A Letter To My Daughter.

I don’t have a daughter, though I’ve often said my sisters are my children, but if I did have a daughter, I would want to talk to her about womanhood. This is what I would say. (PS: I write this letter regularly, not because I am pining for a daughter but because it helps me navigate how my understanding of gender changes and grows over the years, I highly recommend it).

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

To my daughter,

What being a woman means to me should always be completely irrelevant to your definition of it. As should what being a woman means to any other woman around you. Never try to emulate someone else’s definition of your own spirit. Be whoever it is that you want to be even if that’s something you have never ever heard of someone being before. Nothing you do in life, will ever make you any less of a woman.

But remember, being a woman in spirit and being a woman in society are two different things. One is personal and will hopefully bring you joy while the other is political and hopefully you realize that being a woman in society means being visible and being a fighter. You cannot choose not to represent your gender, even if you really just want to identify as a person, and when you do remember these things that I tell you.

Never let any injustice stand even if you have to bear a personal cost for it. People will try to beat you down along the way but that’s only because your power scares them and they worry about what might happen if you do succeed.

Always be available to other women because we’re all in this together; the temptation to hate on other women can be strong but remember this is something we have been taught so that we never realize our strength. Hating on other women puts you down and it puts down women. It’s counterproductive.

Remember and learn about the struggle we’ve been through in past centuries, it will help you see right and wrong more clearly. Before you pass judgment on anyone, see their whole life and where they came from. A lot of us act more out of the chips on our shoulders than our characters, and the only way to bridge the gap of communication is to see where everyone is coming from. People respond a lot better when they believe you understand their struggles as well.

Always ask why when someone tells you to do something that you can’t quite understand. So many times we unwittingly participate in activities and rituals that demean us because we don’t know any better. Never do something that you don’t understand. Even if it hurts someone’s feelings and even if it impacts your relationships. Never do something just because they tell you “it’s tradition”.

Never do anything just because someone told you “that’s what girls do” and never stop yourself from doing something you want to do because someone says “doing that makes you unfeminist“. You can do anything you want, so long as you cause no harm to anyone around you.

Be active in your community. Be visible and proud. Let people reach out to you and let them know that they can depend on you. Community is important, it is the first step on the road to civilization. People don’t have to believe what you believe for you to show them respect. But you must never stand for bigoted beliefs, call them out and don’t be afraid if no one is standing next to you when you do. You don’t need company when you have right on your side.

Respect your body and remember that includes being honest about its sexuality. No one has the right to shame you for having sexual needs and no one has the right to stop you from fulfilling them. Take care of your body because while it is unimportant how you look, your body is the only tool you have to get through life. If you neglect your body to the point where it is no longer able to support you, you will have taken yourself out of the fight.

Don’t be afraid of your emotions. People will shame you for them and tell you that having emotions automatically makes you less reliable as a human being. Shut that shit down. Cry when you want. Laugh when you like. Breakdown should you feel the need to. Use your emotions, cater to them and take care of them. If you don’t, you’ll have a heart attack because those kill women too.

Don’t be afraid to be strong and powerful. Don’t be afraid to be homely and soft spoken either. Just be afraid of dishonesty. Nothing else stands a chance against you. Because you are a woman and while you may lack the upper body strength to lift with your shoulders, you have all the resilience in the world to make up for that.

You were not born a liability or with a chip on your shoulder. You were born with the opportunity to make the world a better place. No matter how naive they call you, never stop believing that.


Aarushi Ahluwalia

I Was Going To Be A Tree.

A Poem by Aarushi Ahluwalia.

I used to wonder, so often—

Am I no good?

Trouble seems to follow me around.

I disguise myself in respectability and all shades of green, but it finds me.

Pries me out of the parched crusted Earth with a rainstorm.

Exposing the dirt and filth; washing it all away, until nothing remains.

Just a trace of me.



Unfettered, and useless.

A piece of me that wonders.

Do I really even deserve any better?

Maybe not.

But strays need love too.

I may be no good.

Sometimes I see it reflected back at me from the people I love.

Their eyes telling me that I could never be that one thing they always hoped I’d be.

Instead, a stray with a master

An orphan with a mother.

A lost map-reader.

A whore with virtue.

A professional without any.

A lover who hurts you.

And answers without questions.

None of the branches I ever expected to sprout.

Maybe this is what I’m supposed to have.

The oppressive home for the liberal.

The desert for the water-girl.

The dance in my step without any music in my soul.

A rainstorm that washes me away each time I sprout.

Do I really deserve any better?

Maybe not.


Even weeds need water to grow.

They Teach You Pain.

A freestyle poem about learning pain as a young girl and unwittingly teaching it forward once you grow up.

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

I must have been a very young girl because I remember it seeming horrific;

that my mother would pay someone to pluck out the hair from her eyebrows, one by one.

Until they looked like they were drawn on perfectly.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked her.

I can’t even feel it.‘ She said casually.

Because they teach you pain.

They tell you the importance of being beautiful and show you how beauty involves ripping the hair out of your skin.

My mother taught me how to eat at parties so I could be thin and still social.

She taught me how to squeeze into shoes that hurt and smile through the evening.

Because they teach you pain.

And if you refuse to learn,

They use these words to describe you.

Bossy. Arrogant. Overconfident.

Because you’re guilty of speaking your mind as a girl.

They tell you not to be too smart.

Or the boys won’t like you.

People won’t like you.

Use your eyelashes more than your voice.

They teach you silence.

They tell you that sex is going to hurt and feel terrible; they scare you with it so you wouldn’t think to desire it.

I remember I was twelve and I asked my aunt about her first time,

“It hurt so much I screamed,” she said.

I never could forget those words. We’d all heard them. My friends, my sisters and I, all young women dreading the idea of sex.

Because they teach you to expect pain.

They caution you to build boundaries around yourself so strong you alienate yourself from your own body.

Before you know what you were protected, you already know there is something to protect. I knew rape was something that could happen to me before I knew what sex was.

And before it ever could happen, I already knew of the shame.

The shame you’re supposed to be silence about.

And persevere.

Because they teach you to bear the pain.

My former partner’s mother once sat next to me on a warm afternoon,

And while she sipped tea out of the white china, she told me:

Women are like the sky, they subsume everything. They take everything. To be a woman is to persevere.

They teach you your strength comes from how much you can bear in silence.

That’s really why she gave me that little speech; she knew her son was beating me and she wanted me to see that as being a martyr in the name of womanhood and hold my silence in the prestige of that position.

Because they teach you pain is a virtue.

And bearing it makes you special.

They cast you in these roles.

The goddess.

The martyr.

The mother.

The meek.

The object of beauty.

And before you know it you’re bound inside these boxes and beating yourself up for not fitting into any of the ideals they picked out for you.

You still go on about your life.

You do the things you are meant to do.

Work. Life. Love.

One day you’re sitting in front of a lighted mirror at the salon and a lady is plucking your eyebrows.

Your mind is preoccupied by that e-mail you have to send, that payment that still hasn’t come in and those mushrooms you have to prepare.

