#ProudRandi: Why Feminism Must Challenge the Shame Around ‘Randi’

Lakshikanimesh

2 min read

·

Just now

By Lakshika Nimesh

Some words are meant to hurt. Some hashtags feel wrong. #ProudRandi might make you uncomfortable – and it should – but the discomfort shouldn’t blind us to the intention behind it: to confront shame, expose society’s hypocrisy, and challenge norms so deeply rooted that most women feel a quiet, inescapable Samarpan – a sense of helplessness in the face of injustice. What Divija Bhasin, a therapist and Instagram creator (@awkwardgoat3), did was simple yet radical: she refused to let a word define her, and in doing so, she forced society to question why women alone bear the burden of shame.

Divija’s video exposed a deeper hypocrisy in society: women are degraded, while men who perpetuate the same behaviors are quietly normalized. She shared that she frequently receives hateful comments, from men, ridiculing her for addressing taboo topics. At the same time, she receives messages from young girls whose partners and parents call them “Randis,” sometimes angrily, sometimes jokingly. This casual use of a derogatory term reflects how normalized shaming women has become.

Get Lakshikanimesh’s stories in your inbox

Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.

By reclaiming the word, Divija encouraged women to refuse shame and take power back. She emphasized, “If a word is used to hurt us, perhaps the greatest rebellion is to stop being hurt by it.” Her stance challenges the notion that words can define a woman’s worth or dignity. Reclaiming language is not about glorifying slurs – it’s about rejecting society’s attempt to control us through shame.

Her boldness did not go unnoticed. Critics accused her of “glorifying” the word, labeling her a “pseudo-feminist” and questioning her intentions. But the outrage itself reflects a painful truth: society is far quicker to police women’s words than to question men’s actions.

From my perspective, the courage and frustration Divija shows feel like a kind of “Samarpan” – not in admiration, but as a recognition of helplessness before a problem so deeply rooted in society that individuals alone cannot fix it. It reflects both fearlessness and frustration: an acknowledgment that while we can fight, some patterns are entrenched in cultural norms and systemic bias.

When I think about this, I reflect personally: if words like these were directed at our mothers, sisters, or daughters, how would that make us feel? This reflection shows why challenging these insults matters – not just for ourselves, but for every woman around us.

It’s time to stop letting language define a woman’s purity. It’s time to reclaim words, reclaim power, and redefine what they mean.