We have been celebrating this day for a few years now. It all felt exquisite initially, like those rosy few months after you meet someone special. Someone came out of the blue and showered you with attention, through words eloquent and actions exquisite, for one day. You forgot those shoes made of nails and basked in the glory of the spotlight, simply for being a woman. Hell, no! You wore those shoes with pride, a badge of honour for the struggles you live through. You were reminded of how you need to accept your own imperfect physique. You stretched your arms out and embraced a vague notion called ‘Sisterhood’. You wore the choicest of clothes and gleefully accepted those wishes with pride. Everyone spoke about safety and freedom. You sang and danced in the very floors that judged and abused you. You took pride in the fact that ‘one of your own’ is now an astronaut or a politician. You swiped that credit card with panache as you dined with your lady friends. You went home feeling dazed, at least for that night. A love affair with your own womanhood, all for a day.

Reality, you realised over the years, always came crashing at dawn.

It started with the newspapers, a five-year-old who was not spared the vagaries of lust. The post graduate bride who lost her life to dowry. The lone woman who was being witch hunted as she battled a harassment suit against men in power. You feel a little numb, the highs from the previous night slowly wearing down.

 You head to the gym, whose mirror reminds you of your flabby arms today. Yesterday, the balloons and festoons hid them all. Did the cake from last night add a few hundred grams around that tummy? You suck it in, embarrassed at your own appetite. Your housekeeper bears the scars from a night of drunken domestic violence. A little more numb now.

You head to work, and your colleague finishes sentences for you. Yesterday, they called it Mansplaining. You hoped to get that promotion but “Hey, you return home early from work!” your boss says.  You head home but really can’t put your heels up and rightfully wallow in self pity for a few minutes. When your husband had a less than normal pay hike, he mourned for a whole week. But you are allowed to work only because you promised a smooth kitchen for the family.  You have cramps in your stomach, but you are supposed to smile. A good wife does that, a kind mother does that.

Oh, your friend calls. Copious gossip about the very women you dined with twenty four hours ago. May be sisterhood is a lie? But Boys Club thrive!

In the middle of it all, you remember to speak to your mother. She has not seen a Women’s Day for most of her life. She was spared those 24-hours of high. May be she is blessed, she was not shown how the world is supposed to be for a woman – safe, friendly, progressive, non-judgemental.

Perhaps one step at a time, one day at a time, we should be making every day a Women’s Day? It is not easy, but it is not difficult either.

Happy Women’s Day!

Author

Nithya Rajagopal

Nithya is Manager- Content and Community at IWI.