You lean back in the chair.

And you see a child staring at you in horror.

A little girl.

So little that the sight of having your hair torn out of your face must seem horrific to her.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” She asks..

I can’t even feel it.‘ I tell her without even thinking about it.

Because they teach you pain.

And sooner or later, you learn it.

It’s Not Radical To Recognise A Woman’s Intelligence.

Women are praised for being beautiful, sensitive, socially-skilled and gentle all the time, but throughout our lives we are discouraged from brandishing our intelligence. With the wage-gap and self-esteem crises facing a disproportionate amount of women, why is it such a radical idea to value a woman’s intelligence?

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

I was an argumentative child, or at least that is what I was told, it was only when I was older that I realised that an analytical, critical conversation about a particular subject is not an argument, it’s a valuable intellectual exercise. The point is that I had a lot to say in general, and about everything. A lot of my discussions with people were related to poltics and oppression, and most of them occurred at home with my parents’ friends and family. This was before the time that ignorance could be presented as “alternate facts” and some of the discussions got impassioned and heated, but never personal or offensive. Still, my mother did not like this. She started telling me, each time people came over, that I shouldn’t discuss politics with my dad’s friends. When that didn’t quite work, she redirected me into helping out in the kitchen. I would volunteer my opinion on something being discussed and she would immediately give me a task.

By the time I was a teenager, I was spending most of my time at soirées coordinating kitchen activities and bring out platters of food. Everyone loved this! I heard an endless stream of compliments: You’re so mature for your age, you help out so much at home, you’re such a sensible young girl, you’re so socially skilled, you’re already trained to be a great hostess. It bothered me. The compliments bothered me because they were casting me into the role of an ideal woman, but also because that role had been given to me to keep me from talking politics with men. That concerned people in my life enough to find a solution, and discuss it with one another. It bothered me also because alongside this negative tag of being an argumentative, headstrong young woman, I was also pressured to always have outstanding grades. It never made sense to me why I had to be great at school, when using my knowledge only seemed to upset people around me. This dichotomy seemed sinister and it continued to be unexplained.

Of course, I understand it now. Women cannot be too smart lest it make the men feel less smart. It’s a ripple effect of the perceived inferiority of women, more commonly known in the noxious upper middle-class drawing-rooms du jour as the “men-and-women-are-equal-but-different syndrome”, as perceived by the patriarchy. When I was a child I didn’t understand why I was told not to disagree with my father or any other men, I didn’t realise that a girl disagreeing with a man could be perceived as an offence. I didn’t understand why I was told it was important to be intelligent, but not to brandish that intelligence. I wasn’t told why the people around me discussed the possibility of their daughters earning more money than their future husbands as a potential problem in the hypothetical marriage.

I didn’t understand it fully until I grew up and started to experience it. It started with a man I was in a relationship with for many years. He loved spending my money but he hated my ambition. He constantly fought with me for wanting to do well in school and then college. When I got into prestigious programs he chided me for trying to show off. When I got good job offers, he lost his temper and accused me of being “too available” to get those jobs. When I achieved goals and had professional success, he often said to me, “What do you think of youself? You think you’re so smart but you’re nothing. You don’t even know how to be a woman.” Harsh, and unnecessary, but it taught me that a lot of men, and people, cannot handle a woman’s pride in her intelligence or accomplishments. You can be as smart, accomplished, skilled or ambitious as you like but all of that just counts against you, especially when you don’t know how to accessorize, match drapes and tapestry or dress meat. In that entire relationship, I never felt like my partner was proud of me, I never felt like he appreciated anything about my brain and because of the generally abusive dysfunction in the relationship, I became scared of my own accomplishments. I kept them to myself. I didn’t share them with my family or my friends or my partner, I didn’t even use social media until this year, because I was taught that brandishing my intelligence in any way was showing off and it caused friction in my relationships.

However, romantic or familial relationships aren’t the only way in which we devalue and refuse to recognise the intelligence of women. We do it socially as well. Once I was with a group of my husband’s friends on my balcony. My husband is a decade older than me and some of his colleagues are a decade older than him, and as a result I sometimes have to socialize in circles that are strange to me. My world, with my heathen friends, my seditionist colleagues, my strange pets, my brutally-honest family and my radical books is very, very different from his world of uniform-wearing certified patriots. They take offence at me asking them to call me by my own name and don’t understand why I am being such a pain about my legal identity. There is no overlap in our worlds. While on the balcony I was talking to someone about carbon taxes, and several men were talking over me about segregation of garbage as the radical idea that will save the planet (I cannot, I swear, I just can’t). At a certain point someone interrupted the man who was speaking to alert him to the fact that I was talking.

“I think she’s saying something,” this man said to the one speaking over me.

“She’s hot,” the guy speaking over me said.

Now, this man is over twenty-years older than I am but let’s say that’s not an issue because I like em old. He didn’t want to hear from me because I am not a brain to him, I am red lips and low-cut tops, and therefore hot (which, really? I think he meant he thinks I’m easy). Nothing I could have said had any potential value to him because I have a vagina and to him that meant that purpose is mere aestheticism. Similarly in my husband’s circle, there is a systematic segregation, they encourage women to hang out with women and men to hang out with men. When they encourage women to hang out with women it is often explained by saying that men have no interest in womanly discussions about sarees, jewellery and household help. No one ever asked if women were actually interested in these discussions, or why men couldn’t be. It’s just how it is.

“It’s just how it is,” is one of those bullshit tautologies that shut off further questioning without explaining themselves. It has no meaning and under its garb we teach young women that they must not expect to be valued for their intelligence as much as the men. That’s at the heart of the wage gap as well. Women can be intelligent, we’re okay with that, but if they wish to be decorated and socially-liked they just be gracious, beautiful, not-arrogant and strategically quiet. That’s part of why the industry of beauty and vanity targets women like it does, because it knows, as do we, that women are much more likely to seek approval and appreciation for their beauty. That’s why homemakers are forced into a competition of whose house is the cleanest and shiniest, because they know that no one is sitting around waiting to laud their dazzling intellect. That’s why no matter how successful you might you be as a woman, when your company goes public (talking about you, Vimeo), you’ll be photographed with your child and covered from that angle.

Women aren’t appreciated for their intelligence. It’s pretty shitty to live in a world where that is a radical idea.

While Acquitting Tarun Tejpal, India Convicted All Its Women.

The Sessions Court in Goa acquitted Tarun Tejpal of all charges in an 8-year old case of sexual assault. As part of the proceedings the victim was put on trial, her sexual history and lifestyle choices were all put on trial. To be a worthy victim in India, you must be immaculate or dead, and I wonder, what is India telling its victims with that?

