This is a special series in support of the global #RingTheBell campaign to end violence against women. The first guest post is by Ayesha Kazi - A marketer, human rights activist and moderate feminist.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl with youthful, innocent dreams…”
Men today have an important responsibility looming over them. It is the act of humanizing themselves to society again. In our crazy joy ride of keeping up our charade of being a modern and well developed society we have become so all encompassing and accepting that we gladly open our arms to people without rational thought. With limitations on reasoning we watch our women toe the line and rub their noses raw in the hopes of maintaining that elusive balance for the perfect life, the perfect human, the perfect woman that everyone seems to hold up as a standard. Then there comes a day when you realize that a woman is special only because she is herself. And you love her, adore her, admire her and value her for that ‘self’.
‘What started as expectations at a young age have slowly become shackles so strong that breaking out of them break a woman’s spirit. She is unable to move. I was talking to her. She was a wreck. So young. So broken in so many different ways. She saw no hope in going forward. Every night she cried. Because she found this tough.’
The first time I spoke to her I saw that most men on the street did a double take on seeing her. She was very Indian, very flamboyant and very loud to the casual observer’s eye. This was a girl who was proud to be a woman and screamed it out loud with every swing of her leg as she walked ahead. In that moment, I felt proud to be a woman myself. A creature associated with another so free, so proud and so very happy.
She walked up to me, told me I look pretty, smiled and walked away. I wondered who would say that to another person, but the smile lingered on my lips through the day. Little Miss Sunshine. That’s how I saw her.
We bumped into each other over coffee. She had just graduated, was bubbling with energy and sought chances to grow. She was extremely kicked about getting her first job. Little Miss Sunshine seemed to be working her way up. Ten months and a few solid bonds. And a lot of coffees. And spilt secrets.
Of an abusive father who was unhappy with a girl child again. He did have the time to hear her but never to listen to her. She was wrong because she loved to read and would spend summers playing cricket and making mud pies with her male cousins. Of his fears that his daughter would become wayward and would never have a proper high society marriage.
Of a brother who was the apple of her eye but grew up to become more like his father. A young child; his opinion of women was already tainted as weak, vulnerable and exploitable.
Of her first fiancé who happened to her in her mid teens. A boy for whom she waited, in the hope that he’d turn her affections towards her; in tender hopes that if long enough his bevy of women and confused decisions would abate. Perhaps when she moved ahead and became a city girl, he would find her attractive, suave and elegant. Desirable.
Of the uncle who would come home and under the pretext of his love for her and wanting to molly-coddle her with affection, scar her with unseen marks. Of the nightmares that would follow where she would twist and turn but couldn’t seem to break out of his grasp.
Of the classmates, the friends who thought that the words on her lips and the frankness of her eyes were her consent. Men whom she trusted and befriended over a can of coke, some home cooked pasta which never filled any stomachs and the eventual benne dosa down the street. She told me how they never understood that every word she spoke was not one of consent.
Of the strangers on the road, who decided they could take liberties with her because she was a demure girl walking home from college in her modest Indian attire, and demure maidens never talk of bad things that happen to them. Held her, hurt her on a busy street where everyone watched her during those mind numbing twenty seconds but did not pull the men off her.
Of the man she dated, helped her find her footing, and made her a bit of a woman. Strong, self assured and best friend. Of his faith in her but his lack of faith in himself. His li’l habits of disappearing into darkness only to come back to realize that love doesn’t let go all too easy all the time. And then the vicious cycle would begin again to continue the game of hide and seek. The love still holds for her tender heart. And Heaven knows she is still trying.
Of the man she is currently engaged to marry. A stranger, disinterested and too busy to give his time to a child 10 years younger to him. But then again everyone is so happy that they are engaged. She has memories of the happy engagement. Of the threats and the drugging before the ceremony and the beating she received after for daring to speak boldly and not keeping her mind to herself.
She tells me of the secrets of the womenfolk in her life. Of mothers who fought hard but not hard enough because society pressurizes them. She tells me of sisters who are best friends but are scared to have an opinion. She tells me of girl friends who had time for her till she was around them then had time to hurt her when she wasn’t around. After all isn’t jealousy a woman’s trait?
She tells me of friends she has picked up along the way. Friends who remain. She tells me of work. Of the challenge. And how being a woman, fresh out of college makes her decisions less credible. She tells me of how she will always be a ‘left wing liberal’ for her seniors because she chooses to be communicative and has an interesting friends circle.
She tells me of the hot chocolate she makes with little bits of peppermint. She tells me of how curling up next to her cat in the night reinforces her faith in God and herself. She tells me that when she hears music and begins to sing she knows that she can counter these problems and live her own life. She tells me that she hates having time on her hands. She has nothing to do. And that is when she thinks. And right now her thoughts are her worst enemies. She tells me of windchimes, of daisies and fresh baked muffins. She tells me of how Vampire Diaries helps her because Elena still manages to hold strong. She tells me and I listen because she has been screaming for too long and nobody has listened.
I listen because she makes me want to live a better life and smile a lot more. I listen because I know that each man, woman that has come into her life has only been human and has been hurt as well. And she knows that too. She just burns too strong for me not to see her as beautiful. She’s too bright, she’s a little too loud. And she’s brazen about all of it.
Maybe it’s not a once upon a time story, but every time I see her, I see a fairytale. I see the perfection of a steady character and someone who is willing to admit that she has fears and insecurities. Once upon a time she was a little girl. Now she’s a woman and my muse. She’s after all Little Miss Sunshine.
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If you would like to contribute as a guest author as part of the #RingTheBell campaign, please email us at hello@wooplr.com.
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