Written by Apoorva Dixit
Okay, so, here’s a confession
To 15-year-old me,
when someone said
I have started to look like my mom
It felt like a victory.
And how I imagined that
I would drape myself
in her favourite blue saree just like she did,
Little did I know that
the saree is just a representation
of the length of her dreams
which she has folded within herself.
I wished to wear those red bangles someday,
the sound of which is the rhythm I hear
Unaware of the fact that
the bangles are just the fancy shackles
to keep her tied to the responsibilities.
I desired to apply the dark thick kohl,
just like my mom did every morning
oblivious that the kohl is just an attempt
to hide the aspirations in her eyes.
I wanted to be like my mom,
benevolent and compassionate
unconscious about what it takes
to push the misogyny out of its wheelchair
and break its knees,
Because there’s a silver tape of patriarchy
stuck on my mother’s mouth.
Okay, so here’s a confession,
I am twenty-something, nervous and anxious
And I am scared because,
I don’t want to be like my mom!
A girl like me cannot be caged with fetters
in the name of symbols of marriage.
Because I don’t believe in the concept
of sacrificing my dreams
To lead a happy married life.
Because my hands are not tied back
with the rope of fear
and I decided to ask, question, threaten
the patriarchy, the oppression
Until they not only hear my voice
but also the roaring rage within me!
I will wear the anklets of victory, unlike my mom and walk out of the room
So that the gatekeepers of chauvinism
hear the ring of freedom.
Here’s a confession I say aloud,
I am fearful to become like my mother
Because she is a goddess,
but I choose to be a warrior!
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