This is an everyday story of angry young struggling women in a third world country. We come in all shapes, sizes, forms. We wear things from skirts and cholo to jeans and kurtas.[break]
We don all accessories from little red ribbons in our mustard-oiled hair to spunky-spiky bracelets. We ride taxis and we take public transport. We drive our own cars and ride our scooties. We work. We study. We read and write. We do kitchen chores and field works. We go green and fetch water. We hide behind burqas and act like all the ills of society are going to go away just like that, metaphorically and otherwise.
And we are us. We are everyone.
We perform, but sadly, it’s almost never enough. Any wrong we do, we get scorned. Any right we do, scorn we get, again. We act mellow; we aren’t tough enough. We act tough; we’re bitches. We act normal; not good enough.
We are a bitch, again. We work harder, but then we have to continuously prove ourselves. The world of men says: she couldn’t do it because she’s a woman; she goes home early because she’s a woman; she came home late; oh my god, she’s a woman, what was she doing so late?
Does a man ever get scorned solely because he’s a man?
We get it at the office. We get it at school. We get it everywhere. We get it at home. Hell, our body gives it to us every 28 days. And there’s not a single day when we don’t get shit from you guys.
And it’s sad we love you.
The hardcore feminists are right. Unless we all become lesbians, there’s no true women’s liberation. But hey, we never asked to be liberated. We like you. We want us to be unliberated in each other, if that makes sense. All we’re asking you is to not be an asshole to us. Is that too much to expect from you?
Is it because we’re the weaker sex? Or because we are sex?
If only pop culture like Bollywood and Hollywood would make more movies on women, and not just crying, dancing, promiscuous woman or lesbians. Or if there were more women directors making sensible women movies (not like Sex and the City, we know it’s stupid), it would probably help you guys to understand what shit we go through, every single day. Sadly, the one and only Oscar-winning female director made a movie about a group of gung-ho alpha-male military men. If that’s not irony, tell me what is.
Of course, we love you though.
The other day, you accused me. You said: but females themselves let males dominate them, objectify them. The reason we crown ourselves Miss Nepal is solely for the same reason: because we get shit from you all the time. But now because we are Miss Nepal, we face two distinct precarious propositions in front of us. It’s an unfunny oxymoron actually.
First, now you guys respect us, or at least show us some respect when you are with us. As Miss Nepal, we get your ears; you listen to us, our ideas and what we have to say. We make careers otherwise not easily made. We go to places. We perform, we go to further places. We become confident working women. We intimidate you. You’ll think twice before you show us any advancement or try to ill-treat us.
But then, we also give you guys, on a platter, a chance to take advantage of us. Or so you think. We let you judge us and we have to be okay with everything you do to us after that. We give you, with open arms, an opportunity to criticize our body and beauty without having to acknowledge our ideas and what we have to say.
Solely for that reason we participated in a beauty pageant, we give you guys an upper hand to objectify us, as you said. And you take that objectification, turn it up a notch and start vilifying not just us but all of womankind. So you think that it’s your right and responsibility to denigrate womankind because one of us went to beauty school.
We say this stating the fact that we still love you. But you do that even if we aren’t Miss Nepal, isn’t that right? You don’t need us to be Miss Nepal to objectify us, to malign us. Isn’t what you said at the other office? That you like us when we leave the room rather than when we come into the room? And that’s supposed to be flattery?
What we can’t fathom is this: what on earth gives you the reason to assume that having boobs is an invitation for harassment, and wearing a skirt is pretext for taking advantage?
You believe it’s your divine right to treat us, nay, mistreat us the way you do. You think it’s your right to make us wash your dishes, your parents’ dishes and your children’s dishes three times a day while you enjoy the luxury of beer and smoke in front of the television. Then you come and try to kiss us. Did we tell you how much that stinks, the unholy combo of beer and cig?
Believe us, we love you. It would be a lie if we say we hate you all.
You’re our brothers, our fathers and best friends. You’re our colleagues, mentors, seniors, inspirations, motivators and our boss. Some of you guys are our boyfriends, lovers, our partners, father of our children, our other half who we don’t even mind calling the better half (and the reason we do it is because you do make us feel better about ourselves, you help us grow and you make us better persons). Some of you are our lovely hubbies, faithful. Or maybe it’s until skeletons come out of your closet.
We love you, despite.
However, we have to say, you guys also suck.
Because you’re that guy who wants us to stay at home and do our chores as ‘biutiful’ housewives as you write about women’s rights and give speeches about liberation and freedom. And you blame us when we turn into desperate housewives.
You’re that guy who thought you weren’t good enough for us (without us saying anything) and you blamed us for being an elite goody-two shoes. Of course, you never thought maybe we weren’t interested in you because you really were not that interesting. We weren’t attracted to you because maybe you weren’t attractive. Maybe because what you did disgusted us. You tried “to score” us and when we shoved you off, you called us names, actually a name, always “whore”. You’re that guy who called us whore.
