा? 

क्या अब भी मानव बदलेगा? 

परम्पराएं लुप्त हो रहीं, 

नव – जीवन शैली अपनाकर, 

चकाचौंध फ़ैशन की दुनिया, 

झूठ – मूठ जादू दिखलाकर, 

पिता – पुत्र, गुरु – शिष्य विखण्डित, 

भावशून्य, अब्यक्त, अपरिमित, 

कब तक रिश्ते बेजान रहेंगे? 

कब तक ऐसा ब्यवधान रहेगा? 

क्या अब भी मानव बदलेगा? 

बालेन्दु कुमार बम बम 

पी. जी. टी, अंग्रेजी डी.ए.वी कैंट एरिया, गया (बिहार)

Image Credit: Aaron Blanco Tejedo

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Women In Our Country

by Elsa Joel

DR. ELSA LYCIAS JOEL

In our society, I hear a hypocritical outcry of deteriorating traditional values when a woman walks out of her marriage. But no one raises voice or limbs in support of the larger number of financially dependent women struggling in bad marriages without rushing to get divorced. Young and old professionals are more prone to and professional at calling off their marriages and only women continue to shoulder the blame. Divorce isn’t the flavour of any season. It happens not because women are uncultured, characterless or non religious but because they are educated, aware and have a strong sense of self-esteem. Institution of marriage will be respected minus incompatibility, temperamental differences and intolerance.
Societal and familial pressure or trepidation of being frowned upon cannot force a man and a woman to live together. Many divorces are filled with bitterness, hostility and rancor because men assume mud fighting and slander can hurt women in a reputation-conscious society. When women encounter problems in our society, tackling them calls for not loud voices, processions or placards but an objective analysis of reasons which underlie them. Not by law makers and enforcers but by every other woman and citizen who adorns different roles to women in their lives. 
We always find it too improper to mention the real cause of women subjugation, especially if its religion or scriptures. As a result, a culture of pseudo analysis and pseudo action becomes the norm. We have been seeing and hearing expressions like ‘women reservation bill’, ‘Nirbhaya fund’, ‘special woman safety programme’ and so on being bandied about as part of political debates and talk shows. Politicians, as we all have seen, heard and known are supposedly well-trained suitably qualified people who position themselves right at the centre of action with the explicit purpose of not putting anything into action and get away with anything in politics.
Countries which have been able to make some real, visible progress in women safety and empowerment are those whose leaders and citizens have been able to confront the problems head-on to find solutions. The government of Iceland has been funding UNIFEM (United Nations Development Fund  for Women) for the past three years to promote gender equality and Iceland stands number one on the list of safest countries for women. By almost every metric compared to the rest of the world, Denmark is very safe and it comes second. Denmark also has a history of finishing as the #1 happiest nation in the world according to statistics. Gender equality is important to the Nordic countries: Political parties in Sweden, Norway and Iceland all have gender quotas, which promote female candidates for top roles. As such, every country has their own ideals of equality between men and women. But if one understands equality as just a respectful treatment minus violence, abuse and harassment another, we can’t call it equality until there is a gender pay gap or glass ceiling.
Agreed, men and women are different biologically and psychologically. Women play certain roles better than men and vice versa to complement one another, be it home or work place. Never to prove one is dominant over the other.
In India, the governments that came and went dragged their everything on passing the women’s reservation Bill for a decade. Rape storms batter our country and #Metoo -a -day routine followed by the blow-by-blow breaking of news by the media calls for a closer and quicker look of where we stand as the victim rarely an opportunistic one or the assailant, many a time the one with money and muscle power. Guilt is presumed; innocence has to be proved beyond all reasonable doubt makes the concerned lie low and patient till they die or disappear. Worse still, rapists will brazenly continue raping unmindful of reprisals which they know how to handle and sometimes adorn seats in legislative assemblies and Parliament too. With such brats at the top, not just lofty things but even normal living for Bharath mathas and putris of all age groups become a dream. Seems like it’s not just ‘United we loot’ but ‘United we molest and rape’.
