I am a feminist by a lack of choice or by brute luck if you swing that way. I come from a patriarchal setup that divides labor based on gender.
> Enter schizophrenia <
Mummy had to go away for several years. Papa learned to cook, bathe and feed us. And he continues to, 10 years after she came back. He packs his own bags, unlike some men I know. He makes fabulous palak paneer, methi matar malai, and other lesser vegetables every day, twice a day. Because he loves to. The guy says “she is a daughter and that’s all I want her to be” when someone says “she is like your son”. The women who raised him made me realize how tough it is going to be to convert the world, but that it can be done.
My mum made sure she educated me like she wanted to in spite of the bad schools in the Naxal areas and the unavailability of Enid Blyton in our part of the world. Education is not region agnostic; she would like you to know. My Dadi put a stop to period shaming in our family. And to all other women who came in with their powerful stance about marriage, pregnancy, breastfeeding not necessarily in that order, the woman who gifted me my first Harry Potter, the one who wrote her heart out on the internet, the man who gifted me a doll of colored skin as a child and the men who spoke about wanting to be better partners, tried too, who were ready to turn their backs on the privilege that is easily accessible to them, to you all a happy women’s day. May you not be brought down by the expectation of sacrifice, nurturing, and gracefulness, may you never have anyone tell you how to dress, may you never have to deal with another ‘#mentoo’, may you create equality that does not expect you to feel grateful. May you know how wild you are for being able to exist, may you uplift each other, may you never tire of fighting for yourself, never be tied down. May you always believe that anything they can do, we can do bleeding.