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

Tarun Tejpal was acquitted of all charges. As far as the news cycle goes, this is old-news now and we’ve moved on to op-ed pieces about it. I remember when this first started eight years ago. I remember the day the news broke that Tarun Tejpal had been accused of rape and sexual assault. I loved Tehelka. I read every issue and amongst my limited possessions was a stack of them that I took from city-to-city. There were many issues I re-read on lazy Sunday afternoons and those I referenced repeatedly for my own research. My favourite thing about Tehelka back then was that they were out there covering the epidemic of rape in our country before Nirbhaya ever happened. There weren’t many people doing that back then, it wasn’t the hot-button issue it is now. When this happened I was halfway through journalism school and it was very clear to me what I wanted to do with that degree. I wanted to work for Tehelka and cover rape. That day I learnt the danger of having idols, which is not to say there weren’t other excellent journalists working for that organisation that exists even today, but it still shook me. I didn’t want to believe it. How could the person whose organisation was instrumental in teaching me about the injustice of sexual violence in our country be another (alleged) predator?

Of course it isn’t my job to acquit or convict but as far as sexual violence goes I’ve always had a simple philosophy: I believe the victim. There are cases where I am wrong to do that but in the grand scheme of things those cases are far fewer than the ones where I am right. Still, we had to wait for the judicial process to play out, and now it has. The judicial process has spoken and acquitted Tejpal of all charges. Now, I am not a lawyer though I am fairly well-versed the laws governing rape and sexual violence in India, and I understand that it’s not my place to speak for the guilt or innocence of a person, so I won’t. According to the court, Tejpal is innocent. I can’t say anything about that. However, I would like to talk about the process that determined his innocence. The finding of the court was based on reasonable doubt and that is, I suppose, reasonable but it is not reasonable to say that this was a fair trial, because from all accounts of the proceedings, it isn’t clear who exactly was on trial.

It is the position of the court that the victim did not behave like a victim. That her behaviour did not exhibit that she had undergone any trauma. Further it is the contention of the court that because of her position as an expert on rape law and the coverage of rape, she would have been easily able to fabricate a believable story. Ironic, since they didn’t believe it. The trial court even revealed her identity in their judgement, which is against Indian law. They questioned her solidarity with other victims of rape, presenting it as a bias, and her alleged that her knowledge, writing, independence and communication skills made her testimony unreliable. They also discussed her sexual history, fantasies and admitted gossip about her sexuality into the judgement. She is blamed for just saying no and not screaming instead. She was asked to qualify her morality by declaring whether she believes sex with multiple partners, smoking and consuming alcohol to be immoral acts. They asked her how long her dress was and whether she got on her knees. Finally, she is characterized as someone who twists and manipulates the truth.

Can someone say preposterous? Honestly, I cannot speak to whether Tejpal is innocent or not, but I do wonder, why weren’t all these questions asked of him instead? Surely the sexual fantasies or history of an alleged predator might be more telling than those of the victim, and that’s what it is really about, it’s about how we treat victims in India and you can harp on about how things have gotten so much better but they haven’t. The truth is and I say this often, that there is only one kind of rape victim in India that sees justice, and that is a dead victim. Short of that, you have to be immaculate to be qualified as sanskari enough for justice. The process by which the court arrived at its judgement in this case is telling and it is telling a terrible tale.

It is saying that you have to exhibit your trauma in a prescribed format if you want to qualify as a victim. This comes up regularly, it came up a while ago when a judge refused to believe a rape-claim because the victim went to sleep before she filed a complaint and apparently no Indian woman would do that. If you are a woman whose response to being assaulted is not breaking down publically, seeking therapy, exhibiting dysfunctional behaviour, crying throughout the testimony then you are not believable. If you are a woman who hopes to find healing by acquiring justice instead of cutting yourself, you are not believable. That’s what this process is saying.

It is saying that your sexual history is indicative of how truthful you are about alleged sexual assault. If you have fantasies, fantasies of force or restraint, then it’s not possible for you to be raped. This is a tale as old as time, only virgins are raped after all. It never occurs to Indian society that we endanger sexually liberated women even more by repeatedly refusing to believe they could be raped because they’ve had sex before, indicating to predators that it legally better to take advantage of a “loose” woman because no one will believe her anyway. A woman who does not pass the purity test does not deserve justice because no one sent the courts the memo on agni pariksha being a thing of mythology and misguided fiction which is not admissible in the process of justice. It’s saying that it’s best we teach our daughters not to have premarital sex because if they do they won’t be believed when they are raped. That’s what it is saying.

It is saying that women who are experts, well-spoken, independent and professional cannot be trusted. There isn’t even a veil here, it outrightly states that the Indian sensibility cannot bring itself to trust an intelligent, articulate woman. This line of questioning is nothing but a witch-hunt for westernised women who speak English and wear dresses, because we hate that. We hate women who don’t succumb and learn silence. We hate women who assert their accomplishments and speak their expertise. I can guarantee if instead of a woman there was a man who was an expert on rape law on trial it would work in his favour instead. Women who speak their mind, stand up for the truth and do so while refusing to embody any visibly “Indian” indicators of culture are not trustworthy. You can condemn that but think about it, when you tell your kids not to talk to someone too much, what does that woman look like?

It is saying that if you accuse someone of rape, it is perfectly reasonable for the court to put your behaviour and life choices up for trial. If you drink, smoke, have sex, wear short dresses or date openly, you are not moral enough for our society to protect. We all love to say we don’t shame victims but most of us do it everyday, a woman doesn’t have to be a victim of rape to not be condemned for her choices, and if you see a woman smoking in the street and think of her as immoral, she doesn’t need to be raped for you to be part of the problem. Legal questioning such as this only enforces the idea that women’s behaviour needs to be policed.

As far as I am concerned, Tehelka died many years ago. My hero fell almost a decade ago. Today, all I lost was another piece of my faith in another bastion I hold dear, the Indian judicial system. We may as well replace it with a group of middle aged uncles who stare at your boobs in the park and aunties who tell you to lose weight so you can get married, because that is how it is behaving. India is not here for its women. We’re on our own.

I Will Not Teach My Stepson To Hide His Parents’ Divorce.

While preparing an introduction for an event at school my stepson was told not to reference his stepmother because it is “inappropriate” to do so. In India we encourage secrecy about everything that deviates from the norm but teaching children to hide divorce hurts them more than you realise.

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

I have a ten-year old stepson. While the arrangement is rare, my husband has had permanent custody of the child since he was seven. For the most part, in India, custody is retained by and favoured to the mother but in their case, she chose to hand it over and my partner wanted it. So a few years into our relationship, his son came to live with us. There are no Bollywood-style twists in this story; I didn’t have to overcome my anger to “accept” the child, he didn’t hate me and then start to like me a little, I didn’t dislike him and then start to feel concern when he was sick one time. None of that stuff happened. None of that stuff is an accurate or real representation of anyone who might find themselves in this situation. That’s not what we have to protect our children from.

Let me tell you what kind of situation may arise in real life.

