Being a woman!

Womanhood. Something celebrated worldwide. Something cursed worldwide. We rejoice the womanhood of some and redact rights from others. We worship the goddesses and look down upon the prostitutes. It is funny how hardly any second thing on the planet has faced such variety of treatments. Even the high-tech transformers will bow down.

Now, ill-timed, does it appear? A write - up about women after a week of International Women's Day. Well, if that's your line of thought, we might need more than just one day to speak up about issues bothering us, haunting us, always breathing down our shoulder.

I think it is safe to situate myself with the presents and perils of womanhood since by definition I'm an adult now. Having said that, I'll say that being a woman is wonderful. The fantasies we fancy, the dresses we wear, the dreams we share, the tears that we cry - all of that is exclusive to us. It never fails to amuse me how I can feel so many things together or sometimes in quick succession. There is no math to deduce our feelings, our next steps or even our mood for sex.

I haven't travelled the world. I haven't even seen most of India yet. I'll therefore talk about my life, the life of an 18 -year- old hailing from a middle - class family. In the city of joy, we get a lot of privileges. We have seats reserved for us in public transports, the buses slow down to a stop while we board on and off, we get the regular and 'accidental' elbow job and pelvic thrusts in every possible circumstances. We get the lovely cat - calls, the privilege to carry our sanitary napkins in a landmine wrap. I bet cocaine has easier busts than the white - winged blood - eater.

There is just this one thing though. One silly little thing I'm tired of. I'm only 18 and I've been doing this for as long as I remember and I know I've to keep doing this forever. I'm indeed tired of watching over my shoulder.

Every turn I take in the dark by-lanes, I look over my shoulder for a two-legged animal without a tail. 

Every time I'm seated, I look over my shoulder to ensure that my bra-strap does not invite any unnecessary buzzards. 

Whenever I'm standing in a crowded bus or metro, I've to look over my shoulder not only for a potential pickpocket heads up but also to scrutinise for creep alert. 

I know it's the same story for many others, but I don't know whether this'll ever stop. All I await for is a day when I wouldn't have to look over my shoulder unless it was to glance longingly at the Porsche showroom. Because other than that, we get drinks on the house once a week and get blamed for being a victim to rape. We have a wonderful life, you see - nothing to complain of, at all.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR :- 

A student of Mass Communication & Videography, Sucharita Ganguly adds to our long list of talented columnists from St.Xavier's college, Kolkata! A Foodie. Dog-Lover. Bibliophile. And an ardent follower of cricket, Sucharita's interests in writing chiefly deal with her opinions regarding everyday social issues!