The more I try to pull myself away from those thorn bushes, my shawl gets torn further. The white shawl which added to my grace and dignity has lost its being. Should I blame this to my careless attitude or the thorn bushes. Probably myself only for what those bushes did was their nature. They were meant to prick and tear. I should be cautious enough not to give them a chance to show their true nature. So next time I wear a white salwaar suit and take a different path home, a path which has no thorns only flowers. Splash! And there goes a muddy sling on my clothes. And from there on whichever path I take my white clothes take a wear, tear and a stain.

My clothes are my character and I am A Woman.

I am the Woman who was born as an Eve and was held responsible for luring Adam out of his senses. Though the fact does not matter that Adam was equally guilty. Or that I was the one who gave birth to the first child on earth. I was the Janani. I bore a life in my womb for nine months and entered the sacred institution of motherhood.

I am the Woman who was Seeta and gave an Agni pariksha for no fault of mine. The ideal man and the Maryada Purshottam was not convinced by my sacred character and I walked fire for the sake of his respect. I was eventually sent away for penance of no faults of mine. Vaidehi , the mother of Love-Kush , who was supposed to live the luxurious life of a palace in her pregnancy , was barefoot in a jungle . And just because , supposedly, God could not cope with the qualms of the mortals.

I am the woman who was Devaki, and was blinded by her brother’s love. Till one day he finally decided to lock me up just depending upon a supernatural voice. He kept on killing my off springs for the fear of being killed himself. He was the one who was supposed to be my savior but he became the reason for my destruction.

I am the woman who was supposed to be the most protected one in the world, considering that I was married to five most brave warriors. Draupadi or Panchali , the patrani of Pandavas who was used as a bait in the bets of egos. I was humiliated in a court full of warriors where I pleaded for my sanctity.

I am the woman who was gang raped by a group of men , because of no mistake of mine. I am Mukhtar Mai, a Gujar woman, who was offered to Maosists by her family in lieu of the freedom of their son. No matter how much I tried to plead but it fell on deaf ears.

I am the holy river of Ganges who daily takes thousands of misdeeds and frees souls from any misgivings. I happily cleanse away the wrongs of this world. For yet again I am a woman. I am used to enduring , and yet giving rather than taking.

Sometimes I get lucky and find a Krishna who saves me from the embarrassment of Cheer-Haran. But that occurs in the rarest of circumstance.
Or sometimes I have the boldness of Mukhtar Mai to face her rapists day in and day out, with the determination to succeed.
But I still need more Krishnas and Mukhtar Mais to make me a complete woman.
I still need to find a day in my life in which my white clothes go unscathed and sparkle like a gem.

This 50th diary post is dedicated to Women from a Woman……