A year or so ago, right before the pandemic hit, my stepson was graduating from junior school. I don’t think that’s actually referred to as a graduation but I don’t know what else to call it. As part of the process, their school organised a farewell party. At this party each child was required to say a few words about themselves. The kid wrote his introduction. It read,

‘My name is Slow Eater (named changed). I am 9-years old. I live in Hell on Earth (name changed to be more accurate) with my father and my stepmother. In my holidays, I enjoy visiting my mother on the farm. I like football, cycling and playing with my cats. My favourite book so far is the St. Claires series by Enid Blyton (because I am young, and I don’t see the racism in it yet : that wasn’t actually part of it but warrants saying).

According to him, what he had written was extremely ordinary, and I agree. I corrected the grammar for him and helped him practise his introduction. The next day he was supposed to practice it at school with his classmates and teachers. When he came back he told me that his teacher had asked him to re-write his introduction because it was “not appropriate”. Apparently she had told him there was no need to mention his stepparent because that was private. He asked me why having a mother or father wasn’t private, but having a stepmother was, and to be perfectly honest, I do not have an answer to that question that makes an iota of rational sense. Until that point we had been raising him to understand divorce but never feel like it made him less than others. We talked about why marriages end and how sometimes that is the better path than an unhappy life for all involved. We taught him that love was most important when it came to marriage and without that, it’s not worth the lifetime of unhappiness. Most importantly we taught him that it was normal, and the legal process to attain a divorce existed because it was normal to want to end a marriage that wasn’t working. We wanted to shelter him from the stigma but also to remove the stigma. We decided right at the beginning that we would never hide any of this as many people encouraged us to do. I would never “pretend” to be his mother and we would never keep our lives so secret it starts to control us entirely. We thought that was a solid strategy aimed at ending the shame and healing from the trauma.

That day, however, we had to teach him something different.

Obviously, our first response was to contact the school and the teacher. See, I get it, she isn’t used to this. I get it. I get that even today in India the divorce rate is 1% and having a classmate with divorced parents (and auxillary parents) is extremely rare outside of urban clusters, and even when it isn’t, people hide that information and teach their children to do the same. I understand that she may have been taken aback by my stepson’s shame-free admission of his parental situation. She expected him to know he should hide that, and maybe she assumed he hadn’t run it past an adult who would have taught him why to hide that, and she believed it fell to her to teach him the shame. She apologized immediately once we explained that we had a problem with what she had done. We explained that she had introduced to the child a feeling that he wasn’t normal, and that his living situation wasn’t normal either. By telling him that admitting to his parents divorce was inappropriate, she had made him feel like his existence was inappropriate. Her reception was generally kind, compassionate and apologetic, however her explanation was less so. She said,

“I understand you want to protect your child, but we also have to protect the other children.”

Now, our kid isn’t doing drugs, he isn’t acting violently, he isn’t bullying other students, all he did was say he has a stepmother. She wanted to protect other students from that information. That’s part of the agenda of the conformist nature of Indian normalcy. We love to believe that things like divorce, pre-marital sex and live-in relationships only happen in the West. That is “Western” culture and it is in direct contradiction to Indian culture. When faced with real-life Indian examples of these things we feel a moral responsibility to hide them because we believe in doing so we are preserving indian culture and keeping the outliers where they belong, in the fringes of society. It didn’t go so well when I explained that to the teacher, but when I suggested we speak to the principal she agreed to let our kid do his speech as prepared. The next day he went to school ready to practice his speech, when he came back I asked how it went and he informed me that they had cancelled that part of the event.

I don’t know for sure that they cancelled it to avoid the situation of letting him refer to his divorced parents in his speech, I cannot prove that they did, but I would believe it. It’s very Indian to call the whole thing off because one tiny detail offends our sensibilities. That’s not the point though. The point is that in real life, where we often say that partners who are unhappy with their marriages should stay together for the sake of the children, we also conspire to make things worse for the children who do actually find themselves with divorced parents. The social punishment is applicable to all and is often applied so thoughtlessly. Other times, it is applied as concern. For instance, at our wedding. My partner and I got married several years after we started living together, and eight months after we started living with the child. It just made sense to us that everyone involved have the opportunity to really get to know each other. It’s not just a lifetime commitment between the two of us when there is a child involved, you’re also making thay promise to the child, and that shouldn’t blindside them. Of course, as a result of him knowing me well and living with us by the time we got married, he was at the wedding. People were concerned. My family is extraordinarily familiar with me and they know anything can turn into a socio-political rally on the spot so they would never say things to me outrightly. Instead I heard,

“There’s no need to go out of your way to tell people that is your husband’s child. He’ll be there, he’s a member of our family, but you don’t need to broadcast it to everyone.”

See my thing is that I never broadcast things, I reference them too casually for the people of our country. That’s not okay with people. If I presented my stepchild as a shameful revelation it would gain me more sympathy than how I reference him like he’s real, actual part of my life on a daily basis. If I kept him secret, more people would understand than they do now. However, the one who suffers there is the child. We pretend we do this because we care about the child but children internalise how people treat them, and when a child feels like they or their parental unit ought to be secret, they feel ashamed of themselves. That shame grows up with them alongside a longing for a detrimental normalcy. I could never do that to a child. You shouldn’t be able to do that either. The truth doesn’t hurt, deception does, and persevering the Indian sensibility is not worth hurting my child. If that’s inappropriate to you, close your ears to the world around you and continue hating on the West. See if that protects you.

India Hates Love A Lot More Than It Hates Sex.

We have all heard that India is a sex-negative country but it also has the much more dangerous distinction of being a love-negative country. The right to fall in love in India is shrouded in constrains of religion, caste, lifestyle and wealth, and even when we aren’t forced to marry within the norm, we do it. Why do we do it?

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

My friend once told me about something that baffled him so immensely he rolled over in my meticulously-made, ash-covered bed for a full minute before I could respond. It was something he had come across on a Tamil debate series. A young man, arguing in the favour of a hybridised version of arranged and love marriages, said that he could choose to marry anyone but if it was someone outside of his caste, he couldn’t even imagine being attracted to her in the first place. He saw this set-up as a free-decision based on love, whereas my friend saw it as an arranged marriage where you could choose out of a series of pre-approved women, and you may like one of them more than the other but it’s not free love. In their own mind, I suppose they are both right, but overall, I see a fundamental flaw in their equivocation. Marriage in India is not about love. Nothing in India is about love.

In the deeply insulated leftist schisms of liberalism that we populate, we often talk about the struggle of living in a country that is so fundamentally sex-negative, and don’t get me wrong, it really is. When I was a teenager and starting to date (I made a series of truly spectacular choices in terms of men, a real who’s who of human garbage), a cousin I was close to told me that it was fine to date, even though she insisted that I was too young to date, but she would lose respect for me if i had sex, she made me promise that no matter what I did, I wouldn’t have penetrative sex. I broke the promise, but what’s important is that I made it in the first place. It’s important that sexual knowledge is imparted in this guilt-based format from trusted sources and that teaches all of us that having sex is inherently wrong because it makes a comment on our morality. This example I cite is very tame, prissy and privileged but evidence of our sex-negative attitude is all around us all the time: from hotels that wont rent rooms to unmarried couples, to the violent responses to a woman who may have had sex, to all the virtue-signalling, to our responses to the depiction of sex on screen, to the complete lack of sexual education in our schools. Its all around us. India is, indeed, a sex-negative country.

