Musings~

Social justice is like traffic signs. Before you learn driving, you don’t notice the signs around you; But after you learn driving, you can’t NOT notice it.
Suddenly, you realise how injust society has been to women from the beginning. And then you understand, it started from your home.
I live in a Indian-Hindu family, where women are apparently “goddesses”. I’ve suffered small kinds of discrimination from the early years.
These instances seemed fine, normal in fact. I think that is the most dangerous part.

Ignorance.

Just recently, I cut off my hair. It’s pretty short. I cut off my hair to donate it, but the reasons are irrelevant.
The only thing I’ve heard from all the “mature adults” from my family is, “Oh lord! Look how short it is. Don’t you know girls arw supposed to have long hair?!”
Really? Did I miss the memo that said how girls are supposed to behave or look?
Where did everyone find this “ladylike” characteristics that every girl is supposed to follow?
I was asked to clean the table, or learn to cook when my brother could watch TV because I will HAVE to use it someday.
I couldn’t talk to any boy from my class, without giving his full background information.
When I sat cross legged, I was asked to sit properly, like a ‘woman’. (????)
My male cousins are asked to think of higher studies after their 4 to 6 year courses when I’m asked to think of a groom.
We were sitting at a party where all the men was drinking; but as soon as a lady took a small sip of alcohol she was irresponsible. Are drinks only supposed to be enjoyed by men? Or rather, why don’t you scoff at men too? Or is it that alcohol doesn’t affect men’s livers?

I start noticing small things like this. And I’m in physical pain. No matter how strong a feminist movement we have, things wouldn’t change. Not for a long while. Women and men are given specific roles and they will HAVE to stick to them.
The ‘rebels’ in the society will be shunned out.

But even if it takes a while, even if they shun off all the rebels , we’ll rise back up. We will do something.
We aren’t the screwed up generation like they make us seem.
We’re the generation of change.
And we’ll bring it.

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4 weeks.

‘This place seems super cool! I hope I get in here.’ I exclaim as I reach the gates of my home for 5 years. Of course, I didn’t know then.

Fast forward 7 months. First day of college. I have the same excitement as I walk in. All new (confused) faces. Everyone put up their most sane and well behaved selves on display; So did I.

Then it began. “The Saga of Anagha trying to be like others, so that she would fit in.” I cursed my usual introvert self, and tried hard. Topics I had no clue about, became my favorite ones. The need to impress people grew everyday. The narcissist in me who thrived on the attention, suddenly didn’t get any and was, I quote, “depressed.”

The weekend arrived and took me home.

The following Monday, I was a changed person. “I tried. I can’t anymore.” I thought, if I didn’t try people around would magically want to talk to me. Playing hard-to-get with around 120 people of my batch. As I walked over to my academic block, the building that once astounded me, now seemed like a magic trick you knew the secrets to.

I took solace in the library. I assumed, if I spent most of my time there, I wouldn’t need to talk to anyone and also, I would score good grades. Flawless plan.
But , my library turned out to be a place that would hear my whining and complaints about my college life, to my ‘real friends’ – states away.
Library: where I grew closer to people across countries, than the girl in the bed beside me.

The weekend knocked on my door and I ran home.

The following monday, I was a changed person, once again. I broke away from my cell(phone) and started conversations. The only difference was, this time, it was the real Anagha and not the Cool girl Anagha. (Although, the real Anagha was pretty cool too, thank you very much.) Steering the conversations into my fort√©, I thought to myself ‘ I could survive here afterall.
The real Anagha impressed people, without even trying.

The weekend had to pull me home this time.

The following monday, everyone was a changed person. The obligatory smiles had turned into warm ‘Good morning!‘s ‘
I did it! I cracked the code to happiness! The secret was to be myself. ‘Not really a secret is it?’

And at the end of the rollercoaster ride that was ‘The first month of college’ , when the last weekend was waiting at the gate, I heard it;

‘Hey, will you stay here for the weekend?’

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Father’s Day

Seasons changed,
Skies grew warmer,
The air up here got stronger,
Yet the memories remained the same.

You held my hand ,
You pulled me up,
You made me feel safe,
And I did.

Why did you leave so soon?

I’m back here,
our favorite spot full of flowers,
Your favorite kind;

Yet they seem sad;
Strange? How flowers seem sad?
The only logical reason
They miss you.

I miss you.
Why did you leave so soon?

As I walked up,
The clouds grew darker and heavier.
They poured and poured,
I realized they were crying for you, too.

Even the stones seemed angry
Piercing into my naked foot

Blood smears marked my way,
Though, I wouldn’t need them.

Why did you leave so soon?

I’m up here,
Where we sat for hours
Sometimes talking , sometimes in comfortable silence.
The majestic view of the mountain always astounded us,
Don’t you remember?

But now,everything seems so insignificant,
All colors seem so dull;
Only the bright blue sky invited me home.
Home, to you.

I fall to the ground hoping to reach above,
I laugh at the irony;

The descent seemed to take centuries,
The trees seemed to wave goodbye,
I smile-

Don’t worry dad,
Your little girl is coming home, to you.
The perfect gift for Father’s day.

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Conversations.

“You’re what everyone looks for,
Yet, how is it that people rarely find you?
Of course, flashing lights don’t point to you,
Sometimes you’re so well hidden,
Nobody notices you;
Ninja aren’t ya?”

Smiling, you said
“I was always there.”

It flashed before my eyes;
The one that got away,
The one that broke me,
The one I broke,
The one who walked away,

“No, not always.
I had been mended time and again,
Made to believe you existed,
I tried to find you.
From Shakespearean sonnets
To tumblr quotes,
All they ever spoke about was you.
Then why did I not find you?
You weren’t always there.
You were never there.”

“You didn’t search for me,
The real me;
I was there as your mother’s food,
The one she made, after her tiring day.
I was there as your father’s support,
Even that time you failed the test.
I was there as your best friend,
Laughing at silly things to cheer you up.
I was there as your teacher,
Giving you that extra mark to boost your grade.
I was there as that stranger,
Helping you up after you tripped.

I was always there all around,
Someway.
Look for me in the smallest of things;
And you’ll always find me:love.”

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