Stop.

You tell me to stop

So instead I type

Because to stop would mean

That this world is fine

And it’s okay to accept it

Just the way it is.

But there, you see

Lies the problem

I cannot stop

For to stop would mean

That I’m finally comfortable

Wearing hot pants and walking

On a dark empty road at night

That my gender no longer

Matters at work

That I won't be asked

Without realising

To book the meeting room

Or arrange the hospitality

To leave after work

Early before a drink

That paternity leave

Is as important as maternity

That popping out a baby

Is no longer just my responsibility

That I don’t have to spend my life

Being Superman

And Wonder Woman

Morphed into one

For I still don’t know how

To make that perfect roti

And manage my retirement fund

And pay my EMIs

And manage to find a job

That doesn’t make me

Tear out my hair

Drown a little everyday

Give up my dignity just a little more

Within these corporate walls

Closing in, closing in.

I’ll stop when I no longer

Feel guilty about sitting

In a women’s compartment

A ladies seat

A ladies special

Or worse

For taking up space

In a general dabba

Which men choose to believe

Is now for men

For why do girls bother entering

When they have a place of their own

Ironic, wouldn't you say

Since the only reason we need that place

Is because your hands decide

To nonchalantly not stay your own.

I’ll stop when I no longer

Need to share my Uber details

Need to carry a pepperspray

Need to worry about what I say

Need to hide my night time escapades

My clothes, my choices

My brains.

You tell me to stop

So instead I type

For what else can I do

Except fight a little

Every day

My way

And hope

That one day

You won’t tell me

To stop

This mahila morcha

This feminist crap

That one day

I won't need to

And this world will be fine

And I’ll stop.

Of feminists and Idiots

As I write this, I am seething. And that is probably not the best mood to be writing in. Or maybe it is. Because you see, I’m not the beyond-anger-type-irrational seething. I haven’t felt this calm in ages. And I’m seething.

Because this topic keeps coming up, and somehow has come up a few too many times recently. I’ve written on it before, and yet, here I find myself writing all over again. Because you see, a gazillion posts wouldn’t be enough on this topic.

I’m so tired of this debate, of people debating without a single clue in the world, of everyone having to take one side or the other, of people pointing fingers, and saying in almost a disgusting way, feminist.

When the hell did this become a bad thing? When did this become something to be ashamed of? When did this become an insult?

Maybe it’s time to take a step back, and think, why this is being said.

I’m not really sure people know what feminism is. I’m definitely no expert on the matter, but these are my views.

Feminism is not the same as being anti-men.

It isn’t about jumping and pointing fingers at all men around you.

It isn’t about proving that women are better than men.

It’s about equality.

It’s about being given a choice.

Feminists don’t judge women for being a housewife and raising kids. As long as they choose to.

They don’t say you shouldn’t let men wipe you off your feet. As long as that’s what you like.

And it definitely doesn’t tell you that you deserve a seat on a bus more than a man, it just says you have an equal right to it.

It doesn’t look down on chivalry, on homemakers, on the gender, on ANY gender.

It simply fights for you to have a choice.

An equal choice.

And then people say things like, “Arre, you toh will bring your feminist crap into this discussion.”

And then, at that moment, more than anything, I feel like punching you.

Not because you’re a man. Or a woman.

Simply because you don’t understand.

Feminism isn’t just for me. Or just for women. It’s for every bloody human being on this planet.

And if you think otherwise.

You really really just don’t understand.