But is also, and perhaps more so, it is a love-negative country.

At the heart of this is an equivocation of sex and love, but not in the way that is obvious. The liberal school often teaches the young ones that sex is okay but only if you are in love with the person you do it with, but that is not what I mean. What I mean is that sex and love in India are painted with the same brush. Sex is wrong and dirty ipso facto, love is wrong and dirty. Whether you tell your mother that you had sex with someone or that you are in love with someone, the potential for the response to be dire is equally high. A part of that is exactly what my friend was talking about, because unlike an arranged marriage which is governed by societal constraints (like caste, income, religion, attitude towards working women), love is governed (at least in theory) by free-will, and when i am attracted to a person, I don’t make that decision based on their ethnicity or religion or caste, I’m just attracted to the person. If I fall in love, it wont be because of or despite their caste, it will just be. That love is governed by free-will is a large part of the case against it. After all if your daughter has sex with someone, it’s nothing a hymenoplasty, a severe beating and an ipill wont fix, but if she falls in love with someone, there is so much that could be wrong with her choice that is non-negotiable.

I know we all love to behave like we are in an era of liberalism and India is becoming a progressive country but if you wish to see the truth of people’s social liberalism, look no further than the industrial complex of marriage-making in India. Not only is the only acceptable form of love the love that leads to marriage but it’s deeply heteronormative, nothing outside of that registers as anything less than perversion. All the people who “don’t even know their caste” are looking for matches in very specific sub-sections. Heck we’re so afraid of inter-religious marriage we created the concept of love-jihad and then instituted laws against it despite a total lack of evidence of its prevalence in the projected numbers. Sex has the potential to flout the norms of social decency, but love has the potential to shake the fabric of Indian society because norms of marriage is how we uphold social stability here and love opens the door to marriage that doesn’t make sense to our norms. It’s not without reason that even in 2021, only 3% of Indians have “love marriages” and even that number is not fairly representative of the culture of love in India. There is something important that needs to be understood: love is for fun and marriage is for settling down. While the most “progressive” of our families are open to us having fun for a while, when it comes time to settle down they want us to think differently about finding a partner. Just like the man who was told to find love, but within his own caste, many conditions are placed on many of us and even when we make decisions of love “freely”, we’re really dating within the confines set by the marriage police. It’s not a coincidence that so many people end up falling in love with people of their caste, religion, tax bracket, age or socio-economic status. We sow our wild oats wherever we may like but when it comes time to “settle down”, we police ourselves into whittling our dating-pool down to an acceptable set of variables. It’s quite similar to the way in which arranged marriages are made.

And it get, arranged marries *can* work. I agree, but they are not about love. Indians scoff at love. Love is a stupid, tawdry thing and the only acceptable form of it is the guilty, grateful love children are supposed to feel for their parents. Romantic love in India is portrayed as painful, sacrificial or unrequited. To see that we needn’t look any further than our cinema or television, the only forms in which love is displayed as successful is when the lovers have to lose each other, their lives or their families to achieve it. We are taught to romanticise pining for love throughout our lives but also to realise that ultimately taking the dutiful and responsible route is the mature and Indian thing to do. Sacrificing the possibility of self-chosen happiness for society and duty towards family is the happy ending in our love-stories, and they often actively work to display how that is where true actualization is found.

Sacrifice and compromise are taught as virtue, love as a dirty thing and unhappiness in marriage as an acceptable condition for it. The right to love is absent, unacceptable and too much to ask for, the best you can ask for is a love marriage that is true to acceptable norms. That’s the best case scenario, the worst is falling in love with whoever you want and being killed for it. Love doesn’t matter in India, not when it is competing against the abstract concept of honour. Honour always wins, and it makes sense too, when the loss of love is taught to us as the ultimate form of romance.

This Is Why We Don’t Believe Victims In India.

Two days ago an officer of the Indian Army committed suicide in Pune while in the midst of a Court of Inquiry over allegations of sexual harassment, ever since then the endless hate and unverified information directed at the alleged complainant has varied from shameful to just pure disturbing, and a lot of it has been disseminated by the same people who won’t let their daughters out at night because India is not a safe place. Read how this dichotomy is at the heart of why we don’t believe victims in India.

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

In India, we often see a horde of people come out in support of rape victims like Nirbhaya or most recently the case in Hathras and it makes us believe that as a country we stand beside our women. After all, why would millions of people march in the streets or light candles if we didn’t really feel like we needed to put an end to all this violence against women? Sure, we only come out in droves when the victim is a dead woman, but we come out, right? So we must care and want to make our country a better place for women. I mean, we march! We protest! The candles!


Okay, let’s put that aside for a moment and let me tell you a different story. Two days ago, a 57-year old officer of the Indian Army, Brigadier Anand Kumar Naik, committed suicide by jumping in front of a train at the railway station in Pune. That’s sad and I am sorry for the loss of his family and friends. The officer was allegedly facing a Court of Inquiry over sexual harassment charges by a young female colleague. After the news about the suicide broke, I started to receive some “news” via the preferred medium of media illiterates everywhere: WhatsApp. Most of it was just sentimental nuggets, but some of it was outright hatred towards the woman who made allegations against the man. Some of it blamed her for his death, stating it was an inordinate price for him to pay. Some of it claimed that the alleged victim was “friendly with many men” and the officer had only wanted to “counsel” her. Other, more vicious messages, claimed that modern women have become heartless and all complaints of sexual harassment are just designed to get revenge or settle petty scores. There is one theme in common to all of it though, all of the misinformation was based on the premise that the allegation of the woman in question was decidedly false, and definitely the cause of his death by suicide. He died, so she is definitely wrong and the cause of it, and not a woman seeking justice. This woman is hopefully alive and well, and decided to take action against being sexually harassed, where are our candles for her?

There are no candles because we do not believe her, and that is the curse of the victim who had the audacity not to die. We do not believe women in India unless we have no choice but to believe them. Let’s take this case itself. There is no public information about the details of this inquiry, only hearsay and rumours, the gist of which are that a complaint was made, this behaviour on the part of the Brigadier might have been repetitive, the enquiry has not yet been concluded and identity of the victim and the circumstances of the incident are confidential. As a journalist, I know not to take a call on this yet because definitive information about what happened has not yet been revealed by reliable sources, that’s something you don’t learn at the University of WhatsApp. So let’s discuss it hypothetically. Hypothetically, a woman made a complaint against a man who was a very-senior colleague and an avalanche of slander came her way immediately (sup M.J. Akhbar). Do you think she didn’t know that is what would happen? When women make complaints about male misbehavior, we know we’re going to take a social-hit for it because as a society we have much more sympathy for a man losing his livelihood than a woman losing her rights or dignity. For women, it’s a gamble to complain, and we have long-known how to do this math.