I hear desi folks scream, ‘increased divorce rates’. I’ve heard mothers and grandmothers warning girl children differently such as, “control your anger, you are a girl”. Such social conditioning of girl children in our society never needed any extra effort from anybody because religion is an important part of our country’s culture. And all religions profess and practice male dominance directly or indirectly. All over our spiritual India, women fast on sacred days to ensure their husbands’ longevity but there is nothing similar in the scriptures that expect a man to follow any ritual. In spite of these rituals, many studies and statistics show that women outlive men for reasons known to all. Still, women attempt these rituals out of fear because they know what widowhood means in a country like ours. Most religious traditions have subjugated women.
Sexism is intrinsic to Hinduism and Buddhism. The Abrahamic religions of Judaism, Christianity and Islam have been worse. So much of howling and screaming is done against the objectification of women without realising thatnothing will change until scriptures are re-written.
Verse 2-213 of Manusmriti ‘ “Swabhav ev narinamiha dhooshnam…’ is translated as “It is the nature of women to seduce men in this world; for that reason the learned are never unguarded in the company of females”.
 Verse 5/151 when translated goes as this “Girls are supposed to be in the custody of their father when they are children, women must be under the custody of their husband when married and under the custody of her son as widows. In no circumstances is she allowed to assert herself independently”.
Manusmriti is in a way too primitive.
The Bible’s decree of male supremacy is known to the world. Most blessed mothers in the Bible are recorded to have given birth to sons only. Yes, a son as a firstborn is equated to a great blessing. The story of the adulteress who Jesus forgave and saved from being stoned is an example of how a combination of sex, a woman, public disgrace and double standard worked since biblical times. There was no mention of the man involved in the act. Without any mentioning the uphill battle remains steep for Muslim women. It is indisputable that women are excluded from Judaism’s most hallowed rituals and practices helping us understand that Judaism privileges are fundamentally male.
Sabarimala hullabaloo is a case in point. If discrimination to enter a temple is based on sexual orientation and caste , constitutional Articles related to freedom of religion and essential religious practices must be read to have a wider meaning to signal a new era of transformative constitutionalism. Freedom, rights and values embodied in our constitution should not be let to freeze in time. That would mean no possibility of positive change and progress to changing societal needs. Places of male gods cite menstruation as the main reason for denying women their religious freedom. How come theormative descriptive imagery and pronouns for god are male enabling people to sculpt them that way.
Being a Tamilian I pondered over ‘kallanalum kanavan pullanalum purushan’. It means even if the man is as insensitive as a stone or as useless as a blade of grass he is still ‘THE HUSBAND’, a visible god to the wife. Who else but a Male chauvinist must have uttered this proverb! And another insinuating comment from men goes as “Ellu na ennai ya vandu nikkanam” translated as  “Do more than what is expected of you” or  “going the extra mile” conveys the typical male attitude. Tamil literature has enough stories praising devout wives. Nothing wrong about it. But sometimes imaginations soar so high making stories sound ridiculous. One example is Vasuki Ammaiyar, a “Pathiviradhai” cooking delicious meal out a bag of sand given to her by Thiruvalluvar. Making such a story on a man of great intellect isn’t justifiable. And the pail that hung in mid air as this “Pathiviradhai” rushed to address her husband’s call half way through drawing water from a well is another story to motivate devotion in women.
Bharath Matha is one country where women are worshipped yet discriminated against and abused. It’s a national shame that despite more and more laws and funds, governments of secular, democratic and pluralistic India finds it difficult toensure that all sections of citizens feel equal, protected and secure. Were goddesses spared! Parvati created a boy to guard her doors from Shiva. Sita had to walk through fire to prove her loyalty. Unless mythologies are retold and understood in the right spirit, if not rewritten, these will be used to normalize or rationalize different forms of oppression or abuse, of course by the wrong people. 
Kathua,  Hathras, Unnao and many more can’t be forgotten, forgiven. Meanwhile, Rajvir Singh Pahalwan and Surendra Nath Singh ought to be educated on what amounts to rape. How does Surendra Nath Singh know that sanskar hasn’t been instilled in victims?  The Hathras district court was forced to stop the trial proceedings after Hari Sharma and his son Tarun Hari Sharma,  one of the advocates of the accused, created a hullabaloo and issued threats. But how was the father- son duo handled after their misbehavior is yet to be known. Being blessed with common sense, I guess, interrupting court proceedings by words and deeds should be considered as gross criminal contempt of Court.

