STORY ON GENDER DISCRIMINATION

                                                "I AM A GIRL"

I am a girl. I am an Indian girl. I am lucky to be born. I escaped the cruel hands of death when I was still in my mother’s womb.

Am I really lucky?

I am a lone girl. I have two brothers, younger. I watch them eat specials. My share is the leftovers, if any. I watch them wear colourful clothes. I am lucky if I get a new one once in a while.

Am I really lucky?

I help my mother in chores. I watch my brothers play. I stand at the door to relax. I am called in, for I am a girl.

Am I really lucky?

I watch my brothers go to school. I set their bags. I pack their lunch. I watch them get pampered. I long for a loving hand on my head. I get none.

Am I really lucky?

I long to go to school. I beseech my parents. I am told I can’t go, for I am a girl. I want to become a teacher or doctor. I love teaching. I yearn to serve the ill. I want to follow Mother Teresa. “Where from the money will come?” My brothers are to be educated. I get denied. And where from will the money for my dowry come?

Am I really lucky?

I am taught to be polite. I am taught to be patient. I am taught to take every affront with a smile. It is my fate.

Am I really lucky?

I am grown up. I am to be given away in marriage. I say I don’t want to marry. I want to study. “What will a girl do with education? Will she rule? Look at your mother. Is she educated? Isn’t she happy?” I say, times have changed. “But girls remain girls; a burden on parents.”

Am I really lucky?

I stand bedecked before a groom and family. I feel like a commodity in bright showcase. I am asked if I can cook, sing and sew. I sing the praise of God that hasn’t been on my side. I am asked to walk, to see that I am not lame. I am liked by the groom and family. I retreat inside. I hear haggling over dowry. I hear my father begging. Finally, my marriage is fixed.

Am I really lucky?

I am married now. My husband’s home is my home now. I am an illiterate. Still, I fulfilled the six qualities of a woman, a housewife; “karyeshu dasi…” I hear only complaints. I haven’t brought sufficient dowry. I haven’t brought enough gold. I haven’t brought adequate jewellery. I bear every taunt with a smile.

Am I really lucky?

Taunts worsen; become invective. Invective turns into violence. I am slapped. I am kicked. I am pulled by hair. I escape one day. I go to my father’s home. I narrate my sordid married life. I am told it is my karma. I am taught my place is with my husband. I am sent back with apologies to my husband and family. I return to abuses and blows.

Am I really lucky?

I realise my husband is a drunkard and a debauchee. I am stunned when he brings home his concubine. I complain to his parents. I am told it isn’t unusual. I am told my husband is virile. I am bludgeoned for complaining. I am threatened with divorce. I am afraid. I keep quiet.

Am I really lucky?

The brutalities increase. I, finally get support from mother – a woman. I am rejected and “returned” as demands are not met. I am divorced. I return to father’s home to more taunts and abuses by father, siblings and neighbours. I do chores in homes, earn and give to parents.

Am I really lucky?

I, a divorcee, am now the target of every lust-filled eye. I finish chores and hurry home head bent. I learnt to ignore taunts and jibes, but still they hurt. I am told by mother I have to live with it; I am a woman “left by husband”.

Am I really lucky?

I am unaware; things could get worse. I am attacked by the master and his friends in his house. I am unaware; his wife went to her mother’s. I am dragged, gagged and violated by four of them. I resist; I am beaten up. I struggle; I am bludgeoned. My protests fall on alcohol-deafened ears. My pleas fall on lust-blunted consciences. I am scratched, punched, clubbed and raped again and again. I hobble home when the physical ordeal ended. I am bleeding all over; within and without; injuries to the body and injuries to the soul. I am barely alive.

Am I really lucky?

I am rejected by siblings. I am taken to hospital by parents. I am questioned by police. I am told to keep quiet and I shall be paid; the master is influential. I am witness to my father making a deal; family honour, you see. I keep quiet. I have no choice, you see.

Am I really lucky?

I am discharged after a few weeks. I go home. I am not welcome. My mother, a woman, is helpless; after all she is a glorified bonded labour. I do not know where to go. I do not know what to do. I have no bonds now. I am “free”.

Am I really lucky?

I am asking you. I want answers. What is my fault? What is my sin? Is it my fault that I am born a girl? Is it my fault that I am born in India? Is it my fault that I am illiterate? Is it my fault that I dutifully upheld the six virtues of a woman, a housewife? Is it my fault that my parents discriminated against me for being a girl? Is it my fault that I did not revolt? Is it my fault that I tolerated the physical and mental torture inflicted upon me? Is it my fault that the drunken beasts violated my womanly modesty; raped me; bludgeoned me to within an inch of my life? Is it my fault that my parents did not stand up against the master? Is it my fault that my father made a “deal” with the master? Is it my fault that I am alive after the heinous crime committed against me? Is it my fault that the protectors became predators?

Am I really lucky?

I am asking you. I want an answer. What should I do? Where should I go? Where can I get justice in this country? I am born in the land of Durga, Kali, Parvati, Sita and Savitri. I am not asking to be adored or worshipped. I am asking to be treated as a human being. Am I asking for too much?

Am I really lucky?

I am asking you. Am I to live? Am I to die? Answer me…

Am I really lucky?

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                                                                               SOURCE BY-SHYAM SUNDAR BULUSU

PUBLISHED BY-OURHELLO.COM