When your boss is inappropriate with you, you have to decide between a small chance of justice and keeping your job, that’s often a no-brainer. If you do actually opt for the justice part of this, immediately, people talk. There is an immediate assumption of a vengeful desire and suddenly every thing you do in life, like “be friendly with many” is up for scrutiny. The same people who put bullshit posts on social media about ending victim shaming, will say things like this while completely oblivious to the irony. The fact that a man is an army officer is not evidence of his innocence. The fact that the complainant is a young woman is not evidence of her lies. The fact that a man committed suicide is not evidence of his innocence either, Jeffery Epstein committed suicide too. Suicide is not the result of allegations, it is the result of the actions and decisions of the person who took that step. In some cases, it is a tragic result of untreated or unmanageable mental illness, and in others it may be a result of the inability to bear what you know is coming (such a social shaming or prison), but it is not evidence of anything. It’s not evidence that allegations are true or false. In this same situation if the alleged complainant had committed suicide, would we have believed her instead of him?

It took less than a day for people who don’t know any facts of the case to decide the complainant was cold-hearted, lying, a slut and responsible for his death. That woman could be any of us complaining about any man. The same people who pretend they are my friends would talk about me the same way if I had made that complaint. After all, they don’t even know the woman, it could have been me. It could have been my neighbour. My friend. Their own daughter. They would say the exact same things because our natural response upon hearing the complaint of a woman is that she must have been doing so because of an ulterior motive, even though the consequences of complaining are often much more severe than being complained about. We all remember what happened in the case with Chief Justice Gogoi, right? He’s in the Rajya Sabha, and she (and her family) lost everything. You think that’s the vengeful outcome women want when they complain? No, we know to expect exactly this. We’ve kept quiet for centuries because we know what happens when we complain about powerful men, or any men. Heck our Supreme Court offered up a victim of rape for marriage to the rapist in an attempt to keep the rapist from losing his government job in 2021. The Supreme Court. In 2021. The year of driverless cars and flying cameras. You don’t need to remind women that the system and society protects predators.

You don’t need to tell any woman that. Back in the day, when I was younger and messier, I was in an extremely abusive relationship: cracked bones, bruised ribs, constant-fear, the works. While now people ask me with endless judgement, why I wouldn’t leave such a relationship, back then whenever I insinuated or outrightly admitted to the abuse, most people doubted me and some (like his mother) outrightly refused to believe me. I was asked whether I may have misunderstood a playful shove as a punch in the teeth. I was told that girls like me these days think everything is abuse. Even today when I talk about it, it makes people uncomfortable either because they still don’t believe me or because they haven’t heard his side of the story. After all, maybe it was my teeth that fell on his fist real hard. After I left him, you can bet he went on to abuse other women, but I never complained publically about being harassed or assaulted again. There were no consequences for him, there were consequences for me, because I am a woman who is “friendly with many”; I am outspoken, I wear tiny clothes, I smoke cigarettes and swear, and that matters a lot more than the fact that a man pushed me down the stairs. It was never him on trial, it was always my character that was facing the jury.

And as much as we like to pretend, as part of TikTok trends and Instagram personalities, that we are woke, we treat survivors with doubt and disbelief. We’ve all heard that every woman has a story, right? I can confirm that, I don’t know any woman who hasn’t been the victim of a prosecutable act of sexual harassment or violence (and most of them actually believe they were “little things” because they weren’t penetrative rape), so either the contention is that we are all lying (which I think goes down much easier than the alternative) or that there are at least as many predators as there are victims. Yet it’s easier for us to behave as if a majority of women are lying, and a minority of men behave this way. It’s easier because we support it.

When people wilfully disseminate information about a woman they do not know and are comfortable shaming and slandering based solely on the fact that she dared complain about a man, they think all they are doing is forwarding messages they recieved but with each person who reads that message, the web of support for the predators increases. The choice to share that unverified and anti-woman information makes you complicit in the 30% conviction rate for survivors of sexual violence in India even if it’s entirely baseless and the alleged victim does not even exist. It doesn’t matter if you have daughters either, having daughters does not make you incapable of being part of the patriarchy, for fuck’s sake, women themselves can be a part of it. It doesn’t matter if you think sending a message to 20-people is a “small thing” and getting mad about it is an unreasonable response, you only think it is a “small thing” because you haven’t thought things through. Gruesome and heinous cases of violent rape do not occur in a vacuum, they occur in a society that lets men believe they could get away with it, and those messages, they form the bedrock of this society. As long as we, common people, continue to doubt women more than men even despite overwhelming evidence of the fact that women pay a much steeper price for standing up, we are part of the rape culture.

And we can say that the amendments to rape laws in 2014 made things easier for women, and for sure, they made it easier to report things and increased punishment for the accused if the case ever led to conviction (remember, 30%), but they had no bearing on being believed. They had no bearing on that because the onus to be believed still lies very much on the woman. We cannot even prove we were raped unless there is evidence of physical trauma inside our vaginas which means that any woman who is accustomed to penetrative sex is as likely to see her violator acquitted as she was in the 70s when the court outrightly stated habituation to sexual activity on behalf of the victim exonerated the rapists. Psychologist evaluations don’t hold up in court, our lifelong trauma is not evidence that we were violated, and if you were so “lucky” to be raped in a situation where there was no violence, you are also just as unlucky if you wish to see your attackers convicted. The maximum penalty for that is much higher than decades-past, but the likelihood of conviction is still just as low. The chances of being believed are slim and the possibility that you will spend the rest of your life being shrouded by the consequences of complaining are extremely high.

You can change laws, you cannot change the minds of people. We only march for the dead girls, because a woman has to be mutilated and destroyed for us to believe her. That’s the price. The rest of us, we’re just out to destroy innocent men with the PTSD we carry in our purses.

Why It Annoys Me When My Husband Complains About A Little Cut.

Women are taught pain very early. Whether that is in the form of cooking accidents, puberty, self-sacrifice or childbirth, pain is an integral eventuality of womanhood. Men on the other hand feel comfortable complaining about even the slightest discomfort, and as a woman that causes me a certain amount of resentment. This is why.

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

One evening, my husband had a persistent itch in his right eye. He scratched, rubbed and washed, but even as we sat on the couch after dinner, talking, he continued to make faces of discomfort, complain and bat his eyelid as if trying to get something out of it. This next part doesn’t make me look so good, but it annoyed me. Now I’m not discounting his discomfort, I have had a speck of dust in my eye before and I know that can be mildly irritating, but there is something about the magnitude of complaints a man will make over minor discomfort that requires unpacking. So, as a means to explaining my irritation I told him about a piece of writing I had read recently, it was about a woman whose husband had made his own breakfast one morning and burnt his finger a little bit, something that happens to millions of women every day and goes completely unnoticed, through the day her husband brandished his wound, sent help home to pick up ointment and discussed it with everyone in his office, and she couldn’t quite explain to herself why her husband’s injury (and attitude towards it) made her angry instead of concerned.

