No Woman, No Cry.

After celebrating International Women's Day on March 8th, I am sitting down to write this essay and am attempting to recall anything and everything exceptional about women as an entire community of resolute, empathetic, vulnerable, stingy, powerful, cannibalistic, angry, weeping, and ambitious individuals.

While scrolling social media, I came across the umpteenth post about women empowerment, unerringly inspiring women to come to the forefront of their lives and take their autonomy and power back. Everything was discussed, from putting women on pedestals as goddesses (which happens blatantly in my country, India), to implicating high-end policies and resolutions to help them gain an equal seat at the table in all aspects of life. I was a bit taken aback, but not particularly surprised, by the limited barrage of posts discussing marginalised women, women without dreams, women who are stuck, women who are considered ugly, women who made mistakes, and women who are here to stay.

Not only today, but every single day I spend an ample amount of time thinking about and unravelling anything immemorial about my womanhood. How does it feel to exist in a world that shuns you, puts you down, celebrates you another day, and parades you naked the day you clunk a foot out of the beautiful box that they imprisoned you in? What if I don't want to be your fragile metaphorical example? What if my eyes don't resemble constellations? What if I don't want to be your symbol for how to persevere and move forward ? What if my stretchmarks don't resemble the manifolds or the depth of sand at the Sahara, but what if they depict the helpless plight of a grown woman that justly deserves and commands the respect of being treated like a human?

When I think back to particular events when I was 16 or 17, I simply giggle at my complete inability to comprehend the power of sisterhood. Today, right now, I feel vulnerable, comfortable, and emotionally charged to be in a room with a group of people who, without saying or listening, have organically acknowledged what my endurance is, what it means to be a character in literature, and what it feels like to constantly hear the world say that your heart & soul can't withstand the strain of your dream.

I, for one, was raised within an extremely ambiguous patriarchal family while growing up. My achievements were stealthily honoured against the backdrop of the sheer abuse, humiliation, and often body shaming my mother endured. 23 years down the line, she has stayed; she had no choice. She made her decision to fight back the best she could, and she was called hysterical, angry, and irrational for bottling up her emotions. I, for one, in this myriad of toxicity, decided to forgive her abuser but never cower in fear of living out loud. I was her daughter, and she lived the way she wanted, with her wide smile and her boisterous, childlike laughter. My idea of what a woman should be was tantamount to that of my mother's teachings; she taught me to be funny, laugh without shame, ask questions, and fear no one except God.

I don't really know what the future holds for me or for the women around me, because I often ponder how, unlike any other bunch, the implications we endure and what we go through have an immediate domino effect on all of us.

I think about the future and hope that it will happen someday, when I am on my deathbed. I hope I leave a better tomorrow for my sisters, not bonded over blood or selfish proclamations to acquire, but over struggles to survive, knowing that they have been, they are, and they will be worth it since the day they came out of the womb!

I'll end my lame charades here by quoting one of my darling icons: Maya Angelou - "I am grateful to be a woman; I must have done something great in another life."✊🏼