The invisible lines

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Patriarchy through the eyes of an Indian woman

I don’t attribute my submissiveness to my upper middle class south Indian father, who managed to infuse the idea of a soft feminist core like that of “ sita” in my adolescence. That’s how this works. And it’s the same ideology for any girl born in this country.A soft girl adulting in a world full of patriarchs. It’s that rage hidden inside every woman, that peeks outside whenever we need to liberate ourselves one intentional step at a time. Dream about wearing denims at adolescence only after you have had good grades in college. There is eligibility for every upgrade. Drowning inside the details of the Indian traditional core, the girl never imagines stepping out of the boundaries laid down by every father, who works hard just to save some money for his daughter’s wedding. Every pie is hard earned. Born into this culture feels like being part of a massive power struggle with all the male counterparts in your life. Obedient, silent and meek the girl doesn’t know what freedom is.

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A girl is crushed to the point of death, to survive the male superiority at every stage of her life. It all finally depends on how good you are in your academics. You should be damn lucky to possess the smartness needed to earn a good income through your education. Doesn’t this ability rely on your father’s genes? How clever do you have to be to out smart your traditional father to bloom into an independent woman? The invisible line a girl walks through to face resistance at every step, from the reforms of the government,a random stranger in the bus who gives a second look at what you are wearing, a relative who will want to know how much you earn to the shocking incidences of rape, is practically insurmountable. Every win against patriarchy is seen with a lot of judgement. You are a force at work, a forever sun flower to your husband, an unconditional mother to your baby, a multitasker and master of too many things that matter to lead a monumental life good enough for the western eyes. One in every 10 girls goes through a distressed life. The path to glory is almost always blurred and unattainable.

Here, everything is a mission :
a denied outing, a comment at a family function, the first pair of jeans bought secretly, a conversation about marriage and money.Freedom was never denied outright.It was rationed. Earned. Delayed.
And yet, somewhere between obedience and silence,the lines that raised me are invisible,the lines that I walk everyday are invisible, only to bury me deep inside my own making and my own soul, I emerge on the other side fully consumed or fully bloomed only time can tell.