I was quite relieved when I read this piece of writing because all my life I had believed that it was only I, in my glorious lack of compassion, that diminished the need to complain about minor ailments and suggested everyone just suck it up. I thought it was just my “cold” and “dispassionate” nature that caused me to become annoyed when someone had a cut or a scratch and felt that it warranted a conversation. It was not until later that I realised some of us were allowed to complain about ailments, and others weren’t. Women have the reputation of being whiny and complaining a lot (and I wonder why women are complaining a lot, it’s only rape, abuse, violence, sexism and the patriarchy) but you would be hard-pressed to find a woman who complains about a cut, a cramp, an itchy eye, a slight fever or a little burn. Men, on the other hand (at least in my experience with them, and it is vast), will be more comfortable complaining about these things, and sometimes complain as if they were being repeatedly stabbed in the eye with an acid-coated screwdriver.

There are two important factors that govern the lives of women: pain and silence. Right from the beginning, pain is presented as an integral part of womanhood, and it is too. Most women cook every day, and are accustomed to cuts, burns and scrapes. Women are introduced to the concept of puberty via our periods which are accompanied by varying degrees of cramps. Sex is taught as a painful concept, especially the loss of “virginity” and because a vast majority of Indian women have unsatisfying sex-lives that focus only on the man’s needs, sex continues to be painful. Childbirth, an allegedly vital right of passage for women, is heavily pain-associated and also the benchmark against which a woman’s right to complain about pain is measured. Essentially if it doesn’t hurt as much as childbirth, you can’t quite allude to not being able to endure it because if you can’t, what will you do when you give birth? Very often, right from a very young age, when girls complain about pain, they are shushed, and encouraged to bear it with grace.

Moreover, medically speaking, women’s pain is taken less seriously. A doctor once told me that my fever and headaches accompanied by dengue were caused by my “tendency to worry too much” and that is probably what would cause my death too. Our heroes, ladies and gentlemen. It’s the same with gynaecological issues, a form of birth-control I was once taking was causing persistent cramping and random bleeding, and when I told the doctor, she told me that it was only natural that my unnatural decision to not procreate be accompanied by pain and discomfort. Additionally as I have tackled PCOS my whole life, many doctors have prescribed medication from birth-control to illegal diet pills to hormones but not one ever prescribed a painkiller even though each one knew that sometimes I was having period cramps so severe I couldn’t stand up (I still did stand up, of course, and worked too, because that is what women are expected to do), the attitude towards that was always that I had to have my period my entire life so I had to learn to deal with it. Pain is a life-lesson taught to women.

And it’s not just physical pain, it’s also discomfort and emotional pain. Women in many parts of India are still expected to attire themselves according to a patriarchal agenda. While I lived in Jaipur and worked out in a public park, every day I would encounter women in sarees and sneakers, with their faces covered down to their necks and jewellery hanging off every possible corner, trying to workout in the outdoor gym. At weddings most brides are decked in attire that leads to absolute exhaustion, I can’t tell you how many stories I have heard of women who were running a fever on their wedding day or developed a rash because of their clothes. Post-marital symbols like bangles and chains also cause physical discomfort, especially when you are working (on a computer) or cooking (in a kitchen), but that discomfort is just meant to be incorporated into your life.

Then there’s fatigue. My husband treats sleeping like it’s his right, and he’s not wrong there, adequate sleep is a right and important too, and if he is tired because of working all day and managing a home all evening, he will comfortably show it. However, I cannot do that, I cannot without guilt ever admit to being tired. I can wake up early, work all day, study, cook meals, deal with the child, workout, engage in my hobbies, write, read, check in socially, do the shopping and take care of the pets but I cannot admit to any of it tiring me without worrying that I am complaining. I see it in my mother too, for instance, she can say she is tired but she can never definitively declare that she will take a nap. She may take a nap but she cannot say that she will, and no matter how much stuff she has already done during the day, she will always do more if it is needed. Emotionally, too, women are expected to be creatures of adjustment and self-sacrifice: eat less if there isn’t enough food, say nothing if someone displeases us, just listen if an “elder” chastises you, sacrifice for your child or your husband. To say nothing of the socio-sexual violence and harassment faced by women and the pain associated with that.

Pain is woven into every aspect of a woman’s life, and it’s made worse by the fact that an expectation of silence is woven in right alongside. Girls don’t complain about the little things because attention isn’t paid when we do, and how can it when the experience of pain is so ubiquitous to womanhood. Who will take seriously when you’re always in pain somehow? Who will take it seriously when you need to be taught to bear pain so as to be able to sexually satisfy your husbands and have their babies?

On the other hand men have a very different relationship with pain. Men are taught, right from the beginning, that they are strong because they can lift things. They’re also taught that they are valuable cargo, and yeah I know many of us were raised in very “equal” households but most people in this country are not. Until such a time as when parents stop feeling like they can brag about doing their daughter the favour of not discriminating against her, we hadn’t even made a dent. Until such a time as when couple with two daughters stop having a third child because they haven’t had a boy, we aren’t really making progress. Until I stop personally knowing people who were forced to have abortions because they illegally found out they were having a daughter, I am not buying this “equality” lollipop. Until we can safely legalize pre-natal sex determination without worrying that it will cause people to kill girls, I’m not seeing this allegedly equal treatment. Girls are an expense and boys are an asset, and therefore when the ladla (dear) son of the house gets hurt, be that a tiny scrape or a broken toe, the world stops turning.

It’s like that with everything. Men’s clothing is governed by comfort and ergonomic convenience. There is no medical bias against men and they can access pain-management with ease. Most importantly, however, right from the beginning, when boys complain about pain, it is listened to and considered important enough to take action. After all there isn’t a big pain-based event that is waiting for them, and they don’t need to be taught to bear it. Pain is an inconvenience to men, but to women it is an inevitability. Men are used to people paying attention when they hurt, women are used to keeping quiet about minor inconveniences. The idea that men are “strong” also works in their favour here, because a man is “strong” it is understood that if he complains it must be because it is really bad but we’ve all had cuts, burns and scrapes, we know how bad they are and it impossible to justify that each time it worse for the men.

And so, when I am with a man, whether that is my husband, a partner, a friend or my father, and I see them be broken down by a knick or a slight headache, it always annoys me a little. It don’t want them to be uncomfortable, I would rather they feel just fine, but I can’t help feel a resentment because I was never afforded the opportunity to be derailed by a scrape. I could never go on for 20-minutes about a headache or a burn, no one would listen, and depending on the situation one might even tell me to stop complaining. I can’t sympathize with your tiredness because I wasn’t even taught that I was allowed to be tired. That’s not fair to my partner, no, but it’s not because I cannot empathize with his discomfort. It’s because I, a woman, was never taught that a fleck of dust in the eye could be enough to be considered discomfort. I thought it was just normal life to be quiet and minorly inconvenienced all the time.

Does “Female Privilege” Actually Exist?

Men love to tell women that if we truly want equality we should be able to sacrifice all the privileges that society has extended to us through the years. Apparently expecting to have a door opened for you is too much privilege and this culture of “equal rights and unequal privilege” isn’t working for the men. So, what is this female privilege? Does it really even exist?