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By Kanika Bhatia 

[Rejections are like the caste system in this country. Highly visible, tangible yet rendered invisible by habit. Why is the current hustle culture, in love, career, even dreams not allowing us to celebrate the ways we handled, still handle, rejections everyday? When did dreams take the spotlight away from struggle, love from heartbreak and identity from ethos. Let’s explore.]

I noticed a tall board on my long drive towards Yamuna expressway the other day. Very simply, it read “Sensitive Zone.” I felt it and as a fair warning that’s where we are entering right now. If love in its varied formats, as romance, dream job, a bench at a deserted park has been the common theme for writers across the world, the flip side is rejections. Because what is heart felt if it doesn’t come with a little heart break. I have been a writer even before I said it out loud to myself or anyone else. However, the number of times I have rejected myself as one is the biggest story I will tell one day. What you’re about to read, is the various ways rejection works. It breaks you, makes you, and sometimes for all things reasonable, it becomes you. 

There are small infusions borrowed haphazardly from stories people have shared with me. For the lack of a better term, I call myself an enabler. This midwife quality of a writer that lets us borrow from your story to share truth, you might have missed sometimes, are essentially why writers exist. This essay has allies in rejection for each one who was brave enough to share with a stranger on the internet. Somedays I imagine us talking to each other like prisoners at night in refugee camps, “Sometimes me cry alone at night” – raw, honest, unchecked.

With loss or set back of any kind there is always the urge to string black crepe cloth over the whole period you struggled for. You would rather prefer to wipe out the memory, like the end of the safety net of college or my twenty six inch waist. But the idea of talking difficult memories is bound to make you feel more empowered than when you entered the room, and I am not fond of silence if we are being honest. Ann Patchett once wrote, “One of the things I’ve discovered in life is that no matter how vastly different our experiences are, the emotional responses to those experiences are often universal.” By paraphrasing your stories, I tried to meet all of them at a conjunction point, hoping there is light for all of us ahead. 

“I feel rejected everyday in my married life.” The day I implored for stories, this was the first message in my inbox, within the first ten minutes. I followed up, she promised, nothing came, I didn’t ask again. How do you ask someone to tell me more about a rejection she lives each day? No nostalgia, no painful memory but an everyday pain. If struggle is the biggest differentiator, I couldn’t bring myself to even fathom the 5Ws and the biggest how. Her struggle is beyond my limited bubble of privilege of choice. WHAT could be the rejection like, WHY was he doing this, WHERE did it hurt most (ego, heart or was it unbearably physical now?), WHEN will it stop, WHO will stop it and HOW will she save herself? Often when I see my little nephew going about his day, accepting and rejecting toys, textures, food, I am amazed at the callousness of children. They don’t understand rejection, and toys, food and textures don’t mind it. But at what age do we give away the power to another being for making us feel how they deem fit? When did we stop discarding what we didn’t like with a child-like ease? We were too afraid to break others so we cracked ourselves. 

Long ago, someone told me about manifestation journals. They are different because here you write things in hope that they will happen or manifest themselves before you somehow. Long lived dreams and goals are akin to those first entries in a manifestation journal. You have wanted them for a considerable part of your life, you have talked about them to whoever was listening and your mother smiles each time you look at her for reassurance that you will achieve it. What happens when one day you’re given a piece of paper that declares you can never have it. In fact, you don’t belong in the arena, and you’re not fit to even fight for this dream. How much of your person dies a little that day? This dream that metamorphosised into you gradually so much so that you no longer WANT to be a soldier, you ARE. You convinced yourself, you saw yourself in the uniform, you manifested this vision via your father, sister, uncle. You even pictured life through the kaleidoscope of discipline, patriotism and worth. It was almost in your fist, till it wasn’t. Now? Rejected, dejected and lost or hopeful, wiser and experienced. Life lets you be a true debutant sometimes. 

Burial and birth tie us to a place. They become a close identity metric. It’s the equaliser: thoughts, food, culture and means. But what happens when the same land keeps you estranged from happiness? How do you handle a rejection that raises no question on your worth, but feels too personal, too close to home? He didn’t know, he was honest in his naivety, but how long do you bury the city of your birth into oblivion, and why? When did a small town become slang or a rejection letter for love? Like the modern generation he swiped left and right, till it hit him, “modernity” was no guarantee of judgement free zones, and often it’s restricted to attires and social media humdrum. He found and lost “love”, each time with a “it’s not you, it’s me” humming sound till it was neither. It was the same city that he felt proud of, the same soil he played in, the same land that now nourished his parents that bore the denied stamp for love or a chance at it. This was a part of who he was, where he came from, how do you wipe off an identity to get a chance at love. Moreover, will love like this be worth it? Rejection bears its imprint on resumes and hearts, but soil was a first. 

These particular stories spoke to me. As a writer, when you’re trying to converse with your subject, you try so hard to connect with him/her. The writer’s paradox lies in the fact that we chase a unique story but try equally hard to find semblance, because we want to be you, to write you. These three stories, I couldn’t see myself in. I could sense the helplessness, a tear rolling down the cheek, the lingering finger tips of all things that reject you and the sinking feeling in their stomachs. BUT it was their story. As a writer, you need to learn to render yourself invisible, depersonalise.  The story is always bigger than you. I had drafts. How did I wish to tell these stories? I mutilated myself enough times, discarding, rejecting my own words till they seemed a little like yours. Hope it did a decent job. 

Also read it on the Author’s personal blog : https://www.shesaidit.in/post/rejection-stories

Picture Credits : Hao Hao (Ilustrationx)

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The Womb is an e-platform to bring together a community of people who are passionate about women rights and gender justice. It hopes to create space for women issues in the media which are oft neglected and mostly negative. For our boys and girls to grow up in a world where everyone has equal opportunity irrespective of gender, it is important to create this space for women issues and women stories, to offset the patriarchal tilt in our mainstream media and society.

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