You’re that ‘dai’who, despite having a son who is a few years younger than us, pursued us. You’re that far-related uncle who said he was going to whip his fifteen year old son if he saw him with a girl; but then, secretly, tried to “score” us.
You’re that classmate who bragged to his friends that he “scored the chick” but all you’ve done with us is drink tea in the company of three of our girlfriends. You’re that teacher whose eyes are affixed to our chest area while asking a question.
You’re that boss who asked us to go out for a coffee, subtly hinting, slyly smiling that it’s a form of a date (but not really saying so outloud because you obviously have no balls) and we couldn’t really say no because you’re our boss. But then, you’re also married.
You’re that dude from another room who we don’t really know but got weird texts from late at night. We didn’t respond and we got even weirder messages. (Who sends moaning texts via sms?)
You’re that colleague who harassed us by sending nasty emails from an unknown email id, saying something like ‘Im gunna du yu’ in very bad grammar and an attachment of a nastier picture, like that was going to turn us on.
You’re that geek who stalked us on social networking sites. You’re that smarty-pants who knowingly added us to his Facebook, sent us messages with cutesy emoticons (which we found rather irritating) and later proclaimed, “I don’t really know how you ended up on my Facebook.” Really? We are that dumb, huh?
You’re that guy in public transport who uncannily touched our boobies or tussies and acted like nothing happened because we remained irresponsive. You’re that guy who whistled every time we passed your house.
You’re that guy who stopped his motorbike in that dark alley and grabbed us and fled. You didn’t even remove your helmet. And you didn’t grab us for more than three seconds. We wonder what you gained. We were scared as shit, though.
You’re that guy who followed us all the way from school when we were little, when we were barely teens and you had started producing more hormones than your little brain. You are also that guy who made us cry, for the first time, in school. You’re that guy who teased us and made us believe that we have to feel bad about ourselves when you teased us.
You’re the entire guy. And yes, it started that early.
And when we tell you it doesn’t feel good to go through these bitter experiences several times a day, you don’t believe us.
But do believe us when we say we love you.
We’re humans. We can’t think clearly when we’re scared. (In our defense, you’ve given us enough reasons, plenty of times, to be scared.) And boy, have we been scared for so long, all our life.
Hobbes said that human beings would become reasonable only when they ceased fearing one another. You find us unreasonable all the time. Maybe it’s because we’re scared. He also said that “ceasing of fear” would happen only if we are more fearful of a powerful absolute sovereign who keeps us all in check. And maybe there’s no other way than for us to be that absolute sovereign to keep you guys in check.
Maybe it’s time we said and not be scared. Maybe it’s time we said enough. Maybe it’s time we confronted. Confront our fear first, then your stupidity. Maybe it’s time we called you out. Maybe it’s time we reported, called the authority. Maybe it’s time we dragged your ass to court.
The assumption that we’re basically irrational creatures who, left to our own devices, have no trouble discerning what’s right from what’s wrong, is so off beam. We’ve learnt through our experiences that humans don’t function that way. You only care about your personal interests and how to serve those interests. Sadly, male interests are astoundingly regressive towards females.
And believe us when we say this, it’s absolutely hard for us to reason your actions. We don’t know why you guys do these things. Is it the adrenaline, the adventure? Is it the sin that beckons your libido to think instead of your brain? Or else, how do you reason whistling at the sight of women?
How many times, seriously, have you heard a women fall in love with the guy who whistled and made weird moaning sounds at her in the dark alley next to her house every night when she came back from school? Seriously!
Is it that hard to understand that your obsession with our chest and bum isn’t the same for us for your torso and biceps? Smiles don’t really make our hearts melt. Pouty lips don’t turn us on and eyes don’t speak. We know what turns us on though: respect and understanding, some intellect and a lot of humor, and definitely honesty. And you guys wonder why a loser fatso you all bullied in school has a “hot” girlfriend while still a fatso.
Natural human drive defies reasoning, but it should be channeled in a less aggressive and more productive direction. Or else, the drive takes you to a more morally volatile violent expression of your interests. And in this patriarchal world, we become the victims. But we refuse to be one now. So Karma’s coming to bite you in your ass.
And it does start from the places which have voices, like the media, government offices and schools. If you treat us the way you do, and we say nothing about it, how can we expect a normal woman to voice her resentment? We have a voice, a platform, and so we’ll have a word with you. The idea is not to screw you. It’s merely an effort to tame your libido and to ask you to chill.
We love you, no matter what.
We aren’t after a utopian illusion about trying to create a world of women-dominated rational-only, emotionless mechanical society. Humans are both men and women, irrational. They do irrational things. All we’re doing is, simply, asking you to not be an asshole.
Kumari is an oxymoronic pseudo-name for a Kathmandu-based young professional who is actually a female pretending to be a male who pretends to be a female. She can be reached at notkumari@gmail.com
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