Written by Aarushi Ahluwalia

It should come as no surprise that I talk about women’s rights and feminism a lot, nor that I have the oft-loathed skill of being able to bring the subject into any conversation. As far as I am concerned it’s not the matter of an opinion I have on a subject, it’s the lens through which I see all subjects. I wouldn’t call myself an expert though because I am not sure exactly what qualification makes you an expert in this case, in my opinion being a woman is expertise enough but almost no one agrees with my opinion so perhaps there is a logical flaw there that I am not seeing. Regardless, the point is, I talk about sexism et cetera endlessly (and yes, I am entirely no fun to hang out with whatsoever) and as a result I always have a conversation to cite when I have to discuss a subject, it’s just good journalism. So, I was speaking to this man, and I don’t know how we started discussing the subject of how social disadvantage faced by women feeds professional disadvantage, and I continued parlance I used the term “equal rights.”

“Tell me something,” he said in that smug voice that men use when they think of an argument that has a baseless premise but they think they’ve got you, “What do you think of the concept of equal rights but unequal privilege?”


“Are you saying women have unequal and more privilege?” I asked, even though I knew that’s what he meant and it was, in his mind, akin to that moment when bhakts ask you what other choice we have in our country from a prime-ministerial position, and think they’ve made a definitively winning-case.

“Of course,” he said, “Women want all the same things as men but they want to be treated differently.”

Honestly, it’s astounding I haven’t had more concussions from banging my head into walls. Either my skull is made of titanium or contactors in India have been using some shoddy materials to build walls.

“Let me guess,” I told him, “You think it’s unfair women want equal opportunities and not to be raped but also want someone to open a door for them?”

Of course, that is what he meant, but he wouldn’t “put it exactly like that.” This is a commonly heard phrase in the canon of arguments against the women’s movement. Apparently, women want to have all the same things as men but want to be treated differently. Usually the people who make these arguments are referring to two different forms of treatment. The first one, as referenced above, is about chivalry. Personally, I’m over chivalry. I can open my own doors, pay for my own coffee, make my own drinks, carry my own rucksack and pitch my own tent, but let’s say for the sake of argument that there are women who prefer to have doors opened and chairs pulled out for them. Let’s say that is female privilege. Not only does this privilege that women allegedly enjoy exist only in pockets and for short periods of time, it is often replaced by a lifetime of eating last, removing your husband’s shoes and making not only everyone’s drinks but their food too.

Furthermore, I think it’s entirely unreasonable to expect having a door opened for you be the reward for silence in the face of an epidemic of sexual violence, that’s a ridiculous argument but what is far more ridiculous is the belief that women somehow enjoy unequal privilege to men, and the women have it better. Men enjoy endless privilege.

Men enjoy the privilege to leave the house at any hour of the night and hail an auto with confidence that no one is going to try to stick a dick up their ass by force. Men enjoy the privilege of never being asked their marital or childbearing plans in an interview nor are they ever denied a job based on that answer. Men enjoy the privilege of higher pay, more opportunities, sustained career growth and more ease at changing jobs. Men enjoy the privilege of having people, especially government functionaries at university office and the like, actually listen when they show up to have some work done. A clerk at my own college refused to process my documents because he didn’t like how I was behaving like a woman because I was being assertive and I can promise that hasn’t happened to any men. Men enjoy the privilege of getting angry and acting out of ego without anyone thinking anything of it, in fact, most people make adjustments and room for men to get angry.

So is there unequal privilege? Absolutely, and the men have been enjoying that for millennia, yet somehow they believe it is a good argument to demand that women give up having their bags lifted by a man if they want equal rights.

The other form of treatment that rubs these men the wrong way is when women get, what they call, an “unfair” advantage in professional set-ups: Reservation for women in parliament or Panchayat elections, subsidized education for women, lower tax brackets for women, reserved compartments for women on trains and metros. A few weeks ago I was in a conversation, actually scratch that, it was a fight. I was in a fight because for once I actually lost my cool and had an emotion as part of an argument, based on the fact that a couple of men in the army thought women shouldn’t be in the army (or the infantry) because the environment is not right for them and if they wish to be in the army the physical qualifiers for women should be exactly the same as men. That’s not what I lost my cool about, it was the condescension that did that, I just don’t respond well to men sitting me down and telling me I need a lecture on being a woman, a decade ago I probably would have punched the guy.

Their argument was that women would be unable to join the army, even if they were allowed to do so, because they would never be able to meet the qualifications to join if the standard was the same as it is for men. It’s the same argument against reservations and subsides. Honestly, I know a tonne of women who could meet the physical qualifications set for the men to join the army and many of them who would put a lot of men already in the army to shame. Women are fucking strong, and not just “endurance” strong. However if the qualification to be a soldier is only physical strength, why don’t we only hire men between the ages of 18 and 25 anyway? Why are 55-year old uniforms demanding physical perfection from women when unable to pass a basic health screening themselves? Regardless, I digress because the anger has not subsided, I would make a terrible monk. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that there are women who want from different qualifiers for men and women, and those that want reservations in parliament too.

Is that female privilege?

On the face of it, one may say that being given an advantage that someone else does not have is a privilege but let’s not be overly-simplistic or stupid just for the sake of winning an argument. The advantages are provided to women, like many minority groups, not as a privilege but to correct an imbalance. The struggle a woman faces just to be able to make to decision to join a male-dominated profession like the army or politics is monumental compared to men. Where a man might be regarded with prestige for making these decisions, for a woman it is a fucking fight. Where a man might make a decision like this one as second nature, for a woman it means convincing their family, overcoming the bias of authority and society as well as having to work every day to justify their position in that profession.

One might say that these advantages dilute the quality of people employed in these positions or accepted into these colleges and should we really be so keen to correct an imbalance that we are willing to pay more people to do the same job less effectively? And to that I say, god I wish you had studied analytic processes better in life and maybe your school will offer a refund for having failed you? There is such a thing as social advantage and men have enjoyed that for centuries, even with qualifiers being lowered, women still have to be twice as qualified in other regards to even get to the same interview as men. While a man may be offered a job even if he is slightly unqualified but has a family to feed, a woman will need twice as many degrees and twice as much experience to be offered the same job. Moreover qualifiers usually exist only in one sphere, and most jobs are a function of multiple skills. Let’s just take the army as an example, you think that if a woman has to do only five push ups when a man has to do ten the quality of the organisation will be lowered? You actually believe the efficiency of the army is solely a function of physical strength? Do you think a woman who takes 32-minutes to run five kilometres as opposed to 28 is unable to have faster reflexes, more analytical ability, a more strategic bent of mind and more of a community-based approach?

Men love to talk about women having privilege because it’s an excellent method to distract from the fact that they enjoy privilege every day and have since the dawn of the human race. Men like to act as if pulling out a chair for us or allowing us to consider a particular profession is a huge advantage that they are extending to us at their own cost. In that case, please stop opening doors for us, wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through giving us such unequal privilege. It’ll be hard, but we’ll survive. It’ll be such a challenge though, to live without something that never existed.