The Women Problem

Somewhere in your vicinity

7:00 a.m.: Morning news blares "another attack at a woman of age 70, raped and killed", and I shout louder to have myself heard, WHERE IS MY TIFFIN? DON'T YOU CARE ABOUT MY JOB, WOMAN?

Yeah, I know you have your own office to attend to, but the least you could do is cook, and get Raj ready, I'll drop him off, and see to his PTM too.

In an office, around you

9:00 am: Hey bud, saw the sluttiest girl today. Remember Dhvani! Yeah, the fashion designer *smirks

Man! she looked smoking hot today in her crop top. She really loves all the attention and eyes in the metro.

Bro! That dumb boss woman has sent a REDO on our files, she doesn't know a thing about this marketing job, all she's got are the looks.

In a distant hospital

2:00 pm: I am sorry! It is a girl.

Beta, you can't fight fate, though I think it's all the mother's genes. Take her to the Kali temple, Baba will handle everything.

Somewhere in a school

4:00 pm: Vidya, why were you absent the whole last week?

Ma"am, my mother fell ill, so I had to cook and also take care of my brother, he had his coaching classes na!

Well done Vidya! You should always take care of your family.

On the way home, in an auto

10:00 pm: Please sit properly! Don't push!

Arre madam, gadi me jagah nahi hai, adjust karo!*wink

I got home under constant stares Maa, I was so scared!

Beta, I told you to quit this job and get married. You are already of age. yet you choose to go out at such times, what else do you expect.

Badon ki baat to manti nahi!

And the very next day, newspapers are blotched black, blue and red, with the names of a molested working woman, a successful lady boss of a company wrongfully terminated, of a mother of 2 girls burnt alive, and to buy *bla bla* products to help Vidya go to school.

The pattern is evident. It's us, in the rapes and the fires and the atrocities, it is us at fault.

We, Indians, taking pride in our bargaining skills, power of hassling, who suck free meal to the last grain and rights to the last syllable, fail to own up the horrors of a society we thrive in.

We fail to realise our jobs, fulfiling our need for self-approval with a candle, a walk and selfies posted.

We fail to ingrain " Vasudhaiv Kutumbkam", for then the news would read, our mother burnt, our sister raped and our daughter murdered. And one would find the headlines as disturbing as I find writing this.

We fail to feel, to be human and to grow beyond our meagre circle of needs, necessities, luxury and life.

We, collectively, as a family have failed to protect our distant relatives, to ensure justice to our long lost loved ones, and this must perturb us into action, this must shake us from the passive, must roll a ball in motion with all our hearts swirling in one, must destroy and rebuild.

If you are not a part of a solution, you are a problem. And make no mistake, this is your problem, knocking at your neighbours'.

“NEXT HOUSE IS YOURS”.